Chapter 63 Part 1

Meng Ning seemed to come back to her senses only now. Wen Zenian glanced at her, noting how her lips glistened from the kiss, her expression somewhat dazed.

Pure and innocent, as if someone had taken advantage of her.

Wen Zenian kept her face straight, but a smile tugged at her lips inwardly. She released the back of Meng Ning’s neck and settled back into the driver’s seat, starting the car smoothly.

The luxury car’s engine was nearly silent. As the vehicle began to move, Meng Ning finally snapped out of it a bit more, leaning back into the passenger seat and turning her head to stare blankly out the window.

I’m done for! Meng Ning looked calm on the outside, but inside, she was wailing frantically.

How did she get so carried away?

Wasn’t it supposed to be slow and steady?

Hadn’t she even written a little poem in her mind themed around “taking it slow”? Hadn’t she reminisced about those old days when even letters traveled by horse and carriage?

Reality was slapping her in the face hard, Meng Ning! Just like last summer when Qi Xiao picked out that watermelon, Meng Ning!

She pressed her lips together, keeping her neck stiff as she sneaked a glance at Wen Zenian from the corner of her eye.

Wen Zenian gripped the steering wheel with perfect composure, as if that earlier moment had never happened. Her dropped line—”This was you provoking me first”—went unanswered by Meng Ning, so she let it drop too.

The streetlights were like tepid wine or flat soda. Her heart soaked in it without a ripple, as if all desire had dissolved away.

Desire.

Meng Ning thought. It would be years before she truly understood the meaning of that word.

Back when she was a teenager, Meng Ning had loved the scent on Wen Zenian’s skin, her creamy complexion and round eyes, the way she always bowed her head while twirling her pen. Wen Zenian had been on hormone meds back then, her face puffy, but her hands were much better—pale and slender, with long, delicate fingers.

At the time, Meng Ning couldn’t have said it was any special kind of affection for Wen Zenian. She had no idea why she’d blurted out that question: “If I kissed you, would you scream?”

It took the passage of years for her to realize that often, when you like someone, there’s no real reason for it.

What you have is desire.

Wen Zenian drove on in silence. Meng Ning didn’t speak, and neither did she.

She pulled up to the roadside near Meng Ning’s rental apartment and hit the brakes. Meng Ning unbuckled her seatbelt. “Well, then I…”

It wasn’t until then that Wen Zenian called out, “Meng Ning.”

Meng Ning turned to look at her. Wen Zenian rested one hand on the steering wheel, her index finger tapping lightly as she gazed at the warm yellow streetlights spilling across the distance. It was such a tender scene, perfect for the end of a first date.

They could bid each other goodnight and say they’d see each other again soon.

Next time, catch a movie, see a play, attend a concert, stroll through the park. The city was too small—too far from Wen Zenian’s social circle, too anonymous for anyone to recognize Meng Ning. She didn’t even need to worry about precautions or safety measures.

She could just be an ordinary person here, taking things slow with Meng Ning like any normal couple.

But her lightly tapping finger stilled, and she glanced at Meng Ning.

In truth, they sat there without exchanging a word—Wen Zenian simply calling Meng Ning’s name, then looking at her.

Meng Ning said nothing in return, so Wen Zenian leaned in. It was late at night; the lavender on her skin had faded, leaving a stronger note of tea. She reached over to refasten Meng Ning’s seatbelt. Meng Ning stared at her perfect profile, the pale expanse of her neck.

Wen Zenian secured the seatbelt and looked at Meng Ning again. Still, neither spoke.

Meng Ning’s place was right there. But redoing the seatbelt meant they were setting off again.

Meanwhile, inside the rental apartment.

Song Xiao emerged from the bathroom after her shower and sighed at Qi Xiao. “All this overtime every day—do you think my salary’s enough to cover a hair transplant?”

Qi Xiao looked her up and down. “Eh, you look fine to me.”

Song Xiao jabbed a finger at her in outrage. “An extrovert’s mouth is the devil’s lie!”

“Hey!” Qi Xiao grinned. “I’m just trying to ease your stress, aren’t I?”

A coworker from the Lifesaving Team had traded shifts with Qi Xiao for some family business back home, so she had four days off in a row this time.

Song Xiao sighed. “When’s Meng Ning coming back? Should we leave the door unlocked for her?”

Their rental had one of those old-school security doors that needed an extra deadbolt from the inside before bed.

“We should.” Qi Xiao nodded solemnly. “Meng Ning said they’re taking it slow. Tonight counts as their first real date—she’s being all coy about it. I bet they won’t even hold hands.”

Meng Ning thought Wen Zenian had given her plenty of time to back out.

As she leaned in to fasten the seatbelt, there was a subtle pause just before the click—like a held note in a symphony. Warm yellow light bathed the car as a little bug fluttered its wings and bumped softly against the window with a faint pat.

Wen Zenian paused like that, hearing no objection from Meng Ning.

Then, with a soft click, the seatbelt locked into place.

Later, Meng Ning reflected that those two little sounds had decided the course of their relationship.

