Chapter 5

Meng Ning discovered that true beauties were all terribly stingy.

Take Wen Zenian, for example. When she waved at someone, the gesture was minimal—a light, airy flick of her fingertips before her hand dropped back down. She rarely smiled, and even then, it was just the barest curve of her lips, a faint smile that hung precariously at the corner of her mouth, as if it might vanish at any moment.

That stinginess probably stemmed from an unshakable confidence—the knowledge that even such a casual wave would leave you unable to refuse her.

Meng Ning asked the team leader, “What kind of task?”

“Accompanying Gwyneth on a patrol of the coastline.”

“Why me?”

The team leader grinned. “Didn’t I already tell you? Because you came in first today.”

In truth, Meng Ning really wanted to ask—what if she hadn’t run first today?

She had no idea how long Wen Zenian had been standing on those sea rocks, nor how long a person’s old memories could linger. In short, she didn’t know if Wen Zenian was targeting her specifically.

The team leader reminded her, “Go take a quick shower. Gwyneth is still waiting for you.”

Meng Ning hesitated for half a second.

She wondered if she should come up with an excuse like “I suddenly have a stomachache,” but if Wen Zenian really had it out for her, there would be other tasks even without this coastline patrol.

She gave a brief nod and headed toward the staff showers.

Her movements were quick. She towel-dried her hair until it was half-dry, pulled on a T-shirt, then topped it with a thin gray hoodie before making her way to the coast.

The first thing she saw was Wen Zenian’s back.

The early morning sun rose without a hint of glare, spreading a sheet of orange-red along the horizon where sea met sky. The thin mist from the night hadn’t fully dissipated, curling around Wen Zenian’s figure.

She had been standing with her hands clasped behind her back, gazing out at the sea. By now, Meng Ning understood why Qi Xiao had taken one look and declared Wen Zenian the most suited to wear a uniform.

Because she truly was.

The most irresistible allure wasn’t the kind that made people throw caution to the wind—it was the kind that tempted you to reach out, only to have your fingertips tremble and pull back. Wen Zenian’s silhouette evoked exactly that. The austere lines of her business suit radiated restraint, sparking curiosity while prompting self-reflection.

Curiosity about what, exactly? And self-reflection on what?

Hearing her footsteps, Wen Zenian turned around. Meng Ning suddenly felt a sharp sting from the small scratch on her cheek—possibly from her phone screen earlier.

As if by magic, the mist over the sea vanished the instant Wen Zenian turned with her hands still behind her back.

“Meng Ning, good morning.” Wen Zenian called her by her Chinese name in perfect Mandarin. Her expression had been as faint as morning mist a second ago, but now a smile curved at her lips. “Did you dream of me last night?”

Meng Ning couldn’t even tell if Wen Zenian was joking.

Because after saying that, Wen Zenian turned back around. “Lead the way.”

The C Hotel’s coastline stretched long, beyond the finest stretch of sandy beach lay jagged sea rocks. Together, they formed a dramatic seascape that opened the mind to vastness just from looking. But only by climbing them firsthand did one realize the rocks were far from gentle—the ocean’s pent-up fury piled up entirely here.

Standing in this spot, the wind felt much fiercer.

The white collar of Wen Zenian’s shirt peeked from her uniform’s neckline, flapping wildly in the breeze and revealing a straight section of collarbone, strikingly pale.

The rock surfaces were stacked like crumpled sheets of paper. Meng Ning glanced at the thin high heels on Wen Zenian’s feet.

Wen Zenian must have been keenly perceptive, because she quickly noticed Meng Ning’s gaze. “I can run two kilometers in these heels.”

Meng Ning smiled.

Wen Zenian shot her a glance.

Meng Ning looked like she wanted to say something but held back, secretly pinching her own fingers.

Wen Zenian said, “If there’s something on your mind, just ask.”

How could Meng Ning just blurt it out? For one thing, talking to a beauty naturally made her nervous. For another, Wen Zenian was her superior, after all.

But she couldn’t hold back her curiosity. “Was there something wrong with my smile just now?”

That glance from Wen Zenian had been too odd.

Wen Zenian shook her head. “Nothing wrong. It’s just that with a face like yours, you don’t seem like the type who enjoys smiling.”

That was true. Meng Ning’s features were cool and aloof; people meeting her for the first time instinctively thought her unapproachable. But spend time with her, and they’d find she was actually quite easygoing—indifferent to most things, agreeable, and perfectly willing to smile.

Wen Zenian, on the other hand, had such strikingly elegant features, yet she was the one who rarely smiled.

Meng Ning hadn’t figured out how to respond when Wen Zenian changed the subject. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Huh?”

“Your hair isn’t dry.”

“Oh… I toweled it off. The sun’s out—it’ll dry soon.”

Meng Ning’s hair was indeed half-dry from the sun by now, the remaining dampness seeming not to cling to her strands but to infuse her delicate features instead. Like rice paper half-soaked in water, translucent under the sunlight, steaming with the promise of unwritten modern verse.

“You don’t wear makeup either.”

Wen Zenian switched topics quickly; Meng Ning struggled to keep up.

“I’m too lazy…” Meng Ning said.

“You’re proud.” Wen Zenian stated it bluntly.

As Meng Ning puzzled over that, Wen Zenian glanced at her again. “You think you look good enough without it.”

Meng Ning’s lips quirked up. “By that logic, you should go barefaced every day.”

