Wen Zenian tilted her sweat-drenched neck and said, “Meng Ning, I like your bed.”
She loved calling out Meng Ning’s name, especially during their most intimate moments.
Meng Ning had never felt much attachment to this bed before, but now she liked it too. The king-size bed in the Administrative Suite had its perks—it was vast like an open sea, where no desire felt shameful and any position could be explored without hesitation.
Yet Meng Ning’s little single bed had its own appeal. Wen Zenian held her sweat-slicked back close; neither could pull away from the other in that tight embrace, as if they were each other’s sole salvation.
Meng Ning took the lead step by step. She could tell Wen Zenian was truly at her limit this time. In a low whisper, she said, “Just once, okay?”
Meng Ning had her own little schemes. Earlier, after they had showered and returned to the room, she had watched Wen Zenian pull the small blue box from her bag and set it on the nightstand. She had made a mental note of the spot, easy enough to reach even in the dark.
Truth be told, she was quite nervous. Her anxiety stemmed from Wen Zenian’s skill; wild thoughts raced through her mind about the “study materials” Qi Xiao had downloaded for her. Did Wen Zenian do those things?
In the darkness, however, Wen Zenian found her arm. Her fingers brushed over the Buddha beads. “Should I take them off?”
“Hey,” Meng Ning groaned, suffering just as much. “It’s just a string of Buddha beads. What’s the big deal?”
At their current level of naked honesty, the beads on her wrist weren’t hindering anything.
Wen Zenian panted for a moment, falling silent. One of Meng Ning’s hands was gripped tight by her, but the other continued its bold path. Meng Ning could sense a brief moment of hesitation from Wen Zenian, and with a touch of coquetry, she asked again, “Just once, okay?”
Wen Zenian stayed quiet for a long while, her fingers loosening slightly around Meng Ning’s wrist. But as Meng Ning groped toward the nightstand, Wen Zenian got there first.
“Hey,” Meng Ning protested naturally. Things had already gone this far.
Wen Zenian switched their positions, leaning down to kiss her feverish eyelids. “I don’t know what’s so special about a string of Buddha beads either. Maybe I just want you to change a little for me.”
“Just a little, for me. That would be enough.”
In the end, they resolved things the old-fashioned way.
Wen Zenian loved kissing her forehead whenever Meng Ning let out those soft, fragmented sounds, murmuring, “My kitten.”
Why did shivers convey such ecstasy? Why did whimpers express such joy?
When Meng Ning dragged herself up to clean up, she called for Wen Zenian to shower first. “I don’t have pajamas,” Wen Zenian said.
“I don’t have a full set either—just a T-shirt and some lounge pants. Will that work?”
Wen Zenian nodded, so Meng Ning pulled a clean set from the closet.
When Wen Zenian stepped out of the room, Meng Ning followed. Wen Zenian glanced back at her. “Aren’t you going to rest? You looked about ready to pass out.”
Meng Ning: …
She shook her head. “I’m worried that if Qi Xiao and the others come back, you’ll feel uncomfortable. I’ll just keep watch in the living room.”
A flicker of micro-expression crossed Wen Zenian’s face, gone in an instant. Even Meng Ning’s sharp sensitivity couldn’t catch it amid her overwhelming fatigue.
The sound of rushing water came from the bathroom. Meng Ning pulled out her phone to clear her messages.
The latest one was a bank payment notification. The cab fare she had just paid was indeed exorbitant.
Wen Zenian emerged from the bathroom then, hurrying toward Meng Ning’s room—likely afraid of running into Qi Xiao and Song Xiao. She called out, “You go wash up.”
“Mm.” Meng Ning stood.
By the time she finished her shower and switched off the living room light, Qi Xiao and Song Xiao were unlocking the door. Qi Xiao hissed in a breathy whisper, “She’s asleep, she’s asleep.”
Afraid her sudden movement might startle them, Meng Ning spoke up. “I’m still out here in the living room.”
Qi Xiao yelped a curse under her breath. “You—you’re not asleep yet?”
They flicked on the entryway light and there Meng Ning stood in her loungewear, looking fresh and composed. Qi Xiao grumbled inwardly about how deceptive that innocent face could be, but out loud she said, “You two have some stamina.”
Meng Ning: …
Qi Xiao scanned her up and down, dropping her voice even lower. “Did you… tonight…”
“I’m heading to bed.” Meng Ning wanted no part of that conversation and turned toward her room.
From behind her, Qi Xiao wailed to Song Xiao in dismay, “She hasn’t! Milk tea bet—I win! She definitely hasn’t!”
Meng Ning slipped into the room and shut the door. The last light winked out behind her.
Wen Zenian was already lying in bed, asleep on the outer side. Afraid of waking her, Meng Ning kicked off her slippers and crept toward the wall side as quietly as she could, her movements awkward and crab-like.
Just as she awkwardly straddled Wen Zenian, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around her waist. Meng Ning barely steadied herself in time to avoid collapsing onto Wen Zenian.
“Not so well-behaved,” Meng Ning teased. “Faking sleep.”
“Are you so well-behaved?” Wen Zenian shot back. “I thought you were a proper girl, but after all those tricks you pulled on me tonight, you can hardly call yourself that.”
Feeling guilty, Meng Ning tried to change the subject. “Actually, I have a question for you.”
Wen Zenian fell silent for a beat.
“Mm. Ask away.”
The night felt tender, as if waiting for a lover to enter gently. Something in Wen Zenian’s tone made Meng Ning certain she would answer whatever was asked.
What she asked was, “Did you actually take off your makeup?”
