Meng Ning needed an outlet for her emotions. By day, she willed herself to seem upbeat; sleep became her sole release. Rationally, Wen Zenian understood. Emotionally, though, it tugged at her. She should have kept her distance.
Meng Ning had no idea Wen Zenian had returned.
The medication’s dosage was precise. She awoke to faint dawn light seeping through the curtains. Drawing them back and opening the window let in birdsong and the scent of flowers.
She took a deep breath, inwardly cursing how wicked capitalism could erode the soul.
Yesterday, she’d looked up the rent for this neighborhood. The numbers had nearly made her fling her phone across the room again.
Sigh. When would she ever pay back everything Wen Zenian had given her?
Meng Ning cleaned the house again. She figured daily cleaning could double as exercise. She’d just put away the rag when the doorbell rang.
Meng Ning went to open the door. She peered out with a puzzled expression. “You’re…?”
Qi Xiao, standing outside, froze. “You don’t recognize me?”
Meng Ning looked even more baffled.
A cold sweat broke out down Qi Xiao’s back. She was just reaching for her phone to call Wen Zenian when Meng Ning let out a soft chuckle.
Qi Xiao punched her on the shoulder. “You scared the hell out of me!”
Meng Ning laughed. “I knew you were off today. Figured you’d come over.”
“My day off didn’t line up with the weekend, and Song Xiao’s at work. I was bored out of my mind at home all by myself.”
Meng Ning ushered her inside. Qi Xiao stood there gaping for a moment. “Fancy. This place is seriously fancy.”
She turned to Meng Ning. “So, how’s it feel?”
Meng Ning shrugged. “What do you think? I tiptoe around the house every day.”
Qi Xiao burst out laughing. “Look at you, settling for so little.”
She slipped off her shoes and waved the bag in her hand. “I brought a ton of snacks and AD Calcium Milk. Let’s drink till we’re smashed today.”
She prowled around the unfamiliar space like a cat exploring new territory, chattering nonstop and railing against the evils of capitalism.
Meng Ning trailed behind her. “I’ve cursed all that stuff already.”
“What’d you say?”
Meng Ning didn’t hold back. She let loose with a curse.
Qi Xiao cracked up and shoved her arm. “I swear, ever since your fresh start, you’ve changed. You’re getting more extroverted or something.”
Like Wen Zenian, Qi Xiao never shied away from talking about how close Meng Ning had come to the edge.
Meng Ning appreciated that. Anything less—any tiptoeing around the subject—would’ve made her uncomfortable.
She asked, “How so?”
“You’re turning into an E.”
“No, no.” Meng Ning was firm. “I’m still an I.” Around Wen Zenian especially, she never knew what to say.
Qi Xiao blinked. “Okay, but has anything else changed? Are you a 1 or a 0 now?”
Meng Ning: …
Qi Xiao laughed again. She nudged Meng Ning. “Come on, let’s make lunch. Got any ingredients left? If not, I’ll run downstairs and grab some.”
“There’s stuff in the fridge.”
They hadn’t used up yesterday’s, and the housekeeper had delivered fresh supplies today.
Qi Xiao yanked open the fridge door and saw row after row of organic meats and veggies. “She’s trying to turn you into a goddess or something!”
The two of them whipped up lunch together and toasted with AD Calcium Milk.
Meng Ning washed the dishes, then wandered over to the sofa. She spotted Qi Xiao lounging there, playing a game. Between rounds, Qi Xiao slurped at her AD Calcium Milk. Spotting Meng Ning, she asked, “What do you even do all day cooped up here?”
“Read wuxia novels.”
“Huh?”
Meng Ning pointed. Qi Xiao finally noticed the wuxia novel tucked into the sofa cushions.
“You keep gaming,” Meng Ning said, picking up the book. “I’ll keep reading.”
“Sure thing.” Qi Xiao set down her AD Calcium Milk, curled up her legs, and dove back into another round. The rapid-fire sound effects filled the room.
This was just like the old days when they’d been roommates—hanging out together, each doing their own thing, no awkward small talk required. It felt comfortable.
Meng Ning tucked one leg under her on the sofa, propping her elbow on the backrest and cradling her head in her hand. She read in a lazy sprawl.
She didn’t know when she dozed off.
Sometimes the meds kicked in during the day, leaving her drowsy.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Qi Xiao asleep beside her, head lolled back against the sofa, turned to one side, snoring softly.
Meng Ning stayed slumped on the sofa, too lazy to move, until Qi Xiao slowly stirred awake.
Qi Xiao turned her head toward Meng Ning and suddenly clutched her chest, jerking back. “Did you fall for me?”
Meng Ning gave a lazy smile.
Qi Xiao sat up and stretched. “Not gonna lie, being stuck inside all day really is boring.”
Meng Ning couldn’t do her first psychological assessment for a while yet, and until then, Wen Zenian wouldn’t let her set foot outside.
Qi Xiao had an idea. “Why don’t you write a novel?”
“Huh?”
“You’re home all day reading all these books. Gotta put out after all that input, right? There are public accounts and Weibo handles now where you can post novels, submit them, even make money.”
Meng Ning perked up at the mention of money. Otherwise, how would she ever repay Wen Zenian?
