Chapter 36 Part 1

With things said so plainly, Qi Xiao didn’t mince words. “It’s because that lighter you gave her was so expensive for you.”

“Any adult understands that logic,” she continued. “Sweet talk and promises—what are they worth? You say more when you’re happy today, less when you’re not tomorrow. Zero cost. Only money is the real deal. Whether someone truly likes another shows in whether they’re willing to spend it on them.”

“When I spotted that receipt, it suddenly hit me—what you’d told me before. You said beautiful dreams have their dangers: if you forget they’ll eventually wake you up, you’re in trouble. Only now do I get what you meant. Honestly, it’s way too easy to fall for Gwyneth. Yacht parties all night, calling in a hotel helicopter to rush you medicine… It’s so easy to feel treasured. Loved.”

Meng Ning smiled instead. “Would you think the fireworks loved you?”

“Huh?”

“Fireworks exploding in the sky—they’re grand and beautiful, right? Easy to feel like the whole night sky lit up just for you. But would you think the fireworks loved you?” Meng Ning’s lips curved. “No, because you know it’s just a fleeting moment.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Yachts and helicopters—they feel too dreamlike. You spot the illusion right away and know it’ll end. Of course, you know you’ll wake up.” Meng Ning had seemed perfectly calm throughout. “Gwyneth’s just weaving dreams, and I happened to be the target. If anything, she probably gets more satisfaction out of it than I do.”

Qi Xiao stared, stunned for a long moment.

“Damn.” She couldn’t hold back the curse, shoving Meng Ning’s arm hard. “I was worried you’d get lost in it, unable to pull yourself out. Turns out you’re crystal clear-headed. You have no idea how scared I was when I saw that receipt. After all, I’m the one who egged you on to chase the dream. If you ended up hurt, I’d feel so guilty.”

Meng Ning pretended to topple sideways from the shove, laughing again. “No worries. The more dazzling the fireworks, the easier it is to see them for what they are.”

Meng Ning had once felt that her relationship with Wen Zenian was sliding into dangerously deep waters.

A gentle stroke across her palm lines had stirred her heart; a single glass of wine offered in forgiveness had left her aching. She’d nearly convinced herself that Wen Zenian was still that girl from their old world, the one who’d had eyes only for her—that she alone could fill the void in her soul.

What a ridiculous notion, buying that lighter.

Just as she’d explained to Qi Xiao: that exorbitantly priced lighter for her was pocket change to the current Wen Zenian.

The Wen Zenian of today was godlike, turning luxuries out of reach for ordinary people into effortless props for dream-weaving.

A flickering flame cradled in the palm was far more dangerous than fireworks. A single, intimate brush against palm lines outdid the roar of a helicopter.

Meng Ning had let her guard down. Before that, she hadn’t sought out Wen Zenian in ages.

So when Wen Zenian appeared at the door of her rental apartment on her night off, Meng Ning felt only a flicker of surprise before mustering a calm smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Wen Zenian greeted her, a small furrow creasing her brow that suggested she wasn’t in the best mood.

Meng Ning asked, “The investors giving you hell again?”

Wen Zenian shrugged. “Dropped them off at a club downtown. Chatted a bit extra before they dove into cards.”

“How’d it go?”

“Oh—don’t ask.” Wen Zenian exhaled wearily, rubbing the back of her neck.

Her neck was slender and long, its delicacy lending it a fragile beauty. She eyed Meng Ning with mild dissatisfaction. “Are we just going to stand in the doorway?”

Right then, Qi Xiao burst out of her room in a whirlwind. “Ning! I’m ready—let’s go. Song Xiao’ll meet us at the bar.”

She froze at the sight of Wen Zenian in the doorway.

Meng Ning turned to Wen Zenian with a smile. “Since you need to blow off steam, come to the bar with us?”

Wen Zenian paused, glancing at Qi Xiao. “That okay?”

In that single second, Qi Xiao’s mind waged a fierce internal battle.

On one hand, who wanted to hang with the boss on their night off? Might as well be overtime.

On the other, boozing with Gwyneth? A rare shot at gossip the whole Hotel Group would kill for.

In the end, her extrovert soul blazed triumphantly. “Totally fine! More than fine!”

The three piled into a cab to the bar.

Qi Xiao claimed carsickness and took shotgun, sneaking glances back at the two sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in the rear.

Wen Zenian sat on the left, gazing out the left window. Meng Ning sat on the right, her eyes drifting to the right pane. Qi Xiao muttered to herself up front: After all that intimate contact, were they still this distant?

She pulled her gaze away and peered out her own window.

Huh? Only then did she notice how the night served as backdrop, streetlights double-exposing like a filter, superimposing the person beside her onto her own reflection in the glass.

Like right now, in her reflection overlapped the bald driver uncle belting along to the car stereo: “Fight? Hell yeah!”

The quiet in the back seat drew a sharp line from the front, leaving all the pop songs, chatter, and energy up there while time stood still behind. The two simply breathed in sync, watching each other’s shadows merge into their own silhouettes, streetlights gilding through their lashes.

Qi Xiao wondered if she was overimagining it.

Now that she knew Meng Ning wasn’t falling too deep, she felt free to ship them hard.

The ride was only twenty minutes. As they got out, Meng Ning held the cab door for Wen Zenian. “This is our usual spot.”

