Chapter 68 Part 2

But Meng Ning had a slight reluctance to run into Ju Mengya.

Qi Xiao was actually pretty perceptive. Meng Ning hadn’t said a word, and she hadn’t called Ju Mengya over.

The two of them lingered in their old dorm room. Meng Ning sat at the desk by the window, her back to it, one elbow propped casually on the surface as she gazed at her former bed, now buried under a pile of clothes courtesy of Qi Xiao. “I was going to ask if you’d gotten used to living alone after I moved out, but this looks pretty comfy to me.”

“Ah.” Qi Xiao lounged on the bed, hands braced behind her, legs crossed with her toes wiggling idly. “Putting stuff away in the closet every day is such a hassle.”

“It’s not that. You wear your uniform every day—why do you have so many clothes piled up out here?”

“Can’t I enjoy a little solo beauty session back at the dorm each night? Can’t I put on my own private fashion show?” Qi Xiao threw her head back in a hearty laugh. “Come on, sis has finally blossomed. I even got hit on during a murder mystery game—doesn’t that deserve some serious preening?”

If only I could get prettier.

Learn to dress better.

Find a mature style that suits me.

Would that person regret her choice back then?

Meng Ning watched her show off, lips curving into a smile.

“Oh, right!” Qi Xiao slapped the bed. “Are you two fighting over Fang Ji? Does she not believe that Fang Ji’s interested in someone like me? Hey, looking down on me, huh…”

“No.” Meng Ning’s smile widened. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

Her arm was getting tired from propping it on the desk, so she switched to resting her chin in one hand. She watched Qi Xiao hop off the bed, do her makeup, and strut around with exaggerated hip sways in a mock fashion show.

Glancing at the time, Meng Ning saw it was nearly noon.

She said to Qi Xiao, “Well, I should head out.”

“Mm.” Qi Xiao couldn’t help but add, “Take care of yourself, okay? You hear me?”

Meng Ning smiled and closed the dorm door behind her.

It had been so long since she’d last visited C Sea Island that she’d almost forgotten the unique scent in the air—a faint salty tang from the sea breeze, mingled with the signature fragrance of the C Hotel lobby. The combination evoked a slender figure in a hazy sea-mist blue uniform and pencil skirt, hands clasped neatly at her waist, bowing slightly to you in the soaring hotel atrium.

Her posture embodied the perfect deference of the service industry, but when she straightened and those deep, profound eyes met yours, you knew without a doubt: she was the one in charge.

Her refined, aloof expression told you plainly: I’m here to weave your dreams.

In the past, Meng Ning had often sought out Wen Zenian in the dead of night for just such a dream.

Now, as she walked the familiar gravel path, her ears rang with Wen Zenian’s low voice calling her “girlfriend.”

How long had it been since she’d left the C Hotel?

It felt like so much had happened.

She took the secluded shortcut she knew by heart, rode the staff elevator, and swiped her keycard with a beep to open the door.

It was still that same Administrative Suite. Wen Zenian clearly wasn’t back yet.

Meng Ning settled onto the familiar white sofa, gazing at the white gauzy curtains billowing like mist at the open terrace beyond.

After some indeterminate time, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

“Hello.”

There was a pause at first, then Wen Zenian’s long-absent voice: “Hello.”

Some voices alone could weave dreams. But Meng Ning was growing weary of her own hypersensitivity; she could always detect in the subtle inflection that bad news was coming.

Sure enough, Wen Zenian said, “Meng Ning, something came up for me last minute.”

“Ah.” Meng Ning replied, “Oh.”

“I’m taking a helicopter off the island tonight.”

Meng Ning suddenly felt like laughing.

Good lord, what kind of girlfriend was she dating? The woman was resorting to a helicopter just to dodge her. Who did she think she was?

After a pause, Meng Ning asked, “When will you be back?”

“I don’t know yet, so…”

“I get it.” Meng Ning wasn’t sure why she cut in. “I’ll head out now.”

“Now?” Wen Zenian let out a faint chuckle. “What time is it? Where are you going to find a speedboat?”

“Get some sleep.” Wen Zenian’s tone sounded calm. “No rush.”

She drew out the last three words, like a soothing caress—or perhaps something more pointed.

“Okay.” Meng Ning said. “Okay.”

After hanging up, she sat dazed on the sofa for a while.

At first, her palms pressed against the armrest, but sitting like that grew tiring, so she switched to sitting cross-legged, her back slightly hunched.

She lost track of time. The tides marked nature’s clock, understood by heaven and earth—but not by her.

When the door clicked open, her shoulders twitched instinctively. The panic hadn’t even risen in her heart yet; her mind just flashed: Wen Zenian’s away on a trip—who else would come in at this hour?

The heart’s reactions always lagged a beat behind the mind.

The mind commanded the emotions, while her eyes automatically took in the image.

The woman who entered was slim and tall. First came a pair of standard six-centimeter heels, then glass-smooth stockings hugging slender ankles, calves with a subtle sheen, and a pencil skirt that traced elegant hip lines.

Her gaze traveled upward, past rows of buttons like mountain peaks, past the collarbone at the shirt’s neckline like a shallow river. It took a arduous journey to behold that familiar face, with eyes as deep as an endless night.

