After the captain finished reading out the results, the deputy general manager said a few brief words. Then it was Wen Zenian’s turn. She had a kind of magic about her—seeming a touch aloof at first glance, yet delivering those words of encouragement with utter sincerity.
The team dispersed afterward.
Wen Zenian lingered for a couple extra seconds. As Meng Ning and Qi Xiao passed by her side, she raised her hand. It hovered briefly over Meng Ning’s shoulder before gently settling there.
“Good job,” she said.
In the glow of the morning light, the two of them stood so close. Meng Ning tilted her chin slightly and could almost catch the rose scent drifting from her fingertips. Was it the rich Bulgarian rose in the base notes of her perfume today? Or had she gone that morning to brew the first batch of this year’s Rose Dew?
What had she been praying for in her heart as she raised that cup of pale pink liquid?
Meng Ning had left the dorm in such a rush that morning, swallowing her sip of Rose Dew too hastily. Only now did the aftertaste finally hit her. Fine roses carried a subtle astringency, lingering at the root of her tongue, refusing to fade.
Wen Zenian was never one to give flowers.
She only gifted the scents behind ears and on fingertips—and that first bottle of Rose Dew, brewed at the break of dawn.
After clocking out that day, Meng Ning and Qi Xiao headed to the staff cafeteria. To their surprise, Wen Zenian was there, along with the big boss’s distant niece.
“Her name’s Alexis,” Qi Xiao said, always on top of the latest gossip. “Her Chinese name is Chen Luzi. Kinda weird, right?”
Qi Xiao chatted on while Meng Ning sliced into her fish cutlet, stealing a glance toward Wen Zenian’s table.
Meng Ning would say that Chen Luzi was the type of girl raised in a glass jar. The world she saw might be the same as Meng Ning’s, but that protective layer of glass let her drop all defenses. Nothing could hurt her.
Only a girl like that could flash such bright, uninhibited smiles—and reach out to tug at Wen Zenian’s arm.
Wen Zenian pulled her arm back and tapped Chen Luzi’s plate in warning. Chen Luzi pouted.
Qi Xiao burst out laughing. “Oh man, is she seriously telling her not to be a picky eater?” She turned to Meng Ning. “Just keep your cool like you are. Otherwise, seeing this stuff every day would drive you nuts.”
Meng Ning’s lips curved upward.
The sun hadn’t set yet, casting a clear, golden light through the floor-to-ceiling windows. But Meng Ning’s mind drifted back to the midnight Administrative Suite—no lights on, just the shadows of swaying curtains hiding countless ambiguous stories.
She had been reckless, reaching out to cover Wen Zenian’s lips, feeling the hot, damp breath against her palm. She’d leaned in to nip at Wen Zenian’s earlobe, whispering that she deserved punishment.
Wen Zenian’s fractured gasps had been the perfect response, urging Meng Ning to grow bolder, her hand slipping down to caress that slick warmth.
If this was such a exquisite dream, why hold back in anger?
She wanted Wen Zenian to remember her punishment. She wanted Wen Zenian to dream of her.
Just as she dreamed of Wen Zenian.
At that moment, Wen Zenian approached with her tray and sat down beside Meng Ning. Qi Xiao blinked in surprise as Wen Zenian greeted them with perfect casualness. “Hi.”
Qi Xiao hesitated. “…Hi.”
“Kids can give you such a headache,” Wen Zenian said after a deliberate pause. Then she added, “I’m a little scared.”
Meng Ning had been keeping her head down, but now she let out a soft laugh at the roasted carrot on her plate.
Qi Xiao shot her a look, thinking, What’s so funny? You proud just ’cause you’re not picky?
Qi Xiao didn’t quite get Wen Zenian’s words, but Meng Ning did.
It wasn’t one sentence—it was two.
The first half, about rowdy kids giving her a headache, was her excuse for suddenly coming over to sit.
The second half, admitting she was a little scared, was aimed at Meng Ning’s antics in the midnight entryway.
Adults played these games back and forth. There was pleasure in Meng Ning’s “punishment,” so Wen Zenian wasn’t truly afraid.
Yet here she was, in the brightly lit restaurant at sunset, sliding over on her own and murmuring in that low voice, “I’m a little scared.”
It felt more like the way she’d nuzzled her cheek against Meng Ning’s palm at midnight.
Like yielding. Like coquetry.
It felt good. It made Meng Ning feel like she held the upper hand.
Wen Zenian naturally shifted to asking their thoughts on the morning fitness test. Meng Ning was never one for many words, so her silence seemed fitting. Qi Xiao spoke up more, and Wen Zenian listened intently, nodding and noting it all down.
But her knee was restless under the table, brushing lightly against Meng Ning’s.
Meng Ning felt the tickle but didn’t pull away.
Until the scene shifted back to the midnight suite.
Meng Ning sank into the king-size bed’s soft down duvet, kissing Wen Zenian’s knee. She suddenly looked up. “What if I’m picky?”
“What?” Wen Zenian was dazed from the kisses. The skin over her knee was thin, always flushing a faint pink—like the hue at the corner of her eye right now.
“What if I’m picky too?” Meng Ning suckled at her knee again. “What would you do?”
