Chapter 61 Part 2

Qi Xiao’s voice caught midway through a line.

Meng Ning twisted around in surprise.

Choking up, Qi Xiao said, “What’re you staring at? The lyrics are too moving, okay?!”

Wen Zenian and Qi Xiao helped lug Meng Ning’s boxes upstairs. Song Xiao was at work; the place was quiet.

Qi Xiao had opened the window in Meng Ning’s room ahead of time. The spring breeze took shape, billowing in great clusters like crowns of blooming flowers. Anyone who stood by the window would get a face full of it.

Meng Ning stood there just like that, one palm pressed to the edge of the windowsill. She had slimmed down a bit, and the breeze toyed with her light T-shirt, tracing the contours of her figure.

Wen Zenian had been about to step inside but paused at the sight.

Qi Xiao hurried over with a basin of water and nearly collided with Wen Zenian, who had stopped short. She followed her gaze to Meng Ning’s back.

Wen Zenian said, “No need for the water. I called a cleaning service.”

“What?” Meng Ning whipped around, her face full of shock. “How much did that set you back?”

Wen Zenian named a figure.

Meng Ning clenched her back teeth.

Wen Zenian added, “You’ll pay me back every cent.”

Meng Ning ground her back teeth. “I know.”

Wen Zenian curved her lips and walked away.

That left just Meng Ning and Qi Xiao in the room. Qi Xiao nudged Meng Ning’s arm. “So, what are you two planning to do next?”

“Honestly, no idea.” Meng Ning shook her head with a smile. “We’ll just take it one step at a time.”

The Japanese-style concierge cleaning service Wen Zenian had booked arrived promptly. A swarm of five or six people crammed the tiny rental apartment to the gills. They didn’t just clean Meng Ning’s room—they scrubbed the whole place from top to bottom. The floors gleamed so brightly that even flies and Qi Xiao couldn’t keep their footing.

In just an hour, they were done. Meng Ning shakily signed the bill, and the team withdrew.

Qi Xiao was all grins. “Thanks a ton.”

Meng Ning’s back teeth were starting to ache. “You’re welcome.”

She told Qi Xiao, “I’m heading downstairs to buy some veggies. Let’s cook lunch ourselves.”

“Sure thing.” Qi Xiao nodded. “I’ll come with. I want to eat…”

“I know what you want.” Meng Ning smiled. “But I’ll go alone.”

Qi Xiao caught on. “Okay, you got it.”

This was Meng Ning’s first day back in the real world.

It didn’t count back in the hospital. It didn’t count in the sanctuary Wen Zenian had built for her.

Meng Ning’s real life was this cramped old rental with its narrow hallway. It was the bustling market downstairs, alive with vendors hawking their wares in thick local dialect. It was fresh produce and discounted apples. It was the greasy barbecue stall she could only afford once a week.

Only now had Meng Ning truly broken free of her shell. She was like a fledgling bird facing the world anew, stepping out tentatively on shaky webbed feet to explore.

Meng Ning bought her groceries at the market and was heading home, bags in hand, when she spotted a set of exercise equipment newly installed by the building. A group of aunties twisted and stretched on it, chatting loudly in the local dialect. On the bench nearby sat a familiar figure.

Meng Ning didn’t seem surprised. She walked over with her bags.

Wen Zenian looked up from the bench.

It was around eleven in the morning. Spring light was always gentle, and the eleven o’clock sun still carried a hint of dawn, bathing Meng Ning in a hazy golden glow. She gave off the impression of someone who might dissolve into the breeze, the sea, or the misty morning light at any moment.

Yet she was solidly grounded in the everyday, hefting a bag of groceries that tied her firmly to the world. Her lashes fluttered, stirring the light across everything.

Wen Zenian watched quietly and saw that Meng Ning didn’t look away when their eyes met.

Meng Ning walked right up.

She didn’t ask what Wen Zenian was doing there. She didn’t ask why Wen Zenian hadn’t left yet.

It was as if they both knew. The bright spring sunshine was just a facade, the blooming flower clusters a pretense, Qi Xiao’s cheerful singing and laughter a mask. In truth, they stood at a crossroads of flashing blades, each about to do battle with fate.

Meng Ning simply sat down beside Wen Zenian—not too close, not too far.

A gentle breeze ruffled their hair. After a long moment, Meng Ning whispered, “Are you scared?”

Nearby, the aunties on the equipment gossiped loudly in dialect. Wen Zenian said nothing.

Meng Ning’s voice dropped even lower. “Truth be told, I’m a little scared.”

Wen Zenian suddenly stood and walked forward.

Meng Ning blinked in surprise.

Then she realized she’d said the wrong thing. She’d already promised Wen Zenian they’d give it a try together, and now admitting fear would only dent her confidence.

Beautiful women really did have short fuses, Meng Ning thought with a self-mocking smile. She stared down at her knees.

A shadow fell across the sunlight.

Meng Ning knew who it was without looking up.

Wen Zenian held out a pack of candies.

It took Meng Ning back to Wen Zenian’s first day at their school, when the round-faced girl had sat rigidly at her desk, gripping the chair edges, her whole posture screaming nerves.

Then a candy had appeared on the desk.

Wen Zenian had looked up to see the pretty girl beaming at her, bright as sunlight piercing the Huangpu River.

