Chapter 62: I Like You

For Xie Yingnian, who had long grown accustomed to sealing herself off from the world, honesty was no easy feat—even in front of her therapist, she had only revealed a portion of the truth.

Her sense of security had plummeted below zero the moment her birth mother abandoned her, and the years that followed had been a grim procession of confirming her afflictions. The scars ran deep and defied healing; she had struggled to coexist with the fractured parts of herself, even steeling herself for a lifetime of solitude in exchange for the permanent facade of a “normal” person.

The more something eluded her grasp, the more desperately she craved it. And so she had spent her life searching for that one trustworthy confidant—a sanctuary where she could lay bare her rotting roots and coax them back to life.

Xie Yingnian didn’t consider herself some great saint. The debt she owed to Liang Sufen and Shi Jianguo for raising her had stirred a flicker of basic human decency within her. Looking after Shi Cainran was simply her duty as an older sister, a pure sense of responsibility before her illness flared up.

After that, things had veered off course somewhat—but it was the true path she was meant to follow. Total possession. Shi Cainran had grown afraid and tried to flee; even those closest to her couldn’t comprehend. It was an outcome she had long foreseen, yet reaching this chapter still filled her with unavoidable regret.

And so, during those years when new rifts had formed with Shi Cainran, Xie Yingnian had numbed herself with work, earning her reputation in the news as a recklessly dedicated professional.

Outwardly aloof, she secretly yearned for an all-consuming bond, inseparable and intense—no matter the nature of the relationship. The fire in her heart had nowhere to burn, scorching the ground barren around her. She had never imagined that, in her lifetime, soothing rain would come—that a few plump, moisture-laden clouds would linger steadfastly overhead, nurturing a forever she once thought impossible.

Back then, helping Zhong Jia had been a simple gesture. In her twenties, Xie Yingnian had already carved out a name for herself in the entertainment world and didn’t mind spending a little to gild her image with an alluring layer of fool’s gold. She sought nothing more.

It should have been a mere footnote in her weighty life story, a flimsy page easily overlooked. Yet fate seemed to decree that their connection ran far deeper.

In the vast sea of humanity, such a rare encounter might come only once. Xie Yingnian resolved to step out from behind her mask, to break her silence, and face with raw honesty the person she wanted to spend her life with.

She had so much to say—from her origins to the nature of her illness—but opening up felt impossibly hard, like learning to confide in someone for the first time. She would start, then falter for long stretches, only to realize in her labored reflections that she had swallowed her past whole, bones and thorns and all. Even the most gut-wrenching pains now spilled from her lips as calmly as still water.

“That one is…” Zhong Jia prodded the thorn bird tattoo on her lower back. At first glance, the ink was strikingly beautiful—like verdant branches bursting from the mouth of a porcelain vase, blooming with seductive spider lilies. The icy white clashed vividly with the blazing red, and knowing the legend of the thorn bird that sang but once in its life lent the vibrant beauty a poignant sorrow.

Old scars brushed by a gentle touch. Xie Yingnian lay on her side in bed, her shoulder marked by bite traces. With her back to Zhong Jia, she fell silent for a moment before saying, “The restaurant caught fire. I rushed in to save people. I couldn’t save my foster mother, but I managed to get Shi Cainran out.”

How many nights had passed since they began sharing these truths?

Xie Yingnian had lost count. She had grown used to this back-and-forth, and somehow, it felt more relaxing than Ni Qian’s carefully curated therapy sessions. Zhong Jia guided her patiently, coaxing her bit by bit from the self-imposed cage she had built over so many years.

On this summer night, the two of them ignored the king-sized bed downstairs and crammed onto a single in the quaint rooftop room. The ceiling was a vast pane of glass, making the stars and moon seem close enough to touch.

“Was she that important?” Amid the starry expanse, Zhong Jia spotted the brightest one and asked on impulse.

Imagining Xie Yingnian once holed up in a room about this size, Zhong Jia suddenly understood the story behind her WeChat profile picture.

A dilapidated alley of tangled power lines and rundown houses—narrow lanes, uneven roads, like a set from a film shoot. The buildings huddled close, sunlight a rare visitor. Clothes dried in the shade; on rainy days, bicycles splashed over the buckling bluestone slabs. Living conditions were far from ideal, but the image it evoked brought a comforting sense of home.

Her eyes, reflecting the starlit sky, betrayed a hint of regret. Zhong Jia chided herself inwardly—why had she been born so many years later? The stars weren’t the same, the moon a different phase, and she hadn’t been there for Xie Yingnian when it mattered.

A warm yellow lamp glowed nearby, right by Xie Yingnian’s hand. She blinked softly, grasping the unspoken pronoun, and replied evenly, “Once upon a time.”

