Chapter 30 Part 2

“What’s that?”

“Fermented eggs!”

They reached the pier as night fell in an instant. The final streak of sunset vanished like a mischievous cat’s tail, curling playfully before slipping beyond the horizon. Darkness draped the world like gossamer over a ball of yarn, with invisible paws batting here and there until it lay smooth and even across the earth.

A single star hung on the horizon. No one knew if it was the Morning Star.

Later, they realized it wasn’t a star at all—it was a light, slowly drawing closer to the dock.

“…Huh?” Qi Xiao murmured.

Meng Ning adjusted the backpack straps on her shoulders. “Looks like a yacht.”

“Probably some rich person throwing a party again.”

In these waters, private yachts often appeared, drifting in the middle of the sea just to host an all-night rager under the cover of darkness.

But this one seemed to be heading straight for the shore.

Qi Xiao found it odd. “Why dock now? Parties like this are just getting started at this hour. It’s way too early to head back to land.”

Yet the yacht pressed on steadily, parting the waves and coming ever closer.

There was someone on the deck.

The dark sea stretched out vast and endless; the yacht’s lights couldn’t pierce far. All they could make out was a slender, upright silhouette.

Meng Ning recognized Wen Zenian before Qi Xiao did.

Later, she wondered why.

Perhaps it was because, in all their moments of intense intimacy, her palms had traced every inch of Wen Zenian’s body so thoroughly. She knew exactly how each curve rose and fell, how it would appear under different lights.

Or maybe it was just instinct.

As the yacht glided toward the shore, Qi Xiao caught on too. “It’s Gwyneth!”

The lights on the deck grew clearer, and that was the first time Meng Ning had seen Wen Zenian in red.

She wore a floor-length gown reminiscent of an ancient Greek temple priestess, with two thin straps of braided texture resting on her delicate shoulders, exposing just an inch of the elegant rise of her collarbone. The style was pure and sacred, yet the red veered toward a deep, dusky crimson—like a drop of pigeon-blood ruby congealed at the heart.

Wen Zenian stood poised on the deck, gazing toward the coast, her expression solemn.

Then, the moment she spotted Meng Ning in the distance, a smile bloomed across her face.

Even Qi Xiao, standing beside Meng Ning, was momentarily stunned. It was an impossibly dreamlike scene: a night-blooming cereus unfurling in the indifferent darkness. You knew such beauty couldn’t last forever—otherwise, it would be too extravagant, too much for the mortal world.

Qi Xiao glanced instinctively at Meng Ning beside her.

There was no surprise on Meng Ning’s face, only a dazed bewilderment.

In that instant, Qi Xiao suddenly understood what Meng Ning was feeling. Meng Ning knew Wen Zenian far better than she did, so it was harder for her to believe this scene was real—harder to reconcile this breathtaking vision with the woman who had writhed in pleasure at her side just moments before.

Not until the yacht eased up to the dock.

The music and laughter inside sounded faint and distant, confined to the cabins. On the quiet deck stood Wen Zenian alone.

With that smile, she extended a hand toward Meng Ning. In her sleeveless evening gown, the line of her arm and its porcelain-pale skin evoked the missing limbs of the Venus de Milo.

Meng Ning stood utterly still.

So still that Qi Xiao couldn’t help twisting her head for another look at her.

That bewildered expression lingered on Meng Ning’s refined features. One hand pressed against her backpack strap, she simply stood there, gazing impassively at the arm Wen Zenian held out to her.

But Qi Xiao read her thoughts once more.

Anyone confronted with a Wen Zenian like this would feel the same awe. Qi Xiao realized anew that Meng Ning’s silence wasn’t rejection—it was sheer disbelief.

So she gave Meng Ning’s arm a light nudge and whispered, “Go on.”

Her lips barely moved, curved in a smile, her voice soft enough for only Meng Ning to hear. She didn’t want Wen Zenian to notice she’d said anything.

A faint melancholy stirred in Qi Xiao’s heart.

Later, she would reflect on that scene for a long, long time.

That melancholy was the kind one felt before a spring day, a rose, or fireworks—born of beauty so radiant and brilliant that you were certain it would vanish in an instant.

It wouldn’t last.

Meng Ning still hadn’t moved, so Qi Xiao nudged her arm again. Keeping her smile perfectly neutral for Wen Zenian’s eyes, she mouthed softly, “Go make your dream.”

Meng Ning snapped out of it and walked toward the edge of the dock.

Wen Zenian reached out, pulling her onto the deck.

Standing there, Meng Ning turned back. The yacht was already easing away from shore. The sea breeze that had once tousled Wen Zenian’s hair now playfully stirred her own stray strands.

Meng Ning kept her eyes on Qi Xiao, as if gazing at a life of steady, ordinary calm.

Qi Xiao smiled and waved her off—go on, chase your dream.

Don’t worry if you’ll ever wake from it.

After all, how many chances did anyone get to dream in this lifetime?

Only when the yacht had drifted far from shore did Meng Ning finally tear her gaze away.

She didn’t even need to ask how Wen Zenian knew she and Qi Xiao were leaving the island early tonight.

As the hotel’s honorary executive manager parachuted in from on high, Wen Zenian had access to every employee record.

