Chapter 37

Jian Shichu had given her many hints back then. For instance, when she asked what kind of person the other liked, she would counter by asking what if she liked girls. Or when she was stuck on a plot, she would take her to do all sorts of things she’d never tried before, to find inspiration.

But she back then was like an unlit furnace—its shell burning hot on the outside, yet heavy and dull within.

The other had patience, neither hasty nor impatient, always maintaining a talent for not coming off as annoying. Jian Shichu hadn’t dated back then either, but somehow, she was really good at it.

When she had feelings for someone, she couldn’t detect it herself. She just felt exceptionally comfortable being with Jian Shichu. If put into words, it was probably like this: before, she wasn’t afraid of birth, aging, sickness, or death, but after being with Jian Shichu, she started to fear them. Liking someone happens unconsciously just like that.

It wouldn’t do to stay trapped in memories any longer. When Wen Zhixu came back to herself, she wasn’t crying anymore. Her lashes, still damp, fluttered dry.

She looked toward Jian Shichu, who was standing right in front of her. Her fingertips, wet with tears, brushed away the redness at the corners of her eyes.

Wen Zhixu heard a sigh—short and faint, carrying the flavor of someone who had seen through all the vicissitudes of life. As the sigh faded, she reached out and hugged Jian Shichu, resting her cheek against her, able to hear the sudden quickening of the other’s heartbeat.

Her movements were very careful, as if afraid Jian Shichu might shatter in any one of a million moments. As she took this step forward, she felt the other freeze—this time, without the haze of alcohol.

Jian Shichu gathered herself. That moment felt like a collision against her heart, catching her off guard. The brief suffocation was the kind of feeling she missed even in her tossing and turning at night.

Five years ago, she had hugged Wen Zhixu just like this. In truth, she could never forget the person she had truly loved.

Even without Wen Zhixu saying a word, she understood.

The calm on her face shifted, and she naturally returned the embrace. Wen Zhixu’s body carried warmth that seeped bit by bit through the fabric.

Jian Shichu hooked her fingers into Wen Zhixu’s hair, guiding it to her back, and whispered lowly, “I want to make up with you, but why did it take you so long to realize?”

This sentence synced their heartbeats. Wen Zhixu’s heart skipped a beat—the destructive power of those words was too great. Had she realized? Actually, she had realized long before, but she hadn’t dared to guess.

Wen Zhixu breathed deeply. “Same as you—I didn’t dare.”

Jian Shichu replied instantly, “You’re so dumb. You just couldn’t tell how much I like you.”

Wen Zhixu wanted to laugh. Only Jian Shichu could say something like that with such righteous confidence and naturalness. That was so like her.

Wen Zhixu hadn’t even imagined before Mid-Autumn that they still had a chance—a subtle, tiny possibility invisible to the eye, not just something that existed in 2D worlds.

It was like mending a broken mirror, really—just the two of them unable to forget each other.

Wen Zhixu had been too tired yesterday to unpack her suitcase. While she was showering, Jian Shichu folded her clothes neatly and placed them at the foot of the bed. Not knowing how her wardrobe was organized, she hadn’t disturbed anything.

After her shower, Wen Zhixu proactively picked out a milky-white nightgown for Jian Shichu.

Jian Shichu went into the bathroom without asking—staying over like this meant they had an unspoken understanding. You don’t say anything, so I won’t ask.

Time reached nine-thirty at night.

Jian Shichu’s hands weren’t fully dry, her damp fingertips tapping the screen as she stood by the sink replying to messages. The WeChat notification ding echoed in the bathroom.

Wen Zhixu passed by three times, involuntarily glancing over each time. Jian Shichu seemed oblivious, focused on her phone with her head down.

After hanging up the laundry, Wen Zhixu asked, “Ready to rest?”

This question interrupted Jian Shichu. Their relationship had just thawed, but Jian Shichu always got busy in bursts like this.

“Mm.”

The response mixed with the sound of running water, which continued for about five minutes.

The bedroom lights were always a warm yellow. When Jian Shichu entered, she used her left hand to pull off her hair tie, letting her black hair cascade over her shoulders, swaying along with the silky nightgown.

Wen Zhixu was revising her outline at the desk. Beside the computer was a glass jar filled with candies, lid open—she’d eaten one that afternoon, wrapped in colorful foil.

Jian Shichu walked over without a word and leaned against the desk facing the bed, asking, “When’s the deadline?”

“Before August next year.” Wen Zhixu had no clue how to broach the words she’d been mulling over for so long.

Jian Shichu’s expression was as if nothing had happened, casually glancing at her notebook. Wen Zhixu’s habit was still to jot down inspirations and outlines in it.

The handwriting was neat, using red pen for key points. The script varied slightly but not much. Wen Zhixu’s hair ends poked at the page, making a faint rustling sound twice.

After a pause, Wen Zhixu stood up and looked at her before explaining, “I came back early because of family matters. It’s all handled now.”

Jian Shichu looked up at Wen Zhixu, smiling faintly to show she understood, then reached into the glass jar and took a candy wrapped in pink foil.

“Then why did you unsend it?” Jian Shichu asked, her fingers crinkling the wrapper. The candy cast fine sparkles in the light as she turned it without unwrapping.

Wen Zhixu took a breath, figuring out how to say it, how to ask.