Wen Zenian nodded.

Tonight she wore a charcoal short blazer over matching wide-leg trousers, her heels taller and slimmer than in uniform, accentuating her height and legs.

As she stepped into the bar, Qi Xiao could’ve sworn the room hushed for a split second. Plenty of beauties around, but few exuded this refined aura. Unsmiling, her presence felt two meters wide. Then Meng Ning leaned close and whispered something in her ear, and she broke into a smile.

Qi Xiao’s heart jolted.

Wen Zenian rarely smiled; when she did, the contrast hit like a tropical bloom cracking ancient ice—radiant enough to steal the show.

They settled in as Song Xiao was still en route. Qi Xiao asked Wen Zenian what she’d drink; Wen Zenian said anything. Qi Xiao ordered their usual, pouring one for herself and Meng Ning. “Ning, don’t ask why—just down this first.”

Meng Ning blinked. ?

Qi Xiao meant it as deepest admiration.

Facing temptations like Wen Zenian daily and staying level-headed? Hero! Legend!

Wen Zenian shrugged off her blazer. Her crisp shirt had sleeves casually rolled to the elbows—no watch, just tiny diamond earrings glinting at each lobe. Yet she made it anything but androgynous: her lovely curves, porcelain wrists, elegant updo all radiating perfectly mature femininity.

One arm draped across the sofa back; from Qi Xiao’s angle, it looked like Meng Ning was nestled right in her embrace.

Qi Xiao sighed inwardly: Meng Ning was ice-cold with everyone else—no one dared chat her up unsmiling. But with Wen Zenian, she was like a baby chick. No wonder she’d bottom for love.

She had the makings for it.

Song Xiao arrived and paused, blinking. The bar’s dim lights softened Wen Zenian’s aloof vibe. Plus, she wasn’t the boss here—just someone she’d glimpsed afar at the C Hotel Group and taken a shine to. After hellos, she grinned and slid in by Qi Xiao.

Meng Ning had dragged people to the bar but said nothing. Qi Xiao shot her a glare and unleashed her extrovert save-the-day skills.

Not for gossip, nope. Purely to keep things lively.

Raising her glass, she proposed, “Straight shots are boring. Let’s spin a pistachio shell—the mouth points to you, you answer a question. Pass, and you chug a full glass.”

Qi Xiao half-expected Wen Zenian to demur. Instead, she agreed readily.

Fate was kind: Wen Zenian kept getting picked.

Qi Xiao’s early questions were tame. Buzzed later, they got wild. “Are you a natural 1 or 0?”

Bad booze made her thirstier. Meng Ning was mid-sip of water and choked, coughing twice.

Wen Zenian replied, “Depends on the situation.”

Qi Xiao wouldn’t let it slide. “No cheating—based on your innate traits!”

“0,” Wen Zenian said.

Knew it—she’s a total 0! Qi Xiao gloated, shooting Meng Ning a look.

This kid just wouldn’t step up! Perfect 1 material, wasting it on bottoming! Look what it’s done to a prime catch like Wen Zenian!

Deeper into the drinks, questions crossed lines. “How’d you and Meng Ning meet back then?”

Qi Xiao had set the rule for dodges—no answer, drink up—just to push boundaries. If they really balked, a quick penalty shot ended it.

Adult hangouts hid invisible tripwires everywhere.

Meng Ning told Wen Zenian, “I can drink for you.”

Luckiest of the night, the pistachio had barely touched her—she’d answered maybe twice.

Wen Zenian didn’t agree right away, asking Qi Xiao, “What’d Meng Ning say?”

“Meng Ning said you met at a competition.”

“That’s true enough,” Wen Zenian confirmed with a nod. “But after, we were classmates for over half a year.”

“What?” Qi Xiao’s eyes bugged out at Meng Ning. “You went to fancy private school after all! That baby face screams heiress. Spill—which family? Confess to your sisters; no judgment. I’ll just latch onto those killer legs—er, slim pins!”

Meng Ning clammed up. “Can I just drink?”

Wen Zenian brushed it off. “Not some elite academy. It was my middle school—in Crane City.”

Qi Xiao blanked.

She rubbed her booze-fogged head, piecing it together. Wen Zenian, Gwyneth Won—raised in Britain, insane family pedigree. Dad knighted by the Queen, something like tenth in line for the world-famous C Hotel Group.

“You,” she slurred, pointing wildly at Wen Zenian amid booze and shock, “went undercover?”

Under the table, Meng Ning’s foot lightly nudged Wen Zenian’s knee. The smooth, cool fabric of her trousers was thin; it drew a playful smile to Wen Zenian’s lips.

Ever since Meng Ning’s kink came out, knees held special meaning for them.

Meng Ning had only meant to signal to Wen Zenian that there was no need to keep going. They’d come this far with great difficulty—why dredge up the past now? But Wen Zenian acted as if it were nothing and turned to Qi Xiao. “I was adopted by my aunt,” she said. “She married a British lord, and they had no children of their own, so I went to live with them in Britain when I was fifteen.”

Qi Xiao clutched her head. “Hold on, just give me a second to sort this out.” She looked up. “So you’re not mixed-race?”

Wen Zenian tilted her head. “Why would you think that?”