Wen Zenian drew a shaky breath, her voice unsteady, her lashes fluttering. “I’d indulge you.”
Her soft exhale sounded like satisfied sigh—or indulgent—making Meng Ning’s heart tremble right along with it.
But in the end, it was Wen Zenian who turned the tables on her.
When Meng Ning emerged from the bathroom after cleaning up, she saw Wen Zenian already up and wrapped in her bathrobe. Files were scattered on the nightstand; she clearly had work to handle.
Meng Ning always dressed with her back turned. She slipped off her bathrobe. She was slim, her body fat low from constant exercise. Wen Zenian leaned against the headboard, eyelids half-lowered, seemingly idly watching the slight ridges of Meng Ning’s spine, the way her waist tapered sharply inward, her snow-pale skin stunningly beautiful.
It made the black mandala tattoo stand out—a flower blooming in the dark of night.
Suddenly, Wen Zenian’s phone buzzed.
Meng Ning’s hand paused midway through pulling on her sweatpants, then continued as if nothing had happened.
Whenever Meng Ning came to her at midnight, Wen Zenian’s phone never rang. It almost made her illusion that Wen Zenian had fallen into this dream with her—someone cut off from the outside world.
She could feel Wen Zenian’s gaze tracing her spine before she picked up the phone. “Hey, Halka.”
It didn’t sound like a standard English name. Polish, maybe? The big boss? Or someone connected to the big boss?
Meng Ning kept her head down, fiddling with the drawstring on her sweatpants, tying it into a knot.
She tried to keep the fabric from rustling as she listened to Wen Zenian speak softly into the phone, words tumbling out fast.
Good thing she was speaking English—or maybe bad thing. Meng Ning finished zipping up her tracksuit and stared at her fingers. She could still understand—they were discussing upcoming plans.
The rumors were true. She was heading to Paris next, presiding over some historic five-star hotel, admired by all. Or, in rare free moments, strolling the Seine in her exquisite stilettos.
Meng Ning walked out in silence, slipping from the Administrative Suite and gently closing the door behind Wen Zenian.
Walking back to the dorm, the night sky was inky black, a thin mist clinging to the air like a veil over floral scents.
For some reason, Meng Ning thought that dreams were much like mist.
At first, it’s light and hazy, blurring the edges of the real world, drawing you deeper in. When you’re at the dream’s heart, it’s thick and opaque—you can’t see anything but you and your dream.
Then, as the dream nears its end, you pass through the center to the edge again. It thins out, letting you vaguely glimpse the real world once more.
That call Wen Zenian took tonight was probably like that.
A reminder: You’re about to pass through this misty dream.
The next morning, the captain announced good news: Since everyone passed the fitness test, they’d go in batches to a nearby private island for an experience—part of studying other hotel brands’ service.
Meng Ning, Qi Xiao, and Ju Mengya were in the first group. When she spotted Wen Zenian on the speedboat, Meng Ning wasn’t surprised.
Then she saw Chen Luzi clamber aboard with her surfboard, plopping down next to Wen Zenian. She let the sea breeze tousle her long hair, grinning and pointing out fish schools in the water.
Wen Zenian twisted her waist slightly, her expression distant. She reached up to touch the diamond earrings dangling from her lobe.
Without warning, her gaze flicked toward Meng Ning.
The boat was crowded, people chatting in clusters. Some gazed at the sea, others sipped juice.
Meng Ning and Qi Xiao sat at the farthest diagonal corner from Wen Zenian. Meng Ning seemed lost in thought too, hands resting on her knees, thumbs stacking atop each other like building blocks, her gaze drifting aimlessly toward the bow. But it halted for a beat when Wen Zenian’s eyes met hers.
Perhaps only Meng Ning, Wen Zenian, and Qi Xiao knew about that look amid the whole boat.
Ju Mengya chattered on obliviously, Qi Xiao murmuring vague agreements, her fists clenched tight.
So intense!
Wen Zenian’s gaze lingered a moment before drifting away. Meng Ning lowered her lashes, staring at her nail. She heard Ju Mengya nearby: “So it’s settled—Gwyneth leaves in half a month.”
Qi Xiao had been mumbling along but snapped to. “Huh?” She grabbed Ju Mengya’s arm. “When was this decided? How come I didn’t know?”
“This morning. Admin heard Gwyneth drafting work plans—probably got orders from the big boss.”
“No one mentioned it yesterday.” Qi Xiao grumbled. “When’d the order come?”
Yesterday at midnight, Meng Ning thought.
That midnight call had sealed the end of their dream.
Ju Mengya got called away by her roommates for some non-alcoholic drinks. Qi Xiao scooted over to Meng Ning and gave her a look.
“What’re you looking at me for?” Meng Ning’s lips quirked. “Didn’t we know from the start she was leaving?”
Maybe it was Meng Ning’s breezy attitude that emboldened Qi Xiao. “Half a month left. What’s your vibe? A little bummed?”
“Relieved, I guess.”
“Relieved how?”
Meng Ning pondered. “You know that feeling in dreams? Like you’re endlessly falling but never hit bottom. When you wake up in your tiny rental bed, suddenly it all feels solid again.”
The speedboat docked, and everyone headed to check in first.
