Chapter 42 Part 1

Meng Ning sat beneath the most scorching sunlight, her thoughts drifting to the deepest hour of midnight.

Wen Zenian wore a pitch-black evening gown, resembling a mesmerizing night. She pinned Meng Ning to the sofa and asked, “So, do you want to unwrap the gift?”

At that moment, Chen Luzi ahead on the beach seemed to pout. “Stingy.”

Wen Zenian didn’t argue with her or take offense. “I am.”

She must have grabbed her surfboard and headed into the sea, for with Meng Ning’s eyes half-lowered, she could glimpse her teammates pretending to step aside for water or a rest—all of them there just to watch Wen Zenian surf.

Sunlight streamed over her body.

The waves crashed and sparkled.

Beneath the blazing white of the afternoon, it all formed a kind of synesthesia. Meng Ning felt like a seashell, waves surging within her, while Wen Zenian stood atop the waves brushing her ear.

A low gasp from someone finally made her look up.

That was when she saw Wen Zenian gripping the board with one hand before letting go to steady herself. The nose of the board turned, sunlight dancing in her grasp.

Meng Ning hugged her knees, lost in a daze of realization. She had never imagined Wen Zenian associating with something like surfing.

Wen Zenian had once been afraid of water.

There were no swimming classes back then—in fact, none were needed. All the kids who grew up by the river picked it up naturally. But when a new swimming pool opened near the school and the teacher took them for a tryout, Wen Zenian lingered in her school uniform, refusing to change into her swimsuit.

“It’s okay,” Meng Ning had encouraged her.

Wen Zenian shook her head, her face flushed. “I can’t.”

Meng Ning floated and sank in the pool, tilting her face up with a smile as she casually wiped water from her cheeks. “I’ll teach you.”

Wen Zenian stared at her, stunned for two seconds, then shook her head again. “I… I’m afraid of water.”

Meng Ning discovered why one day after school when she went to Wen Zenian’s house to deliver some worksheets. A white-haired but spry old man was holding Wen Zenian’s head under in a basin full of water, ignoring her struggles. “If you won’t obey, you’re not going back to school.”

Meng Ning froze in place.

Then she remembered to charge forward with her backpack, shoving the old man. “What are you doing?!”

Wen Zenian finally lifted her head from the basin, her face red as she coughed and sputtered.

Later, Meng Ning learned the truth. Wen Zenian had bounced from one uncle’s house to another before landing with her grandparents. A sickly girl in a family that prized sons over daughters was seen as the biggest burden. No one had the patience to reason with her; if she disagreed, they simply dunked her head in a basin as punishment.

Her aunt even boasted about it at family gatherings during the New Year, so everyone picked up the habit.

That was why Meng Ning had been shocked enough upon reuniting to learn that Wen Zenian had mastered swimming.

But now she discovered that Wen Zenian could surf, too—and on a shortboard, no less, which required real skill to handle. She wasn’t even in a swimsuit but in a deep navy wetsuit, a blue so dark that no shallow sea could match it. You’d have to sail an icebreaker all the way to the Antarctic to find that shade.

She stood silently at the edge of the world.

The tight suit hugged her sleek, graceful lines, but watching Wen Zenian surf wasn’t just about that. The way she moved was provocative, as if she were taunting the ocean—daring the waves to show her their next trick for her to conquer.

After Wen Zenian paddled out, Chen Luzi gave up surfing. She stood on the beach, snapping photos of Wen Zenian with a waterproof camera.

A flicker of irritation mixed with relief in Meng Ning.

She had no camera, but she had her eyes.

Her eyelashes fluttered slowly, filtering out the sunlight, the waves, the distracting breeze. Only the image of Wen Zenian balanced on her surfboard burned into the hippocampus of her mind.

Photos faded with time. Files got corrupted by viruses. But like this, she existed—and so the memory would endure forever.

Plenty of people clapped and cheered for Wen Zenian or gasped in quiet awe. But only Meng Ning wondered to herself: How much time had it taken for the old Wen Zenian to transform into this one, facing down her greatest fear of water?

Wen Zenian was truly resolute.

People lost interest quickly, even in the face of such beauty. At first, everyone watched her covertly, but soon they returned to beach volleyball or sandcastles. Even Chen Luzi, satisfied with her shots, joined a volleyball team.

Meng Ning thought that was just fine.

By the end, it seemed like only she remained, silently watching Wen Zenian.

The sunlight blazed white, bleaching heaven and earth. In the overexposed blur of memory, only she and the figure she watched swam freely.

Meng Ning must have zoned out for a moment, because when she focused again, the sea surface was empty.

She clenched her fingers and looked more closely.

Then she spotted Wen Zenian’s surfboard—but it floated alone.

She rose slowly to her feet. On one hand, her training and experience told her Wen Zenian’s skill meant no accident in these conditions. On the other, she couldn’t shake the memory of Wen Zenian’s old fear of water.

She breathed cautiously. She couldn’t say if it was her lifeguard instincts or something more personal driving her.

Suddenly she regretted those few seconds of hesitation and tore off her athletic clothes, charging into the waves.

