Chapter 60 Part 1

She was always like this.

Wen Zenian thought.

Meng Ning was always like this—she was smart, sensitive, and considerate to the point where she seemed to burrow right into people’s hearts. But the more perceptive someone was, the worse they were at cleaning up their own messes. Her intelligence gave her a profound insight into the situations she created, seeing not just the surface scab but the festering flesh beneath.

Others could look at that scab and ask, “Does it hurt?” Meng Ning couldn’t. She keenly picked up on the alarming stench of blood underneath and didn’t know how to deal with it, so she turned tail and ran.

Wen Zenian slowly let out a breath.

She said, “I can answer.”

The other gawkers’ eyes lit up. Only Qi Xiao was there laughing her head off, urging the person beside her: “Eat the toothpick beef! Hahaha, eat the toothpick beef!”

Oh god! Her heart was about to pound right out of her chest.

This was way more thrilling than prying about first kisses or first nights. A lesbian circle hottie in a sharp suit sat right there, her pale wrist peeking from the cuff to reveal delicate bones, holding a wine glass casually while letting out a nonchalant “Mm.” But her thick lashes lowered halfway, clearly deep in thought.

She couldn’t take it! Qi Xiao, the pure love warrior, really couldn’t take it! When a young person falls for someone, that first love hits the hardest and sticks forever!

In truth, Wen Zenian’s glance up, then down, then up again happened in the blink of an eye—probably only Qi Xiao and Meng Ning noticed. Everyone else just thought the stunning beauty seemed unapproachable but surprisingly easygoing as she said lightly, “It’s nothing. I can answer.”

Her gaze drifted past Meng Ning to the person who’d asked the question: “Yes.”

—”Do you have someone you like?”

—”I did.”

That was the moment Wen Zenian decided to let Meng Ning move out.

She felt their relationship had been mismatched from the start. Meng Ning had always had everything growing up, so she was like a ruler merely maintaining the status quo, always looking ahead and behind. Wen Zenian, on the other hand, had started with nothing, clawing her way out of rock bottom by throwing everything she had into the fray without a second thought.

She was pretty inexplicable like that.

Even if she wanted Meng Ning to move out, why not just rent a place? Even if it meant commuting across the city, why not arrange a car from the C Hotel Group?

But no. She had to buy an apartment. She had to buy a car. Just like when she’d helicoptered over allergy meds to Meng Ning—she’d always been someone without a sense of proportion.

Her investments were always all-in, and beneath her calm lurked a frantic desperation bordering on madness, as if pouring more in would let her seize control.

But it wasn’t like that at all.

The more guilt Meng Ning felt toward her, the more she’d pull away.

Meng Ning dreaded hearing her say “I like you,” even though they both knew it deep down. Once it was spoken aloud, it would pin down the whole affair.

To use an imperfect analogy, sneaking a comic in class was fine. But slapping it right on your desk? No way—the teacher would bust you.

They were long past being kids, and there was no teacher to catch their “like.” What could grab them was Meng Ning’s guilt over the past, her tender and sensitive conscience.

Honestly, if those old events happened to anyone else, they might not think much of it. Had Shi Yang really stuck around out of true scheming back then? Shi Yang was an adult—didn’t her choices involve other practical considerations? Hadn’t Shi Yang considered that her relationship with Cen Meigui was doomed in that era, so she backed off?

Others could come up with a thousand excuses to absolve themselves.

But the person Wen Zenian liked had that tender, sensitive conscience.

Qi Xiao shattered again.

Qi Xiao could chat with anyone, so she’d heard countless stories of people talking about those they’d loved. She’d heard all kinds of emotions—regret, reluctance, acceptance, helplessness. But she’d never heard anyone speak in a tone like a prayer.

Praying for that person to become someone she’d “liked” in the past.

Praying for her own heart to drift from the strong note of “like” toward “liked,” like spring snow or summer maple leaves.

But there was no snow in spring, no maples in summer.

That was exactly the point! Qi Xiao still remembered their island getaway when Wen Zenian had joined them at the most popular temple but skipped the prayers. A bold coworker had asked why, and Wen Zenian had said casually that she didn’t believe in Buddha.

What was a person without faith praying to? Spring snow and summer maples.

Qi Xiao burst out laughing: “Fuck, why is this toothpick beef so spicy!”

Just like when she was a kid watching The Legend of Zhen Huan, crying her eyes out and feeling embarrassed, so she banged her knee on the coffee table and yelled, “Hahaha, that shit hurts so bad!”

Her mom shot her a glare: “Young lady, no swearing.”

It was human instinct from childhood—to find excuses for your tears. That was why people laughed when they were sad or sentimental, why Meng Ning had suddenly turned into a total extrovert tonight, of all people.

Because out of everyone there, only Meng Ning laughed along with her: “Right? So spicy!”

Wen Zenian curved her lips slightly, lifted her wrist, and downed the wine in her glass.

She probably wasn’t used to cheap booze like that—it stung her throat, so her lashes fluttered lightly for an instant before settling.

Then Wen Zenian was powerful again, beautiful again, her shoulders held straight as ever.