Wen Zenian’s gaze fixed on her, and a gust of sea wind cleared Meng Ning’s head a bit—had she been too flippant? Whether with someone she barely knew or the esteemed administrative manager of the C Hotel Group.

Most people wouldn’t expect someone with her looks to crack jokes like that.

But silence drew too much attention; the occasional bit of banter was the best way to blend into the crowd.

She was just about to open her mouth when Wen Zenian’s eyes drifted away indifferently.

Her steps in those thin heels continued forward. “Your mouth is still as sweet as ever.”

Meng Ning’s heart skipped a beat.

“Your mouth is still as sweet as ever.”

Wen Zenian had said “still.”

Was that just a careless remark? Or did Wen Zenian remember her too?

She desperately wanted to ask about Wen Zenian’s life over these years. What schools she’d attended, what clubs she’d joined, how many friends she had who wrote poetry, played piano, rode horses, and skied. How many romances she’d had—ones so unforgettable they lingered even after breakup.

She desperately wanted to know just how rich and vibrant Wen Zenian’s life must be, stacked like faded calendars in her mind, long since burying the insignificant version of Meng Ning.

Wen Zenian, meanwhile, showed no such inner turmoil; her face remained serene in the morning light. Walking with her like this revealed just how outstanding a manager she was. Her questions were few but always hit the mark—even quickly spotting a vulnerability in Meng Ning’s team’s operations.

Meng Ning nodded. “I’ll report it to the team leader when I get back.”

They reached the final sea rock.

Meng Ning explained, “This is the farthest end of the C Hotel’s coastline.”

Wen Zenian stood at the rock’s edge—the highest point of the coastline. The wind tousled her stray hairs, and she habitually tucked them behind her ear. That elegant line of her neck was probably something even the heavens delighted in kissing; too restrained for that, they sent a cascade of pale golden sunlight dancing toward it instead.

Meng Ning cautioned, “Step back a bit from the edge.”

Wen Zenian turned to face her. “Do you believe me?”

“Believe what?”

“That when I count to three, I’ll jump right off from here.”

“Don’t joke—”

Even as Meng Ning spoke, Wen Zenian’s thin lips parted slightly. “One, two…”

She backed toward the edge step by step, smiling all the while.

It was as if the champagne she’d held between her fingers all last night had delayed its effect until now, evaporating through every pore under the morning sun—unleashing a smile hazy with wine, perfectly suiting her striking features.

A night-blooming flower unfurling in the dawn. An ancient floral hairpin adorning a modern beauty’s temple.

That smile of Wen Zenian’s was too intoxicating, too lingering, blurring the lines of time itself.

Meng Ning blanked out for just an instant before Wen Zenian leaned back and leaped off the rock.

The motion was crisp and decisive, just like last night when she’d taken the absinthe from Meng Ning’s hand and downed it without hesitation.

“Hey!”

Meng Ning lunged forward, her fingertips barely hooking the metal waist chain Wen Zenian wore that morning.

It was a dangerous move. As an experienced lifeguard, she should have secured her own safety first before attempting a rescue.

But her fingertips brushed the cool metal of the chain, and instead of letting go, she instinctively tightened her grip.

Wen Zenian’s face bore that dahlia-like smile as they plummeted toward the sea together.

The height of the rock became an advantage now. Meng Ning shifted their center of gravity, ensuring they hit the water feet-first.

Splash!

It was like a sharp slap across a long-dormant past. Dusty textbooks flew open, kicking up clouds of forgotten time.

They sank into the sea together. Meng Ning stroked through the water twice before checking on Wen Zenian. She brought Wen Zenian to the surface for air. Wen Zenian clung to her shoulder, her posture as tight as an embrace, whispering in her ear, “See? I still got my hug after all.”

Meng Ning had no time for that. She was tense—no flotation board meant the biggest risk was the person she was rescuing clinging too tightly, trapping them both.

But Wen Zenian released her after just that one hug.

“Hey…”

Meng Ning clearly remembered that Wen Zenian couldn’t swim. More precisely, she was afraid of water.

Only now did she realize how tense she’d been. Despite her experience, she choked down a half-mouthful of seawater as she spoke—salty and bitter, coating the back of her tongue.

And yet she watched as Wen Zenian swam forward effortlessly.

The rock was too high to climb back up; they’d have to swim to a shallow beach ahead to get ashore.

Wen Zenian headed straight that way.

Meng Ning followed behind, watching Wen Zenian’s arms rise and fall like butterflies skimming the waves.

Wen Zenian reached the shore first, turning back with a glance that held a touch of leisure—as if she were the one awaiting rescue.

By the time Meng Ning pulled herself onto the beach, Wen Zenian was leaning against a nearby sea rock.

Meng Ning wiped the water from her face and approached, lowering her voice. “Are you insane?”

Wen Zenian smiled. “You wouldn’t play that game with me last night.”

As if she were the one who had a point.

Meng Ning panted. “You didn’t even count to three.”

“Don’t you know best?” Wen Zenian’s smile was soft and alluring, though her eyes gleamed with something inscrutable. “Life doesn’t always give you the courtesy of counting to three.”

Her white shirt was soaked through, clinging to her chest and outlining its beautiful curves. She leaned close to Meng Ning’s ear. “Also, if you’re pretending not to know me… shouldn’t you pretend to forget that I’m afraid of water too?”