Chapter 26 Part 1

Three days later, Meng Ning stood in Wen Zenian’s office.

Her hands clasped behind her back, she faced her like a student before the dean. “I’ve decided to stick with the original plan and resign.”

Wen Zenian sat primly before the black rosewood desk. The five-star hotel enforced strict standards on staff posture. At that moment, her two slender legs, sheathed in sheer silk stockings, pressed tightly together at an elegant angle, the tips of her six-centimeter stilettos just touching the floor.

Meng Ning had no doubt that, leaning back against her chair from that direction, Wen Zenian’s shoulders and back remained perfectly straight. This created a delicate inward curve at her slender waist—like the most graceful arch of a bridge—before flowing seamlessly into the full line of her hips.

She was all undulating curves, fluid motion, vibrant life, like a melody come to form.

Wen Zenian pulled open a drawer. There lay Meng Ning’s resignation letter. She took it out and leafed through the pages, as if reading it carefully once more.

Meng Ning felt her cheeks heat. Her letter was utterly devoid of substance. Each time Wen Zenian handled it with such gravity, Meng Ning suspected it was deliberate—a way to parade the hypocrisy of her stated reasons.

Wen Zenian finished reading, smoothed the paper on the desk, and uncapped her Montblanc pen. The golden nib’s tiny bead whispered across the surface.

She signed her name: “Gwyneth Won.” The script flowed beautifully, mirroring the flourish on her brass nameplate.

She lifted the letter and shook it gently in the air. The ink seeped into the paper’s texture, sealing her name like a dream turned to settled dust.

She held it out for Meng Ning to see. “Once I submit this to HR, it’ll take effect.”

“But before that.” She folded the letter into thirds and tucked it back into the drawer. “Come with me somewhere first.”

She turned to Meng Ning. “You won a prize, right?”

“Huh?”

“The Spring Festival raffle—you drew the Volcanic Stone SPA.”

“Oh, right.” Meng Ning had forgotten all about it. But how did Wen Zenian know?

Wen Zenian seemed to read minds. “Do you think running a hotel is that simple? Every expense, down to the smallest detail, crosses my desk. Of course I have the list from the organizing committee.”

She asked Meng Ning, “Have you used it yet?”

“Not yet. Qi Xiao’s allergic to volcanic stone, and Ju Mengya wasn’t interested.”

Wen Zenian’s face held a cool aloofness, her long straight black hair pinned neatly at the nape. When she wasn’t smiling, she gave off that “keep people at arm’s length” air. Time spent together revealed her approachable side, but few bridged that initial gap.

Qi Xiao, the quintessential extrovert, was the exception. Meng Ning wasn’t close with anyone else on the lifesaving team—not even Ju Mengya, whose bond with Qi Xiao had only brought them somewhat nearer.

Wen Zenian said, “In that case, treat me.”

“Huh? You want to do a spa treatment at C Hotel and need someone to foot the bill?”

“What do you take C Hotel for? Employee perks aside, everything else comes out of our own pockets.”

But… “Are you short on cash?”

Wen Zenian glanced at her. “Hardly.” She lowered her eyes back to her documents. “Not during work hours. Meet me at the spa center at nine tonight, all right?”

“Oh. Sure.”

It wasn’t until Meng Ning stepped out of Wen Zenian’s office that the reality hit her: how had she agreed so readily?

Wen Zenian’s tone had been so seamless, so commanding, that it swept her along without resistance.

Meng Ning did consider reneging.

But that afternoon, she saw Wen Zenian again.

It was an overcast day, the sky’s faint gray haze portending unease. Qi Xiao sat in the control room, binoculars in hand. Only as Meng Ning scrambled down from the observation post, rescue float in tow, and broke into a sprint did she spot it—trouble brewing out on the waves.

Meng Ning always seemed blessed with this instinct. When something went wrong at sea, she was invariably the first to notice.

Qi Xiao bolted from the control room, first aid kit slung over her shoulder, and raced to the scene on beach buggies with the rest of the team.

The girl in distress appeared around ten years old—prime age for thinking she owned the water. Meng Ning was already slicing toward her.

Beneath the brooding sky, her black swimsuit-clad figure rose and fell with the waves, now cresting, now vanishing.

She moved like a nimble dolphin. Qi Xiao never failed to think it whenever she watched Meng Ning swim.

Some teammates favored breaststroke for efficiency, but Meng Ning stuck to freestyle—faster, she insisted. Thunder growled in the heavy clouds, and rain would only make things deadlier.

Qi Xiao stood at the water’s edge, fists clenched tight.

Meng Ning reached the girl at last. But the child thrashed wildly in panic, her skinny arms flailing. That was why lifesavers always carried floats—panicked drowners could drag you under otherwise.

Even so, getting the girl to take hold wasn’t easy. Meng Ning talked her down for what felt like ages before the child clutched the board.

The shoulder strap looped over Meng Ning’s lean frame as she towed her back to shore.

Thunder rolled overhead. Qi Xiao clasped her hands, then balled them into fists again. Faster. Just a little faster.

Finally, Meng Ning stood and scooped the girl into her arms. Teammates rushed forward.

Though slim, Meng Ning’s daily training gave her strength; she deposited the girl on the towel her colleagues had spread out ahead of time. Rain hung in the air, the thunder alone enough to rattle nerves.

