Chapter 64 Part 1

After breakfast, Meng Ning asked Wen Zenian, “Are you heading back to the island today?”

“Yes,” Wen Zenian replied. “I’ve got a meeting.”

She turned the question back on Meng Ning. “Want to come with me and have some fun on the island?”

Meng Ning stared at her in horror.

Wen Zenian curled her lips. “Then stay here and rest.” She drew out the word “rest” with deep meaning.

Meng Ning thought for a moment. “Nah, I need to head home. I’ve got volunteer work this afternoon.”

Wen Zenian gave a slight nod of her chin and didn’t press her. She headed back to the master bedroom to change.

When she emerged, she was fully transformed into the poised administrative manager, her makeup impeccable. The broad-shouldered blazer and slim-legged trousers accentuated her narrow waist and long legs. She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and Meng Ning couldn’t help but gaze at her slender fingers, the nails gleaming with a soft, pearly pink in the morning light. Suddenly, Meng Ning felt a bit shy.

“Let’s go,” Wen Zenian said. “I’ll drop you off first.”

“No need,” Meng Ning said. “You go ahead with your work. I’ll just grab a cab.”

Wen Zenian glanced at the time. “Alright then. Text me when you get home.”

A faint tug pulled at Meng Ning’s heart, long and bittersweet.

Sometimes she felt they were perfect for each other, because they were both so acutely sensitive.

Other times, she felt they were utterly mismatched, for the exact same reason.

Wen Zenian was holding back, afraid of moving too fast, so she hadn’t insisted on driving her. But she’d still checked the time, pretending she was the one in a rush.

Wen Zenian left, and the apartment fell suddenly quiet.

The sunlight filtering through the window seemed to pale a shade, and Meng Ning realized it was Wen Zenian who had brought the brightness.

She washed the dishes first, then went to the bedroom to change the sheets.

Of course, Wen Zenian had housekeeping scheduled for all this. But oh man!

Meng Ning stared at the marks on the sheets and yanked them off in one swift motion.

Better to do it herself.

The freshly washed and hung sheets carried a faint scent of laundry detergent when Wen Zenian’s text arrived: “Not home yet?”

Meng Ning’s heart clogged up just a little.

She noticed how Wen Zenian was always on edge like that. After Meng Ning promised to text when she got home, she must have checked her phone a dozen times.

Because Meng Ning had a history of vanishing acts, her silences weren’t playful teasing or petty sulks or enigmatic games—they were warning signals that set nerves on edge.

She felt a bit sorry for Wen Zenian, how exhausting it must be.

To be heartless about it, she felt a touch exhausted for herself, too.

She snapped a photo of the neatly hung sheets and sent it to Wen Zenian. The reply came quickly: “Keep it up.”

Meng Ning: …

She took back what she’d just thought. A touch exhausted? She was dead tired! Her waist was killing her!

After a moment’s thought, she typed: “I’m not taking a cab. Planning to bus it home.”

The implication: It’ll take a while, so don’t worry.

Wen Zenian replied: “Mm.”

As Meng Ning left, she spotted the electronic lock manual folded on the entryway table.

She hesitated for two seconds about re-registering her fingerprint.

In the end, she decided against it. She stepped out and gently closed the security door behind her.

There was no bus stop right at the entrance to Wen Zenian’s upscale complex; it was two streets over, by the little market where Meng Ning used to shop for groceries.

This time of day had cleared the morning rush, and buses weren’t crowded anyway. When she boarded, the compartment was mostly empty, half the windows wide open. Spring breeze poured in, sunlight glaring brightly—it felt almost indulgent.

Meng Ning took a window seat in the second-to-last row and gazed outside.

Hibiscus. Yesterday-today-and-tomorrow. Double-color jasmine.

Spring was always so vibrant. After the bus wound through a few streets and left the high-end neighborhoods behind, everyday life started to seep in.

Gradually, aunties with veggie bags climbed aboard, chattering loudly in dialects Meng Ning couldn’t follow, bursting into giggles. Outside the window, a breakfast stall was packing up, the youtiao gone limp and golden, no longer crisp. The owner was handing out the leftover soy milk to the sanitation workers.

Meng Ning watched without blinking, taking it all in inch by inch.

This was her daily life. So last night with Wen Zenian—was that a dream? Like the yacht and helicopter on C Sea Island, something distant and unreal?

No.

The answer rose clear in her mind.

She sat in the soft morning light, staring at the bustling spring scene. But half her thoughts lingered on the silent night.

The darkness there was so profound it blinded the eyes. All she could sense was the breath of the woman before her, her body heat, the faint lavender on her skin, the rhythm of her breathing syncing with her unhesitating thrusts, filling the void.

Her soothing, encouraging whispers amid shattered moans. Gentle yet wicked.

She was real.

Now, sitting in the real everyday, Meng Ning could still feel the thin sheen of her sweat on her shoulders, her teeth grazing that patch of skin, teasing it softly. Inside her lingered the sense of being filled, keeping the dark sea from rushing back in.

Her love was real. Her longing was real.

Meng Ning zoned out for who knows how long before looking up: Damn, she’d missed her stop.

When Meng Ning unlocked the door to her place, Qi Xiao was just getting up, her hair a messy nest as she yawned and mumbled “Morning” to Meng Ning.

“Morning,” Meng Ning replied, heading to her room.

