Chapter 64 Part 2

A colleague asked, “Back hurting?”

Meng Ning smiled. “It’s okay.”

Okay my ass—her waist felt like it was about to snap.

Once she’d finished the day’s work, she took the bus and then the subway home, but it was packed, so she ended up standing the whole way.

When she got off, she kept thumping her lower back. Unable to take it anymore, she pulled out her phone and searched for nearby massage parlors.

Holy crap—she nearly flung her phone away.

Wasn’t this neighborhood full of rundown old apartments? Was the spending power around here really that high?

In the end, it wasn’t about spending power. It was her own fault.

As Qi Xiao had said, right now even inviting Wen Zenian to a movie and popcorn meant swiping her “family card.”

Once she passed the next psych evaluation, she’d better hurry up and find a proper job.

Poor as she was, she still planned to buy some snacks to bring back to the island for Qi Xiao. The C Hotel staff cafeteria was great—tons of fruit, yogurt, everything—but the one thing Qi Xiao craved was junk food.

The corner store near home didn’t have a full selection, so Meng Ning walked a bit farther to a bigger supermarket nearby.

It was one of those cheerful big-box stores, blasting upbeat music like something out of a plaza dance routine. The aromas of all sorts of prepared foods, dried fruits, and pickled veggies mingled in the air. Weaving through that web of scents, Meng Ning spotted a row of massage chairs that had been set up outside the supermarket at some point.

Thumping her back, she walked over for a look.

They seemed brand new, there for a promotion—scan the code for your first use free.

Meng Ning hesitated, then headed into the supermarket first.

After buying Qi Xiao’s favorite chips and a bag of Little Crispy snacks, she really couldn’t hold out anymore. Thumping her lower back, she walked over, scanned the code to follow what was obviously an ad account, selected “First Use Free,” and settled into the massage chair.

With people coming and going, she felt a little embarrassed and closed her eyes.

“Our local supermarket is awesome! Everything’s fully stocked and cheap.”

Amid the blaring cheerful tune, Meng Ning heard a familiar voice.

She opened her eyes and watched as Qi Xiao strode toward her, hands on hips, looming over her.

She wanted to sit up then, but the massage session wasn’t over—the machine kept whirring away, and she couldn’t get out.

So there she was, jostled up and down by the chair, her chest poking out one moment, her belly the next, like a wavy line. She watched Qi Xiao shift from hands on hips to arms crossed over her chest and ask, “Back hurting?”

“Ah…”

“Heh.” Qi Xiao said, “So, just pure chatting last night, huh? Chatting till your back hurt?”

Meng Ning: …

Meng Ning held up the bag of snacks in her lap, but Qi Xiao wouldn’t take it. “Don’t think you can bribe me!”

She turned and walked off.

Meng Ning stared at Qi Xiao’s back. Fortunately, five minutes later, the session ended. She stood up from the chair, snacks in hand, and hurried after her.

In the snack area, she spotted Qi Xiao sitting alone at a table, cradling a small bowl as she ate Yunnan grilled tofu.

It came with red oil chili sauce, and though Qi Xiao was from the north and not great with spice, her mouth was ringed in red.

The bench was welded perpendicular to the table. Meng Ning swung her leg over and sat across from Qi Xiao.

Qi Xiao looked up and gave her a smile. “Sorry. Do you think I got mad for no reason?”

Meng Ning shook her head, pondering how to put it. “I know you think it’s too fast. Honestly, I do too.”

It felt like nothing was figured out, nothing sorted—just a desperate grab at something.

Qi Xiao sighed and pushed the disposable paper bowl toward Meng Ning, handing her one of the two bamboo skewers in her hand.

Meng Ning took it and speared a piece of tofu, popping it into her mouth.

Whoa, it was seriously spicy.

A burning sensation scorched her throat, flashing her back to that night she’d choked on water—the same fiery feeling in her windpipe.

She coughed twice, and Qi Xiao reached to take the skewer back.

Meng Ning shook her head. “I’m fine. Just didn’t expect it to be this spicy.”

Qi Xiao pulled her hand back and sighed again. “Why does it have to be so hard?”

It was unclear if she meant Meng Ning and Wen Zenian.

Or herself and that other person.

Meng Ning ate another piece of tofu and set the bag of snacks on the table, sliding it toward Qi Xiao.

Qi Xiao glanced at it. “So, what’s the deal with you two now?”

“We’re, uh, dating.”

“And then?”

“That’s it.” Meng Ning said. “Just taking it one step at a time.”

It was definitely harder that way, but Meng Ning knew it, and Qi Xiao couldn’t say much more.

Qi Xiao said, “Come on, let’s head home and grab my bag. I’ve gotta get back to the island.”

Meng Ning saw Qi Xiao off, then gave the whole place a thorough cleaning. By the time Song Xiao got off work, it was done.

They cooked dinner together. Song Xiao packed tomorrow’s lunch in containers, took a shower, and headed to her room.

Meng Ning moved the projector back to her own room. Too lazy for the screen, she planned to just cast straight onto the wall.

After browsing, the one that ended up on the wall was still Paris Night Traveler.

She vaguely remembered some psychology article from way back saying people who rewatched the same movie or show over and over lacked a sense of security.

