Chapter 27 Part 1

Wen Zenian subtly fluttered her eyelids shut for a moment. Her expression was always one of haughty pride, yet she obediently continued reading.

Her voice, hushed low, burrowed straight into Meng Ning’s ear canal. Meng Ning truly did have half her attention on the story, which let her avoid sinking too completely into the soft allure of Wen Zenian’s earlobe.

Wen Zenian’s perfume shifted with her moods, and the tuberose notes were even more seductive tonight, wafting from behind her ear with a hint of bitter almond.

Meng Ning’s kisses wandered freely, sometimes brushing the collar of her shirt. Wen Zenian’s voice would warp subtly in those moments, pausing briefly before pressing on with the reading.

Meng Ning’s courage grew bolder, bold enough to start unbuttoning the collar of Wen Zenian’s shirt.

Now, she was the one in control of the situation. She just wanted to see how long Wen Zenian could hold out.

The two of them were still primly seated on the sofa. From behind, Wen Zenian looked as straight-backed as ever, with Meng Ning’s hand resting on her shoulder, as if she were simply listening intently to the story.

But.

Boldness came with its own rewards.

The moment Meng Ning grew truly unrestrained, Wen Zenian’s always-rigid spine sagged by half. The hand clutching the page trembled faintly, while her other palm pressed into the sofa to steady herself.

Meng Ning nudged her earlobe. “Did I tell you to stop?”

Wen Zenian kept reading.

A sci-fi story shouldn’t sound so lush and intimate, laced with so many tremors, with syllables that stuttered and sighed.

Meng Ning leaned over her shoulder to peer at the page. “How many lines left?”

Wen Zenian swallowed a breath. “Three.”

Meng Ning withdrew her hand and began dismantling Wen Zenian’s updo.

She drew slender clips one by one from the misty cascade of dark hair. With a bend of her waist, Meng Ning placed each on the obsidian-black side table, tapping out a soft clink.

Wen Zenian said, “I’m about to read the last line.”

Meng Ning replied, “Go ahead.”

By then, her fingers had found the final clip amid Wen Zenian’s hair. As Wen Zenian’s lips parted to intone, “They set sail into the vast reaches of the cosmos, with no return in sight,” Meng Ning pulled it free. Wen Zenian’s thick tresses tumbled down at once, only to be gently tousled by her fingertips.

She drew Wen Zenian close by the shoulder, brushing the back of her hand lightly along that slender neck where a shiver danced. “Do you know why I came here?”

“This afternoon on the beach, I caught sight of you. I realized I could reconstruct every inch of your figure from memory alone.”

“Even down to how the sunlight would slide along your stockings from your calf, refracting into a tiny, gleaming spot.”

Before, she’d thought quitting her job would be no big deal; she had no attachments to the hotel.

But once she realized Wen Zenian had already carved herself into her mind, she knew she’d lost.

Wen Zenian murmured softly, “You like me in stockings?”

Without the story to distract her, she quickly lost herself in the haze of desire. “I do.”

Wen Zenian gently disentangled herself and stood. “Good.”

Good what?

Meng Ning was bewildered only for an instant before Wen Zenian clarified. Her slender fingers found the clasp at her waist, sliding her skirt aside to reveal the two long, elegant legs sheathed in silk stockings.

She settled onto Meng Ning’s lap, the shift in power instantaneous.

Her suit was still impeccably in place, save for the two extra buttons Meng Ning had undone at her shirt collar. That cascade of seductive dark hair, loosened after a day in its neat bun, hung in charming disarray along her jaw.

It made her look both stern and indulgent, both aloof and tender.

Wen Zenian had noticed the small cut on Meng Ning’s face ages ago. She didn’t need to ask how it had happened—she could guess at the beach incident from that afternoon, and the wound wasn’t nearly serious enough to warrant comment.

But now, as her fingertip circled it, she found it oddly reminiscent of a flower sticker.

A tiny red dot against skin like smooth congealed cream. In ancient times, such adornments graced a woman’s brow; Meng Ning’s mark sat two centimeters below her cheekbone. Those old beauty marks enhanced allure; this wound added a touch of vulnerability to her cool, detached features.

Meng Ning was stubborn about it, really—last time, she’d furrowed her brow at most, holding her breath through the height of it all, never uttering more than a tiny gasp of pain.

Wen Zenian rather liked this little wound on her cheek. She leaned in and kissed it softly.

She liked the fragility it lent Meng Ning, stirring the urge to cherish her… and to tease her all the more.

She rose from Meng Ning’s lap. Meng Ning lifted her head, and Wen Zenian said, “Stay put.”

Meng Ning caught her breath as Wen Zenian returned, a bath towel draped over her arm. The sound of running water earlier meant she’d washed her hands, but she still brought the little blue box.

Meng Ning started, “I…”

Wen Zenian shot her a glance. “Are you sure you learned how last time?”

Meng Ning wasn’t certain.

She wasn’t just uncertain if she’d learned; she was intimidated. Wen Zenian’s suit—still on—her slightly open shirt collar, and that tousled hair framing her jaw carried too much commanding presence.

Wen Zenian laid her down on the bath towel and asked, “Are you cold?”

She shook her head.