On the narrow bed, their bodies pressed close. In the languid exhaustion after peak bliss, Zhong Jia held Xie Yingnian, her face nestled into the other’s soft hair, her voice a touch hoarse. “I get it. Sisters, right?”

She claimed understanding, but as her long, dense lashes swept over the exposed shoulder amid the strands of hair—still damp—Xie Yingnian reached back to press down the probing head. She chuckled silently. “Not that kind of feeling. What kind of image do I have in your eyes, anyway?”

“I didn’t say it was that kind of feeling. As for your other question…” Zhong Jia caught her hand and held it at bay, burying her head deeper under the covers. Her legs clamped together as she mumbled, “Don’t you know?”

Xie Yingnian replied, “Only like this with you.”

Zhong Jia pulled back a little, toying with her glossy black hair. Her nimble fingers danced, weaving a braid with surprising skill—rarely useful, but effective now. A suppressed smile tugged at her lips as she replied casually, “Guess I’m pretty lucky, then.”

The other side of the bed shifted. Xie Yingnian rolled to face her, pinching that restless finger and brushing a kiss to its warm pad. “It’s me who should thank you.”

At such close range, every second of their locked gazes heated the air. That beautiful face mere inches away—Zhong Jia watched Xie Yingnian’s lips part, her voice soft as she struck each heartbeat:

“Thank you for accepting all of me.”

Zhong Jia was never quick with words; even as a child, she hadn’t known how to win over Qiao Yingqiu. She froze, her eyes rimming red in an instant. Deeply moved, yet at a loss for a response—this was likely the most solemn thing Xie Yingnian had ever said to her.

Lately, Zhong Jia had researched extensively and knew patients like this struggled to express emotions like others did. This came as close as it got.

She stammered for ages, her eventual reply veering into her peculiar train of thought, twisting “all” into something else entirely.

Xie Yingnian narrowed her eyes, staring as if seeing a stranger. A few long strands draped over her chest, accentuating her lovely curves, the black-and-white contrast stark. Feigning utter exhaustion without much sincerity, she asked, “Does Teacher Zhong mean she wants an encore?”

A trap—and not the first one. Definitely a trap!

The best defense against falling prey again and becoming dessert was to flee the temptation. Zhong Jia reluctantly tore her gaze from the stolen glances at that body and dove under the air-conditioned blanket, curling into a ball.

But the next second, the covers flew off entirely. Xie Yingnian slid to the bed’s edge, scooping up the would-be escapee. She delivered a playful smack to the perky rear, then bent down, deftly bundling the naked girl in the thin blanket. Cradling the fragile form against the chill, she carried her out of the glass room.

“Got a music variety show recording tomorrow. Planning to strut around the dressing room with my name written on your ass?” Xie Yingnian glanced at Zhong Jia. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Only then did Zhong Jia recall the humiliating mark Xie Yingnian had made with washable ink—front and back. It stemmed from that duet stage with Pu Chu, where their chemistry sparked online. Fans shipped them hard, some even tagging Xie Yingnian’s socials. This possessive woman had quietly tallied the score, settling it tonight.

“Pervert,” Zhong Jia muttered, ears burning, before nipping at Xie Yingnian’s arm nearby. She wasn’t worried about the other playing victim and dumping her on the spot.

Xie Yingnian magnanimously let her bite a few more times, viewing it as payback for her own indulgences on Zhong Jia’s body tonight.

The floor had its own bathroom; Xie Yingnian had already filled the tub via the app.

At the door, Zhong Jia tumbled from her arms. Through the cool shower slipper, she felt the graceful arch of Xie Yingnian’s narrow foot. Barefoot herself, Zhong Jia’s toes wiggled uncertainly as she landed on it, letting out a puzzled “Eh?”

“The floor’s cold,” Xie Yingnian said, unbothered by spoiling her in such small ways.

Zhong Jia hooked her arms around Xie Yingnian’s neck and flashed a sweet smile. The thin blanket slipped from under her raised elbows, gathered into a plump bundle by those long hands and tossed casually onto the cabinet.

Only like this in front of you—it applied to Zhong Jia too.

Her public image had always been specific yet vague. Online searches yielded only tagged highlights, pieced together from her family’s news clips. Her films weren’t out yet, though the trailers showed promise—but character was character, actor was actor.

The music variety show had boosted her far more. Under the stage lights, her unique qualities shone. Any song in her cover took on fresh flavor. Offstage, she was quiet, avoiding chitchat with other contestants unless prompted. She never faltered. Pretty face, especially those brows and eyes. When sweat-damp hair needed a flick, her casual poise had a salty edge.

Steady and calm, with a poised stage presence that blurred any sense of her age, Zhong Jia and Pu Chu were the youngest performers—a fact some fans only discovered after digging into their backgrounds.