Curled up with one leg on the chair, she toyed with her phone between thumb and forefinger, spinning it twice before gripping it and lighting the screen.

No WeChat from Wen Zenian.

Her gaze returned to the wall. The upside of rewatching a familiar movie was that every frame felt comforting; the downside was knowing the plot too well, which made it easy to zone out.

Before long, she glanced at her phone again.

Still quiet, no messages.

She paused it and tapped into her chat with Wen Zenian.

She typed three words: “What are you…”

Then stopped, leaving a blinking cursor.

She wondered: Was she actually missing Wen Zenian, or just afraid of being alone?

Maybe last night’s feeling of being enveloped, filled by someone, had made her feel safe.

She deleted the words. At that moment, her phone buzzed.

It was from Qi Xiao—no text, just a photo. An open bag of Little Crispy on the table, her index finger and thumb posed at the camera, fingertips dusted with seasoning powder.

Meng Ning smiled and sent back a “Hakimi” emoji.

She walked to the window and pushed it open, lighting a cigarette for herself.

Palm against the windowsill, she gazed into the woven night.

She stood there who knew how long, until the smoke scent faded, before closing the window and settling back into the chair to resume the movie.

But her back hurt even more after a bit. Just as she was about to stand and lean against the headboard, her phone rang.

Her lips curved up. She lowered the movie volume and answered. “Hello.”

There was a subtle pause before Wen Zenian replied, “Hello.”

Wen Zenian was so good at this.

In the bright sunshine, she’d video call and aim the camera at the blooming Bird of Paradise outside her window. In the inky night, she’d call and skip the video, letting her voice grow more intimate without the visuals.

Meng Ning padded toward the window in her slippers. Listening to her footsteps, Wen Zenian let out a soft chuckle.

Meng Ning thought, What’s so funny?

But then she remembered their midday video call—listening to Wen Zenian’s high heels approach and recede as she paced the office fetching files. It had filled her with a quiet, heartfelt joy.

Just like this soft laugh now.

Meng Ning leaned against the headboard, legs stretched out and crossed. “You done with work?”

“Mm.” Wen Zenian asked, “What are you up to?”

“Watching a movie.” Meng Ning said. “Sitting in the chair hurt my back, so I moved to the bed.”

Wen Zenian asked, “Does it really hurt that much?”

Meng Ning paused, then murmured softly, “What do you think?”

With just a hint of reproach.

Her tone drew another laugh from Wen Zenian, very light, like a breathy exhale.

Wen Zenian said, “I’ll take responsibility, okay?”

Meng Ning said, “How exactly?”

Wen Zenian fell silent for a moment. Meng Ning stared at the silent movie projected on the wall—a thin crack becoming an odd decorative flourish. Wen Zenian’s soft, slow breaths were the only dialogue, scraping gently against her heart.

Parisian street scenes slid by frame by frame. Suddenly, Meng Ning said, “I miss you.”

“Even if you go to Paris, I’ll still miss you just as much.”

Her earlier question—whether she truly missed Wen Zenian or just hated being alone—dissolved in that instant of listening to her breath.

She missed Wen Zenian.

Even just quietly hearing her breathe filled her with a faint delight.

Wen Zenian paused for a long while before saying, “I’ll hang up for a bit, okay?”

Meng Ning blinked. “Sure.”

Wen Zenian hung up gently. Clutching her phone, Meng Ning started second-guessing. Had she gone too far?

It wasn’t even just “I miss you.”

She’d added an intensifier: “I really miss you.”

In American dramas, one person would say “I love you,” and if the other wasn’t there yet, it’d lead to awkward silence.

Easterners like them were more reserved—nowhere near “I love you,” and even “I miss you” was pushing it.

Awkward. Meng Ning tilted her head back against the wall, knees drawn up, eyes closed, thinking it was really quite embarrassing.

Her phone vibrated in her palm.

Maybe Qi Xiao. Meng Ning wanted to let it sit a while.

Once the toe-curling embarrassment ebbed, she opened her eyes and checked WeChat.

Not Qi Xiao—it was Wen Zenian. “I’m at your door.”

Meng Ning bolted upright from the headboard, wincing at a stab of back pain—”Hiss”—one hand on her waist, the other gripping her phone. Wen Zenian’s message was from six minutes ago.

She jumped out of bed, slipped on her slippers, and hurried to the door. As she got close, though, her steps slowed.

What if Wen Zenian had already left?

Her hand hovered on the door for a moment before she pushed it open.

In these old buildings, the voice-activated lights were the oldest style—the faint creak of the door wasn’t enough to trigger them. In the darkness, she made out a vague silhouette, though the faint fragrance at her nose was clearer.

Meng Ning wasn’t sure what came over her; she didn’t speak right away.

Neither did Wen Zenian.

They stood facing each other quietly in the dark. Until Meng Ning softly said, “Hey.”

As if electricity were slowly heating the filament, the voice light suddenly flared to life.

In an instant.

The nighttime hallway flooded with never-ending magic. Moonlight etched poems at the ivy-draped corner. Nightingales sang with roses, the distant clock tower chiming midnight.

Amid all this magic.

Wen Zenian’s face, rich as wine, lit by the corridor’s warm yellow glow. She softly called her name: “Meng Ning.”