No dark circles under her eyes either—no visible signs of anger.
Maybe she was just overthinking it? Maybe Wen Zenian wasn’t angry at all?
Meng Ning cleared the plates and walked out of the restaurant with Qi Xiao, oblivious to the gaze Wen Zenian fixed on her from behind.
That afternoon, Wen Zenian made a trip to the beach.
Meng Ning wasn’t on duty then. She was sitting in the control room. One of her teammates on monitor duty remarked, “Gwyneth’s here. Looks like she’s accompanying those investors for some surfing.”
Someone asked excitedly, “Is Gwyneth surfing too?”
“No way. It’s her work hours. Just like always, she’s only there to keep them company.”
Meng Ning kept her eyes lowered, staring at her phone screen. She didn’t really use her phone much—barely any apps installed. But when you didn’t feel like chatting, you had to do something to make others think you were busy.
Meng Ning knew she could pick up the binoculars right now and spot Wen Zenian, but she didn’t.
Even so, Wen Zenian’s face still managed to barge into her line of sight.
Wen Zenian appeared at the control room door. “Sorry to bother you.”
Her face had a natural remoteness when she wasn’t smiling, enough to make the air in the room thicken for a moment. Her distinctive voice stood out even more clearly: “Do you have any Band-Aids?”
It must have been one of the investors who got a small cut. Nothing serious—a Band-Aid would fix it.
Everyone else always paused a beat when she spoke. But Meng Ning, at the island counter in the back, stood up first. “Yes, I’ll get you one.”
The team leader blinked in surprise.
He’d worked with Meng Ning longer than anyone else on the team. He knew she was easygoing but far from the enthusiastic type.
Wen Zenian gave a slight nod and walked over.
As Meng Ning squatted to rummage in the drawer for the Band-Aid, she felt Wen Zenian’s gaze settle on her shoulder—heavy with weight.
When she stood and handed over the Band-Aid, Meng Ning took the initiative to flash her a smile and murmur a greeting. “Hi.”
It was as if Wen Zenian hadn’t seen it. She just nodded and turned to leave.
Meng Ning: …
She really was angry after all?
Or was she just doing as she’d said—holding back?
Meng Ning wasn’t savvy enough to puzzle out Wen Zenian’s thoughts. It was like being an unprepared student thrust into a midterm exam, staring at a multiple-choice question with no idea which formula to use. She guessed C at first, then switched to B, only to circle back to C in the end.
She hadn’t gone looking for Wen Zenian for several days. That evening, back in the dorm, Qi Xiao said to her, “That Thousand-Year Goji Berry Essence I bought last time? Total scam, right?”
Meng Ning just hummed in acknowledgment, wondering why she’d brought it up out of nowhere.
Qi Xiao looked dead serious. “This time I saw a live stream selling Thousand-Year Mushroom Essence…”
“Stop right there.” Meng Ning asked, “Mushrooms live for a thousand years now?”
Qi Xiao had facts this time. “It’s a close relative of lingzhi, and lingzhi can live for a thousand years.”
Meng Ning shot her a sidelong glance. Qi Xiao burst out laughing. “Okay, kidding. I wasn’t gonna buy anything. You don’t look rundown anymore—you haven’t fainted lately. So why haven’t you gone to find Gwyneth?”
Then, in a more earnest tone: “One night of passion is worth a thousand gold, you know.”
Meng Ning replied, “Spring hasn’t even started yet.”
“Doesn’t matter what kind of night it is—a moment’s worth a thousand gold!” Qi Xiao said. “Gwyneth’s heading overseas soon, and you’re quitting too, aren’t you?”
Meng Ning hummed again.
Around midnight, Qi Xiao half-awoke in a daze and sneaked a peek. She saw Meng Ning curled up in her own bed, her back turned, lying perfectly still on her side.
How could anyone sleep so motionless, without even rolling over?
Later, she figured Meng Ning probably hadn’t been asleep at all.
The poor girl was so worked up she couldn’t sleep—why not just go find Gwyneth?
The next day, the two of them had the day off and took the earliest speedboat off the island.
It wasn’t until they were crammed onto a bustling subway car that Qi Xiao leaned in and whispered, “What’s up with you two?”
“Hm?” Meng Ning hadn’t caught it and leaned closer.
The tall young woman held the overhead strap with one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of her hoodie. That refined, pretty face was approachable when she smiled, aloof when she didn’t, and casually indifferent somewhere in between.
Qi Xiao clarified, “I mean you and… you know who. Did something happen?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re fighting or something.”
Meng Ning’s smile grew even more offhand. “Fighting over what? You really think we’re dating?”
Qi Xiao quirked her lips. “Guess I was overthinking it.”
They cooked. They cleaned. They watched a cheesy popcorn flick. They grilled some barbecue. That night, Meng Ning got dragged out of her room to see Qi Xiao’s latest online purchase—a spring dress.
Qi Xiao beamed. “I hit the coupon threshold for free shipping!”
Back in her own room, Meng Ning sat at the desk, letting the red glow of the aviation safety light from the window sweep across her face.
She held her phone, spinning it idly, the corner tapping lightly against the desktop.
She’d thought about messaging Wen Zenian—just a simple “hi.”