The fourteen-year-old hadn’t asked what was wrong. She’d just said, “Truth be told, I’m a little scared every time I head out the door.”

Scared of crossing that shaky log bridge from her safe little cave into the wide world.

And now, over a decade later, Wen Zenian stood before her with the same milk candies, murmuring softly, “Truth be told, I’m a little scared too.”

Meng Ning paused.

She reached past the candy pinched between Wen Zenian’s fingers.

Meng Ning didn’t even look up, but she unerringly grasped Wen Zenian’s fingertip.

In the tiniest voice, she said, “Just a little bit. It’ll be okay.”

Gentle souls were always so restrained. They said “a little bit,” they said “just a smidge.”

And so, on that soft spring morning bathed in downy light, Meng Ning held Wen Zenian’s fingertip.

Wen Zenian asked, “Just holding like this is enough?”

“Mm.” Meng Ning kept her head down. “Slowly.”

They did need to take it slow.

Their feelings were like a tender shoot pushing through ruins. The little town of their memories had been buried by time, overgrown into a cyberpunk wasteland of harsh modernity. The fragile new growth couldn’t withstand any forcing.

So Wen Zenian murmured a soft “Mm” and stood there quietly.

At first, Meng Ning held her hand lightly. Gradually, she gripped tighter, until it bordered on painful.

Then she let go, tilted her face up, and smiled.

How could such a serene expression ring out like a thunderclap? It felt like a vow: “I’ll hold on just a little longer for you. I’ll be just a bit braver.”

She loved how gentle people restrained themselves with “a little bit” and “just a smidge.”

Because she stood there just as restrained, suddenly resenting the spring breeze that toyed with Meng Ning’s hair.

Yet she simply stood still, doing nothing.

Meng Ning carried the groceries upstairs alone and said nothing about running into Wen Zenian downstairs.

She didn’t invite Wen Zenian up for lunch, and Wen Zenian didn’t suggest it either.

It would have been too soon for their fragile bond.

Qi Xiao beamed. “How’d you know I wanted bamboo shoots?”

Meng Ning had a sharp memory; Qi Xiao must have mentioned it once or twice in their recent chats.

The kitchen was so cramped they could barely turn around, but the open window made it charming. Spring’s warmth lingered unexpectedly. Someone nearby must have started lunch early—the scent of stir-fried mushrooms and pork wafted in.

Meng Ning chopped the bamboo shoots with rhythmic thuds on the cutting board. “When you’re chasing someone, how do you go about it?”

Qi Xiao shot back, “Who are you chasing?”

“You.”

Qi Xiao clutched her chest. “Whoa, an 11 romance? That’s next-level trendy.”

“Qi Xiao.”

“Yeah?”

“You finished stir-frying and didn’t wash your hands. You just wiped them on your white tee.”

Qi Xiao let out a wail and yanked her hands away. Two faint greasy handprints marred the shirt.

She asked Meng Ning, “You two even need to chase anymore?”

Meng Ning stifled a laugh at the abstract art on Qi Xiao’s tee. “We’ve never actually dated.”

She pursed her lips. “I just think if I chased her, she’d be a little happy.”

Qi Xiao stared. In the sunlight streaming through the window, Meng Ning smiled demurely, almost shy and fragile—yet dropping the most assertive line.

“Damn, Meng Ning, you’re a natural.”

Meng Ning slid the chopped shoots onto a plate. “So, how do I chase?”

Qi Xiao gestured grandly at herself. “You asked the right person. Your girl’s got experience.”

“How’d you do it?”

“I just threw myself into her bed.”

Meng Ning eyed her. “And that’s why it failed.”

“Hey! That’s hitting below the belt—don’t rub it in!”

Meng Ning quirked her lips. “I want to take it slow.”

At some point, going slow had become a luxury.

Savoring a meal slowly.

Watching a movie at a leisurely pace.

Approaching someone step by step.

Falling in love gradually.

Everything modern was too rushed. Meng Ning had no other luxuries to offer, but she had a heart quiet enough for the extravagance of loving someone slowly.

As if going slow might make it last.

In an era of slow mail and horse carts, a lifetime held just enough time for one love.

Qi Xiao asked, “So how do you do slow?”

Meng Ning thought it over. “I’ll ask her to a movie.”

“So classic.”

“Mm.”

Qi Xiao suddenly chuckled slyly. “Meng Ning, you’re something else.”

Meng Ning: ?

She clarified, “I mean a proper movie, not that kind.”

“No, no.” Qi Xiao grinned. “First time I’ve seen someone take their money and then chase them instead.”

Meng Ning smashed the flat of her knife down on two garlic cloves, smiling through gritted teeth. “Shut it.”

Qi Xiao burst out laughing, came over, and draped a hand lightly on Meng Ning’s shoulder—then squeezed. “Ning, life’s not so bad, right? Look at this sunshine.”

Meng Ning kept her head down, mincing the garlic. Her hands paused, then resumed. “Mm.”

She called out, “Qi Xiao.”

Qi Xiao waved her off frantically. “Don’t get mushy—seriously, don’t. Just promise when you make it big, you’ll buy your girl a house or something…”

“No, I mean you still haven’t washed your hands.” Meng Ning pointed out. “Your greasy print’s on my tee now.”