Chapter 21

Qi Xiao picked up her phone, opened the group chat, glanced at the photo herself, then forwarded it to Meng Ning.

Meng Ning had been staring into space for a moment, her phone already locked, when it suddenly vibrated in her palm, popping up the green WeChat icon.

After a two-second pause, she tapped it and zoomed in on the photo.

An administrative secretary, also a member of the sneaky photo group, must have taken it. Wen Zenian was dressed in a white ski suit, standing on a snowboard. The dark snow goggles looked enormous on her poised and alluring face. She seemed to be talking to someone, her hand raised slightly, no hint of a smile on her expression.

Wen Zenian really didn’t smile often, Meng Ning thought.

It seemed like when she was with Meng Ning, she smiled more than usual, with that delicate crease like a budding flower between her brows.

Just then, her phone buzzed again. Qi Xiao messaged: “There’s another one.”

Meng Ning hadn’t even opened the second photo yet, but she felt her lips curve into a faintly self-mocking smile.

She really was overthinking it.

Because in the second photo Qi Xiao sent, Meng Ning wasn’t present, yet Wen Zenian was smiling broadly, that budding flower crease between her brows—a genuine smile.

Meng Ning asked, “Who exactly is the big boss?”

The so-called “big boss” was the heir to C Hotel this term.

“No idea,” Qi Xiao replied with a shake of her head. “I only heard she’s the second daughter of the previous chairman. She’s got modern ideas, keeps a low profile—probably for safety reasons too. She doesn’t even have her name or photo on the official website.”

No wonder no one dared to point a camera at her, even with the big boss right there.

Meng Ning nodded.

Qi Xiao let out a breath. “You think there’s something between her and the big boss too?”

Meng Ning’s lips quirked. “Qi Xiao, think about it. All we know is that she went skiing with the big boss. Guessing there’s something between them is downright ridiculous. Guessing there’s nothing is just as baseless.”

“That’s the reality I’m facing. The world she inhabits is too lofty and distant for me—completely closed off.”

Qi Xiao blinked, momentarily stunned. “Sometimes I really think you’re overly rational.”

Meng Ning smiled faintly. “I just don’t like trouble.”

“Can I ask one more thing? Just one.” Qi Xiao couldn’t hold back her blazing gossip fire any longer. “What do you feel about her?”

“What do I feel?” Meng Ning repeated, her tone almost like she was talking to herself.

Qi Xiao made it plainer. “Do you like her?”

Meng Ning’s expression remained calm as she lifted her clear black-and-white eyes. “Someone like her makes it easy for people to feel fondness, right? But to call it ‘liking,’ that has to be built on mutual understanding. It’s been over ten years since I last saw her. I don’t know her any better than you do.”

Qi Xiao propped her chin on her hand. “She just lets it go if you don’t respond?”

“No idea.” Meng Ning shook her head. “I can’t predict her actions.”

And that was the scariest part.

She couldn’t predict Wen Zenian’s behavior.

The next day was Spring Festival. C Hotel, regardless of whether it was a Chinese restaurant or not, served special dumplings to all its guests.

Everyone Meng Ning passed on the way had joy crinkling at the corners of their eyes and brows, exchanging New Year greetings.

To reward the employees who couldn’t enjoy the holiday, the hotel held a raffle. Meng Ning reached into the box, swirled her hand around twice, and pulled out an envelope. Inside were two Volcanic Stone SPA Experience Vouchers.

In all her years participating in these draws, she’d never had luck like this.

She invited Qi Xiao, “When are you free? Want to go together?”

Qi Xiao shook her head. “I’m allergic to the minerals in volcanic stone. No such blessing for me.”

Meng Ning wasn’t all that interested herself, so she tossed the vouchers into her drawer for now.

The hotel had prepared New Year’s fireworks for the guests and invited them to the beach to watch. So Meng Ning and the others had to work overtime, climbing to the observation deck to patrol the crowd for any dangers.

As midnight approached, there was a bang from the horizon.

Meng Ning had her head down at the time, watching a little boy throwing a tantrum at his mother amid the crowd. The mother coaxed him to look at the fireworks, and that’s when Meng Ning turned her head too.

