Chapter 69 Part 2

Qi Xiao paused for a long moment. “How is it you never tan?”

Meng Ning burst out laughing, then shifted to a somber tone. “Let me tell you something really awful.”

She mimicked one of Qi Xiao’s occasional slips into dialect.

“Don’t pull that weird half-assed accent,” Qi Xiao said. “What’s up?”

“Before I pass the evaluation and find a job… could you lend me some money?”

She couldn’t play the family card with Wen Zenian anymore.

“Fine, but I’ll charge interest.”

“Come on, I’m poor enough as it is.”

“How much do you even owe her?”

Meng Ning named the amount. Since leaving the hospital, she’d meticulously recorded every expense—from rent to daily living costs, including the two ice creams Wen Zenian had ordered for her eye masks last time.

“That much?” Qi Xiao was stunned. “When will you ever pay it off?”

Meng Ning curved her lips upward. “Little by little.”

Qi Xiao felt a pang of heartache.

Who actually enjoyed being in debt? It was just that this was the only thread still tying them together.

Two weeks passed without a word from Wen Zenian to Meng Ning, and Qi Xiao never mentioned her in front of Meng Ning either.

Sometimes Meng Ning even wondered if Wen Zenian had simply vanished without a trace.

The weather grew hotter, and mosquitoes began swarming everywhere.

That day, after returning from the stray cat shelter, Meng Ning learned that Song Xiao wanted cold noodles. She bought some fresh noodles on her way home and, carrying the bag, reached the dense foliage under the old building. Her ankle itched, so she lifted her foot to scratch it.

Lifting her gaze, she saw Wen Zenian standing beneath the banyan tree.

Wen Zenian wore a gray cardigan suit with double-breasted buttons, paired with matching trousers. Her high heels perfectly accentuated the lines of her ankles. The dim streetlamp below the old building made the diamond earrings on her earlobes sparkle brightly.

She had one arm crossed over her body, an unlit cigarette pinched between the fingers of her other hand.

She spotted Meng Ning too but said nothing, offered no nod.

The moment Wen Zenian saw her, a thought crossed her mind:

Dusk faded indifferently, the streetlamp glowed like a firefly. A young, clear-featured woman carried a bag of fresh noodles, dressed in a simple white T-shirt and light blue cropped jeans. She passed the dense shrubs, apparently bitten by a mosquito, paused to lift her ankle, and scratched it lightly with her fingertip.

It was an utterly ordinary scene—lovely, yes, but like a lightweight postcard, easily forgotten after a glance.

Except the woman in the picture wasn’t just anyone. Her name was Meng Ning.

Suddenly, the postcard pressed heavily into her heart, gaining real weight.

Meng Ning walked over with her bag of noodles. Her first question to Wen Zenian was, “Aren’t you hot?”

Wen Zenian looked at her for two seconds before replying, “I haven’t been here long.”

The hotel, her apartment, the luxury car—they all had powerful air conditioning. She wasn’t hot.

“Ah.” Meng Ning nodded. She couldn’t quite bring herself to ask if there was something she needed, so she just lifted the bag of noodles. “I’m making cold noodles tonight. Want some? Qi Xiao’s out—it’s just me and Song Xiao.”

Wen Zenian’s gaze drifted down to the bag, as if she were seriously considering whether she wanted cold noodles. Then she dipped her chin. “Sure.” She added, “Not too spicy, though.”

Meng Ning smiled—a real, heartfelt smile.

“Good,” Meng Ning said.

They went upstairs together.

Night was falling, but not fully dark yet. The voice-activated lights apparently saw no need to flicker on, leaving the stairwell in a hazy, intimate gray.

They walked one behind the other, silent.

Until Meng Ning unlocked the door. Wen Zenian followed her in, and Meng Ning deftly grabbed two pairs of slippers. “Song Xiao isn’t back yet. I’ll get started on the noodles—you sit for a bit.”

“Need a hand?”

Meng Ning waved her off vigorously. “I can’t afford that.”

Wen Zenian’s lips twitched ever so slightly. Meng Ning felt a bit awkward.

Last time she’d asked Wen Zenian to help out, and now it wasn’t okay? Just because they’d “broken up”? She’d only meant it as a joke to ease the faint awkwardness, but now she felt compelled to explain. “This time it’s simple—just slicing some cucumber shreds and bell pepper strips, and a cold wood ear mushroom salad. Song Xiao’s bringing back some braised meats. Nothing much to help with.”

Wen Zenian nodded once.

Meng Ning felt awkward again. Maybe Wen Zenian hadn’t thought twice about it, and here she was rambling on.

She headed to the kitchen with the noodles, then turned back to add, “You should take off your suit. The AC in this old place isn’t great.”

“Mm.” Wen Zenian unbuttoned her suit jacket.

Her shirt today was a touch thinner and softer. The motion of removing the jacket outlined the graceful curves of her figure. Meng Ning averted her eyes.

Being busy in the kitchen helped; it kept her from constantly noticing Wen Zenian’s movements in the living room.

Except when she turned to toss out the trash and glanced through the doorway.

Wen Zenian sat on one end of the narrow, low two-seater sofa. It always made people sink in a little when they sat, but even in that posture, she looked elegant. One slender wrist rested on the wooden armrest, her fingers holding her phone as she handled some work.

Meng Ning turned back to her tasks.

Song Xiao came through the door.

Meng Ning had texted her to pick up extra braised meats, so she wasn’t surprised to see Wen Zenian. She greeted her casually.

Wen Zenian responded coolly, then proactively asked a few questions about her work.