The team moved to start CPR, but Meng Ning stopped them. “Hold on.”

She fished a sodden clump from the girl’s mouth—some kind of seaweed—and first aid resumed smoothly.

The girl hacked up seawater and came to.

By now, the duty manager had ferried the parents to the beach in a buggy. “We told you no swimming on cloudy days! Why sneak off while we napped?!”

Meng Ning reflected that most parents’ first instinct in a crisis was blame.

The growing crowd turned chaotic. Exhaustion hit Meng Ning belatedly, her breaths coming short. As she tilted her head back to gasp for air, her gaze drifted upward—to the terrace café overlooking the coast. There stood Wen Zenian with the management team.

From Meng Ning’s angle below, she first glimpsed Wen Zenian’s slender ankles, her long legs, the elegant curve of her hips beneath a straight skirt, her wasp waist swaying gently.

Truth be told, at that distance, Meng Ning couldn’t make out details. Her mind filled them in from memory alone.

Wen Zenian stared out toward the sea. Certain now that all was well, she raised an arm and gave a light wave.

Such a tiny gesture. A beauty like her knew her power—and doled it out sparingly.

The managers clustered around Wen Zenian peered over too, straining to see whom their typically aloof admin manager deigned to greet.

Meng Ning ducked her head.

The girl was unharmed, but safety protocol demanded the parents escort her to the infirmary for a checkup.

Once they departed, the lifesaving team prepared to stand down. Qi Xiao glanced at Meng Ning’s face. “Whoa, you got scratched.”

Meng Ning’s pale skin made the small gash—just two centimeters below her cheekbone—stand out starkly.

“Really?” Earlier, her cheek had stung; likely the girl’s frantic arms in the struggle. Hazards of the job.

Qi Xiao disinfected the wound. “Band-Aid?”

Meng Ning shook her head. “Air’s better for healing.”

Qi Xiao inspected it. “Fair enough. It’s tiny.”

The afternoon’s frenzy faded. The beach closed at seven. Qi Xiao and Meng Ning hit the staff cafeteria, where Chinese fare was on offer. Qi Xiao demolished two bowls of rice. “Damn, that scare burned through my energy!”

She eyed Meng Ning’s light meal. “Not hungry? You did the actual rescue—should be starving.”

Meng Ning shrugged. “Tired, I guess. Kills the appetite.”

Back at the dorms, Meng Ning showered and prepared to leave.

Qi Xiao frowned. “Swimming tonight? With that thunder? Sketchy.”

Rumbles had persisted all afternoon, intermittently, but no rain yet.

Meng Ning said, “Not swimming. Just a walk.”

She donned her uniform, hands jammed in pockets. Her fingers toyed absently with the Volcanic Stone SPA voucher inside.

She still hadn’t committed. Would no-showing after agreeing irk Wen Zenian?

Irk her? Unlikely. Wen Zenian’s interest in her was more flirtation than fury.

She lingered along the shoreline, wind whipping sharp. Only then did winter truly bite. Her uniform jacket offered scant protection; gusts tangled her bangs.

That decided it—Meng Ning headed for the spa.

Tucking a stray lock behind her ear, she thought of Wen Zenian.

That afternoon on the café terrace, Wen Zenian’s bangs had danced wildly in the breeze. She’d hooked them back with slender fingers—a habit. Meng Ning had caught only the silhouette from afar. But alone now on the darkened shore, memory supplied the rest: that ear, so delicately shaped, porcelain-pale. The lobe perfectly proportioned, adorned with a diamond earring of flawless clarity and cut, setting off its tender softness.

Like a switch—tongue-tip pressed just so, and breaths shattered into ragged gasps.

Meng Ning made for the spa center. The gale hushed the world; no birdsong, no insects.

She timed her walk: arriving precisely at nine.

All the way, she pondered Wen Zenian’s punctuality.

If she beat her there, what to tell the front desk? Waiting for someone?

And if that someone was Wen Zenian?

She could always start without her—play it off as Wen Zenian’s tardiness.

But as she entered, eucalyptus and sweet orange enveloped her, and there sat Wen Zenian. Poised on an antique black rosewood official’s chair, idly turning the pages of a magazine.

Wen Zenian’s mere presence commanded every gaze—even clarifying the issue in her hands: a spa-provided world geography glossy, themed “50 Places You Must See in a Lifetime.”

She’d heard Meng Ning’s footsteps, evident in that subtle arch of her brow. She recognized them.

Only then did her lovely face lift, curved with faint amusement. Her eyes swept over Meng Ning before shifting politely to the receptionist.

“My guest has arrived.”

The receptionist, visibly flustered in Wen Zenian’s presence, asked, “Single room or double?”

“Double,” Wen Zenian replied, her demeanor as serene as ever.

If it had been anyone else, Meng Ning would have thought it would spark suspicion: Why would the renowned administrative manager come for a spa treatment with a mere lifeguard? And why book a double room? Were they that close?

But Wen Zenian’s tone was so natural, so matter-of-course.

It made people unconsciously fill in the blanks in their minds: Ah, there must be some work matter she needs to discuss, and this relaxing setting makes it easier to bring up.