Chapter 31 Part 1

Meng Ning gently wrapped her arm around Wen Zenian’s slender waist.

She was a bit drunk, and the world seemed far more forgiving because of it. She loved the languid rhythm of the old jazz playing at that moment, the hazy glow of the lights, the ink-black waves rising and falling beyond the round porthole, and the tipsy abandon of holding someone close on the dance floor while ignoring the crowds around them.

Wen Zenian’s slender fingers rested on her shoulder, and at some point, their foreheads had come to touch.

The hint of alcohol in Wen Zenian’s breath deepened Meng Ning’s intoxication, stirring a restless dissatisfaction deep within her.

She tilted her head, nestling into the sensitive spot behind Wen Zenian’s ear.

To anyone watching, she might have looked like she was simply leaning on Wen Zenian’s shoulder. Only she knew the truth: she was greedily breathing in the fragrance there.

She had pinpointed Wen Zenian’s perfume for the night now—the most seductive one the woman had ever worn.

Tonka bean and amber wove together into a rich, intoxicating base note that enveloped her completely, trapping her like a tiny insect wriggling desperately in amber. But it was a struggle born of pure pleasure.

Tonight, she had danced countless dances, drunk glass after glass of wine, and laughed with wild abandon.

Until the skin of Wen Zenian’s cheek, pressed against her forehead, began to grow feverish. “How can you drink so much?”

Wen Zenian added softly, “I’m starting to feel a little drunk myself.”

No one was truly impervious to the cold.

Even in the subtropical monsoon climate, it was winter after all. Once night fell, the temperature plummeted—especially now that the yacht had reached the open sea, where the wind blew even chillier.

Only those desperate for a moment alone convinced themselves they didn’t mind the cold.

Meng Ning led Wen Zenian out onto the deck.

Wen Zenian’s high heels caught lightly on a step, and Meng Ning gripped that soft hand a little tighter. “Careful.”

Wen Zenian nodded.

Two lounge chairs sat on the deck, meant for sunbathing during the day. Now, of course, they were empty save for these two inexplicable souls, lying there instead to bask in the moonlight.

Wen Zenian had her eyes closed, her breathing a touch heavier than usual.

The sound of the waves crashing nearby was so vivid it felt like 3D surround sound. Meng Ning paused, then chuckled inwardly—what was she thinking? This was the real thing, a full 360-degree ocean symphony. She really had drunk too much.

She turned her head to gaze at Wen Zenian.

The moon hung like a silver platter in the sky, casting a clear, ethereal glow across the deck that outshone the cabin lights by far.

In that light, Wen Zenian’s beautiful features stood out in sharp relief. Her eyeliner swept subtly upward, her face free of excess makeup save for the flush of alcohol blooming beneath her fair skin.

It trailed from the corner of her eye all the way to her temple.

She looked as if she were dozing lightly. But when Meng Ning’s gaze fell upon her, those thin lips parted slightly. “What are you staring at?”

Drunk people only spoke the truth. “Because you’re beautiful.”

Tonight was a night for indulgence, like a dream with no limits.

Wen Zenian let out a lazy laugh.

She wasn’t even wearing her diamond earrings tonight—no jewelry at all. Just that deep crimson gown that clung to her like a second skin, its plunging neckline tracing a delicate line down her chest. Yet her porcelain skin lent it an almost sacred purity.

“Are you cold?” she asked with her eyes still closed. “I’m getting chilly.”

There came a soft rustling of fabric.

After a moment, Wen Zenian turned her head to look at Meng Ning.

She saw that Meng Ning had shrugged off her gray hoodie and lay back down on the lounge chair, extending her arm to offer it over.

Wen Zenian paused, then burst into laughter.

She didn’t take it right away. Instead, she asked, “Aren’t you cold?”

“Not at all.” Meng Ning shook her head. “All that alcohol’s got me burning up.”

Wen Zenian smiled, her gaze lingering on Meng Ning’s clear eyes and long lashes. What perfect features they were—she couldn’t even tell if Meng Ning was truly drunk or just pretending.

With a smile, she took the hoodie and draped it over herself.

She turned her head away from Meng Ning, arching her swanlike neck as she buried her face in the fabric and inhaled deeply.

Meng Ning used no perfume or cosmetics, so the hoodie carried only her natural scent.

Meng Ning watched Wen Zenian, who turned her head back, lying supine once more with her eyes closed and a faint smile playing on her lips.

Meng Ning shifted to lie on her side, gazing openly now.

The human longing for beauty was innate, after all—like the way people stared transfixed at the Venus sculpture in a museum or Da Vinci’s Saint Anne, unable to look away.

She felt she could gaze at this scene forever. But then two figures emerged from the cabin.

Wen Zenian cracked her eyes open. She didn’t know them, and they didn’t know her.

At a party like this, everyone was happily sloshed, social graces forgotten—no need even for greetings.

They were two young women, one whose billowing evening gown resembled a blooming daisy, half-concealing the other in a heated embrace, their lips locked passionately.

Meng Ning and Wen Zenian could avert their eyes, but they couldn’t escape the sounds.

Meng Ning laughed.

She hadn’t realized before quite how awkward the noises of kissing could be.

Wen Zenian laughed too.

Meng Ning said, “I’m getting cold now. Let’s go.”

Humans were strange creatures. Alone here, the chill hadn’t bothered her at all—she’d been burning up inside. But the moment company arrived, she suddenly felt frozen.

