Ji Huaqing’s world turned upside down, her heart pounding like a drum. The Gu Yining before her was illusory, like a mist, like a wind—the least tangible thing of all.
In the drunkenness of a few days ago, she had been domineering yet green, like a little white rabbit that had wandered into a wolf’s den: understanding nothing, yet pretending to be deeply experienced in love.
The Gu Yining before her now was warm like water, veiled in mystery. Ji Huaqing was bewildered and uneasy. Was this still Gu Yining?
The answer: yes.
The Gu Yining before her was alluring without knowing it. She gently brushed Ji Huaqing’s hair aside, patiently waiting for a response.
Her fingertip traced Ji Huaqing’s cheek, settling on the small, crystal-clear earlobe.
Ji Huaqing trembled all over. She felt pressure on her chest; she couldn’t breathe. A nervousness she’d never known consumed her. She wanted to answer, opened her mouth—but her throat was stuffed with cotton.
After waiting long without a response, Gu Yining smiled, released her, a hint of loss in her smile.
She didn’t force it; she wouldn’t do anything beyond bounds without Ji Huaqing’s permission.
She sat up on her own, restlessly unbuttoning her shirt, her brow furrowing almost imperceptibly.
Ji Huaqing lay on the sofa, her breathing deep. She closed her eyes, letting the dark tide swallow her. “Do you know how to kiss?”
Gu Yining turned to look at her in shock, a careful joy dawning in her eyes, like a stranded fish finally reaching the sea, utterly elated.
Ji Huaqing sat up, feet on the floor. Her entire bearing shifted—no longer soft and gentle. She simply looked at Gu Yining and asked, “How many times have you kissed?”
Her posture, her tone, reminded Gu Yining of her school days, when she’d point at her exercises and say: “You’ve never done this before. Same question, different wrapper, and you can’t solve it?”
Exactly the same.
Gu Yining’s face instantly flushed, burning with embarrassment. If she said none, Ji Huaqing would probably mock her for being useless.
“I… I…” Gu Yining was visibly flustered, propping her elbow on the sofa to maintain her dignity, trying to look composed.
“I’ve kissed a hundred million times—”
“How many times?” Ji Huaqing felt she hadn’t heard clearly. “One, or a hundred million?”
Gu Yining couldn’t answer. “Mind your own business.”
“I have a cleanliness fetish.”
Gu Yining: “?”
“Not even once. Happy now?” She was about to explode with shame.
Ji Huaqing laughed and flopped onto the soft sofa. Gu Yining, red to her ears, reached out and smoothed Ji Huaqing’s hair. “Is it that funny?”
Her palm pressed against Ji Huaqing’s cheek, feeling the living pulse beneath.
A heartbeat, not a cold screen, not a motionless photo.
Gu Yining was content. Even without a single kiss, she was content.
The corners of Ji Huaqing’s eyes curved. She took Gu Yining’s hand. “So you didn’t succeed in finding a catch at Ten Li of Jianghuai?”
“No. There’s only one Ji Huaqing.”
Ji Huaqing was taken aback. Gu Yining leaned in, and she instinctively tensed. Gu Yining smiled. “Do you know how to kiss?”
“How many times have you kissed? And did you have a girlfriend in college?”
A barrage of questions, like a gossipy old auntie.
Gu Yining quickly turned the tables, taking control with the air of someone with all the time in the world, calmly gazing at Ji Huaqing. “Teacher Ji, you tell me.”
She laughed, pinching her chin with her fingers, drawing closer. Looking at the woman so near, Gu Yining carefully controlled her emotions, her strength, even the distance.
Under that gaze, Ji Huaqing’s heart nearly jumped out of her throat. She reached up, looped her arms around Gu Yining’s neck, and pressed her lips to the red, soft corner of her mouth.
Gu Yining’s lips were soft and cold—just like her.
The instant their lips touched, their souls trembled.
Gu Yining was stunned.
She’d kissed her?
Ji Huaqing let go, and she let go, touching the corner of her own mouth in disbelief, stealing a careful glance at Ji Huaqing.
Ji Huaqing sat up and smoothed her hair, looking into the churning depths of Gu Yining’s eyes. Gu Yining’s reaction was a little green—like a green apple painted red; one bite revealed the sour youth inside.
She was no longer the strategizing company founder. She looked like a fresh graduate drowning in love.
Gu Yining took a moment to recover, then turned and reached out, her hand pressing against Ji Huaqing’s lower back. Her eyes clear, she leaned in and pressed her lips to Ji Huaqing’s.
Deepening that not-quite-a-kiss.
This time, Gu Yining’s lips had warmth. Warm, taking on Ji Huaqing’s flavor.
Ji Huaqing was also startled—she hadn’t expected the counterattack. She found herself caught in Gu Yining’s arms.
Gu Yining had been green a moment ago; now she was domineering, not allowing her to retreat, their rapid breaths wrapping them together.
Suddenly, a knock at the door. Ji Huaqing shoved Gu Yining away.
Gu Yining reached out, bracing against the sofa, a trace of satisfaction in her eyes. She looked at her quietly, curled her lips in a smile, and went to open the door.
It was Song Mingyao, pushing a suitcase. Inside were pajamas and a change of clothes.
Gu Yining wasn’t surprised. She took the suitcase, gave her a flat, faintly displeased look. “Find a locksmith tomorrow.”
