Chapter 12

Qi Xiao didn’t sigh until they had walked out of the auditorium. “They won’t lay us off, will they?”

“I don’t know.”

“How could the C Hotel not be profitable?”

Meng Ning corrected her. “It’s profitable, just not up to what the board of directors expected.”

No matter how sincerely the tourists regarded this place as paradise, to the board, business was business.

Qi Xiao asked, “What will you do if they really do start laying people off?”

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“You’re really that laid-back about it?”

Meng Ning just smiled.

That evening, Qi Xiao returned to their room, leaving Meng Ning alone. She headed once more to that beach section closed off to the public.

The sea at night was silent and safe, the fairy-tale lights of the C Hotel distant and faint. Sometimes the moonlight hid behind the clouds, invisible to the naked eye, yet it layered the ocean waves with a pale silver shimmer, as if the moon were reaching down to the world in this way.

The farther she walked, the more she distanced herself from the C Hotel’s public beach area. Beyond the “No Tourists Beyond This Point” signs stood only a single streetlamp along the boundary, its simple pole rising high. The light mimicked the coppery yellow glow of moonlight from ancient times, casting an invisible thread across the nape of anyone with a past.

Meng Ning walked forward with her hands in her pockets, and that thread stretched thinner and thinner.

Until it snapped with a faint pop. Meng Ning spotted a figure still standing at the edge of the coast, and her heart clenched tight, then ached.

Wen Zenian had one arm crossed over her chest, a cigarette in her other hand. She turned her head to glance at Meng Ning.

Her expression was calm, unchanged, before she turned back to gaze at the sea ahead.

Meng Ning spoke first. “I didn’t expect you to be a smoker now.”

“Why not?”

The words “Because you used to be such a good girl” felt too presumptuous given their current positions and statuses. Instead, Meng Ning said, “Because smoking’s bad for your health.”

She meant that someone in the elite class, with their gym routines, salads, and antioxidant berry powders, ought to value health above all.

Wen Zenian gave a faint smile. “But it’s good for the mood.”

Meng Ning fell silent.

Wen Zenian glanced at her again. “Did I interrupt you?”

“Hm?”

The collar of Wen Zenian’s white shirt fluttered noisily in the night breeze. “This seems like your secret spot?”

“Not really,” Meng Ning said. “It’s off-limits to tourists, but staff can come here.”

Wen Zenian quirked her lips again. “You seem a lot more honest these days.”

As she spoke, she removed the cigarette from her lips. No need to flick off the ash—the night wind scattered it like smoke from a soul.

Meng Ning wanted to say, “I’ll head out first,” but as she gazed at Wen Zenian’s profile from a distance, that version of her seemed even more distant than the poised figure on the podium earlier, untouchable by anyone.

She gave up on saying goodbye and quietly retreated farther away.

So when, after some time had passed, Wen Zenian started walking back toward the hotel, she had gone only a short way before spotting a vague silhouette near a cluster of stacked rocks. She instinctively stepped back half a pace.

“What’s with the panic?” Meng Ning said. “It’s just me.”

Wen Zenian hooked a finger through her sea-tossed hair. “You haven’t left yet?”

The wind blew from behind her, pressing her suit jacket and shirt tight against the curve of her lower back. The fluttering collar of her shirt opened like night-blooming cereus flowers, occasionally revealing the snowy white skin of her neck—almost blinding in its intensity.

Meng Ning had to admit that today, while Wen Zenian had sat on the podium, she had stolen glances at that slender neck, checking for any trace of kisses or bites.

But from that distance, she couldn’t possibly have seen anything clearly.

Now, with the shirt collar whipping in the dim light, she still couldn’t see clearly.

She had no choice but to speak up. “Um.”

Wen Zenian gave her a look that urged her to continue.

“Last night…”

Wen Zenian let out a drawn-out “Mm,” the sound stretched long by the night wind. As the breeze shifted, her trailing tone curved with it, adding a touch of lingering tenderness.

Meng Ning steeled herself. “Did anything happen?”