Meng Ning mixed the cold noodles in a basin-sized bowl, listening to their conversation in the living room. She felt a quiet urge to giggle.

Was Wen Zenian really that easygoing? She was certainly acting the part now.

Song Xiao chatted briefly, then came into the kitchen with the braised meats to plate them. She lowered her voice. “Didn’t you two break up?”

“Yeah.” Meng Ning nodded.

“So what’s this?”

Meng Ning shook her head.

Song Xiao, perhaps worried about being stuck alone with Wen Zenian in the living room, stuck around to help Meng Ning for a while. They carried out the cold noodles, and Wen Zenian pocketed her phone, rising from the sofa. “Anything else to bring out?”

“Not much—just these two dishes.” Meng Ning said, “Go wash your hands.”

“Mm.” Wen Zenian went to the bathroom and emerged moments later with her sleeves rolled up. She never used Meng Ning’s towel, so Meng Ning handed her a couple of paper towels.

The three of them gathered around the table. The cold noodles were in the small basin Meng Ning had just mixed. She extended her hand toward Wen Zenian. “Pass me your bowl.”

Wen Zenian handed over the small empty bowl in front of her.

Meng Ning served the noodles with quick, practiced motions. Wen Zenian remembered eating at Meng Ning’s house when they were teens; back then, Meng Ning had always scooped very little rice for herself.

No one could escape the harsh lessons of growing up. Some people’s were just crueler than others.

“Enough,” Wen Zenian said, and Meng Ning passed the bowl back.

Meng Ning’s cooking skills were honestly pretty average, but these cold noodles had turned out well.

They slid smoothly into the mouth. Unlike the street vendors’ versions loaded with chili and garlic, hers drew flavor from vinegar—a refreshing tang mingled with the crisp scent of cucumber shreds.

Wen Zenian, sleeves rolled to reveal her snowy white wrists, occasionally picked up a slice of wood ear mushroom. She ate quietly.

Meng Ning and Song Xiao chatted about their annoying boss.

Abruptly, Meng Ning turned the topic to Wen Zenian. “What do you think? Should Song Xiao quit?”

Wen Zenian replied naturally, “It depends on the balance between ability and temperament. If your skills can support your attitude without issue, go ahead. If not, endure for now.”

Meng Ning ducked her head, picking up a chopstick of noodles, her lips curving in a smirk.

Wen Zenian knew she was mocking her own temper at work. Her slender wrist turned the chopsticks, and her own lips quirked upward.

Song Xiao glanced at Meng Ning, then sneaked another look at Wen Zenian.

Meng Ning turned to her. “These cold noodles would be even better with some crushed peanuts next time, right?”

“Huh?” Song Xiao blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah, right.”

They finished the noodles, and Song Xiao insisted on doing the dishes. Wen Zenian went to the bathroom to use her own mouthwash, after which Meng Ning brushed her teeth.

Song Xiao poked her head out of the kitchen. “I’m heading to my room. You two take your time.”

The moment she ducked into her room, she texted Qi Xiao. “Didn’t they break up?”

Qi Xiao replied almost instantly, as if she lived in her phone. “They did. What’s up?”

“She’s here! You didn’t know?”

“Nope!” Even though they sometimes gossiped about Wen Zenian’s whereabouts in their group chat, they didn’t know her every move. She immediately asked Song Xiao, “What’s she doing here?”

“No idea.”

“So what did you do?”

“Ate cold noodles.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, Meng Ning texted me on my way home from work, saying we were having cold noodles with an extra person and to get more braised meats. I figured it might be her, and sure enough…”

“What did you talk about over the noodles?”

“My job. Whether I should quit or not.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

Qi Xiao was baffled. “And now?”

“They’re in the living room.”

“Why don’t you go eavesdrop! If they haven’t gone to Meng Ning’s room, it’s not like anything inappropriate is happening!”

“Nah, I’d feel awkward.”

Qi Xiao slapped her thigh hard. Things had come to this, and she was still worried about awkwardness? She just couldn’t understand these introverts!

In the living room, Wen Zenian settled back on the sofa and picked up her phone, apparently replying to more work messages.

Meng Ning sat beside her, waiting until she’d put the phone away before speaking. “Want some grapes? Song Xiao’s client sent over some.”

“I’m full.”

“Oh.” Meng Ning rested one hand on the wooden armrest, her fingers twisting together.

Wen Zenian’s tone had been even and flat since she arrived—no real ups or downs. Now she asked about a local specialty, stir-fried beans. “Where can I get some?”

Meng Ning was surprised. “You want those?”

“Luzi wants them. I’ll bring her some.” Wen Zenian mostly called Chen Luzi “Alexis,” but occasionally “Luzi.”

Something tugged in Meng Ning’s chest. If her own name were three characters, would Wen Zenian call her by the last two? Or stick to the full name?

Wen Zenian had always called her “Meng Ning,” as if she couldn’t drop a single syllable.

She felt a sudden daze, as if that night they’d talked about parting had never happened. They were just sitting side by side like this, her thoughts scattering every which way, laced with some inexplicable, petty jealousy.

The truth was that they sat so close together because the sofa was too small and too narrow. Wen Zenian had been chatting with her about a local specialty—stir-fried beans. Chen Luzi, who had studied in Europe, spotted a mention of them and found the idea intriguing. Wen Zenian wanted to bring some along for her, and the two of them were probably going to meet up in Paris.

Meng Ning thought for a moment. “Do you remember that little supermarket where we bought Green Mood? I think they have it there.”

“I don’t remember the way,” Wen Zenian replied, her tone as flat as ever. “You lead me there.”