Chapter 25 Part 2

Wen Zenian curved her lips. “That sci-fi series you didn’t finish—I looked into it. Poor sales not just domestically, but overseas too. So after three books, the author gave up on the finale.”

But what Meng Ning held was clearly the third book’s ending—the part that had never been written.

Wen Zenian said offhandedly, “So I got in touch with the author.”

“You know her?”

“No.” Wen Zenian took a drag. “But if you want to reach someone, you can always make it happen.”

Meng Ning gripped the page. She couldn’t even begin to fathom Wen Zenian’s current social circle or the extent of her influence. On the island, Wen Zenian had only shown the tip of the iceberg—and like everyone else, Meng Ning merely gazed up at that tip.

“I had her jot down a rough outline of the earlier ideas, so you could know the story’s ending. Then I got someone to translate it into English.” Wen Zenian asked, “Can you understand it?”

Meng Ning’s English was decent enough. After all, a five-star hotel had strict requirements for its staff’s foreign language skills. But science fiction novels were a different beast, packed with obscure terms.

“Most of it,” Meng Ning said. “Some words I’ll have to look up.”

Wen Zenian held out a hand to her. “Let me take a look.”

Meng Ning passed her the page. Wen Zenian glanced down at it for a moment, then lifted her gaze. “Want me to read it to you?”

“Ah…”

Wen Zenian smiled. “It’s no trouble.”

Meng Ning had never been into audiobooks before. Qi Xiao had gone through a phase of being obsessed with them, but Meng Ning just couldn’t see the appeal. That is, until now. Wen Zenian’s voice—so magnetic it could melt steel—turned the English into slow, deliberate Chinese. She didn’t speak it often these days, so she paused now and then to find the right words.

The sci-fi story itself was a bit rough around the edges. Meng Ning struggled at times to picture the grand scenes described in those overly elaborate phrases.

But Wen Zenian simplified it all. That voice of hers was extraordinary, dream-weaving just like the woman herself.

Meng Ning hadn’t even imagined she’d get to hear the story’s continuation. So when Wen Zenian’s voice trailed off, she blankly lifted her head.

Wen Zenian was folding the page she’d just finished reading—first along its existing creases, then in half again—before setting it down on the scarred surface of the desk.

She looked up. “I approve your resignation. But not until I leave the island. I’ve got at most another month or so optimizing the C Hotel. You’ll need to make the most of it in the meantime.”

Make the most of what?

Wen Zenian walked to the door and explained. “Every time you come to see me, I’ll give you one more page of the story. I hope you finish the tale you’ve been hanging on before we both leave the island.”

She grabbed her bag and left.

Meng Ning noticed that the perfume Wen Zenian wore today was different again—like ebony, a restrained agarwood note. She heard the faint click of the security door closing behind her, then glanced down at the back of her own hand. Wen Zenian’s words still echoed: “Hold still.”

All of Wen Zenian’s allure came not from teasing, but from restraint.

She simply appeared, then withdrew, waiting for others to walk into her web.

Just then, a knock came from outside Meng Ning’s door—two raps, a pause, then two more. Morse code, almost.

Meng Ning opened the door.

Qi Xiao took a step back first, peering to confirm it was Meng Ning before asking, “I heard the security door earlier. She’s gone?”

“Yeah.”

Qi Xiao’s tone turned wistful. “You two definitely slept together.”

Meng Ning jolted in surprise. Qi Xiao seemed so carefree—how did she have such razor-sharp intuition?

Qi Xiao went on, “Throw on a jacket. Let’s head downstairs.”

“Why?”

“To buy booze! Garlic peanuts! I want the gossip!”

“Well…”

“No, not gossip,” Qi Xiao corrected herself. “I’m here to help you analyze the situation.”

Meng Ning ducked back into her room to grab a hoodie.

Qi Xiao tugged her downstairs. “I’m telling you, who could resist Gwyneth? You’ve known her since you were kids—tender teenage years, right?” Qi Xiao let out a dramatic sigh. “One glimpse of her back then, and didn’t it spark some puppy-love flames?”

Before Meng Ning could respond, another voice cut in. “Back then, I had a crush on her.”

Qi Xiao jumped.

There in the hallway stood Wen Zenian, bag in hand, suit jacket draped over her arm. The soft collar of her shirt hung loosely against her neck.

“Sorry,” she said. “I forgot my cigarettes.”

Meng Ning was half a step behind Qi Xiao in the narrow stairwell. Wen Zenian’s figure was partially obscured by Qi Xiao, which somehow made her straight collarbones stand out even more—strikingly luminous in the dim light.

Meng Ning almost said it again: “Can you fix your shirt collar?”

Wen Zenian’s gaze slid past Qi Xiao to Meng Ning. “Could you come upstairs with me to get them?”

Meng Ning realized that Wen Zenian had a habit of phrasing things as questions when she knew damn well you wouldn’t refuse. When refusal was a possibility, she went straight for commands.

This time, Meng Ning simply said, “Sure.”

As Wen Zenian passed Qi Xiao, she leaned in and murmured, “I was chubby back then. And ugly. I had the crush on her.”

Qi Xiao was momentarily speechless. Wen Zenian had already sidestepped her. Meng Ning followed her upstairs. She unlocked the door. “It’ll be easier if I grab them for you.”

“Okay, thanks.”

