When Wen Zenian coiled up her long wavy hair, revealing the snow-white expanse of her nape, she was the most beautiful person in the world.
In Meng Ning’s mind, that statement rang true all the way up until the two of them lay together on the King-size bed in the five-star hotel’s Administrative Suite—and Wen Zenian let her long wavy hair cascade down.
“Xiao Ke! Xiao Ke!”
A short-haired woman clutching a massive beach bag sprinted frantically across the sand, shouting into the crowd.
A staff member hurried over at once. “Ma’am, what’s the situation?”
“My daughter! I was just scrolling through TikTok for a minute, and when I looked up, she was gone!”
“Don’t panic.” The staffer questioned the woman about her daughter’s appearance, then grabbed the walkie-talkie to contact the control room. “We’ve got a lost six-year-old girl.”
The control room issued an alert to all beach lifeguards: “Heads up, there’s a six-year-old girl…”
A clear, cold female voice crackled over the walkie-talkie. “I’ve spotted her.”
Anyone hearing that voice for the first time would pause instinctively. It conjured such a vivid image: not the flower itself, but a bead of dew condensed from night mist, rolling down the enormous pale petals under moonlight before dropping into the shimmering glow below.
In truth, she was running as she spoke—or more precisely, sprinting at full tilt. She’d tossed the walkie-talkie aside on the lookout tower, slung a rescue float board over one shoulder, and bolted toward the surging waves. Yet the subtle undulations in her breath did nothing to diminish that crystalline chill in her tone.
She was strikingly tall and slender. Though she raced across the land-bound sand in a one-piece black swimsuit, she evoked the image of a nimble dolphin slicing through the sea.
She waded into the waves and leaped.
This stretch of beach belonged exclusively to the five-star C Hotel, so there weren’t many visitors around. Even so, every tourist nearby froze for a split second, their eyes drawn to the woman.
The way she dove into the waves was too… resolute.
As if she truly belonged to that sea—or as if she had no intention of ever resurfacing.
Moments later, she had the little girl named Xiao Ke clinging to the rescue float board, guiding her safely back toward shore.
Xiao Ke’s mother had arrived on a beach buggy driven by staff. “Is she okay? Is she okay?”
The woman quickly laid Xiao Ke on a towel that a colleague had spread out beforehand. She interlaced her palms over the girl’s chest and delivered five compressions, then pinched her nostrils shut, tilted her head back, and breathed into her mouth. She repeated the cycle.
Just as the watching colleague stepped forward to take over, Xiao Ke coughed and sputtered, vomiting up seawater onto the towel beside her. Her eyes fluttered open. The woman murmured, “Breathe.”
“You can breathe now. Don’t hold your breath—remember to keep breathing.”
Xiao Ke’s mother had twisted her beach bag into knots on her arm. “Xiao Ke! You scared Mommy to death! Why did you run off like that?”
The beach supervisor, who had rushed over, soothed her. “Ma’am, this isn’t the time for scolding. She’s just a little girl—let’s have our medical staff give her a full checkup first.”
Xiao Ke’s mother thanked them profusely and followed the medics away.
The supervisor turned to the gathered onlookers with a smile. “Folks, rest assured—the C Hotel has the finest beach rescue team around. You’re safe on this coastline.”
And it was true.
Tragedies like drownings simply didn’t happen at the C Hotel.
Nestled on a remote, uninhabited island, the C Hotel was a world-renowned classic five-star resort. Legend had it that the founder was Polish, and the “C” stood for his daughter Celestynka—though the more popular and widely believed story was that it signified the hotel’s essence: “From Heaven.”
Because the C Hotel was paradise.
It was the island’s sole resort, designed in collaboration with the globally acclaimed architect Dharma, a master of blending Eastern and Western styles. The grand entrance’s Ionic columns evoked fairy-tale castles, while the interiors wove in tropical plant motifs and rattan accents, crafting a richly nostalgic South Seas vibe.
Room rates that could make your jaw drop didn’t deter the crowds. Beyond the lavish elite, everyday folks flocked for a single night’s indulgence—and everyone received the same royal treatment.
Down pillows softer than clouds. Endless fine wines from the on-site cellar. Beach parties that raged without end. Fireworks painting the night sky.
The island was accessible only by speedboat. Countless guests, speeding away on those boats, would glance back at the towering edifice with a wistful, half-drunken sigh: “Back to real life.”
“Back to real life”—that was the parting reflection of so many who left the C Hotel.
Thus, when the little girl—swept into the waves due to her mother’s momentary lapse—was promptly rescued, the surrounding tourists felt no thrill of narrow escape. Just a quiet certainty: Of course the beach lifeguards here were the best. This was the C Hotel, after all.
A young woman approached with a camera, addressing the lifeguard who had made the save. “You’re so beautiful—mind a quick photo together?”
The woman shook her head. “I’m on duty.”
Polite, but distant.
The girl was gracious enough not to press, watching as the lifeguard returned to her tower. Her long black hair was pinned up and thoroughly soaked from the sea, which only sharpened the delicate clarity of her features. A string of Buddha beads encircled her slender wrist, and her high-neck long-sleeve swimsuit revealed just a glimpse of a tattoo at the nape of her neck.