She had planned to swim anyway, so she wore a swimsuit underneath. Everyone else was playing volleyball, building sandcastles, or chatting under umbrellas.

She ran swift and silent, calling out to no one.

By then she realized her rational mind was certain Wen Zenian was fine—it was pure instinct propelling her forward.

She dove into the waves.

Halfway out, reason won: Wen Zenian’s head broke the surface, her arms flung out like a butterfly’s wings.

She soared higher, toward the spot everyone craned to see, where the sunlight burned blinding white. Anyone who dared look seemed snow-blinded.

Meng Ning knew Wen Zenian was safe, yet she kept swimming toward her anyway.

Wen Zenian spotted her and paused, floating on the surface to watch.

The waves cradled them both; laughter and gasps from the beach sounded from another world. Meng Ning swam silently to her side and saw water droplets clinging to Wen Zenian’s perfectly shaped eyebrows before gravity pulled them down to merge.

Meng Ning stayed silent, feeling the waves pound in time with her heartbeat.

If Wen Zenian asked why she’d suddenly swum out, what would she say?

That she thought something had happened?

Her observation had been too brief, her judgment flawed—it went against every lifeguard principle.

But Wen Zenian asked nothing. Instead, she reached out and gently covered Meng Ning’s eyelids, urging them shut.

Meng Ning’s lids were scorching from the sun, while Wen Zenian’s palm, chilled from the seawater, felt cool against them.

Meng Ning complied instinctively. The next instant, Wen Zenian pulled her beneath the surface.

And kissed her.

The frantic pounding of Meng Ning’s heart from her panic shifted to a different rhythm.

She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t fantasized about it.

Maybe that glance from the speedboat.

Maybe while hugging her knees on the beach, gazing out to sea.

Maybe even after confirming Wen Zenian was safe, still swimming to her.

Maybe she’d imagined it countless times—this desire to kiss Wen Zenian.

Not just under midnight moonlight, but in the fierce sunlight, too.

Even just once would be enough.

Desire screamed; reason fell silent. Her mind swirled with all the shouldn’ts, mustn’ts, and can’ts.

She’d never expected Wen Zenian to pull her underwater.

On the beach above, people reveled and relaxed in wild joy. Beneath the waves, they kissed in perfect stillness.

It lasted a mere instant—yet felt eternal, like forever.

Then Wen Zenian released her, and they surfaced.

Not a word had passed between them, no gesture or expression to hint at what happened.

Meng Ning turned silently and swam shoreward. Wen Zenian remounted her surfboard.

When Meng Ning emerged from the waves, Ju Mengya spotted her. “Meng Ning, done swimming? Come play a round after this.”

Meng Ning smiled. “Sure.”

No need to dry off—the sunlight evaporated the seawater from her skin.

Only the salty, bittersweet taste of the kiss lingered on her lips.

Wen Zenian came ashore hugging her board while Meng Ning desperately saved a volleyball.

She had no idea why she tried so hard, lunging without a thought for balance, her hand wedged between the ball and the scorching sand.

What did it even matter if she saved it?

The ball ricocheted off her palm at an awkward angle, soaring in an unpredictable arc toward a spot Ju Mengya couldn’t possibly reach.

Meng Ning rolled onto her back in the sand, panting as she stared at the sun blazing white at the horizon, stinging her eyes.

Wen Zenian vanished somewhere after coming ashore. Meng Ning’s volleyball game ended with her and Ju Mengya victorious. Qi Xiao and another girl faced them across the net and lost badly.

Qi Xiao was unusually quiet; Meng Ning assumed she was upset about the defeat. “I’ll buy you a beer tonight, okay?”

Qi Xiao grinned. “You said it.”

Dinner was a laid-back beach barbecue. Wen Zenian didn’t appear—perhaps busy with work or deliberately giving them space to party.

Chen Luzi, meanwhile, had bonded with the group over the afternoon. After downing several icy beers, she ended up thoroughly drunk.

A few female lifeguards who knew her hauled her back to her room. Meng Ning and Qi Xiao headed toward their own.

Under a massive palm tree, Meng Ning spoke up. “You guys go ahead. I’m going for a walk.”

Ju Mengya was close with Qi Xiao and knew Meng Ning’s habit of late-night strolls or night swims. She laughed. “After all that volleyball, you’re not tired? You’ve got stamina.”

“Me? Good stamina?” Meng Ning said. “Haha.”

Qi Xiao just told her, “Be safe,” before leaving with Ju Mengya.

Meng Ning lingered until everyone had returned to their rooms and the resort area quieted. Then she slipped quietly down a path.

She watched the directional signs closely, reminding herself not to zone out or get lost this time.

That afternoon’s encounter in the greenhouse—she’d glimpsed the keycard Wen Zenian left on the bench and noted the room number.

Moonlight. Birdsong. Crickets. And her, wide awake.

The world seemed to hold only those things. Following the signs, she reached the front of Wen Zenian’s villa—a secluded little standalone building shrouded in shadow.

She hesitated before knocking.

Wen Zenian might be asleep. Or working.

But perhaps the beer sloshing in her stomach emboldened her. How many chances did life offer to let loose?

She raised her hand—and the door opened.

She froze. Wen Zenian froze too.