A pale golden firework bloomed across the night sky before fading away, its image lingering longer on her retinas. Meng Ning instinctively glanced at it before lowering her head again. Cheers erupted from the guests—this was exactly when accidents were likely, so they had to stay vigilant.

She kept her eyes down the whole time, only hearing the bangs echoing nearby.

Her mind drifted back to the day she’d reunited with Wen Zenian, when Wen Zenian had adjusted the fireworks launch time for her, saying it was to create a dream.

Gradually, the guests began a synchronized countdown: “Ten, nine, eight, seven… three, two, one!”

“Happy New Year!” “Happy Spring Festival!” “Good luck and prosperity—Happy New Year!”

Amid the crowd, one teenage girl stood out for her quietness, her fair face framed by a thick ponytail draped over her shoulder. Meng Ning’s gaze landed on her, and the girl looked up, smiling at Meng Ning.

Meng Ning smiled back.

The fireworks died down, and the sound of waves crashing ashore rose again. But in Meng Ning’s mind, it was a riverbank—the river’s slap against the shore duller, more turbid.

The girl by that river had a fair face too, holding a small sparkler in one hand while cupping it protectively with the other against the wind, her lips curving upward. “Xiao Ning, Happy New Year.”

The team leader started directing the guests to leave in an orderly fashion, snapping Meng Ning back to reality.

After all the guests had returned to their rooms, they held a quick meeting, going over reminders for the next day’s shifts before dismissing.

Qi Xiao walked back to the dorm with her, shoulders slumped. “Spring Festival kills me every year…”

She pulled out her key to unlock the door. “You go wash up first. I’ll wait till you’re done.”

“How are you so nice?” Qi Xiao asked. “Aren’t you tired?”

She was tired, of course.

Without her sleeping pills, her sleep had been awful.

Qi Xiao finished washing, and only then did Meng Ning go. Hiding in the bathroom, she blow-dried her hair with stifled whines, worried the sound wouldn’t carry. By then it was past one in the morning. She dried it about seventy percent and gave up, slipping out the door and tiptoeing to bed.

The island’s warm winter meant it’d dry soon enough.

But she couldn’t sleep.

Afraid her tossing would wake Qi Xiao, she stubbornly lay still until her left big toe cramped.

As she tried gently flexing it, she heard a very soft knock at the door.

“Knock.”

She wasn’t even sure it was a knock—it could have been from the window, like some sleepless bird mischievously tossing a fruit at the glass to disturb her dreams.

Then silence fell, making her doubt if she’d imagined it.

But she quietly got out of bed anyway, padded to the door, and cracked it open a sliver.

In ridiculously flowery terms, the person outside carried the breath of frost and snow, bringing the heart-stirring chill of the north to the island’s frivolously mild, fake winter.

The woman had come from the Swiss snow mountains. The corridor and dorm were shrouded in darkness. She reached out, pulling Meng Ning’s waist toward her.

Wen Zenian was always half a head taller in those sharp stilettos. It was impossible to say who initiated it—Meng Ning only knew that as she tilted her head up, Wen Zenian’s kiss descended.

A shiver started in her lower belly, climbing to her heart and spreading to her fingertips.

In truth, they did nothing more. They just hid in the door crack, kissing quietly. Wen Zenian’s one hand restrained itself around Meng Ning’s lower back, the other braced on the doorframe as she repeatedly suckled at her lips.

And Wen Zenian’s lips were so soft they seemed ready to melt.

Behind her, Meng Ning could still hear Qi Xiao’s deep breathing. Colleagues might wander by in the corridor for a late-night bathroom trip. But squeezed in that narrow door slit, she and Wen Zenian felt like they were in another dimension, utterly detached from this real world.

Only when Wen Zenian finally released her, lingering tenderly on her lips one last time, did she truly pull away.

Their eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the dark. Even after such a long kiss, Meng Ning could barely make out Wen Zenian’s vague silhouette—except for those deep eyes, stripped of any violet hue in the gloom, shining with startling gentleness.

“Shining” should have been piercing, but Wen Zenian’s gaze was simply gentle.

She gave Meng Ning’s fingertip a squeeze, then picked up the duffel bag at her feet.

She turned and left, the hem of her thin trench coat brushing Meng Ning’s legs.