Qi Xiao laughed at Meng Ning: “Eat the toothpick beef! Eat the toothpick beef!”

They played a few more rounds, and Meng Ning kept chattering away with Qi Xiao.

Wen Zenian sat off to the side. She wasn’t targeted again. Every now and then, she’d swirl her wrist gently, take a sip of wine, and say nothing, make no demands.

Meng Ning sensed she was a little distracted—her gaze wandered, and she unconsciously reached up to twist the diamond earring on her lobe.

So Meng Ning said to Qi Xiao, “It’s getting late. I should head out.”

The others tried to keep her: “We’re wrapping up anyway. One last round together?”

Phrases like “one last round” were pure jinxes. Meng Ning, who’d been lucky all night, got hit.

The fearless extrovert from before reared up again: “Do you have someone you like?”

After Wen Zenian’s bombshell, they’d all had an epiphany—pure love was always the strongest.

Meng Ning lowered her eyes and smiled. “What kind of question is that?”

The asker prodded: “Answer quick! No answer, you drink!”

Meng Ning smiled again. The curve of her lips was obvious, melting the cool detachment from her face. Qi Xiao felt a pang watching it—normal people didn’t smile like that. Only someone desperate for others to see their happiness smiled that way.

Meng Ning said with her lips still raised, “No. Who could I possibly like?”

Wen Zenian, sitting diagonally across from her, didn’t even twitch her mouth.

The answer was right in line with what Wen Zenian expected.

As long as Meng Ning never faced the past head-on, she’d never admit that she liked her.

The asker wouldn’t let up: “Not even someone you’ve crushed on? No heart-flutters at all?”

Qi Xiao jumped in: “Hey, hey, one question at a time.”

Meng Ning smiled again.

Qi Xiao’s heart sank—she knew it was over. Tonight was the end for her as a pure love warrior; everyone was landing critical hits on her.

Meng Ning said, “Someone I love—does that count?”

She said it very quietly. Amid the garish strobe lights, the thumping music, the drunken bickering of “You stepped on my foot!” and “No, your foot was in my way!”

She’d laughed and goofed off with Qi Xiao all night, said a ton, but this came out soft and gentle, like she was politely negotiating: “I have someone I love—does that count?”

Negotiating with whom? Her fate, obviously.

I have someone I care about deeply, tied to a past I’m endlessly guilty about. Seeing her pulls up old wounds that never heal. I’ve run, struggled, tried so hard.

I want to flee from her, yet draw close. Sitting here, my thoughts whirl in seconds, and I uncover a terrifying truth—I might not like her anymore, but I love her.

Liking is a gentle breeze, fluffy clouds, that perfect bite of ice cream or watermelon at three in the afternoon. Love is…

Love is the breath when you’re drowning.

You know one more breath won’t save you—that inhale just floods your lungs with searing agony. But you have no choice. Breathing is instinct.

Love is instinct.

So what could she do? She could only sit there with a smile edging on helplessness, negotiating softly with her fate: “I have someone I love—does that count?”

Waiting for fate to slap her with a resounding backhand.

Qi Xiao sucked in a sharp breath, bolted up, and rushed outside. Toothpick beef couldn’t save her now. She wanted to sob like a puppy, wail and run laps around a track.

Oh right—no track here. Just a dingy gray wall outside the bar and a half-bald cherry tree.

Damn it, why were they past the age of track-lap crying and still hearing pure love stories? It was killing her.

She stumbled out, hand over her mouth, tears blurring her vision as she peered back inside, certain Wen Zenian would be next out the door. How could she possibly hold it together?

Whatever. Even if facing Wen Zenian made her nervous, she’d hug her and bawl, lend her ironclad top shoulders to cry on.

But she waited forever, and Wen Zenian never emerged.

She wiped her tears and approached a girl smoking off to the side: “Hey, sis.”

The girl gave her a lazy glance. “No WeChat.”

“Nah, got a tissue? Need to blow my nose.”

The girl eyed her, pulled out a pack, and handed one over.

Back inside, it wasn’t the lovestruck tornado wreckage she’d imagined. Meng Ning and Wen Zenian still sat in their diagonal seats—Meng Ning chatting and laughing with those around her, Wen Zenian alone with her wine glass.

Meng Ning looked up at the noise and smiled at her. “Where’d you go?”

You blasted me right out the door, Qi Xiao thought.

But she said, “Oh, had too much. Stepped out for air.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before deciding to call it. Wen Zenian booked a ride-share while shuffling out with the group. Someone drunk stumbled into her path; Meng Ning steadied her elbow and murmured, “Careful.”

She nodded faintly. “Thanks.”

Meng Ning let go quickly.

The two were so natural about it, not even bothering to avoid each other.

Outside the bar, they sorted rides—three to a car. Wen Zenian called to Qi Xiao: “Wait for my ride; I’ll drop you off.”

Qi Xiao waved her off: “No, no, no trouble—I’ll grab one with them.”

Meng Ning shook her head inwardly. You don’t know Wen Zenian.

When she used a command like that, there were no options.

Sure enough, Wen Zenian said, “No trouble at all.”