Chapter 15

Many, many years later, in the springtime, Meng Ning made a trip up north. Gazing at the willow catkins drifting through the air, she thought that perhaps this was what true human sorrow looked like—like the uneven flush of blood on half of Wen Zenian’s face, like the catkins in their varying shades and shapes.

All of it inseparable, impossible to dissolve.

At fourteen, Meng Ning had released her kindness openly and without reservation. At twenty-seven, she hid it away with care. The one constant between those years was this: uncertain of Wen Zenian’s tastes, she had still bought two packs of candies in different flavors, just as she always had.

Wen Zenian held out her hand before her, and moonlight tumbled rustling into that pale, luminous palm. “Give it to me.”

“What?”

Wen Zenian’s tone made it clear she wasn’t to play dumb. “The other pack of candy.”

Meng Ning had no choice but to fish the pack she’d just shoved back into her pocket and hand it over.

Wen Zenian pinched both packs between her fingers and walked away. After two steps, she glanced back over her shoulder. A cigarette dangled from the fingers of her other hand, and the long curls she’d coiled atop her head revealed the slender line of her neck, elegant as a swan.

The thought bubbled up in Meng Ning’s mind once more—Wen Zenian might just be the most suited person in the world to wear her hair up like that.

It made the two cheap packs of candy from the roadside convenience store look all the more out of place with her. She called Meng Ning’s name. “I’ve been in two relationships. I’ve gotten chocolates from others.”

“But I’ve never let anyone else buy me milk candy.”

With that, she left. Meng Ning stood alone on the beach.

Only once Wen Zenian had gone did she dare to wander back toward the shoreline for a leisurely stroll. In her mind, she reflected that she’d definitely changed clothes when she got back to her dorm.

She’d deliberately slipped those milk candies from her old jacket pocket into the new one.

Perhaps, deep down, she’d guessed she might run into Wen Zenian on the beach.

Perhaps, subconsciously, she’d imagined that if Wen Zenian looked truly downcast, she’d offer her one of those milk candies.

But Wen Zenian hadn’t looked all that sad.

Wen Zenian had become the sort of person who could pluck her little secrets right out of her pocket and hold her completely in her grasp.

“Qi Xiao, Qi Xiao.”

“What is it…” Qi Xiao’s voice drifted over, thick with sleep.

“Get up. Gwyneth is coming to inspect morning training today.”

Qi Xiao struggled out of bed, and Meng Ning yanked back the curtains. Though only a small section of their window let in the morning light, it was still enough to make the freshly awakened Qi Xiao squint.

When she forced her eyes open again, she saw Meng Ning’s eyes faintly reddened as she called out, “I’ve finished in the bathroom. Go use it quick.”

Qi Xiao glanced at the time as she slid out of bed. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

Meng Ning rubbed her temple. “It was fine.”

Just fragmented dreams, nothing coherent.

The two changed into their morning training uniforms and hurried to the beach, where Wen Zenian was already standing tall and composed. The team members whispered among themselves, voices low. “I heard the Lifesaving Team’s cutting two people.”

Qi Xiao nudged Meng Ning’s arm. “You don’t have to worry. You’re solidly in the top three.”

It wasn’t as if her athletic talent was anything extraordinary.

She’d simply discovered that exercise helped her sleep. She made a habit of swimming in the evenings, and some mornings she arrived even earlier than training time, sprinting solo along the coastline.

Wen Zenian stood with the other colleagues in their crisp formal uniforms. Under the morning light, she looked utterly different from the woman on the nighttime beach. Her posture was ramrod straight, not languid or swaying; any softness emanated from her slender neck, the thin waist cinched by her metal waist chain, and the delicate ankles sheathed in sheer stockings.

If you looked only into her eyes, the sight of all the other colleagues clustered deferentially around her seemed perfectly natural.

The captain started his stopwatch and reminded them not to be nervous—just perform as they always did. Management was only observing today; no decisions would be made.

At the starting line, Qi Xiao slapped her thigh hard for good luck.

The captain’s whistle blew, and they all surged forward.

First came the endurance run, followed by sprints toward the beach. Then they grabbed their lifesaving boards and swam—freestyle or breaststroke—to the marker buoys, circled them, and raced back to the beach for the final sprint to the finish line.

They knew this routine inside out, each aware of her own capabilities. The only difference today was that, as they swam out of the water and charged up the beach, a sharp cry rang out: “Help!”

They were closer to the source of the call, and their training kicked in. They rushed over without hesitation.

By the time Wen Zenian arrived with the management team, she took in the scene at a glance. It seemed a six- or seven-year-old girl, out for a walk with her mother, had been bouncing along with a jelly snack in hand when it lodged in her windpipe.

The empty jelly container lay discarded nearby in disarray, its spilled syrup drawing a swarm of tiny insects.

The inspection team stood off to the side as Meng Ning and her teammate confirmed what had happened and began performing the Heimlich maneuver on the girl.

Meng Ning wrapped her arms around the child’s abdomen and delivered a swift upward thrust. A chunk of jelly shot from the girl’s throat. The child coughed violently, and Meng Ning gently patted her back. “Breathe.”

She always found herself reminding those she rescued of the same thing. “You can breathe now. Don’t hold your breath. Remember to breathe.”

In moments of utmost tension, people seemed to forget even the instinct to breathe.

