Chapter 55 Part 1

Wen Zenian asked so directly that Meng Ning was momentarily speechless. She steadied her mind before replying, “No.”

“Then her.” Wen Zenian’s thick lashes lowered slightly as she glanced at the laptop on the sofa. “She’s dressed just like me.”

“Art imitates life, haha.”

She had picked up a bad habit lately.

For some reason, whenever she spoke, she liked tacking a “haha” onto the end of her sentences.

Wen Zenian let out a faint “oh” and asked, “Did you make any money from it?”

“I did.” If it hadn’t brought in some actual cash, the whole thing would have felt even more like a silly fantasy.

“How much?” Wen Zenian pressed, digging right to the root.

Meng Ning fell silent, and Wen Zenian simply watched her.

Finally, she had to admit, “Twelve yuan.”

She had written several pieces, but only one had been accepted. Even then, when she checked the Weibo account afterward, they never posted the story—it must have been killed during the final review.

“Give it to me,” Wen Zenian said.

“What?” There was no way Meng Ning would ever show Wen Zenian the novel she had written.

But Wen Zenian clarified, “The twelve yuan.”

Meng Ning stared at her in shock.

Wen Zenian stated it with perfect righteousness: “You eat my food, wear my clothes, use my things. Shouldn’t every cent you earn belong to me?”

Her tone was light, but Meng Ning could hear the note of pleasure beneath it.

She gritted her teeth. “Do you use Alipay? I’ll transfer it to you.”

“I do.”

Meng Ning had no choice but to send the money over.

“I’m going to take a shower first,” Wen Zenian said.

“Okay,” Meng Ning replied.

Wen Zenian tilted her chin toward the master bedroom and picked up her bag as she headed that way.

She had given Meng Ning the secondary bedroom, complete with a single bed. The master bedroom was too big and too empty; leaving out a double bed would have felt out of place. But a double bed that size, with just one person lying alone on it—it was like drifting across an endless sea.

Her mind kept replaying that night: her leaping into the vast, bottomless Black Sea and hauling the limp Meng Ning back to the surface.

Meng Ning had swallowed a few mouthfuls of water. The doctors had run all the checks and declared her fine, but her voice still carried a faint hoarseness when she spoke.

Wen Zenian couldn’t bear the image of Meng Ning curled up on that double bed, her slender frame barely filling one corner.

Just as Meng Ning finished plugging in her laptop to charge, Wen Zenian’s voice called from the master bedroom: “Meng Ning.”

Meng Ning went to her.

It was the first time she had stepped into the master bedroom.

Wen Zenian glanced at her. “The living room is spotless.”

That was the art of management speech: praise first, then the criticism.

Meng Ning waited for the “but.”

Sure enough, it came. “But why haven’t you cleaned my master bedroom?”

“Because the door was closed,” Meng Ning said. “I thought it might be inconvenient.”

“Was the door locked?” Wen Zenian replied. “Didn’t I tell you I’d be staying here when I come into the city for business?”

She shot Meng Ning a glance. “Were you hoping I’d bunk in your room with you?”

Meng Ning paled in terror. “I didn’t mean that at all.” She spun on her heel to leave. “Should I clean it now?”

“Forget it,” Wen Zenian said. “I’m only staying one night—leaving tomorrow. We’ll make do.”

“Okay then.” Meng Ning had no intention of cleaning so close to midnight anyway, but living under someone else’s roof meant saying the polite things.

She turned to go, but Wen Zenian called after her. “Can you boil me a bowl of noodles?”

Wen Zenian had deliberately skipped hiring any housekeeping staff. Physical labor helped release dopamine, after all.

Since the place hadn’t been cleaned in days, she skipped the bathtub and used the shower instead.

The hot water cascaded down, stinging her nostrils slightly and leaving her throat tight and uncomfortable.

She felt like the apartment had been prepared for everything—even the ginger and garlic in the fridge, and Meng Ning’s underwear.

The one detail she hadn’t considered was that after inspecting the master bedroom earlier, she had casually pulled the door shut behind her.

Which meant Meng Ning hadn’t touched that door for days.

Wen Zenian’s history with Meng Ning stretched back a long way. Meng Ning’s childhood cheerfulness, her easygoing nature as an adult, even her current vibrancy—none of it could hide the simple fact that she was a person weighed down by heavy thoughts.

Even something as casual as closing a door would make Meng Ning wonder if there was something inside she wasn’t supposed to see, and she’d thoughtfully leave it alone.

Wen Zenian turned off the shower and blow-dried her slightly wavy long hair.

That heaviness of thought showed in other ways too—like how Meng Ning must have been listening carefully to the sounds from the bathroom, timing her noodle-cooking just right. By the time Wen Zenian emerged, wrapped in a bathrobe, Meng Ning was standing in the kitchen.

Wen Zenian walked over, and Meng Ning turned with a light smile, her lips curving just a fraction.

Wen Zenian knew exactly what that smile meant. Her hair was loose now. Outside of their past moments of intimacy, she always wore it in an elegant updo. But with bedtime approaching, did she really need to pin it back up again? It would seem too deliberate.

