Chapter 44 Part 2

Her drowsy eyes shimmered with a watery gleam. She wrapped herself in a bathrobe and leaned against the headboard, phone in hand as she handled some work. Wen Zenian hadn’t taken down her updo today; just one curl had come loose, clinging to the slender curve of her neck where a faint sheen of sweat still lingered.

Meng Ning stared at the elegant “C” on the brochure. The lamplight gathered at the end of each stroke, forming a tiny bright spot.

She gazed at it for a long time, until Wen Zenian—apparently noticing her silence—glanced toward her back. Only then did Meng Ning snap out of it and hastily tie the drawstring on her sweatpants.

She murmured softly, “I’m heading out.”

Wen Zenian didn’t say much, just gave a lazy, weary hum of acknowledgment.

Meng Ning left quickly. But halfway to the door, Wen Zenian called from behind her, “Meng Ning.”

Turning back would only make her seem more deliberate if she didn’t. So she did, plastering on her usual faint smile.

Fortunately, she’d already put some distance between them, stepping into the unlit living room. Her fingertips curled tightly against her pant leg—out of Wen Zenian’s sight.

From possessiveness to greed, the more of the seven deadly sins she claimed, the less she felt like a good person.

Her desires always arose so subtly, making it incredibly hard for anyone to resist them with reason alone.

Her confession to Qi Xiao had been the first time. The invitation to dance at the banquet had been the second. And just now, the moment she spotted that Paris C Hotel brochure, had been the third.

In that instant, she thought of Paris.

She hadn’t even checked how far Paris was or how long the flight would take.

Whenever Meng Ning thought of Paris, lines like “Paris, a city upon the earth, with the planet a mere star in the heavens” came to mind. That vast distance lived in her heart as a purely poetic notion.

For some inexplicable reason, she felt that if she’d seen the brochure on her computer or phone, her heart wouldn’t be churning like this. But it was a printed leaflet, solid and real on Wen Zenian’s bedside table—so tangible that even the lamplight formed a tiny bright spot on its surface.

Small, but piercing. It made Wen Zenian’s impending departure feel real for the first time.

That “departure” existed as concretely as the brochure itself.

No matter how rational and clear-headed she seemed in front of Qi Xiao, in that moment she absurdly realized she had an impulse bubbling up. So what if it led nowhere? She wanted to declare her feelings aloud.

She wanted Wen Zenian to remember her.

She quickly shoved the thought aside. She was leaving in such a hurry because the words she wanted to say were surging up from her stomach, lodged in her throat.

When she glanced back, her smile had been calm and quiet. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth even a little, those words would spill out all too naturally.

Wen Zenian, leaning far away against the headboard, studied her. “Earlier… did you have something you wanted to say?”

Meng Ning took a deep breath.

Her curled fingertips dug harshly into her palm lines—lines that Wen Zenian had once caressed so gently, and which she was now pinching until they hurt.

She paused for a long moment, testing her control over the curve of her lips. Finally satisfied, she smiled. “Say what? Dirty talk?”

From the shadows, Wen Zenian seemed to shrug.

Meng Ning lifted her lips in another smile and turned to leave.

Close call, Meng Ning.

She really couldn’t stay another second.

The next morning, everyone took the speedboat back to the Paris C Hotel.

Their shift was busy after that, so they handed off to the second team for their outing.

Meng Ning used it as an excuse not to seek out Wen Zenian for a long while. She was still afraid, even though her emotions had settled somewhat since leaving Wen Zenian’s room that night. But it was like a conditioned response—whenever she thought of Wen Zenian, genuine fear welled up inside her.

Fear of blurting out something she shouldn’t. Fear of making a ridiculous fool of herself.

Time dragged on until her day off.

That evening, Qi Xiao had her eye on a barbecue place a bit too far away. With the weather warming up, the three of them couldn’t be bothered to go out, so they ordered delivery instead. Qi Xiao spent half the day calculating coupons for discounts.

When the doorbell rang, Qi Xiao was gnawing on a huge skewer of meat, chili powder smeared across her mouth. “Who ordered milk tea? Don’t hide it from me, don’t you dare…”

She stood to answer the door, but Meng Ning had a sudden premonition. She called out, “Qi Xiao.”

“Yeah?”

Qi Xiao turned back. Meng Ning spoke slowly, “If it’s Gwyneth…”

“If she’s looking for me, tell her I’m not here.”

Qi Xiao was a little puzzled. During the time Meng Ning and Wen Zenian had been involved, Wen Zenian had visited their rental barely a handful of times. But when she pulled open the security door, there was Wen Zenian, her stunning face appearing at the threshold. “Hi, Sharon. Is Meng Ning in?”

Holy crap! Was Meng Ning psychic or something?

Qi Xiao froze for two seconds, regretting not wiping the chili powder from her mouth.

The Lesbian Circle’s Sister Studies really was a profound art. Wen Zenian wasn’t even her type, but seeing her still made Qi Xiao’s heart race instinctively.

Wen Zenian wore a soft shirt that clung lightly to her graceful figure. Her eye makeup seemed a touch heavier than usual, the liner flicked up just so—giving her face a faintly sharp, commanding air, while the corners of her eyes held an effortless allure.

Qi Xiao’s mind went blank. “Meng Ning said she’s not here…”

Crap.

She realized her mistake the moment the words left her mouth. In the small living room, Meng Ning let out what sounded like a faint sigh, followed by the soft shuffle of slippers.

