Chapter 60 Part 2

Qi Xiao glanced at Meng Ning, who gave a slight nod. Qi Xiao agreed, “Alright then.”

The three of them stood outside the bar. The other two stayed silent, leaving Qi Xiao with nothing to say. She just stared at the cherry blossom tree, its petals gently stirred by the night breeze.

It was driving her bald, just like her hair after pulling an all-nighter binge-watching dramas.

After a while, the designated driver arrived. Wen Zenian casually tossed him the car keys. He took one look at the Maybach and immediately felt the pressure. Qi Xiao quickly chimed in, “I’m a bit carsick. I’ll take the front seat.”

Let these two sit in the back together.

Neither of them objected.

They got in, but one turned to gaze out her window while the other stared out hers. Not a word passed between them. The driver didn’t dare turn on the radio or pop in a CD, letting the silence stretch on endlessly.

Qi Xiao, ever the extrovert, started feeling restless. She hummed softly under her breath, “Little dog, be good, little dog be good…”

Damn, she felt like Wen Zenian had just shot her a glance from the back seat.

She shut her mouth obediently and stopped singing.

Fine, let the silence reign. She wondered what fireworks these two could spark from it.

They rode in silence all the way to the rundown rental apartment. When they arrived, Qi Xiao got out and said, “Thanks. I’ll head in now.”

Wen Zenian gave an arrogant tilt of her chin, while Meng Ning smiled and said, “Let’s hang out again sometime.”

Qi Xiao walked away, looking back every few steps.

She was torn about her earlier idea back at the bar to introduce Meng Ning to new people. On one hand, she opposed it—these two had such a deep bond at a glance. If it were that easy to break free from a stubborn rut, it wouldn’t be one.

On the other hand, she endorsed it. It was just too hard, too painful. Even as a bystander, she felt the ache.

Unable to resist, she really did glance back one more time. That flashy Maybach was still parked downstairs from their rundown rental.

Why hadn’t they left? What were they talking about in the car?

Inside the car at that moment, the conversation went like this—

Wen Zenian asked Meng Ning, “Ever thought about moving back here?”

She knew Meng Ning felt a little uneasy around Qi Xiao, but at this stage, she still wasn’t comfortable letting Meng Ning move out and rent alone.

No matter what, Meng Ning facing Qi Xiao was better than Meng Ning facing her.

Meng Ning paused, then replied calmly, “I have.”

“Good.” Wen Zenian raised her slender white fingers and tapped lightly on the driver’s seat headrest. “Let’s go.”

The driver got the signal and started the engine.

The two of them ended the exchange swiftly and serenely, like they were standing in the eye of a typhoon.

The car pulled into the underground garage, and the driver left.

Wen Zenian and Meng Ning stood side by side in the elevator, watching their blurred reflections on the metal doors. Suddenly, Wen Zenian wondered how many more times this could happen.

Back home, Meng Ning went ahead and unlocked the door with her fingerprint. Wen Zenian thought, with Meng Ning’s personality, once she moved out, she’d probably delete Wen Zenian’s fingerprint right away without a second thought.

Wen Zenian didn’t feel lonely herself.

It was just the door lock that seemed lonely.

Would she sell the apartment? Probably not—she didn’t need the money. So from then on, the only thing left inside would be her own solitary fingerprint.

If she didn’t come to activate it, the print would gather dust. The stories of the past would gather gray, blurring the good from the bad.

Meng Ning said, “I’ll go take a shower first.”

Wen Zenian gave a soft “Mm” in response.

In the master bedroom, she shrugged off her suit jacket onto the bed and undid the tie of her small lapel collar, as if letting herself breathe.

After a while, the faint sound of the shower stopped.

She waited a bit longer, then opened her door and headed toward the second bedroom.

As expected, Meng Ning had finished blow-drying her hair. She sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with her phone to set an alarm. Meng Ning was trying to quit the sleep aids now, sticking to a regular schedule—up at seven every morning, no matter how late she went to bed, to avoid insomnia at night.

Meng Ning’s hair was coarse. Back when they’d make love, it would leave faint marks from the hair tie when she let it down. Only after a shower did it hang long and straight over her shoulders like this, still carrying a trace of warmth from the blow-dryer against her palm.

It made Meng Ning look even more serene. Like a dolphin, like a cat, like some quietly growing plant, silently stretching toward the sky through the years.

Wen Zenian closed the door behind her and leaned against the wall beside it. Meng Ning’s skin was so pale that even after a few drinks that night, no flush lingered on it. Her eyes weren’t red-rimmed; she looked utterly clear-headed.

Wen Zenian, on the other hand, had a hint of pink at the corners of her eyes, her makeup slightly smudged to reveal the natural uptilt of her lids, lending her a seductive charm.

Meng Ning sat quietly on the bed’s edge and asked, “Is something wrong?”

Not at all surprised by her arrival.

Wen Zenian suddenly found it irritating. They both knew exactly what was going on between them. Meng Ning was the one who said “love,” yet she was also the best at pretending nothing was amiss.