Qi Xiao, still bleary-eyed, suddenly grabbed Meng Ning’s wrist as she passed.

Meng Ning: ?

“You…” Qi Xiao’s eyes widened as she scanned her up and down. “Did you just go out or are you just getting back?”

“Didn’t I text you last night?” Meng Ning said.

“What?” Qi Xiao released her and dashed back to her room for her phone. She opened WeChat and saw Meng Ning’s message from the night before: “Not coming back. Don’t wait up.”

“You you you…” Qi Xiao pointed at her, finger trembling. “Didn’t you say you’d take it slow?”

“Yeah,” Meng Ning said.

“Your first date and you stay out all night? That’s taking it slow?”

“We, uh,” Meng Ning said, “were just talking.”

Qi Xiao gave her a look that screamed “Yeah, right.” “You couldn’t even find topics at the movies, texted me about it, and then you chat so much you end up at her place?”

“Yeah, we just… got into it,” Meng Ning said. “Catching up, ha ha.”

Qi Xiao still thought: Yeah, right.

But Meng Ning’s face was so guileless. It had a certain credibility.

As she wavered, Meng Ning yawned. “Talked all night, super tired. I’m gonna crash.”

Back in her bedroom, Meng Ning had just enough energy to change into pajamas before flopping onto the bed and hugging her pillow.

It had been ages since she’d felt this wiped out, not since stopping her meds.

Oh right, she still needed to text Wen Zenian. She groped for her phone: “Home now. Napping, wiped out.”

She didn’t care if she’d sleep tonight; she tossed the phone aside and passed out.

She woke once, hearing faint noises from the living room.

Dazed, she figured Qi Xiao must be obsessed with that Script Killing game lately, probably doing her makeup to head out.

She drifted off again.

When she next opened her eyes, time felt suspended. She glanced outside—probably afternoon. The curtains weren’t fully drawn, sunlight pouring in bright as day, yet it hadn’t woken her.

She’d slept on her stomach because her waist hurt. Now she rolled over, crossing her hands over her eyes to block the light.

After gathering her wits, she reached for the phone on the nightstand.

It was already one in the afternoon.

One unread message. Wow, Wen Zenian was so restrained—just the one.

Clicking it open, sent an hour ago: “Awake? What’d you have for lunch?”

She typed back, holding up her phone: “Just woke up.”

Wen Zenian was no longer restrained. A video call came right through.

Meng Ning blinked and accepted.

Was the front camera cursed? Her face was small enough, but it still looked like a flat pancake.

She was curious what Wen Zenian looked like, anyway.

But Wen Zenian was sly—the camera wasn’t on her, but propped by the windowsill, aimed at a cluster of Bird of Paradise outside.

Right, she’d been to Wen Zenian’s office and seen those vivid plants.

Meng Ning angled away from herself too, pointing at her beat-up desk.

But as the camera shifted, Wen Zenian said, “Don’t move.”

It was the first thing she’d said since connecting, and that voice had magic—Meng Ning froze obediently.

Wen Zenian seemed to be leaning by the window too, flipping through papers; the rustle came through clearly.

After a bit, the click of high heels receded, then approached again, accompanied by more paper sounds, as if Wen Zenian had set the files on the sill by the phone to make notes.

It made the call feel oddly mundane.

Yet surreal all the same.

Meng Ning held her phone, her familiar bedroom in view: walls not quite white, peeling wardrobe and desk, plaid curtains framing a half-blue sky with wispy, ethereal clouds.

But on the screen, the Bird of Paradise from Wen Zenian’s office slotted into her daily life like a puzzle piece.

Wen Zenian asked, “Got a girlfriend now—what’s it feel like?”

Meng Ning answered honestly: “My waist hurts.”

Wen Zenian laughed on the other end. Without seeing her face, the soft chuckle felt even more alluring.

Meng Ning felt shy discussing it but didn’t want to back down. “So, what about you?”

The screen jiggled, like Wen Zenian meant to pick up the phone, then thought better and set it back, still on the Bird of Paradise.

Her voice came smooth and gentle: “Good afternoon, Meng Ning.”

Nothing more.

With exquisite restraint, she conveyed her thanks for the call, for granting her a lovely afternoon.

After chatting a bit more, Meng Ning said she had to get up—she had volunteer work at the stray cat shelter that afternoon.

Wen Zenian asked, “What about lunch?”

Meng Ning said, “I’ll see when I get up.”

She did, and spotted a note stuck to the fridge with a magnet, courtesy of Qi Xiao: “Pig head meat in the fridge. Heat it up, don’t waste it.”

There was rice in a container too. She served herself a small half-bowl—not starving, but she made herself finish it.

Everyone said she was too skinny.

She washed the dishes and headed out, taking the subway then a bus to the shelter.

She’d been at it long enough to be friendly with several fellow volunteers. One greeted her, then eyed her slender neck. “Got mosquito bites already?”

Meng Ning scratched her neck. “Yeah, pretty itchy.”

A mark from Wen Zenian’s sucking? She hadn’t noticed herself. Probably needed this kind of glaring sunlight to reveal such a subtle trace.

If only she’d borrowed some of Wen Zenian’s concealer. It worked wonders, which was why she’d been so reckless the night before.

After scooping out the cat litter for a bit while standing, Meng Ning reached back and thumped her lower back.