Wen Zenian arched a brow. “What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know. I blacked out.”

Wen Zenian nodded. “Oh.”

With that, she continued walking forward.

Oh?

What did that “oh” mean?

Meng Ning started to chase after her, but Wen Zenian glanced back, and she froze in place.

Wen Zenian complimented her. “You’ve gotten more considerate than before. Now when I don’t say anything, you know to come and ask me yourself.”

Before Meng Ning could process that, Wen Zenian asked, “So, did you have a cute day today?”

Those were the words she had written on that little card, now spoken by Wen Zenian herself in Chinese. But she didn’t say “a pleasant day,” “a good day,” or “an easy day.”

She asked, “Did you have a cute day today?”

Meng Ning shot back, “What about you?”

She hadn’t missed Wen Zenian’s smiles today. There had been a polite one at the end of her speech during the meeting, and an earlier teasing one on the beach when she’d called Meng Ning honest.

But it was only now that a flower bud bloomed between Wen Zenian’s brows.

Wen Zenian said with certainty, “I had a cute day. Guess why?”

Meng Ning paused for a moment.

Wen Zenian crouched down in front of her, the sheer stockings wrinkling alluringly at the bend of her knees. She extended a slender finger, and just then, as if by magic, the moonlight blazed brightly.

Only now did Meng Ning see the tiny hermit crab on the beach, clambering up Wen Zenian’s finger.

Wen Zenian lifted it onto a nearby rock. It spun in place, disoriented for a moment, then scuttled with a soft rustle into a crevice in the stone.

Wen Zenian laughed again, as if this little hermit crab were truly the source of all her day’s joy.

In that distinctive voice of hers, she said, “Good night, Meng Ning.”

She said “Good night,” but she never called her Cara—she always addressed Meng Ning as “Meng Ning.”

Meng Ning stared at the spot where Wen Zenian had just stood.

She had no idea why Wen Zenian was wearing high heels on the beach. Some kind of obsession with them, perhaps.

The sand here wasn’t as fine as in the tourist areas, so at least her heels didn’t sink in. But where she had stood lingered two shallow depressions, the moonlight pooling in them like a sweet, heart-fluttering brew.

Meng Ning crept quietly back to her room, only to find Qi Xiao still awake.

Qi Xiao was holding a tablet, watching a video. “I napped too long this afternoon. Can’t sleep now.”

“What are you watching?”

Qi Xiao grinned before answering. “Do you believe in hypnosis? Check out this hypnotist on this variety show—he’s amazing. He can make you remember anything you thought you’d forgotten.”

“Like what?”

“Like the name of your third-grade neighbor’s cat from back home.”

Meng Ning chuckled along with her.

When it was their turn to have time off again, the two of them took a speedboat off the island.

This time, their break coincided with the weekend. As usual, they spent the first day wasting away amid the bustle of human life. On the second day, Song Xiao and Qi Xiao planned to go shopping—Song Xiao needed to buy New Year’s gifts for her little sister.

They asked Meng Ning, “You coming?”

Qi Xiao reminded them, “You forgot? Meng Ning has that mysterious date to get to.”

That afternoon, Meng Ning found herself in a white room. The decor was simple: a desk by the window held a pot of hyacinths, a single armchair was comfortable without being too enveloping, and even the wooden floorboards formed patterns so serene they soothed the soul.

The middle-aged woman sitting across from her had shoulder-length hair and tortoise-shell glasses framing an ordinary, kindly face.

She held a fountain pen and a notepad.

For some reason, Meng Ning suddenly thought that only someone like Wen Zenian could still indulge in the luxury of using a fountain pen.

She had left the island already—maybe she was thinking of Wen Zenian a bit too often.

The woman spoke in a casual, conversational tone. “How was the past week?”

“Same as always.”

“Nothing new?”

Meng Ning thought of the little card tucked away in her drawer and hesitated. “No.”

The woman jotted something down on her notepad.

Meng Ning spoke up. “I want to end our sessions.”

The woman’s pen paused, circling what looked like a particular word. “Do you feel like your condition is stable enough now?”