She bit back her words for a moment and said first, “When you move, let me know ahead of time. I’ll help. It’s easier with a car.”

Meng Ning shook her head lightly. “No need. I don’t have much stuff.”

Meng Ning had always been low on material desires, as if ready to bid farewell to the world at any moment without leaving a trace. She hadn’t changed that habit.

Wen Zenian asked, “What about all those clothes I bought you? You’re not taking them?”

Meng Ning countered, “Do you want me to?”

Wen Zenian’s irritation spiked. She hated how infinitely compliant Meng Ning seemed around her—like she was catering to Wen Zenian’s every whim, considering her every feeling, all because she needed to atone, to make amends.

Wen Zenian tugged at her shirt collar, exposing more of her straight collarbone, freeing her neck to breathe. She said, “Meng Ning, what I originally wanted to tell you is that I think you moving out is actually a good thing. If you keep staying here, we’ll be stuck in this state forever. You moving out—that’s you truly taking the first step forward. And it’s me truly letting go, letting you take that first step forward.”

“Only then can we try not looking back, and see what happens.”

Wen Zenian had always been so restrained. Her love and her pain ran as deep as an iceberg beneath the sea, but she only voiced the tip that broke the surface. Her longing to be with Meng Ning bordered on obsession, yet she only suggested softly, “see what happens.”

Her tone was light, as if afraid to startle Meng Ning.

But if that’s all there was to it, it wouldn’t be Wen Zenian. She had a madness born from a barren past, and a rationality honed through trials. Given Meng Ning’s mindset of atonement alone, forget whether they could even make it work—this attempt had already lost all meaning.

“But now, I think there’s no need to say any of that.”

She didn’t lose control or make a scene. She turned, opened the door, and prepared to leave.

Had the air grown thin? Even with her shirt collar undone, breathing felt labored. Fine, let it be. Meng Ning was wracked with so much guilt toward her that whatever she said went. Meng Ning would never chase after her, grab her hand, and plead for her to think it over.

Was that it, then?

Wen Zenian took a deep breath, suddenly seized by genuine anger.

In two strides, she yanked open the door to Meng Ning’s bedroom and stepped inside.

Meng Ning hadn’t moved from her spot on the bed’s edge, proving she really wouldn’t come after her. But at the corners of her eyes, where no flush from the alcohol lingered, a faint red now glimmered. As Wen Zenian entered, Meng Ning’s lips curved slightly.

Her hands rested on her knees, thumbs and index fingers twisting together fiercely, knuckles whitening. Yet Meng Ning’s smile was faint, her voice soft as a whisper, as if afraid someone might overhear. “Do you want to… think it over again?”

Wen Zenian closed her eyes briefly.

She’d been right. Meng Ning wouldn’t chase after her. The heavy guilt on her shoulders pinned her in place. No matter how much she yearned inside, Meng Ning could only sit there, waiting for Wen Zenian to turn back—and then ask in a volume no one else could hear, “Do you want to… think it over again?”

Even letting Wen Zenian hear it deepened her guilt. But if she didn’t say it, her heart would drive her mad.

She’d pushed herself to the brink, evident in those tightly clenched, whitening knuckles.

Wen Zenian opened her eyes and let out a sigh.

A helpless, gentle, soothing sigh.

Wen Zenian had grown unaccustomed to bowing to fate—like how she always wore high heels, she wanted to be the one pulling the strings, the one in control. But now, with a touch of sorrow and a touch of relief, she thought, what else could she do?

Facing Meng Ning, what else could she do?

She surrendered, alright?

No matter how much she resisted taking the initiative, with Meng Ning, it always had to be her.

Slender-waisted and long-legged, she could stride with commanding presence even in slippers. But she walked over softly and drew Meng Ning into her arms.

Meng Ning stiffened for a moment, unmoving in her seated position.

Wen Zenian knew Meng Ning needed to hear the words clearly, lest she misinterpret her actions. So she said, “I’ve thought it over, Meng Ning.”

Still in that gentle tone, as if afraid to frighten someone.

Holding Meng Ning, she spoke in the very tone Meng Ning used to negotiate with fate, negotiating with her: “Let’s give it a try, okay?”

Meng Ning said to her, “Don’t bow your head.”

She replied tenderly, “Mm, I won’t.”

Only then did Meng Ning raise her arms, wrap them around Wen Zenian’s waist, and bury her face there.

Wen Zenian’s shirt was so thin that she felt a warm liquid seep through, scalding her skin.

How could she bow her head? She gazed at the window behind Meng Ning. The curtains were the ones she’d chosen—her assistant had shown her samples, and she’d said, “Beige.”

The color of sunlight. Of moonlight. Of something that embraced all. Of starting over.

She wouldn’t bow her head to see Meng Ning’s tears. She didn’t want this attempt at a real first step in their relationship to begin with tears.

She simply tightened her arms, holding close the woman with a gentle, sensitive conscience—her love.