Jian Shichu wasn’t the type to enjoy drawn-out teasing or ambiguity. Wen Zhixu replied, “In the photo you posted, I saw two shadows. At the time, I…”

Jian Shichu’s gaze sharpened as understanding dawned. She sneaked another look at her while she wasn’t paying attention, then shifted back to the candy, replying carelessly, “Oh.”

Wen Zhixu frowned at the response. Did this brush-off really not need explaining?

Jian Shichu glanced at her and inexplicably wanted to laugh at the jealous look on Wen Zhixu’s face, but forced herself back to her usual demeanor. “Song Yi’s little sister. She was out on a business trip, so she asked me to watch the kid for a day.”

Her tone was still lukewarm, but the answer instantly embarrassed Wen Zhixu, her gaze shifting awkwardly elsewhere.

A film of tears seemed to well in Wen Zhixu’s eyes. Jian Shichu didn’t care about past matters—if she didn’t ask, she wouldn’t explain. That was just how she was.

Her chest rose and fell, then she said, “When I ran into Ni You that time, Ni You asked me the exact same question.”

Jian Shichu unwrapped the candy and popped it into her mouth. “What kind?”

Without looking at her, she toyed with the wrapper, slowly folding and unfolding it, her fingertips translucent in the light.

Wen Zhixu swallowed. She wasn’t good at being direct. Sometimes life felt too short—short enough that you only met one true love. Other times, it felt too long—long enough that you couldn’t forget that person.

She said slowly, “Even with ten thousand reasons to retreat, ten thousand impossibilities, I still wanted to walk that one journey with her. You asked before if I regretted it. Now I’ll answer you—I do regret it. I regretted it long ago.”

Jian Shichu listened to this seriously with the candy in her mouth, her gaze on the wrapper as she kept folding it with her head down—like a rebellious kid half-listening to a scolding, yet taking it all in earnestly.

Right as she finished, Jian Shichu didn’t reply. She set the wrapper on the desk, then wrapped an arm around her waist, leaning in with a smile. “Here, have the regret pill.”

Wen Zhixu didn’t react in time before she was pulled close. Their lips met in a lingering, tender kiss, and that candy—Jian Shichu’s regret pill—was passed to her without warning.

Strawberry flavor burst bit by bit between their lips and teeth, like a marble rolling back and forth on her tongue tip. Wen Zhixu’s heart pounded wildly; for a moment, she forgot to breathe.

Jian Shichu’s single hand tightened around her waist, the wet warmth laced with sweetness devouring her reason bit by bit. The heat made her whole body go numb. As the suffocation intensified, she heard Jian Shichu say, “Weren’t you pretty good at this last time?”

The words left no room for reply. The warm light spilled into their entanglement as Jian Shichu deepened the kiss, nipping and biting lightly, teasing her reason away little by little—as if probing for her sensitive spots, all while unhurriedly hooking the candy in her mouth.

Her taste buds tingled with itchiness. She responded instinctively, slowly at first. The light pressed against her lashes, keeping her eyes shut. The second she responded, she heard Jian Shichu’s breathing falter.

Her breaths, laced with strawberry sweetness and shampoo scent, wrapped around her. Wen Zhixu gradually lost her strength, able to hear only the heavy breathing filling the room.

The bedsheets suddenly wrinkled. The teasing breaths weren’t satisfied with that alone. Jian Shichu’s hair fell into her neck hollow, letting the overheated skin receive a touch of coolness—a strange sensation.

The candy had melted into a thin sheet in her mouth; Wen Zhixu bit it without thinking. She didn’t remember much from last time when she’d had too much to drink.

Sober now, her face burned red involuntarily, her body temperature rising. Jian Shichu brushed her hair back from her shoulders and asked, “Want to turn off the light?”

“Turn… turn it off.” She tried to steady her breathing as she replied.

The chandelier’s beam falls into her pupils, her nerve endings undulating in tandem. When Jian Shichu rises to turn off the light, her knees bear a dampness.

When the light was turned off, her eyes went momentarily blind. Before she could adjust, the bedside lamp suddenly lit up, its warm glow forming an incomplete circle on the wall.

This light appears hazy—you can see clearly without it being too bright, but it still makes Wen Zhixu shy. Speaking of which, her and Jian Shichu’s first time was at the end of the first month of dating.

That was when they were curled up at home watching a movie on the weekend. It wasn’t clear whether it was some scene that made their faces flush and hearts race, or if they already had some urges but were much more reserved before the first time.

Back then, they weren’t very close. In the afternoon, with the curtains drawn, just a sliver of harsh light seeped in along the edges, and the AC breeze crept up her back.

Later on, once they got familiar, the times picked up. The person right in front of her learned super fast—by the second time, she was already nothing like a newbie, slowly boiling the frog in warm water and teasing her into a dilemma where she couldn’t advance or retreat.

“What are you thinking?” Jian Shichu pressed against her, her tone gentle and composed yet laced with a hint of jealousy. Without giving her a chance to answer, she kissed her.

Wen Zhixu was completely unprepared. The unquenched blaze burned even fiercer. As the hot kisses slowly ground to her ear, Wen Zhixu’s breathing changed, an uncontrollable soft hum escaping her.

She forgot how her clothes had come off, remembering only the shadows on the wall—from overlapping to sliding downward, gradually vanishing in the glow.