“Wait,” Meng Ning said, her voice trembling slightly. “When did I say I wasn’t going? I want to go.”
Wen Zenian gave a tiny nod, then stood and headed toward the master bedroom. She paused after a couple of steps, glancing down at her with lowered eyes. “Why are you staring?”
“Oh.” Meng Ning quickly looked away. “Nothing. I just thought you’d do the polite thing and offer to wash the dishes.”
“Why would I be polite?” Wen Zenian replied. “Because you’ve paid me back my twelve yuan?”
With that, she walked away.
Meng Ning managed a wry twitch of her lips and stood to wash the dishes.
Good. No politeness was good.
The last thing she wanted was for Wen Zenian to treat her with careful courtesy.
When Wen Zenian returned to the master bedroom, that tightness in her throat hadn’t eased. She still felt profoundly uncomfortable.
The noodles had been thoroughly mediocre, leaving her vaguely irritated.
Meng Ning’s cooking skills were nothing special overall. Shi Yang had spoiled her rotten since childhood, so it wasn’t until Shi Yang fell ill that Meng Ning suddenly had to fend for herself. That mediocre talent for the kitchen irritated Wen Zenian and constantly reminded her of how Meng Ning had once flaunted her own “abundance” to highlight Wen Zenian’s “scarcity.”
But there Meng Ning sat across from her, head slightly bowed. The moment Wen Zenian called her name, Meng Ning’s shoulders twitched uncontrollably.
Precisely because Wen Zenian knew better than anyone just how much “abundance” Meng Ning had possessed back then, she understood the depth of the blow Meng Ning had suffered.
Shi Yang—the woman Meng Ning had desperately tried to hold on to—had ultimately slipped away in a far more brutal and final manner. Deep down, did Meng Ning believe this was fate’s inevitable punishment for her?
In Meng Ning’s mind, all of Shi Yang’s unhappiness, all her illness and pain, stemmed from her.
Five years had passed. Meng Ning had struggled, strived, even tried to bask in sunlight in a place that most resembled paradise. But she couldn’t forgive herself.
Resentment and heartache twisted together inside Wen Zenian, compelling her to blurt out that utterly irrational suggestion: “Want to go to the amusement park tomorrow?”
Truth be told, Wen Zenian could be rather clumsy.
Her instinct was that an amusement park was a place that made people happy. At least, in her own childhood—devoid of any such visits—she had always dreamed of it that way.
Strictly speaking, she shouldn’t take Meng Ning out before her first psychological assessment.
But since Wen Zenian would be by her side…
A little rule-breaking wouldn’t hurt.
The daily medication ensured Meng Ning slept like clockwork. When she opened her eyes, the first rays of dawn were filtering through the bedroom curtains.
She started to sit up, then thought better of it. Ah, shoot—she had to die.
Wen Zenian was taking her to the amusement park.
Why? Wasn’t she smiling enough every day? She could laugh her head off—ha ha ha, hee hee hee—even do a one-handed cartwheel while cackling.
Oh, wait—scratch that last one. No way she could pull it off.
She stared at the ceiling, letting herself sink into a single second of blank, expressionless void.
After lazing in bed far too long, she dared to hope: Hadn’t Wen Zenian come to wake her? Maybe something came up at work and she’d already left?
Meng Ning slipped quietly out of bed and eased the bedroom door open just as stealthily.
She cocked her head to listen. The master bedroom and living room were dead silent.
Her guess solidified: Yeah, Wen Zenian must have gone.
She stepped out into the open—and there was Wen Zenian on the sofa, files spread across her lap as she pored over them. She didn’t even glance up. “Morning, Meng Ning.”
Full makeup already, at this hour. Earth tones on her eyes and lips—polished yet understated, like she was heading to inspect the amusement park.
“Morning,” Meng Ning said. “You’re still here? Ha ha.”
Wen Zenian set the files aside and finally looked up at her. “No rush. If you haven’t slept enough, head back to bed. We can leave later. If the park closes, I can always pull some strings…”
“I’ve slept plenty. Plenty.” Meng Ning bolted for the bathroom to freshen up.
She yanked open the closet and grabbed a button-down shirt and jeans. A T-shirt had crossed her mind at first, but then she worried it would make her look too casual next to Wen Zenian’s sharp getup. Would that draw stares to Wen Zenian?
Wen Zenian probably wouldn’t care a bit. But Meng Ning had always been like that—overthinking everything.
No need for makeup or anything. She emerged quickly. “I’m ready.”
Wen Zenian set her files down and gave her a once-over. “Mm.”
What was that “mm” supposed to mean?
That faint “mm” from Wen Zenian made Meng Ning feel like her outfit looked great today.
Wen Zenian rose without grabbing a bag—just her phone and car keys, utterly casual. “Let’s go.”
Meng Ning couldn’t help wondering: Wasn’t Wen Zenian skipping work? What a waste of time.
But she hemmed and hawed, unable to ask. Instead, Wen Zenian spoke up. “Oh, right.”
She glanced over. “No novel-writing for you today. That’s a huge loss.”
Mocking her!
Mocking the twelve bucks she’d transferred to Wen Zenian last night!
You couldn’t bite the hand that fed you—that was the problem. Meng Ning’s heart ached anew. Hundreds of thousands—why had she donated it all?
Wen Zenian led her down to the garage and opened the door of the Maybach. Meng Ning climbed into the passenger seat on autopilot.
