Meng Ning and Qi Xiao shared a room. After a quick unpack, Qi Xiao went off to the beach with Ju Mengya and the others. Meng Ning rested a bit longer before joining them.
This five-star hotel’s guest rooms were low villas scattered along the beach, shaded by palms.
Meng Ning slipped her room key wristband on and stepped out—then realized she was lost.
She first circled the low villas within sight, but the more she walked, the more disoriented she became.
She was supposed to head toward the beach, yet she kept feeling like she was drawing closer to the center of the resort area.
It wasn’t until a circular roof lower than the villas appeared in view—topped with piles of silky, trailing grasses mimicking a tropical vibe—that she paused.
Meng Ning remembered the brochure mentioning this as the hotel’s signature flower and bird warmhouse, so she gave the door a tentative push.
It wasn’t locked.
She stepped inside.
If the main C Hotel building leaned into a vintage, artistic charm, then this five-star resort was all about crafting a rustic embrace of nature. The warmhouse was an all-glass structure: opaque from the outside, but with a crystal-clear view outward from within.
Under the constant temperature system, birds perched in cages—tropical species Meng Ning couldn’t identify despite flipping through countless guidebooks. Lush, thriving plants surrounded them, including one arrogantly upright bloom that resembled a carnivorous plant.
The birds were ever vigilant. Spotting the intruder, one let out a few chirps.
She approached and whispered to it, “Shh.”
It was as if the bird understood—or perhaps it simply couldn’t be bothered—and fell silent once more.
She stared at its vibrant tail feathers, thinking she should leave.
Because amid the tropical blooms and foliage on a nearby bench, someone was sleeping.
Wen Zenian.
She cradled a cushion in her arms, leaning against the backrest in slumber.
Meng Ning’s mind screamed to leave. She tiptoed to the door and slipped out.
But moments later, she turned back.
Wen Zenian was the picture of restraint. Even on this employee outing, where uniforms weren’t required, she wore a crisp white blazer and slim-legged trousers, the thin straps of her high heels winding up her snowy ankles like some ancient totem.
Meng Ning tiptoed over and sat down.
Half a month.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
Her sense of time had grown hazy. No matter how she phrased it, it couldn’t make the reality of Wen Zenian’s impending departure feel any more tangible.
She simply sat there, recalling Qi Xiao’s reaction to the news of half a month and deciding it must be a short time indeed. People nearing the end of a journey always relaxed instinctively—like how she was allowing herself to sit here now, already scheming that if any colleagues barged in, she’d stand and explain she just wanted to discuss her resignation with Wen Zenian.
But no one came.
Everyone must have rushed straight to the beach.
Meng Ning’s shoulders, initially tense, gradually loosened as time ticked by.
There were no clocks here. Wen Zenian’s steady breaths served as the timepiece.
Meng Ning traced the patterns on the floor, listening to her soft exhalations, and suddenly wondered: how many seconds in each breath?
Lost in thought, she actually pulled out her phone, opened the stopwatch, and timed it.
Three seconds and fifteen hundredths.
So how many breaths in two weeks? The calculation filled her with sudden dread.
Far too many.
Enough for someone to fall, time and again.
She moved to stand and leave, only to feel a gentle tug on the back of her sweatshirt.
Wen Zenian asked in her freshly awakened voice, “Where do you think you’re going?”
The drawn-out “ah” at the end was so alluring that Meng Ning sat back down as if compelled by some unseen force.
Wen Zenian set the cushion aside and sat up, shaking off the last of sleep.
She was more relaxed here than in a work setting, while Meng Ning sat ramrod straight by comparison. Feeling awkward, Meng Ning reached back, grabbed the cushion Wen Zenian had placed at her waist, and hugged it to her chest.
Wen Zenian let out a low chuckle.
Meng Ning thought that someone fresh from sleep shouldn’t laugh—or speak. Her voice was husky, like a dusky evening garden bursting with roses. Truth be told, Wen Zenian needed nothing more; that voice alone could weave dreams.
She hugged the cushion tighter, her waist slightly bent. Wen Zenian sat a touch behind her, her voice drifting from the side rear: “You’re already here. Why run off?”
Meng Ning said nothing.
Wen Zenian pressed, “Did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t.” Meng Ning paused. “I got lost.”
“You what?” Wen Zenian laughed again.
“I’m not lying.” Meng Ning knew the truth sounded like a fabricated excuse. She glanced back at Wen Zenian, hoping to prove her point: “I lingered in my room a bit longer than planned, wanting to meet up with Qi Xiao at the beach, but then…”
As she spoke and turned, her gaze collided with the depths of Wen Zenian’s limpid eyes.
What was the constant temperature flower room compared to that? Those eyes bloomed with roses, entwined with ivy; dawn and dusk wove chaos across the heavens, a nebula of rose-purple stars blanketing the firmament.
Meng Ning froze for a moment, fell silent, and turned forward again, clutching the cushion.
“I know you’re not lying,” Wen Zenian said lazily. “No one knows I’m here. How could you?”
Wen Zenian reached out and lightly scraped at the tattoo on the nape of Meng Ning’s neck. “Like a dream.”
“What?” She squirmed from the itch but held still.
Wen Zenian replied, “Waking up to find you sitting here, with a canna lily right beside us.”
