Meng Ning let her go. “I…”
Wen Zenian got out of bed and pointed vaguely at her. “You change the sheets.”
When Wen Zenian headed into the shower, Meng Ning stripped the tangled bedsheets from the bed, thinking to herself: Oh wow, I’m pretty impressive, huh.
Wen Zenian emerged from the bathroom to find that Meng Ning had already remade the bed. She was leaning quietly against the headboard, and upon spotting Wen Zenian, she broke into a smile that was almost too radiant.
From the moment they had reunited until now, neither of them had mentioned that glance they had exchanged outside the hospital.
Meng Ning simply asked as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “Aren’t you supposed to be heading to Paris soon? Why are you still painting walls?”
Wen Zenian walked over and lay back down on the bed. “I’m not going to Paris anytime soon.”
Meng Ning said nothing.
Wen Zenian explained, “A new situation has cropped up back home, and it’s going to take up some of my time. Things in Paris are complicated too—easy to make mistakes if I rush in. I plan to hold off a bit. If you’re interested, I can fill you in on the details.”
Meng Ning fell silent for a long moment. “No need.”
The next morning, Meng Ning got up early as usual and made breakfast. Wen Zenian returned to the island, while Meng Ning took the bus home.
By the time Meng Ning had finished cleaning the house, Qi Xiao—who was off duty—had returned.
She gave Meng Ning’s arm a nudge. “When I was waiting for the speedboat at the pier, I spotted Gwyneth disembarking. She usually has such impeccable posture, but she reached back to steady her lower back. The moment she saw me, though, she dropped her hand.”
Qi Xiao spoke with earnest concern. “Young people really ought to show some restraint…”
After setting down her bag, she asked, “How’s the job search going? Ju Mengya mentioned that one of her former colleagues is working at a five-star hotel in the city now. She could—”
Meng Ning smiled faintly. “I didn’t pass.”
“No big deal—that’s perfectly normal,” Qi Xiao replied. “Interviews at five-star hotels have all sorts of bizarre criteria. Who knows what about you didn’t sit right with the interviewer? That’s why I was suggesting Ju Mengya’s old colleague…”
“Qi Xiao.” Meng Ning interrupted her softly. “I failed the psychological assessment.”
“Ah?” Qi Xiao was dumbfounded.
She would never have imagined such an outcome.
Meng Ning truly seemed to be doing better these days. Especially after starting her relationship with Wen Zenian—not that she smiled any more than before; ever since her rescue, Meng Ning had remained remarkably upbeat. The real change was the light that had gradually kindled in her eyes.
Qi Xiao had even reflected to herself that life was just like that, wasn’t it?
Who could truly foresee their own path? Like a ship adrift on the open sea, all one needed was an anchor—whether family, love, or friendship—to keep from losing direction and wandering lost and alone.
She hadn’t passed?
Even an extrovert’s encouragement didn’t come effortlessly on the spot. Without a prepared speech, Qi Xiao said, “It’s fine, totally normal. Just take it slow.”
Meng Ning pulled a wry grimace. “I know.”
Lately, Qi Xiao had been obsessed with murder mystery games. That afternoon, she had a session lined up, but her stomach began to ache upon arrival. She asked one of the shop owners to cover her role and retreated alone to the lounge, where she brewed herself a cup of ginger tea. Propping her head in her hands, she stared blankly into space.
One of the DMs wandered over. “Didn’t you say it was stomach pain? Why are you massaging your temples now?”
Qi Xiao realized she had been unconsciously rubbing them and let out a laugh. “It migrated, I suppose.”
The DM sat down beside her. “Remember me? We played that Republic of China suspense script together last time.”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember.”
She pulled out her phone. “Mind if I add you on WeChat? If a new script goes up for internal testing, I’ll give you a shout.”
Qi Xiao knew full well her skills at murder mystery games weren’t anywhere near beta-test caliber.
Well, well—a pickup attempt.
Qi Xiao perked up, covering her face. Had she gotten prettier?
Her eyes used to be so round—not unattractive, just giving off a childish, blunted vibe, devoid of any real allure. Had she finally grown into herself at twenty-six?
Grinning, she pointed at her own face. “Go on, take a look.”
“Hm?”
“I’m not that good-looking, you know? And yet here you are, hitting on me.”
The woman paused visibly, then ducked her head with a smile playing on her lips.
That only made Qi Xiao flush with embarrassment. “So it’s not a pickup line?”
The woman lifted her gaze, still smiling. “It is.”
Qi Xiao brightened right up again. “Then tell me—no skipping details, elaborate. Lay it all out.”
Seeing that reaction, the woman realized Qi Xiao had no romantic interest in her. She set her phone aside, shrugged, and launched into easy, friendly chatter instead.
Qi Xiao laughed heartily, but inside, she thought:
I’m screwed.
How many years had it been since leaving the North? She hadn’t kept count in ages. The South’s seasons blurred together, making it impossible to track the cycles of romance. Her Northern accent had faded almost entirely, emerging only in moments of cursing or banter, with faint traces of retroflex tones and Beijing dialect.
The ancients claimed “the native accent unchanged as hair turns gray”—utter nonsense.
But then why, with her accent softened so much, did her very first thought upon being approached still boil down to: Have I gotten a bit prettier?
If that person saw me now, would there be even the slightest spark of attraction?
Damn it all, Qi Xiao.
