Chapter 62 Part 2

Wen Zenian glanced at it and shook her head.

“I’m not at an age where I need consoling anymore,” Wen Zenian said.

But after a moment’s thought, she still held out her palm to Meng Ning. “Thank you.”

Meng Ning placed the piece of popcorn into it, taking care not to brush against Wen Zenian’s hand.

The two of them entered the theater. Meng Ning located their seat numbers. The red velvet cushions bore some unsightly old stains, but Wen Zenian sat down without a care.

Meng Ning felt a bit awkward.

What should they talk about? Any casual topic seemed likely to stumble into some part of Wen Zenian’s past that she might not want to revisit.

Wait—didn’t British people fall back on the weather for awkward chit-chat?

So she said, “Uh, the sun’s pretty round today, huh.”

Wen Zenian glanced at her.

Meng Ning: …

She was doomed. She really shouldn’t have played the expert in front of Qi Xiao. Now here she was, fumbling her image and sneaking off a WeChat message to Qi Xiao: “Online and waiting—super urgent.”

Qi Xiao fired back a “?” almost instantly, as if she’d been clutching her phone in anticipation.

“What do I talk about?”

“Didn’t you prepare any topics?”

“…You have to prepare topics?”

“You think extroverts just come with built-in charisma? We work hard at it, okay? Some of us even keep topic notebooks!”

“What?!”

“So, ask if she’s ever been to the movies before.”

“Already did. Hit a landmine.”

“Then ask about the movie you picked for today.”

“Not sure on the right amount—afraid I’ll spoil it.”

“If all else fails, talk about the weather!”

“Did that too. Crashed and burned.” Meng Ning asked again, “What did you talk about on your first movie date with that girl?”

“I asked if I could kiss her.”

Meng Ning: …

That bold? Respect.

Meng Ning flicked her eyes toward Wen Zenian. Wen Zenian probably thought she was just fiddling with her phone, so she pulled out her own.

Doomed! Who brought their phones on a date and just played on them separately?

She snuck a quick scan around—oh, actually quite a few people were doing it. Okay, never mind then.

Meng Ning gripped her phone like it was the last lifeline for an introvert, sighing inwardly. Playing on her phone was better than sitting side by side in total silence, at least.

She wasn’t sure what she chatted about with Qi Xiao, but her nerves were giving her a stomachache. She opened the only game on her phone—Candy Crush.

She’d forgotten to mute the sound.

Why didn’t games auto-mute when the phone was on silent? This defied logic! In her frantic scramble to turn off the effects, everyone around her—including Wen Zenian—turned to stare.

Great. Heh. Now Wen Zenian knew she’d been playing Candy Crush on their first date.

What a “golden” start…

She quit the game, pocketed her phone, and tried to salvage things. “Qi Xiao asked earlier if I should get you flowers.”

“Hm?” Wen Zenian pocketed her phone too.

“She asked if I was gonna get you popcorn, haha… hey.”

She’d “haha’d” halfway through when she remembered her resolution to swap her verbal tic from “haha” to “hey hey hey.” It came out awkward, and she barely managed to swap just the last syllable.

Haha-hey? What the hell was that?

Wen Zenian didn’t laugh.

Meng Ning resignedly pulled out her phone again. She shouldn’t have told fate she wasn’t giving up. Should’ve just stuck to Candy Crush.

Fortunately, the movie finally started. The lights dimmed, the Dragon Mark flashed on screen, and Wen Zenian murmured softly beside her, “It’s starting.”

“Oh, good.” She pretended to put her phone away.

Why did people always come off as clumsier around those they cared about most?

Meng Ning gazed at the screen, watching the scenes unfold before her eyes.

Before coming to the theater, she’d looked up the movie on a site and watched it once. If it was terrible, she’d planned to switch to another.

But now, it hardly mattered if the movie was good or bad.

If it was good, she’d be glad the person beside her was Wen Zenian.

If it was bad, she’d still be glad the person beside her was Wen Zenian.

Wen Zenian shifted her leg slightly, the fabric of her slacks whispering against the soft seat.

Meng Ning slipped one hand into her pocket and kept it curled there for a long while, until a faint sweat beaded in her palm.

When the movie hit a transition and the lighting dimmed, she finally drew it out. She let it rest on her knee for a moment, then reached past the popcorn bucket to offer it to Wen Zenian before quickly pulling her hand back.

Wen Zenian turned her head slightly to look at her, but Meng Ning kept her eyes glued intently to the screen.

Wen Zenian’s fingertip brushed lightly over what she’d passed, but she said nothing and simply took it.

The two of them watched the entire movie together.

As they exited the theater, Wen Zenian called out to her. “I drove. Let me give you a ride.”

“Ah.” Her tone was neither quite affirmative nor negative—strange and stilted.

Truth be told, what she’d just passed to Wen Zenian left her shy enough to bolt, yet her body instinctively craved closeness to her.

Wen Zenian added, “You can wait here if you want. I’ll bring the car around.”

“Why?”

Wouldn’t it be easier to go to the garage together?