The girl’s mother let out a breath of relief. Only then did Wen Zenian step forward, placing a restrained hand on Meng Ning’s shoulder. “Good job.”

Meng Ning kept her head bowed, inwardly admitting that Qi Xiao was right—Wen Zenian’s British accent was unfairly alluring.

That simple bit of praise, coming from her lips, made one feel truly valued.

Once the girl had recovered, the family butler accompanied her and her mother to the medical office for a quick checkup. The rest of the team returned to the beach, where the captain asked Wen Zenian if they should run an extra sprint round. She shook her head.

She addressed the group from her spot on the beach as the sunrise crested the waves and bathed her fair features in gold. Her voice was always measured and calm, yet carried an unquestionable conviction that made everyone want to follow her lead.

She invariably wore nude-toned lipstick, drawing the eye to those deep, captivating eyes of hers. Meng Ning was likely the only lifesaver in formation staring at the subtle movement of her lips.

Those lips had dipped just a fraction closer moments before, as if drawing nearer to her ear amid the surrounding crowd.

As they parted slightly, the faintly glossy lipstick gave them a sticky sheen, and the final syllable of “Good job” escaped on a breathy whisper. Then she straightened up, cool as if nothing had happened, and her slender hand slipped from Meng Ning’s shoulder.

Wen Zenian finished her speech, and the captain dismissed morning training.

Wen Zenian lingered a while longer, likely discussing the Lifesaving Team’s situation with management. Meng Ning and Qi Xiao headed together toward the staff lounge to shower and change into their long-sleeved, UV-protective one-piece swimsuits before reporting for beach duty.

“Hi.”

Meng Ning had been mid-conversation with Qi Xiao; her brain hadn’t yet registered the voice as Wen Zenian’s, but she turned instinctively.

Qi Xiao called back, “Hi, Gwyneth,” and vanished in a flash. Meng Ning thought that if her friend could sprint like that during training, she’d never have to worry about failing.

Wen Zenian fell naturally into step beside Meng Ning, hands clasped behind her back. The pencil skirt forced her into tiny steps, so Meng Ning had to shorten her own stride to match.

All their teammates had melted away.

Wen Zenian asked Meng Ning, “You lifesavers keep count, don’t you?”

“Of what?”

“Like, the number of people you’ve saved.”

“I never have.”

Wen Zenian let out a soft chuckle but didn’t call her on it.

They walked on in silence for a stretch before Meng Ning spoke up. “Today marks my hundredth rescue.”

“What a coincidence.”

“Here’s an even bigger one: if we broaden the scope beyond just hotel guests, you’re number one hundred.”

Wen Zenian paused, momentarily stunned.

Her expression soon smoothed over. “Any special ceremony for hitting a milestone like that?”

“I do have plans.” Meng Ning’s lips curved. “I’m heading to the library to return some books.”

Wen Zenian looked surprised once more.

Meng Ning’s smile deepened. “I borrowed a few novels from the C Hotel Library. They’re almost overdue—time to take them back.”

After finishing their shift, Meng Ning and Qi Xiao returned to the dorm.

Spring Festival was just a week away, and the C Hotel was growing busier by the day. Qi Xiao had been nagging for days about a “new year, new vibe” deep clean before the holiday, but she’d dragged her feet until today. With things only set to get crazier, she finally got started.

Succulents. Picture frames. Blind boxes. Lipsticks. More blind boxes. Yet another blind box. The hidden-edition blind box. Expired magazines. Sunscreen.

Qi Xiao admired that hidden blind box from every angle before tossing the expired magazines and sunscreen into her sorting bag. She turned to Meng Ning. “What about you? Anything you’re decluttering?”

A quick scan of Meng Ning’s desk made the question seem pointless.

Meng Ning never wore makeup—no cushions, powders, eyeshadows, or lipsticks. She didn’t keep succulents, didn’t take photos. She used up one tube of sunscreen before buying the next; she never stockpiled.

Her desk was as pristine as her face.

The only thing was the stack of three novels at the corner. Meng Ning scooped them up. “You keep at it. I’m heading to the library.”

The C Hotel Library was one of the property’s famous attractions. Perched right on the beach but far from the private stretch used for swimming, surfing, and sunbathing, it maintained its own pocket of serenity no matter the season’s crowds. Its white, church-like pointed roof rose sharp and pristine, topped by a suspended copper bell that only rarely tolled.

The interior space was modest, but the reading area was thoughtfully designed with an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the sea. Sit down with a book, grow tired, look up—and there was the endless blue.

Tourists and staff shared the space; a room key or work ID was all it took to borrow books. Meng Ning approached the front desk and slid her three books across.

Having worked at the hotel for five years, she knew the librarians well. The woman took them with a smile. “All finished?”

Meng Ning asked, “Got the fourth volume yet?”

It was a sci-fi series about wormholes, penned by an obscure Norwegian author. Originally four volumes strong, only the first three had been available when Meng Ning checked them out. She’d assumed someone had the last one; she hadn’t expected to learn that the publisher simply hadn’t bothered importing it, thanks to poor sales on the earlier books.

The librarian shook her head. “Nope. Probably never will at this rate. It’s all about the market these days.”

A gust of evening wind stirred, setting the copper bell atop the pointed roof tinkling softly.