Wen Zhixu had been delayed a bit by Wu Yang. By the time she headed out, Jian Shichu had already sent a message saying she was almost there, but there’d been no updates since.
The cold wind cut like knives across her face, and Wen Zhixu kept half her face buried in her scarf. There was mud at the roadside, splashed up from the flower beds.
Stray hairs at her temple fluttered with the flow of traffic. Wen Zhixu stood by the trash can, pulling her hand from her pocket to glance once more at the half-photo of herself.
The floral skirt from her childhood was probably the shortest one she’d ever worn, with little shorts underneath. A lollipop stuck in the shorts pocket had hitched up one corner of the skirt just right.
She folded and tore it again before tossing it into the trash can. She slipped her hand back into her pocket and gazed off into the distance on the other side.
The whole process took about ten minutes of waiting. The lingering warmth on her face had been completely eroded by the cold wind when she finally heard Jian Shichu calling her from behind.
She turned and walked toward her. They stopped a few steps apart, and the atmosphere felt oddly strained in the first second, easing only when the other gave a faint smile.
“Why wait out here? Aren’t you cold?” Jian Shichu set down her suitcase and reached out to tug at Wen Zhixu’s scarf, pulling a corner up to cover her earlobe.
Wen Zhixu shook her head. “I’m not cold.” She took hold of Jian Shichu’s suitcase in turn, her cheek brushing the other’s fingers—ice-cold to the bone.
The day felt strangely off, like the chill was contagious.
Wen Zhixu pulled her hand from her pocket and clasped Jian Shichu’s palm. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed mud from the flower beds on the other’s boot soles.
“Let’s go, head inside.”
It was then that Jian Shichu gently gripped her wrist. Her gaze dimmed in the cold wind, and her lightly pursed lower lip parted as she said, “Xiao Xu, I want to stay outside tonight.”
And so, after giving Tang Yuan a heads-up, Wen Zhixu took Jian Shichu out to stay at a hotel. After checking in at the front desk, Jian Shichu changed into fresh clothes.
She hadn’t brought much, since they had originally planned to head back to Chongqing in a couple of days anyway.
Filming on set had gone smoothly and was nearing wrap-up. Wang Yun had left the later scripts for Wen Zhixu to revise.
On the way to the cemetery, Wen Zhixu got a call from her editor—a familiar voice she hadn’t heard in a week.
The publishing house had relocated to Hangzhou, but her flexible work setup meant it didn’t affect her much. This call set up a meeting time; the chief editor said there was something to discuss. Meanwhile, her contract with Ruyi Publishing House was up at year’s end.
Wen Zhixu figured it was about renewal—nothing else came to mind for now.
Jian Shichu, seeing her hang up, tucked Wen Zhixu’s hand into her own pocket. It was nice and warm, evoking the feeling of their very first romance.
Cypress trees lined both sides of the long stone steps, the chill in the post-rain cemetery even more biting.
Looking back on these years, Wen Zhixu hadn’t had it easy either. It was only after completely losing Jian Shichu’s shadow that she figured it out—was it really like? People grow step by step through gaining and losing.
The hotel lights weren’t too bright. From the window, she could see neon lights flickering on the building’s exterior walls, the glow shifting now and then.
She came out of the shower, and Jian Shichu was at the vanity, having just finished blow-drying her own hair. Suddenly facing her, she said, “After we get back to Chongqing, move in with me.”
Wen Zhixu tilted her head slightly, folding the bath towel in her hands and wiping her hair. “Aren’t you worried about fights?”
“We’ll just sort it out.” Jian Shichu took the towel from her hands and turned on the hairdryer, tousling her hair.
The shampoo smelled of jasmine, wafting with the hot air until the whole bathroom was scented.
“I’ll think about it.” Wen Zhixu turned to face her, water droplets beading on her forehead. Jian Shichu wiped them away with her fingers, combing from roots to tips. When the moisture clung to her palm, she smeared it onto Wen Zhixu’s neck.
Wen Zhixu furrowed her brows slightly. Seeing Jian Shichu raise an eyebrow as if nothing had happened, she couldn’t bring herself to get mad.
Jian Shichu lowered her gaze to Wen Zhixu, her thumb sliding to turn off the hairdryer. “Think about what?”
No sooner had she asked than the dryer clicked back on with a whir of hot air, lifting Wen Zhixu’s hair.
Wen Zhixu asked, “Does Director Wang usually go over to your place?”
“What are you worried about?” Jian Shichu cradled the ends of her hair, aiming the dryer close. In a few passes, it was mostly dry.
Their conversation had to rise above the hairdryer’s roar.
“Have you told her about us?” Wen Zhixu watched her, eyes lingering on Jian Shichu’s lashes.
The dryer stopped. Jian Shichu ran her fingers through Wen Zhixu’s hair. “I have.”
Wen Zhixu froze for a second. Wang Yun hadn’t shown a hint of it on set—no forced acting, all perfectly natural and seamless.
“My mom says she really likes you.” Jian Shichu tucked Wen Zhixu’s hair behind her ear, a slight curve to her lips. She slid her hands to her waist and lifted her onto the vanity.
Wen Zhixu was caught off guard by the move, her expression blank for a beat before recovering. She met Jian Shichu’s eyes levelly, only to let her own gaze drop unconsciously.
From spending time together, Wang Yun actually got along great with young people—straight, gay, bi, you name it, she’d seen them all in the industry.