Then Wen Zenian saw Meng Ning’s face appear over Qi Xiao’s shoulder—expression neutral, her clear black-and-white eyes like stars in a chill autumn night.

Meng Ning said, “We ate dinner late today. We’re just having some barbecue now.” She added, “Want to come in and have some?”

Wen Zenian looked at her a beat longer.

“No thanks.” Wen Zenian declined politely. “I was in the city for some business and stopped by on my way. I’ve got to head back to the island tonight. Enjoy your meal.”

She turned to go.

“Wait.” Meng Ning called after her.

Wen Zenian looked back to see Meng Ning staring at the floor. After a pause, she lifted her gaze again. “I’ve pretty much finished eating anyway. Want to go for a walk?”

Wen Zenian regarded her.

Meng Ning felt a little uneasy under her scrutiny but didn’t look away. She gave her a small smile. Wen Zenian had long noticed that Meng Ning didn’t have many close friends, yet she could get along with just about anyone—probably because of smiles like that.

Wen Zenian said, “Sure. Let’s go.”

The two of them headed downstairs together.

They stepped out of the rundown low-rise building into moonlight that suddenly seemed grand—but it illuminated nothing picturesque. Real life didn’t look good under harsh exposure. The wastewater from roadside barbecue stalls pooled unappealingly, and a cat with a pink collar around its neck was tethered to a tree by a thin rope, looking pitiful in its confinement.

Wen Zenian asked, “Where to?”

“No idea.”

Wen Zenian glanced at her. “Didn’t expect me to come find you?”

Meng Ning tugged at her lips again. “You’re so busy. It’s not like you stop by every time you’re in the city.”

Wen Zenian nodded. “Fair enough.”

Meng Ning walked slowly beside her, hands clasped behind her back. She liked watching Wen Zenian wave or nod—such elegant little flicks of her fingers or subtle dips of her chin. She liked the scent of Wen Zenian’s perfume today: tuberose, perfect for a night sky tinged with blue-violet.

She asked Wen Zenian, “Coming from a meeting with investors?”

“Mm.” Beautiful women really did have tempers. Despite her high position, Wen Zenian didn’t hide her impatience with tedious work. She muttered a low English curse at those investors.

Meng Ning laughed.

She said to Wen Zenian, “You know…”

Wen Zenian turned her slender neck toward her.

“How many years has it been since you rode a bus?” Amid the spring breeze on this balmy night, standing between a barbecue stall’s filthy puddle and the long-unwashed red-and-white awning of a fruit stand, Meng Ning asked, “Want to go ride one?”

Wen Zenian looked almost exasperated at first, shaking her head in an enigmatic way—as if it were just the night breeze stirring her hair.

As Meng Ning’s fingers curled in slight tension, Wen Zenian smiled. “Alright.”

Her tone carried a hint of indulgence.

Meng Ning felt that her own magic was weak, her abilities limited. Wen Zenian had stepped one foot into her world, but all she could weave was a humble dream—fragmented and everyday. Like the two of them standing side by side at a bus stop, its cast-iron railing marred by unsightly rust spots.

Wen Zenian glanced at the sign but found no schedule for start times. “Buses still running this late?”

Meng Ning said confidently, “Yes.”

Wen Zenian caught on. “You’ve done it?”

Meng Ning paused. “When I can’t sleep.”

On sleepless nights, she’d ridden buses aimlessly through the city, drifting in a hazy dream with no destination.

The city wasn’t much to look at—too old, too worn, too many cramped alleys. But sometimes the grit held its own beauty: graffiti scrawled by unknown hands on alley walls, patina worn into old rooftops by time, ancient trees twisted into patterns even the years couldn’t unravel, their crowns bursting with fresh green that peeled back the past.

Meng Ning wasn’t sure if a star or two hung overhead. On those insomniac midnights, she’d once found a subtle sparkle in those narrow streets and old lanes. With a selfish wish, she wanted Wen Zenian to see the sights she’d cherished. She offered them timidly, anxiously, knowing her heart held only these modest views and nothing more.

After all, today was Wen Zenian’s birthday.

Meng Ning had considered that Wen Zenian might come looking for her.

But every time the thought surfaced, she forced it down.

Chen Luzi would celebrate with her, surely.

She repeated it to herself, steering her mind toward that conclusion—Wen Zenian wouldn’t come for her.

Yet when the door finally rang that evening, her rational thought was that she wasn’t ready, that she shouldn’t face Wen Zenian yet. But in that moment, a small memory bubbled up unexpectedly.

Back in eighth grade, during a speech contest, everyone said she was a shoo-in to win. Her teacher even had her prepare an acceptance speech in advance. But she’d slacked off, dragging Wen Zenian into her bedroom to read comics instead. Wen Zenian had asked, “Why aren’t you preparing?”

She’d grinned lazily. “It won’t be me anyway.”

Truth was, she harbored a petty, inexplicable secret no one else could understand. It felt like if she prepared that speech, heaven would notice how badly she wanted to win—and snatch the prize away just to spite her.

When Wen Zenian’s voice sounded outside their rental that evening, Meng Ning felt the same tiny bubbles rise in her heart as they had back in eighth grade, the day she’d won.

It felt as though her little scheme—deliberately convincing herself that Wen Zenian wouldn’t come looking for her—had triumphed over so many things that should have been inevitable.

It had even triumphed over the will of heaven.