Someone used to heels could walk silently even in the still night.

She drifted away like a dream.

The next morning, Meng Ning’s alarm blared, and Qi Xiao let out a groan.

Meng Ning consoled her, “Once we get through Spring Festival, it’ll be much easier.”

Qi Xiao sighed. “After Spring Festival, there’s May Day, National Day, and countless little holidays. Aren’t you worried about the future?”

Meng Ning just smiled.

Morning training was shorter than usual since they had to open the sea area earlier for guests. Afterward, they took turns grabbing breakfast—half an hour cut to ten minutes.

Qi Xiao wolfed it down and nearly choked on a pancake. Clearing her throat with an “ah,” she turned her phone—still scrolling through breakfast news—toward Meng Ning. “Gwyneth’s back already!”

Snapped by a colleague in the buffet restaurant.

Meng Ning feigned calm with a casual “Mm.”

“How’d she get back so fast? The flight to Switzerland takes…”

Qi Xiao tapped her phone and searched quickly. “Twelve hours. She flew there, stayed a day, and came back? The big boss sure knows how to wear people out.”

Then another “Ah!” “But the group chat says the big boss is still in Switzerland. So why’s Gwyneth back? Does she have some emergency?”

Meng Ning stared at the pancakes on her plate, a half blueberry rolling down its curve through the sauce. “No idea.”

She truly didn’t.

Qi Xiao complained about the workload but now fretted, “Oh no, what if layoffs start right after Spring Festival? That’d be inhuman!”

In fact, they didn’t.

During the seven-day Spring Festival holiday, Wen Zenian didn’t call any meetings—not for them, nor other departments. She just carried on with her routine work as usual.

Until the last afternoon of the holiday, when tourists piled onto speedboats to leave the island, just like any guests departing C Hotel. They sat on the boats, twisting back repeatedly toward that fairytale building, sighing wistfully, “Back to real life.”

Meng Ning and the others’ workload plummeted. As the sun dipped west, during her final shift on the beach, hardly anyone was left.

She even had time to zone out for half a second. Only then did she confirm it—

Someone had rushed twelve hours through wind and dust for a wordless midnight kiss.

Since Wen Zenian had left Meng Ning’s rental room that day, the first time they truly spoke was in Wen Zenian’s office.

It was Meng Ning’s first time in Wen Zenian’s office.

Since she didn’t have a fixed office here, the black rosewood door lacked a nameplate like those on the other managers’ offices. A dark yellowish copper nameplate sat on the rattan-woven desk, engraved not with her position but simply with her name in elegant cursive English: Gwyneth Won.

Her name was so beautiful that it evoked the way it was pronounced—leaving the final syllable silent, the tip of the tongue flicking lightly against the back of the teeth, carrying an innate tenderness.

Wen Zenian cut a perfect figure in her formal uniform, perfectly suited to the moment, while a somber bronze elephant sculpture on the desk bolstered her air of authority. She propped her elbows on the desktop, her interlaced hands supporting her chin as she said to Meng Ning, “Explain yourself.”

Her gaze drifted downward, her long lashes directing attention to the surface of the desk.

A letter lay there, bearing the C Hotel logo. Wen Zenian’s approach was utterly formal; she had even printed out Meng Ning’s resignation letter.

Meng Ning stood motionless with her hands clasped behind her back. Wen Zenian let out a sigh and said, “Sit.”

Meng Ning remained standing, so Wen Zenian rose and circled around to her side. She gave Meng Ning a glance. Just as it seemed Wen Zenian might reach out to press her shoulder down, Meng Ning sat on her own.

Wen Zenian didn’t return to her chair. Instead, she half-perched on the edge of the desk, fishing a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and drawing one out. Then, as if struck by a sudden memory, she sighed again. “I haven’t had a smoke since I left my lighter at your place.”

“Where’s my lighter?”

Meng Ning’s expression didn’t flicker. “No idea. Haven’t seen it.”

Wen Zenian glanced at her again, the cigarette pinched idly between her fingers, unlit for the moment. She twisted at the waist to snatch the printed resignation letter from the desk and heaved the third sigh she’d let out since they’d laid eyes on each other. “What is this supposed to mean, Meng Ning?”