Wen Zenian released her waist and pushed her to the other side of the bed. “I’m not telling.”
Meng Ning had misjudged her. Even this simple question, Wen Zenian wouldn’t answer.
The evasion itself felt like a show of weakness, giving Meng Ning the confidence to tease. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll look for myself.”
“It’s pitch black. You can’t see a thing.”
“I’ll turn on the light.”
“I’ll block you.”
Out in the living room, Qi Xiao and Song Xiao were showering, their footsteps echoing back and forth. Every whispered word between Meng Ning and Wen Zenian took on an intimate, velvety tone, like lovers’ murmurs.
Meng Ning couldn’t stand the provocation. She reached past Wen Zenian for the bedside lamp. Wen Zenian grabbed her waist and pinned her arm to stop her, but Meng Ning caught both of Wen Zenian’s wrists, pressing them to the pillow as she twisted on the light.
She kept the light dim, its glow blending with the night like the faint gold of impending dawn.
In that light, she peered at Wen Zenian. Wen Zenian wrenched her wrists free and threw an arm across her face to block the view.
“Just a look.”
“No.”
Meng Ning pouted, her gaze drifting to the suit she had hung up for Wen Zenian.
It was a good thing Wen Zenian hadn’t worn her uniform today; otherwise, it would have been all too easy to picture the formidable administrative manager from the C Hotel that everyone both feared and respected.
Truth be told, she had been too reckless tonight.
First, she had pushed Wen Zenian to the brink during their intimacy, feeling every bit of her desperation. Then she had pinned those wrists and made demands Wen Zenian clearly resisted.
With a single transfer order, Wen Zenian could decide the fate of countless people at the hotel. Meng Ning’s audacity stemmed only from the indulgent favor Wen Zenian had shown her in this dreamlike night.
What did it matter, though? Tonight had confirmed Wen Zenian felt nothing deeper for her.
Whether she wheedled or went wild, at least when she pulled back Wen Zenian’s arm, Wen Zenian saw her smiling.
Wen Zenian gave in halfway, no longer hiding, and just lightly bit her lower lip.
Meng Ning froze for a moment.
The difference between Wen Zenian with and without makeup was striking—not in terms of beauty, but in presence. Meng Ning didn’t wear makeup herself and had never imagined how much eyeshadow and lipstick could transform someone.
Made-up, Wen Zenian had a refined, distant air that made her seem unapproachable. Bare-faced, though… Meng Ning pondered how to describe it. Perhaps she looked more like the version of Wen Zenian that Meng Ning had imagined after she overcame her hormone treatments and grew into herself.
Delicate features with a touch of mature allure. Deep double eyelids that, when blinking, carried a worldly innocence.
Only someone who had been through a lot could develop that worldliness. And only someone who had endured much could cling so fiercely to that sliver of innocence beneath it.
Perhaps noticing her daze, Wen Zenian asked, “Not pretty?”
Wen Zenian wasn’t lacking in confidence about her bare face. In a way, her makeup served the same protective purpose as Meng Ning’s own smile. Now she lowered her arm fully, letting Meng Ning see clearly, and pressed, “Well? Pretty or not?”
Meng Ning laughed. “No wonder you were hiding. It’s not pretty enough.”
Wen Zenian shot her a glare, shoved her aside, and twisted off the lamp herself.
Qi Xiao and Song Xiao had finished their quick showers and returned to their room. The apartment fell silent.
Wen Zenian and Meng Ning lay side by side. Meng Ning whispered, “So why’d you take it off this time?”
Wen Zenian let out a faint huff of mock annoyance. “Once or twice is fine, but you can’t skip it every time. My skin would be ruined.”
Meng Ning smiled again.
Deep down, Wen Zenian felt a twinge of irritation and was tempted to press further. “Was it really not pretty?”
No one was oblivious to their own looks. Meng Ning’s comment was probably just teasing. But getting a straight answer out of that delicately shaped mouth would be no easy feat.
Wen Zenian decided not to torment herself and chose silence.
But just as she was drifting off, a soft voice came from Meng Ning’s side. “Very pretty.”
Wen Zenian wondered if it was a half-dreamed illusion. Then Meng Ning’s fingers closed around her own. “Your bare face is very pretty. Goodnight.”
Exhausted from the night’s exertions, Wen Zenian murmured back, “Goodnight.”
Meng Ning could hold on a little longer, letting her thoughts drift.
Remembering their passion that evening—on fresh sheets, no less—the way she now held Wen Zenian’s fingertip as she fell asleep felt almost comically chaste.
Wen Zenian’s bare face had shaken her to the core, enough to make her want to ask that old question again: “If I kissed you right now, would you scream?” The person she had once thought lost to time now overlapped perfectly with her imaginings in this moment.
Half of her lingered in the present, half reached back to the past. The chasm between was filled with the glow of streetlamps from that night—the one where she had made the cab wait downstairs and let Wen Zenian sleep a little longer.
She didn’t know when she finally fell asleep.
When her eyes opened again, daylight flooded the room. Wen Zenian sat at the desk, her back to Meng Ning, her slightly wavy long hair neatly pinned up. She still wore Meng Ning’s white T-shirt and lounge pants, the casual outfit clashing alluringly with her poised demeanor.
Meng Ning took a moment to gather herself before sitting up and greeting Wen Zenian.
Somehow, facing Wen Zenian’s bare face left her unsure how to act. She wanted to run downstairs and buy a bouquet of gardenias, the flowers she had loved so much as a teenager.
But this wasn’t early summer. And they weren’t in Crane City.
Wen Zenian turned her head, already fully made up.