The DM’s next session was about to start. They exchanged WeChat contacts, but the flirtation had evaporated. In truth, Qi Xiao had bowed out of that murder mystery game because she couldn’t stop dwelling on Meng Ning’s failed psychological assessment.
From passing the first round to flunking the second.
In the interim, two major changes in Meng Ning’s life: first, she had begun dating Wen Zenian; second, she had moved back into the rental apartment with her and Song Xiao.
When Qi Xiao took the subway back to the rental that evening, Meng Ning was bustling about in the kitchen, greeting her with a teasing smile. “You really know how to time your arrival for dinner.”
“Hey, Ning—you’re really embracing the wellness life lately.” She draped an arm over Meng Ning’s shoulders and sniffed at the simmering tremella soup. “Nourishing goodness. You seem a bit parched these days, huh? Worn out?”
“Knock it off.” Meng Ning pried her “chicken claw” hand from her shoulder and reached for the rock sugar. “Wellness is wellness. Why overthink it? Can’t I stay healthy? My mind’s already twisted enough as it is.”
Qi Xiao froze. The kitchen filled only with the steady bubbling of the slow cooker.
Meng Ning looked awkward. “I mean, it’s just one of those modern catchphrases, right? ‘My mind’s already warped; my body has to stay healthy.’ I’ve seen it in so many people’s signatures.”
“Haha.” Qi Xiao forced a laugh. “I get it.”
Meng Ning gave a wry grimace of her own.
“Then I’ll wait for it to be ready.” Qi Xiao retreated to the living room sofa, hugging her knees and staring into space.
She regretted her oversensitivity in that moment.
Meng Ning hadn’t meant a thing by it—just a casual joke. Anyone oblivious to Meng Ning’s history would have laughed it off together with her, and that would be that. But Qi Xiao knew better.
That was the trouble with thought patterns. No matter how often you reminded yourself, “Don’t get sensitive, it’ll only add pressure,” you simply couldn’t help it—not when you knew the full story.
Even she felt this way. How much more must Wen Zenian?
Qi Xiao wondered if Meng Ning—like a fragile little seedling—was buckling under the added psychological strain from their collective overprotectiveness.
Meng Ning carried out the finished tremella soup. Lost in her worries, Qi Xiao scooped up a spoonful without checking the temperature. She slurped it down, grimacing at the scald, while Meng Ning sat across from her, laughing.
She thought: Does Meng Ning genuinely find this funny? Or is she just pretending after that awkward kitchen exchange?
Screwed, Qi Xiao sighed to herself.
Would someone unaware of Meng Ning’s past spiral through all these thoughts? Of course not—they’d just share the laughter and lighten the mood in an instant.
Qi Xiao’s heart ached. After dinner and doing the dishes, she showered early and retreated to her room.
She felt guilty, convinced she needed to spend more time with Meng Ning.
Yet what if her own chaotic headspace only made everything worse the more she tried?
Eventually, she burst out of her room and flung open the door. “Meng Ning!”
“Yeah?”
“Wanna do a murder mystery game tomorrow? I won some free tickets. Plus, someone actually hit on me there—you gotta come see!”
The next day, Meng Ning tagged along with Qi Xiao.
Qi Xiao figured a murder mystery game would be ideal—just follow the plot, no room for her usual overthinking.
The DM from yesterday’s flirtation was named Fang Ji, sporting a cool punk-style squirrel tattoo on her forearm. Qi Xiao griped to Meng Ning, “Who the hell tattoos a stinky skunk on their arm?!”
“Hey, that’s a squirrel.”
“This is my friend Meng Ning. And this is Fang Ji.” Qi Xiao told Meng Ning, “She thinks I’m drop-dead gorgeous—yesterday she was practically drooling over me. Hahaha!”
Fang Ji didn’t fire back. Qi Xiao glanced over and caught her staring fixedly at Meng Ning.
“Hey! What gives?!”
Fang Ji burst out laughing. “All right, just teasing.” Only then did she greet Meng Ning. “Hey, welcome to the game.”
“I’m a total newbie. I might be terrible.”
“No sweat—just have fun. Everyone starts that way.” Fang Ji was refreshingly straightforward.
With an extra extrovert in the mix, the session proved thoroughly enjoyable. When it wrapped up, Fang Ji clocked out and insisted on treating them to barbecue.
Qi Xiao hurried her along. “Come on—I still need to grab my bag and head back to the island.”
“No problem,” Fang Ji said. “I’ll drive you.”
They pulled up outside the rental apartment, and the three women got out.
The evening sky was threaded with sunset colors. A Maybach was parked under the trees, with Wen Zenian leaning against the door. She had propped her arm up and was smoking a cigarette.
No matter how many times Qi Xiao laid eyes on Wen Zenian, she always marveled at the woman’s beauty. Wen Zenian was probably the person in the world best suited to an elegant updo and tailored suits. Her striking features, tempered by a cool demeanor, struck a perfect balance—seductive without excess, masculine without sacrificing allure.
After Fang Ji waved goodbye and climbed back into her car, Wen Zenian approached the two of them.
“Ahahaha!” Qi Xiao found the situation electrifying and jumped in to defend Meng Ning. “You might not believe this, but Fang Ji’s actually crushing on me. Hahaha!”
Wen Zenian said nothing. Qi Xiao added hastily, “You two take your time chatting. I’m going upstairs to grab my bag.”
She made a quick exit.
Wen Zenian took a drag from her cigarette. It was Meng Ning who spoke first. “Want to talk?”
Wen Zenian’s eyes drooped slightly at the corners, and she nodded.