Wen Zenian didn’t look at her, merely kicking off her heels out of habit.

Then, phone in hand, head down as she typed, she walked toward her.

Meng Ning’s eyes followed Wen Zenian the whole way.

Until Wen Zenian sat on the sofa at a right angle from her. Meng Ning hadn’t seen her in uniform for so long; it gave off an austere, captivating allure.

Wen Zenian set her phone down, her head bowed for a couple more seconds before she lifted her gaze, lips pressing together. “Meng Ning, why the rush?”

Her lipstick was always understated, perfect on her striking features—demanding gentle, patient kisses to wear it away, revealing the natural rosy tint beneath.

So Wen Zenian with lipstick on always seemed more rational. Her upright posture in the uniform was dignified, her stockinged legs pressed together at a slight angle, as if she were delivering a lecture.

Hah, Meng Ning thought—if any of her teachers had been this commanding, she could’ve aced Tsinghua or Peking U. Hell, maybe even gotten into R University where Qi Xiao’s mom taught.

Her lips quirked up, but Wen Zenian ignored the smile, leaving her a bit embarrassed.

She dropped the smirk and asked, “Weren’t you… going on that trip?”

Wen Zenian sighed. “Didn’t you know I was lying?”

I knew it, Meng Ning thought. Dating someone who dodges you with a helicopter? So cool.

Meng Ning sat there blankly for a moment before Wen Zenian softened her tone. “I’m exhausted. Want to give me a shoulder rub?”

“Oh.” Meng Ning snapped back. “Sure.”

She was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, barefoot, so she knelt up and shuffled toward Wen Zenian.

Wen Zenian was close in appearance, but navigating the corner made it farther than it looked. Meng Ning felt ridiculous, but stopping midway would be even sillier.

Wen Zenian stood, stepped in front of her, and smoothed her skirt as she sat.

Even that simple gesture looked graceful on a beauty like her—soft yet precise.

Score, Meng Ning thought. She grinned silently behind Wen Zenian.

Without turning, Wen Zenian tilted her head slightly. “Not rubbing?”

“Yes.” Meng Ning adjusted her position, one hand on her shoulder, the other cupping the nape of her neck.

Her skin felt thin and velvety soft to the touch. The elegant swan-like neck was a marvel, and mortal hands kneading it felt almost profane.

Wen Zenian made no sound, just her breathing slowing a touch.

After a moment, she asked, “What’s that?”

Meng Ning couldn’t see her wandering gaze but intuited it had landed on the thermos on the low table.

“Oh.” Meng Ning said. “Monk fruit tea, brewed with dandelion. Last time, your throat didn’t sound great.”

“Which time did my throat not sound great?”

Meng Ning froze.

Her eyes drifted down to the dark, thick chignon, the snowy nape, the crisp uniform accentuating straight shoulders and back. Damn, this picture of restraint had just thrown some flirty shade her way?

“I didn’t mean that time…” Meng Ning flushed a little.

Wen Zenian tilted her slender neck, letting out a low chuckle.

It was her first laugh since entering the room.

Her hand rose, capturing Meng Ning’s fingertips on her shoulder and giving them a gentle squeeze.

“Are you sleepy?” she asked Meng Ning.

The pinch on her fingertips stung Meng Ning’s heart.

An odd thought bubbled up unbidden.

She’d meant to press harder on Wen Zenian’s shoulder for some courage to speak, but her hand lightened instead.

Some words, unspoken, let time slip by like this forever. Pale moonlight, thin clouds, deep night—she sat here massaging Wen Zenian, in no hurry, gazing at that snowy nape like an endless expanse of snow.

But unspoken, with human will so frail, she feared she’d never muster the courage.

She’d succumb to her selfish desires, dragging Wen Zenian into this pale moonlight, thin clouds, and deep night.

She took a deep breath. “You should go to Paris.”

Her heart thudded wildly once she’d said it.

She hadn’t planned to be so blunt; she’d wanted to sound like a mature adult with some preamble.

The room fell silent. Wen Zenian’s breathing stayed steady; Meng Ning’s hands continued—one on her shoulder, the other gently kneading.

Meng Ning went on, “When I said I’d let you go that day, I meant it.”

She closed her eyes briefly.

The imagined wave of immense reluctance and sorrow crashed over her, soaking her through, her heart heavy with dripping water.

But with it came relief, a serene honesty.

She had finally said it.

Just as she longed to reach back through time to tell Shi Yang: “Letting you go was my honest choice.”

Go chase the one you love. Live the life you want. Don’t stay trapped in a stifling home, watching over a child with no blood ties.

She wasn’t a good person. She’d selfishly schemed to keep Shi Yang, even hurting another girl in the process.

Meng Ning kept massaging Wen Zenian’s nape, eyes shut, feeling her lashes quiver at the roots.

The words she couldn’t say to Shi Yang back then—she’d said to Wen Zenian now. Did that mean she’d grown a little? Become a bit better? Her guilt a touch lighter?

“Meng Ning.” Only then did Wen Zenian speak. “Can I ask… what do you mean by letting me go?”