“Because the way you look standing under the streetlight,” Wen Zenian said, “is a little beautiful.”

Meng Ning looked right at home standing under a streetlamp.

That was what Wen Zenian thought.

She pulled her car out of the garage. Plenty of others were leaving after the show, so she idled in line for a bit. Seated behind the wheel, her slender fingers rested lightly on the steering wheel as she gazed far off at Meng Ning beneath the streetlamp. Her index finger tapped once, twice, against the wheel.

The dim yellow light softened the forced cheer Meng Ning put on during the day, letting her quiet nature shine through. Her lashes were long; from this distance, you could picture how the warm glow filtered through them, spilling across the skin beneath her eyes.

Meng Ning was a visitor from another time, posed on a yellowed postcard, waiting for you to step across the years toward her.

Wen Zenian’s car glided to a stop at the curb. Meng Ning opened the passenger door and got in.

Wen Zenian said nothing, simply turning the wheel in silence.

They passed one intersection, two, three. Wen Zenian finally spoke as Meng Ning stared out at the passing streetscape in a daze.

“Why gardenia seeds?”

Meng Ning startled back to herself, her shoulder twitching faintly. “How did you know they were gardenias?”

During the movie, she’d passed Wen Zenian a small paper packet containing flower seeds.

Just plain white stationery, nothing written on it.

She’d meant to wait until after the film, but she hadn’t known if she’d still have the courage by then.

“I opened it when I went to get the car from the garage,” Wen Zenian explained. “Then I snapped a photo and uploaded it to a plant ID app. It said gardenia.”

“Oh.” Meng Ning made that sound and turned her face back to the window.

Wen Zenian’s lips curved faintly.

Oh, what? As if that ended the conversation.

If Meng Ning wouldn’t say more, she’d ask herself.

They hit a red light just then. Wen Zenian softened her tone, her index finger tapping the wheel again as if reciting an unrelated verse. “Gardenias are a fine gift for kindred hearts.”

Meng Ning didn’t react. Wen Zenian glanced over; the tip of her ear peeked from her pinned-up hair, flushed the tiniest bit.

Wen Zenian fell silent.

The night breeze seemed to carry a faint gardenia scent.

In ancient China, gardenias were called “mutual heart flowers.” Old poems praised them: “Gardenias are a fine gift for kindred hearts,” or “Gardenia for my true heart, lilac knots a hundredfold in return.”

The light turned green, and Wen Zenian started the car again. Meng Ning gazed out the window and spoke. “Gardenias take about five months from planting to blooming. So… in five months, have we started dating?”

Wen Zenian didn’t reply.

Meng Ning realized she was easing the car toward the roadside and pulling over.

They were heading to the old district, so this wasn’t a main road—quiet and deserted.

Wen Zenian stopped right ten meters shy of a lamppost. The light spilled down, filtering through the windshield onto Meng Ning’s face, catching on her lashes to become amber in her eyes.

Wen Zenian asked, “Do you know why I was on my phone before the movie started?”

Meng Ning made an “Mm” sound, her voice lifting slightly at the end.

“Otherwise,” Wen Zenian said, “I’d just keep thinking about it over and over—once the theater went dark and the film began, I wanted to kiss you.”

Meng Ning’s breathing grew very soft, as if afraid of being found out.

Wen Zenian stared at the gray lamppost. “Do you think other people kiss on their first date?”

“I don’t know,” Meng Ning said. “Probably not.”

Wen Zenian sat quietly for a few seconds.

“Gardenias are nice,” she murmured softly. “But five months is too long.”

Time was always relative.

Five months wasn’t long compared to the decades they’d spent apart.

But compared to the seconds ticking by while seated together, desperate to kiss—it was unbearable.

Yet Meng Ning sat still, her breaths light as if trying to stay hidden.

Wen Zenian’s lips quirked in the subtlest way.

Between her and Meng Ning, she was the schemer, the eager one, the one thick with insecurity.

Maybe she was just too impatient.

As she reached to start the car, Meng Ning suddenly spoke. “But I think—”

Her hands stayed on the wheel, fingertips trembling faintly.

Meng Ning continued, “We don’t have to be like other people.”

With that, she unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over.

The girl in Wen Zenian’s memories always carried a fresh scent. Meng Ning was a mature woman now, still fresh—but richer, more intoxicating than in her teenage years.

Bewitching.

Wen Zenian stayed still, facing the wheel, waiting as Meng Ning’s fingers settled on the back of her neck and turned her head with gentle insistence.

Meng Ning’s voice was warm, patient as she explained once more. “We don’t have to be like other people, do we?”

Then came the kiss—forceful, unhesitating.

At first, Wen Zenian sat still.

But the streetlamp warmed her neck, her heartbeat thrummed, and she began to respond, drawing Meng Ning’s soft lips between her own. Soon she seized control, her hand cradling the back of Meng Ning’s neck, their foreheads pressed together.

Meng Ning was breathing a little hard. Wen Zenian soothed her with a soft “Shh”—but her next words undid it entirely.

“Meng Ning,” she said, “you made the first move.”