Walls breathed too, like some aged person on their last legs—silent, their breaths barely there. They just listened quietly, faithfully recording people’s laughter, tears, arguments, soliloquies, even their lonely sighs. With the wind and rain, it all seeped into that seemingly blank wall.
A bit of mold in the corner hinted at those stories, waiting for someone to press their ear against it to hear the past.
Meng Ning hoped that someday, this house would be sold to someone who would listen to its stories that way.
She hoped someone would hear the hot tear that had slid down her cheek tonight.
She couldn’t quite say whether it was a physiological tear or a psychological one. She only hoped that single tear would be loyally and faithfully recorded.
That tear was saying she had someone she loved very much.
Someone who needed her desperately, uncontrollably.
Just then, a gentle knock came from outside the bathroom door. “Meng Ning?”
She had probably been showering too long and made Wen Zenian worry.
When she tried to call out in response, she realized the shower had rinsed away a flood of her tears. She wiped at her face haphazardly, only to see it was pointless—the steady stream from the showerhead washed everything clean, until even she couldn’t tell tears from water.
All she needed to do was steady her voice and reply to Wen Zenian. “Be right out.”
Wen Zenian murmured an acknowledgment and shuffled away in her slippers.
Only then did she stare blankly and wonder why she had thought Wen Zenian might sell the apartment. It was as if she had no faith in their future together at all.
She shook off the wandering thoughts, dried her body, wrapped herself in a bathrobe, and stepped out.
Wen Zenian had already showered in the master bathroom at the same time. Now she sat at the vanity applying her skincare routine. When she saw Meng Ning dart inside, throw back the covers, and burrow into bed, the corners of Wen Zenian’s lips curved upward.
“Tired?” she asked.
Meng Ning didn’t reply. Instead, she drawled lazily, “Let me ask you something.”
“Mm?”
“Did you take off your makeup?”
Wen Zenian’s back went rigid at the vanity, and Meng Ning snickered from beneath the covers.
Suddenly, Wen Zenian’s voice came low. “Turn off the lights.”
It was as if she wielded magic in every world—commanding the winds and rains, bending light and darkness to her will.
The room plunged into thick darkness. “What are you doing?” Meng Ning asked.
Wen Zenian didn’t answer. There was only the soft shuffle of slippers on the floor.
Then the mattress dipped gently at the bedside. “What are you doing?” Meng Ning asked again.
Wen Zenian leaned closer, and the bedside lamp flicked on.
There was Wen Zenian’s bare face, flawless as ever. But without makeup, she looked less composed and aloof, less impossibly out of reach. She seemed more like the woman Meng Ning had always pictured her becoming.
Meng Ning paused, her heart thudding hard twice.
She averted her eyes. “You finally took your makeup off.”
Wen Zenian said, “If I’m going to be sleeping next to my girlfriend all the time from now on, skipping makeup removal isn’t good for the skin.”
Meng Ning turned her head to stare at a wrinkle in the bedsheet.
Wen Zenian tugged lightly at the tip of her ear. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear that.”
“I heard you.” Meng Ning’s lashes fluttered down briefly.
In her mind at that moment: Too fast.
They were like two people starved for intimacy, gluttons on the surface serene but inwardly frantic to seize hold of something real. They talked of taking it slow, yet on their very first date they had kissed and made love—and now Wen Zenian was asking to make it official.
It shouldn’t be like this, she thought.
Yet the black sea she had once sunk into closed around her again, swallowing her whole, pulling her under. It made her desperate to grasp at something solid, to climb onto Wen Zenian’s shoulders and beg for rescue.
And that’s exactly what she did. She straddled Wen Zenian’s lap, facing her, clinging tightly to her shoulders.
That was their first time after making things official. For the first time, Wen Zenian wasn’t wearing her ring.
For the first time, she felt the full warmth of her, the rise and fall, the fierce, unstoppable rush.
At first, she rested her head on her own arms. Later, she threw it back, and Wen Zenian’s other hand cradled the nape of her neck.
They had meant to change the sheets, but neither had the energy left.
Fortunately, the king-sized bed in the master bedroom was plenty big.
Wen Zenian shifted her to the other side. “We’ll squeeze in together tonight. Both on this half.”
She started to get up, but Meng Ning’s eyes were barely open. “Where are you going?”
“You sleep,” Wen Zenian said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll wash up and clean you a bit.”
Meng Ning was asleep in seconds.
Wen Zenian lingered in a daze as she washed her hands. She turned off the faucet, grabbed some tissues, and gently cleaned Meng Ning up.
She glanced up at Meng Ning’s sleeping face.
So peaceful, stripped of that bright, energetic smile she wore during the day. Her slender legs were pale and straight, lost in deep slumber, utterly defenseless against her.
Wen Zenian thought lovemaking really was good.
At the very least, it let Meng Ning sleep like this.
She finished cleaning her with careful motions, tucked her in, then went to her side of the bed and slipped into a bathrobe.
She rummaged in her bag for her cigarette case and realized the lighter from C Hotel had gone missing again. After a moment’s thought, she checked Meng Ning’s pockets.
To her surprise, Meng Ning had two lighters in there.
One was the one Meng Ning usually used.