“But what do I write about?”
“The heiress to a five-star hotel and the ordinary beach lifeguard.”
Meng Ning: …
“Or ABO stuff—you know, where you grow… organs.”
“Stop right there!”
“Anyway, I’ve been into that genre forever. You’ve got the time now—write it yourself. You can even make yourself the top. Perfect.”
“What do you mean ‘make myself the top’? I already am…”
Whatever. Things with Wen Zenian weren’t like that anymore. No point arguing.
After dinner, Meng Ning saw Qi Xiao out. Then the doorbell rang again.
Meng Ning opened the door. The housekeeper politely handed over a laptop—her old one.
She’d sold it at the secondhand market before. Somehow Wen Zenian had tracked it down. It must’ve taken some effort. Back on the sofa, Meng Ning opened it on her lap and found all her old data intact.
She’d wiped it clean before selling. Wen Zenian must’ve had someone recover the files.
It wasn’t necessary—she had nothing important on there anyway.
But Wen Zenian had fixed her phone and retrieved her laptop, as if saying her old life had a save file. She wasn’t some penniless newbie starting from scratch. It wouldn’t be that hard to rebuild.
Wen Zenian was wrong, though.
She really was a total newbie, because her wallet was empty.
Meng Ning had never written fiction before.
But she’d been a top student in school, balanced across subjects, with high essay scores.
Qi Xiao had suggested it that afternoon, and by evening, the tools arrived—like an omen of impending fame.
She tried writing a couple of lines.
Read them back. So embarrassing.
But amid the embarrassment, there was a thrill. What to do?
Lips curving, she kept typing.
She wasn’t truly passionate about writing novels. She just had to do something.
Like how she had to stay upbeat, keep smiling. It wasn’t just her face—she’d rewired her whole mindset.
Otherwise, what else could she do?
Wen Zenian must be busy. Every night, Meng Ning covered the camera with a towel while showering and called her.
They didn’t talk otherwise. After all, she was on her best behavior under the camera.
Truth be told, she was afraid of too much attention from Wen Zenian. The distance came as a relief.
Her days were simple: clean, cook, read novels, write novels.
She typed fast. Two days later, she picked a Weibo account and submitted her first piece.
She’d meant to run it by Qi Xiao for advice on the best platforms, but no way—it was too embarrassing to share.
She thought it was pretty good, but they rejected her.
Reason: “Too flowery, outdated style—like an old-school New Concept Essay. Doesn’t match what readers want now.”
Meng Ning got mad.
It lit a fire under her.
She wrote another and resubmitted. Reply: “Better. We’ll take it.”
Meng Ning exhaled in relief. She wasn’t great at negotiating money, but she had to ask. “Is there a fee?”
“Yes, twelve bucks.”
Meng Ning was floored. “This is five thousand words.”
“Beginner rate. That’s our price. Withdraw if you don’t like it.”
“…Fine, I’ll take it.”
They transferred twelve yuan via Alipay.
Her first earnings since the fresh start.
She despaired.
At this rate, when would she repay Wen Zenian?
Gradually, she stopped cooking for two. She made just enough for herself—fresher that way, no leftovers. Plus, cooking fresh each time killed some time.
Sometimes she’d glance at the camera and think Wen Zenian had vanished, that the app it connected to led nowhere.
But every night in the shower, she’d call, and hear Wen Zenian’s soft breathing.
One evening, fresh from her shower, Meng Ning was about to grab the laptop from the sofa to charge it when inspiration struck. She curled up and typed a new segment.
A refined female voice read softly behind her: “Wang Rao, as the director, cut an impeccable figure in her white blouse and black slacks. No one knew the allure hidden beneath that blouse’s black lace—except Gong Ci, the only girl on the building’s security team…”
“Stop reading. It’s so embarrassing,” Meng Ning blurted without thinking.
Of course she wouldn’t write about a five-star hotel manager and a beach lifeguard. At minimum, it’d be a corporate director and the security girl downstairs.
Her fingers froze over the keys.
Why had her brain voiced the text out loud? In Wen Zenian’s voice, no less?
Was she losing it?
Or…
She turned. Sure enough, there was Wen Zenian’s flawless face.
In moments of extreme panic, people stayed calm. Meng Ning smoothly closed the laptop, set it aside on the sofa, exhaled slowly, then stood and faced her with a smile. “No heads-up?”
Just standing there behind her like that. And she’d been so absorbed, she hadn’t heard a thing.
Wen Zenian tossed her bag onto the sofa. “Want to see the property deed for this place?”
“Huh?” Why would she?
Wen Zenian said coolly, “It’s not in your name.”
Nice.
Ever since they’d cleared the air, Wen Zenian had gotten good at jabs like that, heedless of her fragile mental state.
It actually made facing Wen Zenian easier, though.
Wait—did Wen Zenian even qualify to buy property here?
Eh, whatever. She had her ways.
So she’d been in the car during Meng Ning’s shower. Those luxury rides were too quiet—no engine noise.
Wen Zenian asked, “What are you writing?”
“A novel. I can submit it online and make money.” She gave herself a legit excuse.
Wen Zenian tilted her chin arrogantly. “So when you wrote about that Wang director…”
“Were you fantasizing about me?”