“Got it.” Song Mingyao nodded, looking drained, without her daytime energy.
Gu Yining added, “You work for me—she doesn’t own you. You’re at work when you’re working for me; you didn’t sell your body to me. Don’t you know how to say no?”
Song Mingyao lowered her head, pushed at her glasses again, and said softly, “I wanted to.”
“Then why the long face?” Gu Yining laughed in exasperation. “For fun? Let me tell you—find anyone at Ten Li of Jianghuai, and they’d be more well-behaved than Pei Yirou, and not such a player. You’re content to be her fish?”
“Adult stuff—no need to take it so seriously.” Song Mingyao explained. “Sister Gu, I didn’t take it seriously.”
Gu Yining, hand on the suitcase handle, swept her a glance. “Then who are you making that face for?”
“Sister Gu, you booked me a regular suite, and you’re in the presidential suite. I want to stay in the presidential suite too.” Song Mingyao stood at the door, peering inside.
The presidential suite was huge. The entrance was a sitting room; the bed was inside, out of sight from the door. The floor-to-ceiling window took in the whole night view—breathtaking.
Gu Yining leaned against the doorframe. “Fine. Upgrade it yourself. Are you planning to sneak Pei Yirou in after you upgrade?”
“Sister Gu, I like the presidential suite’s bathroom.” Song Mingyao said bluntly. “You used to say this suite was perfect for couples.”
Gu Yining pushed the suitcase inside and shut the door in her face. The audacity.
Ji Huaqing sat on the sofa, head down, playing with her phone. At the sound, she looked over. “Little Song’s gone?”
Looking at the suitcase, she said, “Little Song is very thoughtful.”
Thoughtful? She was here to fleece her.
Gu Yining was too lazy to explain. She opened the suitcase, took out two outfits—one new, one she’d worn before.
She handed the new one to Ji Huaqing. “I’ll shower first. I’ll teach you how to use the water heater.”
“Will you actually teach it properly?” Ji Huaqing said, embarrassed. “At your house, you had a lot of fun messing with me, didn’t you?”
Gu Yining, head down organizing the suitcase, couldn’t suppress the curve of her lips. The next second, her exposed ear was pinched. “Gu Yining, keep laughing.”
The old Ji Huaqing was slowly coming back.
Gu Yining caught her hand and looked up at her, her eyes clear, not about to back down, as if searching for traces of the past.
That one look made Ji Huaqing nervous. She instinctively tried to pull her hand back.
“I’m no little white rabbit you can grab by the ear whenever you like. Zhou Hui is very polite to me now. Are you pinching my ear as my teacher—or as my girlfriend?”
Her eyes were beautiful, their emotions rich—sometimes cold, sometimes like water, drawing Ji Huaqing in.
Ji Huaqing said, “You insist on asking, don’t you?”
Gu Yining stood up, looking down at the woman seated firmly on the sofa. “If you don’t say it clearly, I wouldn’t dare.”
She was stubborn, fiercely stubborn, impossible to deal with.
Ji Huaqing asked her, “Did you ask me?”
Gu Yining raised an eyebrow. “Then let me ask again. Teacher Ji, would you be willing to be my girlfriend?”
Ji Huaqing shook her head. “No.”
Gu Yining: “?”
You tell me to ask, and then you refuse.
Feeling toyed with, Gu Yining set down the suitcase and turned away.
Ji Huaqing laughed, watching her stubborn back. She’d said the wrong thing herself—who could she blame?
The bathroom door closed. There was a curtain inside. Gu Yining drew it shut, covering herself completely—then, a moment later, pulled it open again, visible through the glass. Ji Huaqing had her back to the bathroom.
The curtain wasn’t drawn again. The sound of water came, and the woman holding the phone stared at the screen.
On the screen, Gu Yining and Cheng Qingtang leaned intimately together.
The photo was clear, showing both their expressions perfectly. Technology had advanced, capturing the past in pixels.
Ji Huaqing stared, lost in it. She could understand Cheng Qingtang’s feelings—being with Gu Yining so long, as a partner and as a beloved.
There was even someone playing matchmaker. It should have been perfect. Then she came back, and the past became a joke, a memory.
A woman as proud as Cheng Qingtang, who’d nearly claimed Gu Yining, had lost to a “substitute.”
Ji Huaqing stared at the phone, lost in thought, oblivious to the water behind her. The image of Cheng Qingtang had gotten under her skin.
Cheng Qingtang and Gu Yining were so well matched, like a natural pair. She was a little jealous.
Once she sank in, she couldn’t pull herself out.
The screen timed out. Her fingertip pressed the switch and lit it again.
Back and forth several times, until finally it fell into darkness.
Then Ji Huaqing came to herself with a start. Why was she jealous?
What was there, truly, between her and Gu Yining?
Teacher and student, or lovers?
Ji Huaqing should have thought of the former. But that kiss just now had overturned it. She admitted that her refusal of Gu Yining had been fear—fear borne of her teacher’s facade and confusion.
But the Gu Yining before her was so outstanding, brilliant and beautiful. Deep down, she didn’t want to refuse.
From the confusion of another world and the loneliness after her parents’ death, Ji Huaqing had felt the tenacity in Gu Yining. Gu Yining was no child. She was an adult with her own thoughts, capable of bearing the consequences of them.