The other was the one she had lost in Meng Ning’s room—the one Meng Ning claimed not to have seen.
She took Meng Ning’s usual lighter, along with the cigarette case, and headed to the balcony.
She loved rooms with big balconies. Standing in the breeze, taking in the whole view below—it felt like she controlled everything.
She tilted her swanlike neck, struck the flint, and brought the cigarette to the flame under her chin. With a deep inhale, curls of smoke drifted into the air.
She exhaled slowly, the cigarette pinched between her fingers as she gazed into the vast night.
The warm, damp sensation lingered on her fingertips; she curled them slightly, her face devoid of any smile.
What she felt now was a profound sense of disorientation.
Like finally obtaining that thing you’d craved for so long, accomplishing that goal you’d obsessed over—and then what?
She suddenly recalled an interview she’d seen once. A famous mountaineer, having summited Everest, said his first emotion wasn’t joy, but an overwhelming emptiness.
Asking himself: Is this it? The meaning I’d chased all that way?
Wen Zenian’s feelings were much the same.
She was asking herself: Is this it?
Had all those years trapped by her past, unable to form a true intimate bond with anyone, really been resolved just by gaining Meng Ning?
She had no answer right now—just that deep disorientation.
A gust of night wind later, she returned to the bedroom. Meng Ning was still fast asleep. She shed her bathrobe and slid into bed. Meng Ning must have sensed the cool touch of her skin, because she scooted over a bit.
Wen Zenian wouldn’t have it. She pulled Meng Ning’s shoulder and reeled her back in.
Meng Ning let out a soft hum but didn’t resist.
Wen Zenian smiled faintly and buried her face in Meng Ning’s tousled waves of long, straight black hair.
The next morning, Meng Ning woke first.
She glanced down and saw a porcelain-pale arm draped around her waist—while her own body lay completely exposed.
She jolted, but didn’t want to wake Wen Zenian behind her. She paused, then inched away bit by bit: shift, pause, shift, pause.
Only once she was sure Wen Zenian was still asleep did she slip quietly out of bed.
She stepped out of the bedroom and eased the door shut behind her.
She managed a calm expression for all of two steps before she flattened herself against the hallway wall like a gecko.
Restrained as that was—she really wanted to bash her head against it. Heaven help her, had she gotten drunk on fake cola last night?
What had she done? When Wen Zenian had held her on her lap and called her girlfriend without mercy, she’d even answered—with a bitten-back “mm” that shattered into broken gasps with every thrust.
Suddenly, she twisted her head while clinging to the wall.
Wen Zenian stood there arms crossed, head tilted against the master bedroom doorframe, watching her with perfect composure.
Meng Ning: …
She wasn’t sure if staying plastered to the wall was more mortifying or straightening up. Hesitating, she peeled off one hand, leaving her in an awkward one-armed wall-slam pose—except she was slamming nothing but air.
Wen Zenian stood at a distance, her bare face striking even in the morning light.
“Didn’t you say you were asleep?” Meng Ning asked.
“My acting’s pretty good,” Wen Zenian said. “I just wanted to see how you’d react in the morning.”
Meng Ning said, “Ha… heh.”
Wen Zenian asked, “Are you regretting it?”
Meng Ning said, “Uh, are you hungry? I’ll make breakfast.”
Wen Zenian said nothing more and returned to the master bedroom to freshen up.
Meng Ning hurried to the guest bathroom to wash up, then headed to the kitchen.
The housekeeper had stopped delivering groceries after she moved out. She checked the fridge; the noodles and eggs inside were what she’d bought before leaving.
It would have to do for breakfast.
Meng Ning’s heart pounded as she boiled the noodles, terrified Wen Zenian might come grill her.
Damn it, how was she supposed to know if she regretted it? She hadn’t planned for things to move this fast!
But Wen Zenian didn’t come.
She cooked the noodles quietly, fried the eggs, ground fresh black pepper to season them. Wen Zenian never appeared.
She carried the food to the table and went to the living room. “Breakfast is…”
The last two syllables caught in her throat.
Wen Zenian sat cross-legged on the sofa in her bathrobe, laptop balanced on her lap, apparently handling some work.
And this was the first time Meng Ning had studied Wen Zenian’s bare face so closely in the morning light.
Sunlight streamed through the window, her thick black hair spilling over her shoulders. The bathrobe hung loosely at the collar, revealing a glimpse of pale cleavage. Her skin was impeccable, her brows just a touch faint, the corners of her eyes slightly uptilted. Still strikingly beautiful, but softer now, without that usual commanding presence.
Gentle. Serene.
Her skin seemed almost translucent, as if the sunlight completed her—or perhaps she completed the sunlight.
Hearing Meng Ning approach, she looked up. “Breakfast ready? I’m done here.” She closed the laptop and started to rise.
“Don’t move,” Meng Ning said.
She crossed over and mirrored her pose, sitting cross-legged on the sofa facing her. She leaned in lightly and kissed Wen Zenian’s cheek. “Good morning, girlfriend.”
In that pure morning light, all her doubts and hesitations melted away.
Calmly, she accepted it—honestly, a touch sadly—the inevitability of their fate.
She knew she couldn’t resist.
No matter what, they would have ended up here. Because she craved Wen Zenian more than anything.