That sparked whispers between the girl and her friends. “What kind of tattoo do you think someone like her has?”
“No clue. And why the Buddha beads? She’d swim easier without them on the job.”
Soon enough, the commotion settled, and the C Hotel beach returned to its serene rhythm.
The breeze was gentle, the waves languid.
From her perch in the lookout tower, Meng Ning’s dark eyes remained fixed on the sea.
Not until her colleague Qi Xiao showed up, rapping on the tower’s metal frame. “Shift’s up—one hour down. My turn now; you’re on deck next hour.”
Meng Ning hopped down nimbly. Qi Xiao was the epitome of an over-the-top extrovert, insisting on a high-five before Meng Ning headed toward the control room. In her mind, she recited a number: ninety-nine.
This girl was the ninety-ninth person she’d saved since starting as a lifeguard on the C Hotel beach.
The public beach closed every evening at seven. After dark, the sea transformed into something utterly alien—calm on the surface, but who knew what perils lurked beneath.
Right now, Meng Ning stood alone on a different stretch of shore. Off-limits to guests, the sand was coarser here, the coastline rockier. Only the staff, intimately familiar with these waters, ever swam it.
Her long black hair was still neatly pinned up, the Buddha beads looped around her slim wrist. The only change was her swimsuit: sleeveless now, in a modest athletic cut. Solid black, no frills, with boy-leg shorts reaching halfway up her thighs. The open back fully exposed the tattoo at her nape.
An inky mandala.
She gazed out to sea, her refined features expressionless. As moonlight swelled with the tide, she strode into the waves and dove.
The beach fell empty, save for the half-full moon’s glow amid encroaching shadows and the restless murmur of the surf.
“Meng Ning!”
“Meng Ning!”
Some time later, Qi Xiao arrived on the beach. Cupping her hands around her mouth like a megaphone, she called out to the waves.
Splash—splash—the only reply was the sea.
Maybe it was the eerie play of moonlight, but Qi Xiao’s heart leaped to her throat. “Meng—”
Then a lithe figure surfaced.
Qi Xiao exhaled in relief. “Meng Ning.”
Meng Ning emerged onto the sand and caught the towel Qi Xiao tossed her. Qi Xiao shot her a disapproving glare. “Why do you always swim so late? You scared me half to death.”
Meng Ning smiled faintly. “Daytime’s for work.”
“Isn’t nighttime even riskier?” Qi Xiao pressed. “You really that into swimming?”
“It’s not like I love it or anything—just habit.” Meng Ning had grown up in a riverside city along the Yangtze, where kids by the water learned to swim before they could walk properly.
“Fine, fine, you’re the pro.” Qi Xiao wasn’t truly annoyed. With a grin, she slung an arm around Meng Ning’s shoulders. “Chef Jiang’s grilling pineapple beef skewers. Perfect midnight snack before we crash.”
Chef Jiang was the C Hotel’s head barbecue chef, with a Chinese father and Spanish mother. His Eastern features paired with startling blue eyes, and he had the easiestgoing personality. Right now, the staff cafeteria was packed with folks eager for his handiwork.
Everyone munched their skewers with secretive grins. “Can’t wait for this year’s gala.”
The island’s tropical monsoon climate made Chinese New Year its peak season. So the C Hotel’s annual gala fell not during the holiday itself, but on some ordinary day shortly after New Year’s— the staff’s private “Spring Festival.”
Meng Ning asked, “Anything special this year? Like a robot vacuum raffle?”
Qi Xiao rolled her eyes. “So tacky, so materialistic!” Then, with a conspiratorial wink, “You really have no idea who’s headlining the gala?”
Meng Ning shook her head blankly.
“Wen Zenian! Gwyneth Won.” Qi Xiao huffed. “If you claim you don’t know who Gwyneth is now, you’re faking it.”
Meng Ning replied, “I know.”
After all, who working at the C Hotel didn’t know Wen Zenian?
Gwyneth Won had grown up in Britain amid astonishing privilege—rumor had it her father held a title bestowed by the Queen herself. A graduate of the London School of Economics’ economics program, she was one of the Hotel Group’s more distant heirs, tenth or so in line.
By all rights, the C Hotel wouldn’t fall to her. Yet as a professional manager, she’d orchestrated two stellar acquisitions since joining the C Hotel Group and, at twenty-eight, risen to honorary administrative manager.
No one under thirty-five had ever held an administrative manager post at any C Group property. This “honorary” title was tailor-made for Wen Zenian upon her promotion: unattached to any single hotel, she reported directly to the Group Chairman, overseeing finances, audits, and personnel across every location.
Next up for her scrutiny: this very C Hotel on the island.
It didn’t really touch the frontline staff, but Qi Xiao waggled her eyebrows at Meng Ning anyway.
It wasn’t until they’d polished off their skewers and the crowd thinned that Qi Xiao leaned in close, arm still around Meng Ning’s shoulder. “How come you’re so chill about Wen Zenian?”
“Why shouldn’t I be calm? Whether she shows up or not has nothing to do with small fries like us.”
“But doesn’t she have that nickname?” Qi Xiao grinned. “Lesbian Circle Hottie!”