Her life had been accelerated by the absence of her parents and the fractured remnants of her family. It wasn’t even like pulling up seedlings to make them grow faster; at sixteen, when Qian Peiqing fell critically ill and was hospitalized, it was more like ripping the bones from her body and flaying her skin, brutally thrusting her into emotional maturity. She hadn’t even waited for the legal age of eighteen before scrambling to make ends meet. But if she looked back further, before her personality had been honed by the harsh winnowing of later circumstances, she had been clingy and spoiled—likely an inheritance from Qiao Yingqiu, who couldn’t survive without the one she loved.

So many years had passed, and finally, someone had appeared whom she could cling to like a child in her arms.

“Xie Yingnian.” Zhong Jia called out.

Xie Yingnian responded absentmindedly, her ear tingled by the warm breath as she heard those soft yet weighty words: “I like you.”

“Mm.” Xie Yingnian paused for a few seconds before replying offhandedly.

“What does your ‘mm’ even mean?” Zhong Jia drooped her head in disappointment, her eyelids sagging as she grumbled, “Can’t you just say ‘I like you too’?”

Xie Yingnian lazily bent her knee, unconsciously nudging it against the girl’s soft, pale leg. She lowered her gaze to the one who had been making so many demands of her lately, understanding that Zhong Jia wanted to help cure her ailment—the habit of bottling up everything, every emotion, inside, only ever expressing what had been deliberately processed and refined. Continuing like that wouldn’t help alleviate her condition.

“Then how about you feel just how much I like you right here in the bathtub?” Xie Yingnian asked calmly, though she gave the girl’s nicely textured backside a squeeze—the same spot where Zhong Jia had once written her name to claim ownership.

A little wiggle of the arms and legs would tell her if she had the stamina left to “feel” anything tonight. Zhong Jia itched to drag all those media outlets that had so confidently labeled Xie Yingnian as sexually frigid in front of her and demand to know where exactly the frigidity was. The woman was ravenous, like a wolf or a tiger!

Her gaze drifting away, she said, “Ahem… bath time, bath time. Let’s take a bath.”

The dangling corner of the quilt brushed over the cool stone threshold as Xie Yingnian curved her lips in a smile. She scooped Zhong Jia up again and carried her into the steamy bathroom, bathed in warm yellow light.

Zhong Jia perched on the edge of the tub, watching Xie Yingnian carefully test the water temperature. When that exquisitely flawless face turned toward her, she cupped it in her hands. She did nothing else, just gazed intently into her eyes and smiled. “But you also know how much I enjoy being needed. My mom never gave me that, my dad goes without saying, and my grandma only raised me out of necessity—she could’ve lived well on her own.”

“What I mean is, you’re very important to me. The most important.” Zhong Jia kissed the corner of Xie Yingnian’s mouth. “You don’t have to cage me up or chain me down. I’m not going anywhere this lifetime. I’m sticking to you.”

It started at the corner of her mouth, then slowly wandered. As Zhong Jia deepened the kiss, she wrapped her arms around the woman’s slender waist. She had so many more words she wanted to say, and Xie Yingnian had so many things she hadn’t yet shared, but it didn’t matter. The final barrier between them would dissipate like the rising steam around them, fading gradually with the passage of time.

They would have a very, very long future together.

Xie Yingnian lifted her hand from the water, droplets tracing the curve of her upper arm down to her elbow before falling. She cradled the back of Zhong Jia’s head, leaning in. Her wet fingers threaded through the long hair as her tongue tip easily parted the other’s lips and teeth, yet she didn’t press further.

It was as if she had discovered a different kind of pleasure in this slow, quiet intimacy—one unlike the rough possession or forceful declarations of before. The kiss was tender and lingering as she began to find reassurance in this subtle warmth. Zhong Jia was a little unaccustomed to it at first but gradually let her breathing sink into it.

Until Xie Yingnian spoke softly. Zhong Jia’s heart leaped rapidly, her breath instinctively holding.

“I like you.” Xie Yingnian’s kiss landed on her forehead, unexpectedly putting their intimacy into words. In the soft light, her face seemed to melt away its sharp edges. She lowered her head and silently kissed away the tear rolling from the corner of Zhong Jia’s eye.

As they kissed, the two of them tumbled into the bathtub one after the other. Water surged like waves over the edge, splashing across the floor—like the warmest pair of hands caressing every inch of their wet, heated, sensitive skin from time to time.

Xie Yingnian knew when to stop. She started to rise to grab a towel from the wall, but her hand was caught underwater. Zhong Jia leaned against the edge of the tub, her already fair skin glowing like jade in the water’s light, a faint pink flush rising above her collarbone. The corner of her eye reddened slightly as she hooked her leg around the one trying to leave. The movement of the water drew an involuntary soft hum from her lips. She bit her lip, riding out the wave, then issued a shy invitation in a trembling voice: “Sister—”