Chapter 25 Part 1

Meng Ning had been feeling a bit neurotic lately. Except when she was on shift, she always kept her phone on silent, so at that moment, it lay on the desk beside her hand, emitting muffled buzzes: “Bzzz—”, “Bzzz—”.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, frozen in the typing position from moments before, as if she might resume pounding away at any second.

In reality, she wouldn’t. Her eyes were fixed on the phone screen.

She still hadn’t saved Wen Zenian’s number. Every time it rang, her gaze seemed to deliberately skip the first nine digits, zeroing in only on the last two: “89”.

The call finally ended. She flipped the phone over, screen down on the desk, and went back to typing on the computer: “Requirements: single woman, no bad habits. Pets okay—cats accepted.”

She added a period, then flipped the phone back over. As if riding the momentum from her keystrokes, she quickly typed: “What’s up?”

She sent it to Wen Zenian and tossed the phone aside.

Did iMessage have an unsend feature? She honestly didn’t know.

The phone buzzed again almost immediately on the desk.

Her knuckles tapped the surface twice before she picked it up. She hesitated another moment before opening the message.

She had a hunch, and Wen Zenian’s reply confirmed it right away: “Open the door.”

Qi Xiao had already showered and returned to her room. Meng Ning pulled open her door and stepped out. She hadn’t turned on the living room lights, so only a soft glow spilled from the bedroom behind her.

She opened the door, and there stood Wen Zenian’s slender figure.

She always seemed so tall, probably because of her slim, upright build. Off the island, she didn’t wear her uniform; she preferred short tailored blazers with wide-leg trousers, the pant legs revealing just a hint of high-heeled shoe tips, giving her an aura that filled the whole room.

Meng Ning couldn’t decide whether Wen Zenian looked better in her one-piece uniform skirt or these trousers. The skirt hugged her perfect curves, while the pants accentuated her long, straight legs.

A true beauty probably looked stunning no matter what she wore—each outfit bringing out its own charm. She carried her bag casually, and when she spotted Meng Ning, the corner of her eye flicked up playfully.

Only then did Meng Ning realize she’d come out clutching just her phone, without a bra.

Wen Zenian asked, “Do you usually wander around the house like this?” Her gaze swept up and down Meng Ning’s loose T-shirt and shorts.

“I don’t wander around the house at all usually. I never leave my room.”

Wen Zenian let out an “Oh.”

Maybe after those few casual words, Meng Ning finally dared to study her in the hallway light. Wen Zenian’s eyes were clear and sober—she clearly hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol.

So this wasn’t like last time, when she’d had too much to drink and crashed here.

Wen Zenian fell silent, so Meng Ning spoke up first: “What are you here for today…?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Wen Zenian said coolly. “To corner you.”

Just then, the door behind Meng Ning flew open. Qi Xiao, phone pressed to her ear, said, “Yeah, bring it up. This old building doesn’t have a gate code downstairs—you can come right up.”

She stepped to the doorway and looked up, only to see Wen Zenian stride in, pulling Meng Ning behind her.

Qi Xiao slammed the door shut with a bang.

Then she yanked it open again. There stood Wen Zenian in their cramped ten-square-meter living room of the old apartment, greeting her in a perfect London accent: “Hi, Sharon.”

Qi Xiao glanced at the door beside her hand.

In that instant, Meng Ning—shielded behind Wen Zenian—couldn’t suppress the urge to complain inwardly: Hey, it’s not that the way you opened the door was wrong!

You tried it last time—why do it again?

Qi Xiao stammered blankly, “Hi, I… um, I ordered milk tea delivery. The rider’s calling me.”

Wen Zenian shrugged off her blazer and handed it to Meng Ning behind her. “Go wait in your room.”

Qi Xiao had never seen Wen Zenian in a shirt made of such soft silk.

After taking off the blazer, she turned to Meng Ning. Because she wore heels while Meng Ning had on slippers, she towered half a head taller. She tilted her chin down slightly in a posture that was half polite, half intimate—hovering at the most tantalizingly ambiguous distance.

And that shirt—it draped softly over her shoulders, highlighting their elegant lines, a completely different vibe from the bare, luminous shoulders exposed by an evening gown.

Total hottie! Qi Xiao swallowed silently. No wonder she was the lesbian circle hottie!

Meng Ning clutched Wen Zenian’s blazer to her chest like a startled quail and shuffled toward her room. Qi Xiao stared fixedly at the ceiling, eyes straight ahead.

In her mind, she told herself it was fine, really—no need. After all, both she and Meng Ning were tops. Not even getting into type preferences, their dynamics just clashed.

At that moment, someone knocked behind Wen Zenian. She opened the door, and Qi Xiao peered over her shoulder to see the delivery rider’s eyes widen in awe.

Wen Zenian took the milk tea and said “Thanks,” then turned and handed it to Qi Xiao.

Qi Xiao grabbed it quickly from her hand and heard her say, “Sorry for the intrusion.”

Qi Xiao waved it off repeatedly. “No bother at all—no, you’re not bothering us. I’m the one disturbing.”

Wen Zenian flashed her a smile.

Wen Zenian worked in hospitality, but as management, she rarely smiled. Up close, a beauty of her caliber unleashing a smile like that was devastating. Qi Xiao clutched her pounding chest and scurried back to her room, slamming the door.

