The receptionist led them to the changing rooms—one for each of them.
After changing into robes and entering the double room, Meng Ning found Wen Zenian already there, lounging on the Beauty Recliner nearby, holding a small transparent cup. “Tea? Their herbal blend is quite good.”
Beside her sat a candlelit warmer cradling a matching transparent pot, gently heating it. The flame was so faint it seemed on the verge of flickering out, and Wen Zenian noticed, cupping her palm slightly to shield it.
The little flame seemed truly nurtured by her gesture, dancing twice before burning brighter.
That was why Meng Ning always felt she had some kind of magic—at least here on this isolated island, it worked without fail. Even the sea and the fire bowed to her convictions, obeying her command.
Meng Ning replied with a simple “Sure” and walked over.
What choice did she have? If she didn’t drink, wouldn’t she have to undress first anyway?
She wasn’t an idiot.
Wen Zenian lifted the glass pot and poured her a cup. Meng Ning took it and sipped delicately, catching scents of rose and lemongrass.
Wen Zenian approached one of the massage beds and untied her robe’s sash. Meng Ning lowered her gaze to her cup, though she couldn’t entirely avoid the glimpse of pale luminescence flashing by.
Wen Zenian didn’t call out to her, just casually lay down on her stomach.
Meng Ning stood and moved to the other side, her back to Wen Zenian. As she loosened her sash, the robe slipped halfway off, the other half clinging precariously to her shoulder. She glanced back over her shoulder.
Wen Zenian lay perfectly still, facing away, with no hint of sneaking a peek.
It made Meng Ning feel petty by comparison.
So she quickly shed her robe.
At that moment, Wen Zenian lay on the massage bed, her head turned toward the opposite side from Meng Ning. One hand traced absent circles in front of her face, her fingertips so light there was no rustle from the sheets.
She could hear every soft rustle from Meng Ning and easily imagine all her movements.
Like how the robe slipped halfway down, the other half dangling from those slender shoulders.
She liked Meng Ning’s figure.
Wen Zenian herself had those graceful, flowing curves, but Meng Ning was slimmer, her delicate bone structure shining through—like those fragile shoulders trembling in an embrace, carrying a beauty on the verge of shattering.
Only when she heard Meng Ning settle onto the bed did Wen Zenian press the call button for the masseuse.
Truth be told, Meng Ning wasn’t used to getting a spa treatment.
Especially not with Wen Zenian right there, which made her even more tense.
The masseuse had to tell her twice, “Relax a little.”
In stark contrast, Wen Zenian was utterly at ease.
Those thin lips of hers were actually far softer than one might expect. Like when Meng Ning kissed behind her ear—those lips would tremble as she whispered Meng Ning’s name.
Of course, Wen Zenian wasn’t making a sound now, but the masseuse’s gentle technique drew out long, languid breaths from her.
It was perfectly normal, but it made Meng Ning feel guiltily on edge.
When the masseuse arranged the heated volcanic stones in a neat line along her subtly arched spine, Meng Ning simply closed her eyes.
With a soft “Please rest easy” the masseuse withdrew.
Meng Ning hadn’t expected to actually fall asleep.
Perhaps her sleep quality had been abysmal lately.
Perhaps rescuing that swimmer had drained her stamina.
Perhaps it was the mix of Wen Zenian’s perfume and the essential oils in the air.
She really fell asleep.
She had no idea how long she slept. When her eyes fluttered open, rain pattered against the windowpanes. Through the half-closed slatted blinds, she saw only a hazy veil of mist.
The downpour was relentless.
Inside, though, it was cozy—warm air humming faintly, the volcanic stones on her back still radiating heat, releasing the sweet, sticky scent of neroli oil slathered over her skin.
No sounds at all, save for the faintest breathing.
She had been facing the window; Wen Zenian faced the door. Neither had a view of the other. Now, she slowly turned her head.
As expected, Wen Zenian appeared to be asleep.
The blanket just covered the curve of her hips, exposing the dip of her lower back. In her uniform, she seemed so slim—but stripped of clothes, her leanness revealed a subtle, soft plumpness.
Her arms curved around the pillow as she lay there, a faint glimpse of generous curves compressed beneath her, somewhat indulgently flattened. Her skin gleamed with an extra slickness from the oil.
Suddenly, Wen Zenian spoke. “Had enough of a look? If so, I’ll ring for them.”
Meng Ning startled with a tiny shiver, the stones on her back wobbling. She quickly steadied herself.
Wen Zenian’s scheming tone irked her. “Not yet. So what?”
“No rush,” Wen Zenian said with a laugh. “Sudden downpour, endless night.”
Only then did Meng Ning realize how profound Wen Zenian’s command of Chinese was, even after over a decade with little chance to use it.
Those four words—”Sudden downpour, endless night”—blended into the storm outside the window, into the room’s heavy oils, into the fine texture of skin, nearly sapping the will to resist and drawing one into the dream conjured by a mere phrase.