Or maybe follow up: “What are you up to?”
Luckily, she had a habit of deleting her call history. She’d never saved Wen Zenian’s number. She could barely remember the last two digits—”89″—let alone the nine before them.
The afternoon after that, she headed out as usual.
She’d stopped going to the “3rd” café. With her backpack slung over her shoulders, she wandered aimlessly.
She had a knack for blending into crowds, where no one would notice her.
Without realizing it, she ended up at a flea market, the stalls bathed in a dusty haze under the sunlight. One vendor was desperately trying to convince a potential buyer that his snuff bottle dated back to the Tang dynasty’s golden age.
Snuff bottles hadn’t even reached China until the late Ming, Meng Ning recalled from her history textbook.
The buyer saw through the exaggeration and brushed it off with a laugh.
Meng Ning kept walking, and the stalls grew more legitimate.
An ancient music box shop played a halting, church-bell melody—pure and solemn. Another stall featured an old typewriter out front, its dark bean-paste green paint chipped and peeling.
The dusty air felt safe somehow, like a comforting slice of bygone days.
She wandered deeper, pausing in front of a shop crammed with vintage lighters.
Wen Zenian’s lighter was tucked in her pocket, bumping her leg with every step. It was from a luxury French brand starting with L—far beyond what Meng Ning could afford.
Wen Zenian had once joked about giving her a three-hundred raise so she could buy one as compensation.
Meng Ning shouldered her backpack into the shop. The boss, with his tattooed arms, sat behind the counter playing games on his phone and didn’t bother greeting her.
Which suited her just fine for browsing.
Most of the retro lighters were from the famous Z brand—somehow collected from all over the world, each carrying who-knew-what stories from their previous owners.
Some bore lovely patina scratches and rust.
Meng Ning’s gaze settled on a small matte silver lighter, much tinier than average. In the lower right corner was a little round wheel, shaped like the rudder from some medieval ship built to fend off pirates.
It wasn’t fancy—more ruggedly simple.
She hesitated for a long time, her eyes drifting to others before circling back.
She picked it up and set it on the counter. “How much for this one?”
Her mental limit was six hundred. The boss, deep in his game, didn’t even glance up before quoting a price way above that.
“How much?” She could hardly believe her ears.
He finally deigned to look at her. “If you don’t want it, forget it. No haggling.”
Meng Ning suspected the boss had her pegged.
The lazy gaming was just a front. He’d probably been eyeing her the whole time she lingered by the shelves with her backpack.
He could tell she wanted it.
Haggling hardly seemed worth it now. She just scanned the code and paid.
She was leaving soon anyway—couldn’t exactly complain about the cost of one lighter.
Back at the rental, Qi Xiao had her bags packed. “Let’s head out. We’ve got time to catch the bus today.”
They made it back to the island smoothly. After her shower, Meng Ning hesitated before slipping the secondhand lighter into her uniform pocket and heading out.
Qi Xiao waited until shift change, and when Meng Ning still hadn’t returned, a proud, mother-hen smile spread across her face.
Meng Ning was torn.
For years, she’d walled off her emotions, keeping things superficial with everyone. What happened with Wen Zenian was just a dream tearing that wall open a crack. She had no idea how to coax someone or make them not mad.
She took a step toward the hotel’s main building, then turned back, head down, aiming for the dorm.
That felt wrong, so she doubled back and hurried toward the main building again.
Early spring nights were warming up. By the time she stood in the elevator, a faint sweat prickled between her vertebrae.
A beep as she swiped her card and entered the room. The lights were on. Wen Zenian was inside.
Meng Ning pressed her lips together.
Maybe it was better that she was there. Waiting longer might have made her too nervous—enough to bolt.
She went in. Wen Zenian was working and didn’t look up.
Meng Ning took her usual spot on the side of the L-shaped sofa.
Wen Zenian wasn’t the most even-tempered. Frustrated with her documents, she muttered a curse in English and reached for the slender stem of her wineglass on the coffee table.
“It’s gone,” Meng Ning said softly, reminding her the wine was empty.
Wen Zenian clearly heard her. Her pale, slender fingertips drew back—but she still didn’t look up.
There was no bottle on the table; she’d probably cleared it away after emptying it. Meng Ning thought for a moment, then stood and headed to the liquor cabinet.
Wen Zenian must have been under real work stress. She didn’t get drunk often, but she loved her wine—and the cabinet held bottles galore, mostly whites.
Meng Ning had no idea which one she’d had tonight. She pulled out a few to check. Her observation skills were sharp, but color alone wouldn’t tell her. Then her gaze shifted right, landing on a familiar bottle.
It was the wine Wen Zenian had poured for her the first time she’d come to the room—the one she’d noticed Meng Ning enjoying at the banquet. She’d offered to give her a bottle, grabbed an unopened one, and labeled it with her name before stashing it in her own cabinet.
Now Meng Ning pulled it out, lowering her eyes to take in Wen Zenian’s elegant, sharp-edged handwriting.
Wen Zenian’s script was always beautiful, revealing a hidden edge in her personality.
Meng Ning carried the bottle over to where Wen Zenian sat primly on the sofa.