Meng Ning rephrased it. “I’ve achieved my goal. The one I mentioned—remember?”

“Of course. Saving a hundred people on the beach.”

That goal was what Meng Ning had set when she first joined the C Hotel’s Lifesaving Team. Back then, she hadn’t understood the job and never imagined it would take her five years to reach it.

Before leaving, her gaze swept over the certificates displayed on the bookshelf.

“By the way,” she asked, “for psychologists like you, is hypnosis something that can actually work?”

“It can be attempted, but success isn’t guaranteed.”

“Can I try it? If I need to remember something.” She gave a specific date—the night she had slept through in Wen Zenian’s Administrative Suite.

“What happened that night?”

“That’s the thing—I don’t know what happened.” When Meng Ning got nervous, she had a habit of twirling a pen, but with none available now, she reached up to smooth the bun at the back of her head.

“Let’s give it a try, then.” The woman had Meng Ning lie on a chaise lounge. Her voice was soothing, like an overly precise metronome, guiding her into a misty forest.

Amid the fog, she struggled to open her eyes, as if floating in midair, watching that night’s version of herself on the sofa with Wen Zenian—

Wen Zenian reached out to touch her face. Then she leaned on Wen Zenian’s shoulder.

Wen Zenian leaned down gently, her chin perhaps brushing Meng Ning’s temple.

But after that? Everything blurred into darkness.

Then someone pulled her. She turned back and, without seeing anything clearly, plummeted.

Yet she knew exactly who had pulled her. She didn’t resist at all, content to fall alongside them.

But in the rush of freefall, her body’s survival instinct kicked in. She struggled awake, instinctively touching her face—it was cold and clammy.

She had broken out in a cold sweat. Sitting up, her expression had already returned to calm. She grabbed a tissue, cupping it in both hands to press against her cheeks.

“I thought you were crying just now. You made these whimpering sounds like sobs, but there were no tears.”

Meng Ning gave a small smile.

“Are you sure you’re in a good state now?”

She nodded. “I’m sure.”

Slinging her backpack over her shoulders, she stepped out and ducked into a bar—the same one she, Qi Xiao, and Song Xiao had visited before. Its sign simply read “3rd.” By night it was a bar, by day a café.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, with patrons scattered idly about. Pets were welcome; someone reached into a cat carrier, trying to coax out a timid Ragdoll for a bit of the world.

Meng Ning sat alone at the bar. The woman behind it had wavy long hair and wore a soft silk blouse draped casually over her graceful curves. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear. “What’ll it be?”

“Espresso.”

The woman paused for a moment, then lowered her voice, as if she could no longer hold back. “Why do you come here every week for an afternoon coffee? Is our coffee really that good?”

“What do you think?” Meng Ning shot back.

The woman pursed her lips, and Meng Ning smiled.

“Did you drive?” the woman asked her.

Meng Ning shook her head. “No car.”

A moment later, the woman slid a cup of coffee across the counter to her and winked. “I added something special.”

Meng Ning took a sip. Vodka. The alcohol mixed with the coffee seemed to hit twice as hard. She wasn’t much of a drinker, and right then her phone buzzed in her pocket.

An unknown number.

“Hello?” Meng Ning answered.

“Meng Ning.” That distinctive voice always sounded strangely disorienting in the light of day, like tumbling into an intoxicating night. “Sorry, I got your number from the employee directory.”

“Mm. What’s up?” Maybe it was the slightly noisy surroundings, or the everyday bustle of crowds outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, but Meng Ning’s tone with Wen Zenian felt more composed than it did back on the island.

“I’ll be inspecting the Lifesaving Team’s morning training tomorrow,” Wen Zenian told her. “You and Qi Xiao are off duty. I checked your files—you two are roommates, right? Could you let her know as well?”

“Sure.”

Meng Ning was about to hang up.

But then Wen Zenian added, “Can you bring me a pack of milk candies from off the island?”

Just then, muffled voices from other people filtered through the line, and the call cut off.