Wen Zenian stood with her and draped the hoodie over Meng Ning’s shoulders. “Put this on.”

It seemed Wen Zenian really believed she was cold.

Meng Ning opened her mouth, wondering if she should explain.

But Wen Zenian lowered her voice. “That T-shirt you’re wearing underneath? The fabric’s a little too thin, isn’t it?”

It outlined Meng Ning’s slim figure far too clearly.

Meng Ning pulled the hoodie back on, and Wen Zenian took her hand, leading her back into the cabin.

“Aren’t you thirsty for more?” Meng Ning asked. “Do you want another drink?”

Wen Zenian shot her a glance, as if trying to puzzle out her astonishing tolerance tonight.

Meng Ning didn’t know either.

She only knew her blood was surging through her veins, urging her to do something—anything—to quell that vague, insistent impulse… or perhaps to fan it into roaring flames.

She held her crystal tumbler, a smile never leaving her lips.

Wen Zenian said, “You’ve had too much.”

Meng Ning drawled lazily, “Maybe.”

Suddenly, Wen Zenian’s slender hand pressed lightly on her shoulder. “Wait for me a moment. I need to say hello to someone.”

“Mm.”

Meng Ning watched Wen Zenian’s retreating figure as she approached a group of young women who had just entered the cabin. One of them smiled at Wen Zenian with particular warmth.

Meng Ning felt a little dizzy. She held her pose, elbows propped on the bar, sipping her whiskey now and then.

Wen Zenian chatted with them, then glanced back at her.

Meng Ning’s fingers tightened around her glass.

Just then, the music shifted to a sultry, old-school blues—perfect for wrapping an arm around a graceful waist and swaying along.

The woman smiled and led Wen Zenian toward the dancers.

Meng Ning realized: the woman had been asking her to dance.

Wen Zenian didn’t refuse, but she looked back at Meng Ning once more.

Meng Ning lowered her lashes, staring at the wooden floorboards beneath her feet—like something from an old-fashioned ship cabin.

“Sorry.”

Wen Zenian had her back to Meng Ning, so she didn’t notice when Meng Ning wove through the crowd to approach.

Meng Ning’s voice was pleasant, not overly sweet but clear and crisp.

Wen Zenian turned to find that Meng Ning wasn’t addressing her—the apology was for the woman who had invited her to dance.

When Meng Ning wasn’t smiling, her eyes held a quiet depth. “She’s my dance partner.”

Wen Zenian rarely smiled, but when she did, her striking features lit up radiantly.

She turned to the other woman. “Sorry about that.”

The woman shrugged, exchanged a few polite words with Wen Zenian, and stepped away.

Wen Zenian placed her hand on Meng Ning’s shoulder. Meng Ning’s hand settled on her slender waist.

In the swelling melody, they naturally fell into a forehead-to-forehead pose.

Meng Ning was very drunk, yet still clear-headed enough to think.

She wondered: Who was that woman? Why was Wen Zenian socializing with her? Were they close? Was there something more between them? Or was it connected to the investors Wen Zenian hoped to court for the C Hotel upgrade?

But Wen Zenian didn’t resist her closeness. She didn’t mind showing this intimacy to anyone.

Her slender hand on Meng Ning’s shoulder. Her forehead pressing forward willingly.

Meng Ning’s hoodie now carried Wen Zenian’s perfume like a lingering embrace around her.

It still wasn’t enough. Greedily, she leaned in to sniff the scent behind Wen Zenian’s ear again.

Wen Zenian squirmed a little at the ticklish sensation but indulged her every whim.

Meng Ning had another motive too. She whispered into Wen Zenian’s ear, “Who was that woman asking you to dance? Did I ruin anything for you?”

Business. Or personal.

But Wen Zenian replied, “It doesn’t matter.”

Just like earlier, when Meng Ning had asked why this party was happening, and Wen Zenian had said the same: “It doesn’t matter.”

All of it was just scenery. Like the Moulin Rouge in a film or the piazza in Roman Holiday—a backdrop for their dreamlike escape from the everyday.

The song ended, and Meng Ning’s heels burned. Only then did she realize how many dances she’d done that night—not to mention in her sneakers.

She turned to Wen Zenian, still in her high heels. “Don’t your feet hurt?”

“They hurt like hell,” Wen Zenian admitted.

Meng Ning laughed. Wen Zenian took her hand again. “Let’s find somewhere to rest.”

Rest? Where? The cabin sofas were occupied by languid couples—whispering close together, embracing, or kissing.

Wen Zenian led her to the other side and pushed open a small storage room door beside the restroom.

Fortunately, it was empty.

Wen Zenian pulled Meng Ning inside and locked the door.

No sofa or chairs here. Wen Zenian eyed a narrow, piano-shaped console table against the wall, hopped up onto it, and kicked off her high heels.

She looked so mature in that deep red gown, and the motion came off not girlish but effortlessly bold and lazy.

Utterly captivating.

“Want to sit?” she asked Meng Ning.

The table was too narrow. Meng Ning shook her head. Her sneakers had saved her feet; the ache was bearable.

She simply leaned against the edged pillar beside Wen Zenian, relaxing her body.

The music outside shifted back to upbeat blues, laughter and chatter filtering through the door crack. Meng Ning glanced down at Wen Zenian’s feet—red marks from the heels encircled her arches, but otherwise they gleamed pale and luminous, fragile in their beauty.

Too drunk, Meng Ning found herself humming along absently to the music outside, the tune fragmented and off-key.