They headed back down together. Qi Xiao had been lounging loosely against the wall, but she snapped to attention as Wen Zenian approached. “Bye, Gwyneth.”

Wen Zenian nodded, then glanced back at Meng Ning. “Goodnight.”

Never “goodbye”—always “goodnight,” as if she were certain Meng Ning would come seeking her again.

She left. Meng Ning started to follow, but Qi Xiao yanked her back. “Wait. Let her get farther away first.”

Two minutes later, Qi Xiao said, “Okay, let’s go.”

She poked her head out to scout, confirming Wen Zenian was gone. With a relieved exhale, she dragged Meng Ning to the convenience store on the corner for beer and garlic peanuts, then hauled her back upstairs. “Spill!”

Meng Ning eyed the table. “Add that milk tea from earlier—how many calories have you downed tonight?”

“Is this the time to worry about calories?” Qi Xiao slapped the table and popped a garlic peanut into her mouth. “Come on, how’d you figure out you’re a bottom?”

Meng Ning shot her a look.

“When I came out for milk tea earlier, the way Gwyneth pulled you behind her? Total top energy. You looked like a little quail in front of her.”

“It’s not like that.” Meng Ning paused. “At first, anyway. Later… I just didn’t know how.”

“You what?” Qi Xiao thought she’d misheard. Who didn’t know how?

They were from a generation that could learn anything online. The tutorials were endless!

“You never looked it up yourself?” she asked Meng Ning.

Meng Ning shook her head.

“Are you asexual?”

Meng Ning thought back to that night in Wen Zenian’s hotel room.

Qi Xiao clapped her hands over her eyes in mock horror. “Don’t you dare blush! Us single folks can’t handle that!”

“I’m not.”

Qi Xiao peeked, saw Meng Ning’s clear, pale face unchanged, and sighed in relief. Meng Ning clarified, “I just… never thought about it that way.”

More precisely, she’d deliberately avoided it.

Qi Xiao nodded. “Fair enough. Before Gwyneth, tons of people chased you, and you didn’t bat an eye—like you were about to take vows.” She asked, “So what about Gwyneth hooked you?”

Too many answers.

Like the way she absentmindedly twisted her diamond earrings when lost in thought. Or how she looked in her uniform and six-inch heels, legs elongated into graceful lines. The too-pale nape of her neck beneath an elegant updo. The cigarettes she smoked, drawing the eye to her slender, elegant fingers.

But the truth was simpler. “I don’t think anyone could help liking Gwyneth.”

Qi Xiao nodded vigorously. “True that.”

Meng Ning added, “I probably had the advantage of knowing her from childhood.”

“Was Gwyneth really that fat back then?”

“Yeah. She wasn’t healthy—something about hormone meds.”

“Did you ever sense she had a crush on you?”

Meng Ning hesitated a long time before saying, “Vaguely.”

She recalled the girl’s round, soft face from those days. That awkward teen always smiled wide—nothing like now, when even her smiles barely tugged at the corners of her mouth, as if reluctant to grant the world any more favors.

“Wow, so you were the shining star back then.” Qi Xiao sighed. “Now Gwyneth’s come back as Niuhulu Gwyneth, all radiant, reclaiming her throne to fulfill some teenage dream?”

Meng Ning countered, “Do you really think a fleeting teenage crush could keep her hung up on me all these years? Look at us now.”

One was a five-star hotel exec with private jets at her beck and call.

The other? An anonymous beach lifeguard whose paycheck probably didn’t cover the sleeve of Wen Zenian’s shirt.

Even if Meng Ning had lost control, she’d never imagined any future with her.

She told Qi Xiao, “She approved my resignation. She’s got another month optimizing the C Hotel. Once she leaves, so can I.”

Deep down, Qi Xiao agreed with what Meng Ning had just said.

Outside the ivory tower, love wasn’t gardenia petals fluttering onto pleated skirts. It wasn’t poetic yearning. It was careers and status, reshaping lifestyles and mindsets. Two people from worlds that far apart rarely made it work.

Except here—one place: C Sea Island.

The island was a dream-weaving paradise. The sea gleamed crystal-clear, clouds drifted lazily, winter trees burst with exotic kapok blooms, and summer ballrooms conjured indoor snowfalls for guests.

Far from real life, all social roles dissolved. There, you were only two things: a dream weaver or a dream experiencer.

Qi Xiao asked, “Have you thought about dating her?”

Meng Ning shook her head immediately, then smiled. “I want to travel solo first. No plans for anything steady.”

Qi Xiao mused, “I think she might not be overthinking it either. Her past relationships sound rocky, work’s high-pressure. Maybe she just wants to soak in some dreamlike bliss while crafting dreams for the C Hotel.”

She looked Meng Ning up and down. “You click with her, plus that teenage spark messing with her head. It all adds up.”

Meng Ning leaned back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

Qi Xiao ventured, “Here’s a thought.”

Meng Ning murmured an “Mm,” to show she was listening.

“Building a real relationship is brutal—too many factors. But you’re leaving anyway. A fling with the Lesbian Circle Hottie beforehand? Sounds like a win. No strings, just easy fun for both of you.”

Meng Ning rubbed her face. “I don’t know.”

Heaven loved a good joke.

Not the everyday kind, like taxis vanishing when you needed one, sunshine mocking bad moods, or your favorite onigiri selling out first at the convenience store.

No—the real punchline came when you’d resolved to leave, and it tossed someone your way who stirred up greed.