As the car pulled out of the garage, Wen Zenian glanced over and noticed Meng Ning’s fingertips curling slightly on her lap.
Come to think of it, this was the first time Meng Ning had truly faced the world since being pulled from the sea.
It didn’t count in the hospital room. Or in that sealed luxury apartment. Not even on the ride home from discharge, when the meds had left her head fuzzy.
It was like gripping a dead game controller, convinced she’d quit the game for good—only to get yanked back into the interface.
The instant they emerged from the garage, sunlight poured in. Meng Ning squinted against it, unaccustomed.
Wen Zenian reached over and flipped down the passenger-side visor for her.
Before Meng Ning could react, Wen Zenian casually dropped the driver’s side one too.
The motion was so effortless. As if helping Meng Ning was just a natural afterthought.
The light softened, like a blasting jet of water turning into a gentle spray. Warm flecks danced across Meng Ning’s face, almost ticklish.
She bowed her head for a moment to adjust, then turned to peer out the window.
The world felt familiar, yet strangely alien.
Alien because Wen Zenian’s upscale neighborhood was full of shops Meng Ning never browsed, never eyed, never bought from. Ha ha.
Wen Zenian pulled over to the curb. Meng Ning turned to her. “Can you hop out and grab us some coffee and breakfast?”
Meng Ning eyed the roadside spot—a chic cafe with raw wood accents. Nothing like the dingy hole-in-the-wall she’d once dragged Wen Zenian to.
“I don’t have any money,” Meng Ning said.
Just twelve bucks total.
And she’d already given it to Wen Zenian.
Wen Zenian pulled out her phone and tapped twice. “Accept.”
Meng Ning fished out her own phone. Wen Zenian had added her on WeChat.
Probably a red envelope incoming.
Wen Zenian, who’d spent so much time abroad, clearly didn’t get domestic digital payments. Meng Ning almost suggested Alipay for transfers. But then she thought better of it—she shouldn’t be throwing out that many opinions in front of Wen Zenian.
Or maybe, just a tiny bit, she wanted to add Wen Zenian’s WeChat.
To tie herself a little more firmly to this world.
She hit “Accept.” No red envelope—Wen Zenian had activated a linked family card for her.
“Sadly, the family card has a spending limit,” Wen Zenian said. “Care to guess what I’d set it at otherwise?”
“No thanks.” Meng Ning popped the door and stepped out.
The moment her feet hit solid ground, she blanked for a second.
Wen Zenian’s move was clever. No time for hesitation, second-guessing, or waffling. Her reconnection to the real world happened in that evasive instant—utterly unprepared.
She had no idea that Wen Zenian, from the driver’s seat, was watching her back as she walked away.
Meng Ning took a deep breath, let it out slow, and headed into the cafe.
Only inside did she realize she hadn’t asked Wen Zenian what she wanted to drink or eat.
Right on cue, her phone rang—Wen Zenian calling. “Why didn’t you ask what I wanted?”
Wen Zenian’s voice always sounded a touch more pleasant over the phone, the connection amplifying its refined lilt.
“Yeah, right.” Meng Ning asked, “What do you want?”
Wen Zenian: “What’s on offer?”
The retro cafe had today’s menu scrawled on a little blackboard. Meng Ning read it off verbatim.
Wen Zenian: “And you? What are you having?”
No way—Wen Zenian didn’t strike her as indecisive.
“Americano with a slice of toast,” Meng Ning said.
The cheapest options.
“I’ll have a hot latte with an avocado sandwich,” Wen Zenian replied. “Same for you.”
Then why ask in the first place!
Feeling indebted, Meng Ning grumbled inwardly. Just then, it was her turn. The clerk in the baseball cap asked, “What can I get you?”
Wen Zenian was still going over the phone: “Double milk, no sugar.”
Meng Ning relayed it while listening: “Two hot lattes, double milk, no sugar. Two avocado sandwiches.”
Wen Zenian added: “To go.”
Meng Ning squeezed the phone. “To go.”
“Got it,” the clerk said.
Meng Ning said, “Gonna scan to pay. Hanging up.”
Wen Zenian: “Okay.”
Meng Ning ended the call and scanned to pay.
And just like that, it happened.
Her first step back into the real world. Her first conversation with someone outside doctors, nurses, the housekeeper, Wen Zenian, or Qi Xiao.
Even if it was just ordering.
Meng Ning didn’t know if Wen Zenian’s call was deliberate or coincidental. Or if she grasped what this simple order meant to her.
It was like reactivating an abandoned account—completing the first quest and reclaiming her ticket to the game.
Until the clerk called her number: “Order’s up.”
Meng Ning grabbed the bag—heavy, warm through the paper.
Back in the car, she handed Wen Zenian a coffee, then a sandwich from the bag.
Wen Zenian sipped the latte first, her lipstick leaving a perfect imprint on the plastic lid. She took a bite of the sandwich, wrapped it back up, started the engine, and murmured around it: “Good morning.”
Meng Ning reminded her: “You already said good morning.”
“Did I?” Wen Zenian replied mildly.
Meng Ning took a bite of her sandwich, then remembered—the first time she’d bought coffee for Wen Zenian, that “Good Morning” hadn’t meant “hello.” It meant “lovely morning.”
Wen Zenian was saying she’d given her a lovely morning today.