Wen Zenian started the car, and silence fell between them once more. They drove without a word. Meng Ning leaned against the seatback, twisting to watch the night scenery slide by outside, her gaze gradually settling on Wen Zenian’s reflection in the window—blending with her own, like a double-exposed photograph.

And yet they were one.

Wen Zenian pulled into the underground garage. Her speed was neither faster nor slower than usual. She grabbed her bag and got out, stepping into the elevator with Meng Ning. They stood neither closer nor farther apart than before.

It wasn’t until they reached the apartment door that Wen Zenian habitually waited for Meng Ning to scan her fingerprint and unlock it.

Only then did she remember—Meng Ning had deleted her print from the system the day she moved out.

She steadied her breathing with the tiniest adjustment, her expression cool and composed as she scanned her own fingerprint to open the door.

She held it open, letting Meng Ning enter first.

Then she followed, setting her bag down on the entryway table.

Meng Ning stood quietly, lost in absurd thoughts. Like how she’d already moved out—this made her a guest now. She should wait for Wen Zenian to turn on the lights, wait for her to fetch slippers.

But Wen Zenian did neither.

In the darkness, Wen Zenian approached her. Meng Ning instinctively stepped back half a pace until her back hit the wall. Her mind raced with nonsense: What kind of paint finish did this apartment use? It looked smooth, but there were tiny ridges pressing into her back.

Making the presence of Wen Zenian in front of her all the more intense.

Wen Zenian gently brushed Meng Ning’s forehead hair aside, then her kiss landed directly.

Meng Ning flinched back on instinct, only to remember she was already pinned against the wall like a poster, nowhere left to go.

Wen Zenian paused, her breathing ragged and disordered. In a low voice, she asked, “Do you want to stop?”

Meng Ning hesitated, then said, “No.”

Wen Zenian’s hand slid to the hem of her T-shirt, then to the button of her jeans.

Soon, Meng Ning felt the night’s faint chill prickling her suddenly exposed arms and legs like tiny grains of frost.

Wen Zenian released her for a moment. She stood there like a fledgling bird, trembling slightly.

Wen Zenian was shrugging off her blazer, tossing it casually to the floor where it landed beside Meng Ning’s T-shirt and jeans. She undid the buttons of her blouse; the collar slipped down, barely clinging to one shoulder, revealing a glimpse of black lace bra strap.

She didn’t want Meng Ning doing anything to her. She kept a firm grip on Meng Ning’s wrists, kissing her with invasive intensity. Their body heat pressed together; she just wanted no space between them at all.

The night cloaked their forms, safely hiding any more unrestrained movements.

When Meng Ning’s chest began heaving more urgently, Wen Zenian paused. She reached into her handbag and pulled out the small blue box. Her fingers were so elegant that even this motion seemed seductive and alluring.

She focused intently on it, chatting with Meng Ning as if it were casual conversation. “Do you know why I carry this with me?”

Her breathing wasn’t steady either, which only made her voice sound even more appealing, low and husky.

She didn’t need an answer. She just wanted to tell Meng Ning: “Because I’m always thinking about you, everywhere, all the time.”

Her intrusion was merciless.

Because I’m thinking of you while patrolling the coastline in my uniform and heels.

Because I’m thinking of you as I walk through the hotel’s soaring lobby, surrounded by colleagues like stars around the moon.

Because even in my office blooming with bird of paradise plants, during meetings with everyone, I sometimes zone out, lightly twisting the diamond earrings on my lobes—I’m thinking of you then too.

At every fitting and improper moment, I’m thinking of you. My longing seeps through my sheer stockings all the way to my toes, making them curl subtly inside my high heels.

I’m wanting to possess you every second of every day.

Wen Zenian was the aggressor. But she was also the first to break out in a sheen of sweat along her back, the first whose blouse could barely hang on her soft shoulders, the first to bury her face in Meng Ning’s shoulder.

She looked like the one who couldn’t hold out any longer. The desire she’d suppressed inside for so long crashed over her like a desert traveler stumbling upon a spring after endless miles.

She murmured into Meng Ning’s shoulder: “Say you need me.”

Meng Ning leaned her head back against the wall. The night was so thick she didn’t even need to close her eyes to hide her shyness; her mind scattered, her gaze unfocused, making it seem like she was talking to herself: “I need you.”

Perhaps Wen Zenian had planned it that way.

Once those tightly sealed lips parted, there was no stopping them. Meng Ning’s words drowned in fragmented breaths and shapeless moans.

She did need Wen Zenian—from the moment she’d sunk alone into that Black Sea.

She clung to Wen Zenian now just as tightly as Wen Zenian had dived in to save her that day. She was drowning again, needing someone to lift her and carry her to safety.

Finally, Wen Zenian raised her head to kiss the tear sliding from the corner of Meng Ning’s eye. “My kitten.”

As Meng Ning went to take a shower, she thought that walls stored all sounds.

It was true. Years ago, when she lived in the old alleys of Crane City, those low bungalows were family housing for garment factory workers, passed down generation after generation. Their house had seen countless owners before her family.

When Shi Yang left for work, Meng Ning would press her ear to the wall and listen quietly.