Beyond that, she seemed like a goddess who knew everything on this island.

Smiling, she asked Meng Ning, “Want to head inside and join the fun?”

“Why’s there a party tonight?”

“Someone’s birthday,” Wen Zenian said. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is there’s a party tonight—an all-night rager.”

Meng Ning followed Wen Zenian into the cabin.

The decor evoked some upscale whiskey bar, awash in excess liquor that fueled even wilder abandon. Dim, hazy lights blurred every face, hiding countless desires, schemes, and greeds.

Everyone felt safe. Everyone let loose.

Meng Ning saw they were all dressed in evening gowns. The party had clearly been going for a while; they’d already done one round of drinks, and even the air fermented with alcohol molecules. An old phonograph spun a remixed blues track—seductive rhythm, faster beat. Arms thrust high, lithe waists swayed to the music.

Maybe that’s why parties like this happened on yachts: even the ocean’s swell joined in to heighten the romance.

Wen Zenian asked Meng Ning, “What do you want to drink?”

Only then did Meng Ning dare to really look at her face.

Her outfits were always perfectly accented. Red lips with a black evening gown; near-bare makeup with a dark red one.

Of course, it wasn’t truly bare-faced. In the swaying cabin lights, Meng Ning could see her brows precisely shaped, her lips glossed in an earthy shade that made their ideal fullness look even more succulent.

The music blared, the crowd jostled. Meng Ning had to lean close to Wen Zenian’s ear. “Whiskey, neat, on the rocks!”

Wen Zenian glanced at her in mild surprise, smiling as if questioning how she was diving in so hard right away.

She leaned to Meng Ning’s ear. “Is your period over?”

They’d been distant these past few days; it should have ended by now. Wen Zenian was just confirming.

Meng Ning nodded.

Wen Zenian’s smile deepened as she led her farther in.

They passed several people. Some who didn’t know Wen Zenian eyed her appreciatively; others who did nodded in greeting.

Meng Ning knew nothing of Wen Zenian’s social circle. She’d assumed Wen Zenian hadn’t been back in the country long, yet here were acquaintances—probably all from the same elite world.

Meng Ning hadn’t worn her uniform today for the island departure; she’d thrown on a gray hoodie and light blue jeans. She’d thought it clashed horribly with everyone in evening wear, but then she noticed the greetings exchanged with Wen Zenian came with utterly casual glances her way.

That was when Meng Ning understood: At a certain level of society, people simply ignored the rules.

They didn’t think you had to wear an evening gown to a party. Nor did they find anything off about Wen Zenian bringing a young woman in a hoodie and jeans.

Wen Zenian led Meng Ning to the bar—no bartender in sight; it was all free-for-all.

She scooped a big chunk of ice from the bucket, then leaned close to confirm once more. “Period really over?”

Meng Ning said, “You’re so nagging.”

Wen Zenian shot her a sidelong look and chuckled. She dumped the ice into a glass with a clatter, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and poured generously.

Her movements were smooth, strikingly elegant.

She made another just like it, lifted hers, and toasted Meng Ning with a flourish. “Cheers!”

Meng Ning picked up the wide-mouthed crystal glass, but Wen Zenian stopped her.

They’d tucked into a shadowy corner of the bar, untouched by light, the sea rocking the hull. Before the whiskey even touched her lips, Meng Ning already felt a dizzy thrill.

Wen Zenian’s porcelain arm reached over, crossing Meng Ning’s forearm as they clinked glasses.

Meng Ning was already woozy from the waves and didn’t resist. She brought the glass to her lips, feeling the heat of Wen Zenian’s skin and the boozy warmth of her breath.

Wen Zenian had already been drinking.

Her thoughts turned heated and fanciful. The heavily iced liquor rushed down her throat, cold enough to jolt her wide awake.

Wen Zenian poured without restraint, so Meng Ning obediently drained it all.

“Another?” Wen Zenian asked.

“Yes.”

Wen Zenian arched a brow and poured again.

Leaning back against the bar, elbows propped wide, she sipped her drink now and then, watching the writhing crowd—until even the roots of Meng Ning’s lashes burned with the alcohol’s fire.

She asked Wen Zenian, “Want to dance?”

“Do you?” Wen Zenian replied.

“Yes,” Meng Ning said. “But I don’t know how.”

Wen Zenian laughed, her lips curving in a way that the dark red gown rendered seductive.

She leaned to Meng Ning’s ear, her breath moistening the lobe. “I do.”

Wen Zenian took Meng Ning’s hand and led her into the dancing throng.

This first touch since their reunion felt perfectly natural. Dim lights overlooked them; no one in the drunken crowd noticed.

Wen Zenian’s palm was so soft. It had to smell divine, even without sniffing.

Meng Ning suddenly wondered: What perfume was Wen Zenian wearing tonight?

The cabin reeked of mingled scents—perfumes, booze, smoke. Those brief moments leaning close to speak barely let her catch a whiff.

Wen Zenian said to Meng Ning, “May I have this dance?”

Meng Ning stayed rooted, watching her.

“There are no real rules,” Wen Zenian said with a smile. “Your moves depend only on how you want to hold me.”