Wen Zenian opened the shoe cabinet and pulled out the slippers Meng Ning had given her before.

She approached Meng Ning’s bedroom door, where faint rustling sounds came from the other side.

Wen Zenian curled her knuckles slightly and knocked lightly. “No rush. I’m not coming in.”

Two seconds later, Meng Ning yanked the door open. Her long black hair, normally neatly pinned up, was slightly mussed.

So Wen Zenian had guessed right—Meng Ning had just been leaning against the door, hastily pulling on her T-shirt and bra.

Wen Zenian glanced at the door lock. “Still not fixed.”

“Yeah, no… no need.”

“May I come in?” Wen Zenian asked.

Meng Ning stepped aside.

She’d only turned on the desk lamp while posting on the computer. Nearby, a tall building had aviation obstruction lights that swept around constantly, casting faint pinkish beams that passed over now and then before fading away.

Wen Zenian’s refined features alternated between bright clarity and shadowed mystery.

Like light and shadow in a dream.

She closed the door softly behind her. Meng Ning swiveled the chair at the desk and gestured. “Have a seat.” Then: “Want some water?”

Wen Zenian nodded.

Meng Ning went out and returned shortly with a glass of water, handing it over. With the room’s only chair occupied by Wen Zenian, she stepped back two paces and perched on the edge of the bed.

The two of them stayed restrained—no fingertips even brushed.

Wen Zenian took a sip. Meng Ning remembered she’d mentioned hating cold water, so she’d gotten the temperature just right.

Wen Zenian set the glass on the desk behind her. “I’ve heard of hit-and-run after sleeping with someone, but never the one who got slept with running off like lightning.”

Meng Ning replied, “Technically speaking, I never planned on being the one getting slept with from the start.”

“And then you avoided me for days,” Wen Zenian said. Her tone held no resentment—just a light, floating lilt, with a hint of playful reproach that didn’t quite reach accusation.

Anyone else saying it might sound like whining, but with her lowered voice, it hit perfectly, tickling right at the heart.

She was too sharp; Meng Ning knew denial was pointless. “Sorry.”

Wen Zenian arched her brow again. “I’ve heard of apologizing after sleeping with someone, but never the other way around.”

“Technically speaking…”

Wen Zenian smiled, and Meng Ning trailed off.

“May I smoke?” Wen Zenian asked.

Meng Ning nodded.

Wen Zenian stood, drew back the curtains, and pushed the window halfway open. Leaning against the wall, she exuded a touch of languid grace, and the way she pulled out her cigarette was mesmerizing—a slim women’s cigarette that seemed tailor-made for those long fingers.

“Your lighter?” she asked Meng Ning.

“You still haven’t bought a lighter?”

“Lost it. Never bothered replacing it.”

Meng Ning fished hers out of her pocket and walked over. As she struck the flint, Wen Zenian leaned down gracefully like a swan arching its neck. A night breeze slipped through the window, carrying bursts of laughter from a nearby food stall, which only made the room feel quieter. Even the desk lamp’s glow seemed perfectly dim.

Wen Zenian laid her hand over Meng Ning’s, shielding the flame. The cigarette tip came forward for a draw, and a bright red ember bloomed between her fingers.

Wen Zenian released her hand without fanfare. Meng Ning retreated to the bed’s edge.

That was their only physical contact that night. Wen Zenian’s palm was soft and smooth, gliding over her skin like the finest velvet.

Meng Ning watched her smoke, utterly unable to say something lame like “smoking is bad for your health.”

The pose was too alluring. Wen Zenian usually had a somewhat serious expression, but when she smoked, her eyes would narrow slightly amid the curling haze. One arm crossed her chest, palm cradling the opposite elbow, forearm bent at just the right angle. Her fingers, faintly translucent through the knuckles, held the cigarette loosely—like jade unconcerned with the world’s joys or sorrows.

“Don’t you buy a lighter? How do you smoke usually?” Meng Ning asked.

She seemed to have quite the habit.

Wen Zenian eyed her amid the shifting glow of the aviation lights, her gaze sliding down—past Meng Ning’s slender white neck, further, to the back of the hand she’d just covered.

“I hold back,” Wen Zenian said, exhaling a plume of smoke.

Meng Ning curled her fingers.

Wen Zenian continued, “Last time, you said before quitting and leaving the island, you had two things left to resolve. In my room, we took care of one. Now, let’s handle the other.”

She instructed Meng Ning, “Open my bag. There’s an envelope inside.”

Her pricey designer handbag sat casually on the bedside table next to Meng Ning. Inside, Meng Ning found the makeup pouch, wet wipes, sunglasses, and a small blue box tucked in the side pocket.

Those were the finger cots she’d seen in Wen Zenian’s bag last time.

The plastic wrap was gone now—Wen Zenian had used them.

Two of them.

Meng Ning averted her eyes and looked at the crisp white envelope beside it, embossed with an elegant script “C” on thick cardstock.

Wen Zenian said, “I approve your resignation.”

So the envelope held her resignation letter, signed off with a flourish? Meng Ning tore it open, pulled out the sheet, and unfolded it. But it wasn’t her letter.

She’d barely skimmed two lines before looking up at Wen Zenian.