“What are you thinking?” Jian Shichu tilted her head to look at her.
Wen Zhixu pursed her lips in a smile and shook her head. “Nothing.” When she was being coy like this, a faint pink like balsam flowers bloomed at her eye corners—gorgeous.
Jian Shichu braced her hands on the vanity, gazing down at her. Her expression softened gradually, tender like spring rain in her eyes.
After a long moment, a faint sigh escaped, and Jian Shichu said, “Out of all those people at school, I only wanted to run into you. Once I did, I was scared I’d mess up and make you think this love was weird. But I can’t deny I’ve always liked you so much. I can’t describe what ‘my type’ is—probably just your name.”
Back at school, Wen Zhixu had often crossed paths with Jian Shichu. She got it now—why Jian hadn’t approached her. The other had kept perfect distance and propriety.
Wen Zhixu’s eyes flickered as she listened, tears welling up unbidden. She lowered her gaze to hide them, but two scalding drops still trailed down her cheeks.
Jian Shichu gently wiped the tears from her face, her touch feather-light, and said softly, “So, we’ll take it slow—get along, move forward, spend our lives together. I’m not rushing. I’ll always be here, always free. Whatever you say, I’ll listen.”
“If I get mad over something, just try coaxing me, okay? As long as it’s you, I’m easy to coax.”
It had been ages since Wen Zhixu heard such a long heartfelt speech. She nodded lightly, holding back the tears.
The ending had nearly turned sloppy. If she’d tried just a bit harder that year, they might have gotten together sooner. Some say love can’t wait forever, but it seemed like the other had been waiting all these years—for an answer with no set deadline.
“Because of you, I finally know what I should be.” Wen Zhixu’s chest heaved, her voice catching slightly, lashes fluttering as a water droplet clung to her lower lid.
Crying made her heartbreaking—brows reddening, temperature rising, like a rose tempered in a steam oven, wilted and dewy.
“Alright, no more crying.” That was Jian Shichu for you—one word from Wen Zhixu, and she was done for. That resolute determination, knowing it might be impossible yet pushing forward anyway—that was their greatest sincerity toward this relationship.
When Wen Zhixu looked up, her steady poise marched alongside her reddened brows. Reunion was the world’s most romantic thing.
She reached out, wrapping her arms around Jian Shichu and leaning in slowly.
Jian Shichu seemed prepared yet caught off guard. Wen Zhixu was clumsy taking the lead but a quick study. The saltiness of her tears seeped into their kiss, flavoring her taste buds.
The bathroom temperature rose steadily. Mimicking Jian Shichu’s moves, Wen Zhixu’s hands slid down to circle her waist.
A light lick, slow and teasing with her soft tongue. As the steam slowly dissipated, how could Jian Shichu not know what she wanted? She yielded deliberately in returning the kiss.
Wen Zhixu’s feverish skin heated the kiss too. As she pulled back to switch positions, Jian Shichu slowly opened her eyes, gazing at her. Her hands on Wen Zhixu’s waist flipped passive to active.
She leaned in, brushing Wen Zhixu’s lips lightly. The bathroom echoed with the sounds of their kiss, warm touches trailing down her spine. The first tentative press emboldened the second.
Jian Shichu skillfully teased her tongue tip. In the empty bathroom, their breaths were loud and clear, fingertips damp as they roamed over her bathrobe.
The bathrobe came undone easily. Before losing all reason, Wen Zhixu asked nervously, “W-wait, you want to do it here?”
The words had barely left her mouth when a jolt shot from her core straight to her spine, piercing her heart and leaving her breathless, voice turning soft and pliant.
She threw her head back, gasping. Jian Shichu hadn’t ignored her words, replying softly, “Right here.”
The bathroom lights were dimly yellow, yet they made her even more reserved despite holding nothing back. Wen Zhixu stood with her back to the mirror as Jian Shichu kissed her breathless, a few stray hairs tangled in their wet kiss.
Wen Zhixu tried to push her away—like a red plum blooming on a snowy mountain amid scorching sun and biting winter, lightly plucked and crushed by someone’s hand. Their breaths mingled together, and as the bathrobe slipped downward with a ‘pa’ sound, Jian Shichu casually flicked off the light.
In the darkness, she heard the kissing sounds, faint and shallow. Jian Shichu’s lips brushed lightly over her most sensitive spot: “Lights off. Don’t be nervous.”
Wen Zhixu responded in a whispery thread of breath. Only the light strip along the base of the wall remained lit in the bathroom. She forgot the momentary blindness as waves of numbness turned her breaths shallow and ragged.
Constant probing always elicited new reactions, like a docile little deer stumbling into a dense forest—antlers tentatively nudging the underbrush, hooves lightly treading through the garden in search of butterflies.
Her steps were feather-light and soft. All the beauty and tenderness converged in this woodland, unknowingly drawing them deeper step by step.
Wen Zhixu’s hand clenched the bathrobe beside her, a thin sheen of sweat beading on her back. The soft sounds spilling from her lips were devoured as Jian Shichu pressed close.
The chill of her elbow against the wall tile snapped a sliver of reason back into Wen Zhixu. That watery, unspeakable ache trickled from the corner of her eye.
Her partner’s kissing technique was so masterful that she couldn’t bear to let go. As she exhaled her final ragged breath, her knee grazed cool strands of hair in the darkness—she couldn’t help but tighten her grip.