Only then did Meng Ning notice the canna lily to her right front. So conspicuous, yet she’d overlooked it entirely—what had she been lost in thought about?
She eyed the lily’s leaves and asked Wen Zenian behind her, “What are you doing here?”
“Hiding for some peace.” Wen Zenian’s voice grew even lazier. “Otherwise, Alexis would come looking for me in my room.”
Meng Ning wondered why Wen Zenian’s previous two relationships had gone so poorly. She was clearly an expert, packing two meanings into one sentence: first, she didn’t want Chen Luzi seeking her out; second, they weren’t sharing a room.
Meng Ning uttered an “Oh.” Then Wen Zenian added, “I’ve answered you. Now it’s your turn.”
“Hm?”
“You’re already here. Why run off?”
“You slept too long. I got bored waiting.”
“How long did I sleep?”
Meng Ning dodged directly: “I brought you a sparkling peach juice.”
“And then?”
“You slept too long—the ice melted. So I drank it myself.”
Wen Zenian leaned forward suddenly, glancing at Meng Ning’s side. On the low table sat a short-stemmed tumbler, the ice fully melted into a shallow puddle at the bottom. Lingering chill clashed with the warmhouse air, condensing into beads on the glass that trickled down the stem.
Meng Ning nearly thought Wen Zenian would kiss her. But she halted millimeters from her lips, her eyes holding a faint smile.
No kiss—just a light sniff.
Then, in a tone reserved for praising children: “Mm, it does smell like peaches.”
She leaned back, her slightly curled fingertips grazing Meng Ning’s neck tattoo again. “Such a good girl.”
This time, Meng Ning couldn’t hold still and flinched. “Would I lie over a glass of sparkling peach juice?”
“No.” Wen Zenian said. “It’s because I slept so long, and you waited the whole time.”
Meng Ning, ever pragmatic, reminded her: “But I was about to leave—only you woke up.”
“What if I hadn’t?” Wen Zenian teased lightly, like a feather’s tickle. “Would you have gone?”
Unable to bear it, Meng Ning whipped around and seized her slender wrist. “That tickles like crazy.”
Wen Zenian didn’t pull away, letting Meng Ning hold her obediently.
Meng Ning didn’t know what had her so flustered. The cushion she’d clutched tumbled away, bumping Wen Zenian’s calf before hitting the floor. The caged bird witnessed it all and chirped again.
Meng Ning averted her eyes, released Wen Zenian’s wrist, picked up the cushion, brushed it off, and set it back on the sofa.
She stood. “I should go. Qi Xiao and the others will be looking for me.”
With that, she headed for the door.
“Meng Ning.”
She knew Wen Zenian would call her name.
She pressed her lips together, forced a smile, and turned back—her fingertips curling tightly out of sight.
Wen Zenian studied her for a moment. “I feel like you came here with something to ask me.”
Meng Ning’s smile tugged higher. “Nope, nothing at all.”
Wen Zenian nodded, and Meng Ning hurried out.
On the beach, Qi Xiao was playing beach volleyball with Ju Mengya and the others.
Spotting Meng Ning from afar, she waved. “Come play a few rounds?”
Meng Ning waved back with a smile. “You go ahead. I’ll soak up some sun first.”
The sunlight on C Sea Island was always dreamlike, but here it burned fiercer. Meng Ning hugged her knees on the sand, her shadow pooling into a small circle beneath her.
Qi Xiao fussed over her. “Did you put on sunscreen?”
She nodded with a grin.
The sun scorched those thoughts right out of her every pore—or so she hoped, leaving her mind blissfully empty.
One group played volleyball. Another built sandcastles. For lifeguards, true downtime on the beach was rare indeed.
Chen Luzi surfed alone, and Meng Ning could tell she was a pro—riding the shortboard with expert poise.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over her. Meng Ning didn’t look up; she’d already caught that familiar scent.
…Was Wen Zenian wearing a swimsuit?
This was the first time she’d seen Wen Zenian in beach slippers, her moonlit ankles bared to the sun.
Hugging her knees, Meng Ning dug her fingers in, pondering what style swimsuit Wen Zenian wore.
She was contrary like that—curious, yet refusing to look.
She sensed everyone go still for a beat before resuming their activities nonchalantly. But their eyes darted over under pretense of fetching balls or sand shovels—they’d all glimpsed Wen Zenian’s swimsuit.
She heard Wen Zenian’s voice: “Whether you had a question for me or not, I have one for you.”
“After I go to Paris, will you remember me?”
Wen Zenian walked forward after saying it. Meng Ning instinctively dropped her gaze, avoiding the sight of her in a swimsuit from behind.
Until Chen Luzi’s bright voice rang out: “What’s the deal? If you wanted to surf, why not have me wait? Why so late?”
“I had work. I was busy.”
Meng Ning thought, of course Wen Zenian was busy—with her Paris schedule set, she had to tie up loose ends here at the C Hotel.
Falling asleep in the flower room—did that mean chronic late nights?
Chen Luzi suggested, “It’s been ages since I saw you surf. Want to race? If I win, you let me hug you!” She giggled. “Deal?”
Wen Zenian paused. “I’m not some prize.”
The words carried from afar, striking Meng Ning’s heart sharply.