In the end, Meng Ning conceded. “Had enough.”
Wen Zenian pressed the bell beside her.
The stones on her back were cooling anyway. The masseuse collected them and left, giving the two of them privacy to dress. For a moment, Meng Ning thought Wen Zenian might approach her, perhaps tilt her chin up and kiss behind her ear.
After all, there were no cameras in the massage room.
But after slipping her robe back on, Meng Ning glanced over her shoulder.
Wen Zenian was already dressed, perched on the edge of the bed straightening her collar, offering only a glimpse of her pale nape.
They left the massage room and changed back into their clothes separately.
When Wen Zenian emerged, she was once more in her crisp uniform. As they exited the spa center, she eyed the torrential rain. “I’ll take you back.”
See? When Meng Ning truly wanted to refuse, Wen Zenian dropped the question and switched to a command.
A golf cart with a clear rain shield waited at the entrance, the receptionist holding two umbrellas to see them off. Meng Ning had no choice but to board with her.
Despite the winding gravel paths, the rain-soaked, vividly lush kapok trees, and even the exotic stone sculptures that could easily spark conversation, Wen Zenian stayed quiet the whole way.
She didn’t pull out her phone for work either. She simply gazed out through the rain shield, letting the misty streetlamps flicker past her eyes and fade away.
Suddenly, Meng Ning desperately wanted to see those eyes, to watch the play of light and shadow in them.
Wen Zenian spoke only twice the entire time—once to say “I’ll take you back” as they boarded, and again with a “Goodbye” as she dropped Meng Ning off.
She handed her an umbrella at the same time.
Meng Ning dashed two steps to the eaves before opening it, only then noticing that Wen Zenian had slipped a room key into the umbrella strap sometime.
This was the third time she’d received this key—to Wen Zenian’s Administrative Suite.
There was also a small envelope, room-key-sized, printed with the same elegant “C” as the umbrella. Inside was a mini greeting card, likely scribbled by Wen Zenian in the spa changing room, thick with essential oil scent.
Wen Zenian’s Chinese handwriting was even more elegant than her English—crisp strokes, full of vigor: “The story awaits you.”
Beneath it, another line, seemingly added after a pause, as if penned with hesitation.
The ink’s varying depth hinted at the short time since she’d written it.
And that hesitant addition read: “Me too.”
By the time Meng Ning walked back to the staff dorms under her umbrella, the rain had tapered off abruptly.
Sudden downpour gone, leaving only the endless night.
She lingered a bit in the dorm lobby lounge, lighting a cigarette for herself. She killed time until midnight before heading out.
Midnight always held a strange magic.
Some dreams shattered—crystal coaches turning back to pumpkins. Others were just beginning.
The rain had turned fine and misty. Meng Ning thought for a moment and opened her umbrella anyway; the drops kissing the fabric sounded like whispers.
Another perk of past midnight: everyone who wanted to sleep was asleep. The night belonged only to the sleepless.
The staff elevator stood empty. She collapsed the umbrella inside, watching raindrops from the metal tip get absorbed one by one into the plush carpet.
At the corridor’s end lay a single door: the Administrative Suite.
She didn’t knock. She swiped the key card and let herself in.
The room glowed dimly. The terrace doors remained ajar; with the lighter rain and breeze, the moonlit sheer curtains hung dreamily still, rain threads painting the stone terrace in ink-wash shades of gray.
Wen Zenian sat on the white sofa set, surely hearing the door, but she didn’t stir, waiting for Meng Ning to approach.
Up close, Meng Ning saw she was still in her uniform, hadn’t even showered—as if utterly convinced of her arrival and simply waiting. She wasn’t wasting time, reviewing a document.
Only when Meng Ning’s shoe tip entered her view did Wen Zenian look up with a smile. “Are you here for the story?”
“Or for me?”
Meng Ning paused for a beat. “Where’s the story?”
The envelope lay on the sofa beside Wen Zenian, who now handed it over.
She reached for it, but Wen Zenian pulled it back. “Want me to read it to you?”
Meng Ning nodded. Wen Zenian tapped the sofa with a fingertip. “Sit.” Then she opened the envelope herself, glanced at it, and read it aloud in Chinese.
Meng Ning’s ears filled with the tale, her eyes with Wen Zenian’s visage.
As Wen Zenian read, her lashes fluttered faintly.
Her slender neck rolled gently with the words.
She sat ramrod straight on the sofa; Meng Ning, at a right angle beside her, had a perfect view of the curve dipping into her lower back.
Of course she’d heard Meng Ning stand, but she kept reading.
Meng Ning slid to her side, hooked an arm around her shoulder, and kissed behind her ear. “You’re doing this on purpose. You know you sound sexy reading stories.”
Wen Zenian drew a soft, shaky breath.
Meng Ning kissed the perfume lingering behind her ear. “Keep reading. Don’t stop.”