Then Meng Ning asked, “Did you take off your makeup?”

Wen Zenian paused. “No.”

Meng Ning let out a soft chuckle and prodded the noodles in the pot with her chopsticks.

“I want some water,” Wen Zenian said. “Where are the cups?”

“In the cabinet—they’re all washed. Help yourself.”

Wen Zenian hummed in acknowledgment and reached past her, leaning sideways to grab a cup from the cabinet.

Meng Ning felt the faint brush of her hair—it tickled. She lifted one arm, but it didn’t quite form an embrace. Yet Wen Zenian’s scent enveloped her, warm and surrounding, like the real thing.

Meng Ning held still and didn’t pull away.

Wen Zenian noticed Meng Ning’s shoulders tense for a moment, but she stayed put, probably figuring that dodging would look too obvious. Grabbing the cup took only an instant anyway. As Wen Zenian withdrew her arm, the tickle of hair against Meng Ning’s neck vanished, along with that clean, fresh scent.

Wen Zenian turned to pour her water, reflecting that their relationship had indeed settled into a strange limbo.

Their bodies knew each other intimately; even her arm brushing close sparked instinctive responses. She could sense Meng Ning’s sweet, soft breath, curving through the air as if it might slip right under her bathrobe.

And after they’d finally opened up to each other, their minds felt even more attuned—not like those early days after reuniting, when each hid her own secrets.

But this attunement was painfully complex. Just like back in her teens, when Wen Zenian could never quite sort out whether Meng Ning had been more gentle with her or more cruel. Even now, she couldn’t decide if her own feelings held more resentment or more fondness.

The human heart was always the most tangled thing of all.

She could orchestrate grand strategies in the world of business, but she couldn’t unravel a heart.

She suspected Meng Ning felt the same way about her—unable to parse whether it was more guilt or more liking, more desire to flee or more urge to draw near.

And did Meng Ning harbor even a sliver of resentment toward her? For pulling her out of the sea—for forcing her to keep playing this brutal game of life, level after impossible level.

At that moment, Meng Ning spoke from behind her. “The noodles are ready.”

Wen Zenian gave a faint hum.

Meng Ning carried the bowl to the dining table. Wen Zenian gathered her hair and tucked one side behind her ear before sitting down.

Meng Ning had been about to say something like, “Eat up, and call me when you’re done so I can wash the dishes.” But that felt all wrong—like she was deliberately avoiding her.

She did want to avoid her, but she couldn’t let it show.

So she sat down across from Wen Zenian instead.

She kept her eyes averted, resting her elbows on the table with her fingers laced together. One moment her right thumb pressed over the left, the next the left over the right—like playing some endless stacking game that never resolved.

Wen Zenian had been thinking that if Meng Ning dared suggest leaving, she’d order her to sit right there like a good girl.

But now that Meng Ning had seated herself without prompting, Wen Zenian felt a twinge of pity. She almost wanted to say, “If you’re really that uncomfortable, go back to your room.”

She ate her noodles and glanced across the table.

Meng Ning sat with her head slightly bowed, staring at the shadow Wen Zenian cast on the tabletop.

Meng Ning realized her feelings toward Wen Zenian were far more tangled than she’d thought. She’d convinced herself it was all about escape—but now, sitting right across from her, she saw it wasn’t that simple.

Whether it was her actions toward Wen Zenian as a teenager or Wen Zenian’s act of hauling her from the sea, both left her mortified in her presence, desperate to flee.

Yet when Wen Zenian’s arm had brushed close, or when her faint fragrance wafted over and she sat there eating a simple bowl of noodles—it drew Meng Ning’s body in, offering some instinctive comfort.

Wen Zenian knew her past better than anyone, which made her the person Meng Ning most urgently wanted to run from. But because Wen Zenian knew her past better than anyone, she was also the only one Meng Ning could truly let herself get close to.

Her rational mind screamed for retreat. Her body yearned for an embrace.

Shamelessly, she found herself wanting Wen Zenian to hold her.

Drifting in that vast, endless Black Sea, she had been terrified.

This “shameless” impulse had nothing to do with desire; she felt none of that. It was just that after everything had been laid bare, she ought to feel nothing toward Wen Zenian but guilt—and yet here she was, craving her comfort all the same.

She kept staring at Wen Zenian’s shadow on the table, the long hair draped over her shoulders falling into beautiful shapes.

Until Wen Zenian said, “I’m done.”

Her voice startled Meng Ning; her shoulders jerked, like waking suddenly from a dream into a world she wasn’t ready for.

Wen Zenian seemed to let out the softest sigh from across the table—or maybe that was just Meng Ning’s imagination.

Because her next words were, “Amusement park tomorrow?”

Meng Ning’s head snapped up, her face etched with horror as she stared.

Wen Zenian looked satisfied with the reaction, her lips curving faintly. “If you don’t want to go, I’ll assume it’s the crowds. I can clear the whole place out…”