The terrace doors stood wide open. The lone string of Buddha beads around her wrist offered scant warmth. But the rain was tepid, the sea breeze mild, and the lingering heat from the Volcanic Stone SPA seemed to pulse through her spine, thin sweat beading between her vertebrae.

Then Wen Zenian reminded her, “Breathe.”

“Meng Ning, you’re forgetting to breathe again.”

Afterward, in the midst of their lingering intimacy, Meng Ning came back to herself as Wen Zenian gently stroked the Buddha beads on her wrist.

She nudged Wen Zenian lightly, whispering hoarsely, “Don’t touch.”

She’d stayed silent through it all, but clearly, holding back strained her throat worse than any cry.

“Relax.” Wen Zenian nuzzled her forehead. “If I didn’t respect your wishes, these Buddha beads wouldn’t still be neatly around your wrist from that first night you fell asleep in my room.”

She let out a soft “mm” and called to Wen Zenian, “I’ll go clean up.”

The first time, she hadn’t been able to move; having Wen Zenian handle it had been mortifying.

Wen Zenian didn’t press, rising to drape her in the bathrobe she’d fetched earlier.

Meng Ning’s bare feet padded across the floor as she gathered her scattered clothes. When she emerged from the bathroom, her uniform was neatly back in place, her long black hair twisted into a proper bun at the nape of her neck.

Wen Zenian lounged on the sofa. “This time, you didn’t even pretend to wait for me to fall asleep.”

She bolted even faster.

Meng Ning paused by the side table, scooping up the keycard. “But I’m taking this.”

Beside the keycard lay the printed page of the sci-fi story’s second segment that Wen Zenian had set down earlier. Meng Ning slipped it into an envelope and took that too.

Wen Zenian asked, “You’ve never once thought about dating me, have you?”

Meng Ning smiled and echoed what she’d told Qi Xiao before. “I’m planning a long trip. No intentions of dating anyone.”

Wen Zenian nodded. “I figured.”

Of course she had; Wen Zenian was so sharp.

Meng Ning asked, “What about you?”

“Me?” Wen Zenian’s smile was a subtle tug at the corner of her mouth. She looked a bit worn out, propping her palm on the sofa as she watched Meng Ning seal the envelope. “I’ve lost the capacity to fall in love.”

Logically, Meng Ning should have asked why.

But she merely pursed her lips and nodded.

She pocketed the envelope. “Then I’m off.”

Wen Zenian murmured a lazy “mm.”

She asked, “When should I come next time?”

“Whenever.”

“Then I’ll text you first.”

“No need.” Wen Zenian said, “Just use the keycard. Even if I’m not here, I’ll come back eventually.”

When Meng Ning stepped outside, the rain had fully stopped, leaving the air fresh with the scent of damp grass and earth.

Puddles dotted the gravel path, splashing lightly against her shoes with each step.

Her uniform pocket already held Wen Zenian’s lighter, and now the keycard joined it—small items, but together they weighed heavy.

She asked herself: What are you doing, Meng Ning?

With the rain cleared, the moon shone bright amid sparse stars. She hoped her mind would clear too, sorting through the situation:

First, undeniable—Wen Zenian held an irresistible pull over her.

But it was mostly instinct, a natural yearning for beauty. As for true liking? She didn’t feel it for Wen Zenian, nor did Wen Zenian for her. Liking needed a foundation of understanding, and though they’d known each other once, both had changed utterly since then.

She had no intention of prying into Wen Zenian’s life or answering her questions. Liking without that base was just a rootless tree.

So, as Qi Xiao had put it, neither of them was overthinking it.

Less than two months remained. They were both leaving—C Sea Island bound for brighter futures, hers to the ends of the earth. This was a dreamlike interlude, existing only on this island.

Back in her room, Qi Xiao was out cold. Meng Ning took a quick shower and collapsed into bed.

Indulgence had its perks—she was exhausted enough to sleep deeply without sleeping pills.

The alarm dragged her awake the next morning amid much groaning. “Qi Xiao, get up. Time for our long run.”

Qi Xiao sprang from bed in a daze, her first groggy words: “What time did you get back last night?”

As Meng Ning headed for the bathroom, she glanced back. “Hurry and freshen up. Shake off the sleep and let’s go.”

Qi Xiao yelled after her vanishing figure. “Don’t play dumb!”

Meng Ning didn’t reply.

They headed out together for their run, followed by the team’s morning training. For the first time, Meng Ning felt her limbs go wobbly.

Qi Xiao jogged alongside. “I’m dying here—don’t ditch me. We’re all about no one left behind.”

Meng Ning murmured, “Mm…”

Before she finished, she crumpled softly to the ground.

Eliciting Qi Xiao’s panicked yelp: “Oh no, oh no—she’s passed out!”

When Meng Ning opened her eyes, Qi Xiao’s words still echoed in her ears.

Qi Xiao’s face filled her vision. “You’re awake? You scared me half to death!”

Meng Ning didn’t need to look around to know she was in the infirmary.

The rest rooms were private singles, so Qi Xiao kept her voice down. “That was way too intense—how’d you even faint?”

Meng Ning was utterly speechless. “I burned too much energy rescuing someone yesterday afternoon, barely ate last night, then pushed too hard this morning. Low blood sugar.”

Qi Xiao wore a knowing look—”I get it, I understand”—before hitting her with: “So, how many rounds did you two go last night?”