Chapter 72 Part 1

Qi Xiao wasn’t the gossipy type.

Really, she truly wasn’t. That was how she always positioned herself in her mind.

But as Wen Zenian’s departure drew near, she still snuck stealthily toward the helipad.

It was because Meng Ning only had her as a friend, right? Didn’t she have to care about the progress of this relationship? That was how she justified it to herself righteously in her heart.

Nightfall deepened, and the helicopter emblazoned with the C Hotel logo gleamed impeccably maintained, its titanium frame casting a postmodern sheen amid the gathering dusk. The place was utterly quiet at the moment—no pilot in sight, nor the slender, unforgettable figure that might appear.

Qi Xiao glanced down at the time.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Holy crap, this was way too thrilling. She genuinely had no idea if Meng Ning would show up.

After waiting a bit longer, Qi Xiao, hiding at the edge of the shrubbery, started slapping her own face hard.

No, don’t get the wrong idea—she hadn’t lost her mind. It was just that the prettier the scenery, the denser the vegetation, and the mosquitoes were endless. She was bundled up in athletic wear, but her exposed face and hands were taking the brunt of it.

Just as she landed a sharp “smack” on her cheek, an electric cart and a fuel truck rolled in for resupply, while the ground crew began their safety checks. Then the pilot arrived, inspecting the craft before firing up the engines.

That was when Wen Zenian appeared.

She wore a dark blue pinstripe suit, her long hair neatly coiled at the nape of her neck. She carried a bag in one hand and held her phone to her ear in the other, speaking rapidly—it didn’t even sound like Chinese.

Only after hanging up did she glance back.

Qi Xiao followed her line of sight and twisted her head, then clutched her chest.

Oh my God! When had Meng Ning been standing there? The helipad lights blazed, making the surrounding darkness even deeper by contrast. Qi Xiao had been hiding here for ages without spotting Meng Ning, so how had Wen Zenian seen her?

Wen Zenian paused for two seconds before walking toward Meng Ning.

Qi Xiao checked the time again.

Ten minutes. She’d looked it up online—this model of helicopter took at most ten minutes to prep the engines.

Which meant Meng Ning and Wen Zenian had at most ten minutes left together.

Damn, this was really too thrilling.

Meng Ning had been standing there for quite a while.

Rewind a bit further: she’d arrived at the dock by speedboat and headed straight to the management office. As a former employee, she clearly couldn’t wander the island freely, so she tried her luck at the temporary office. “I’m here to pick up a temporary pass.”

Someone as meticulous as Wen Zenian—if she wanted Meng Ning there, she would have arranged for the pass to be left at management ahead of time.

When the colleague at the desk looked up, Meng Ning’s fingertips curled tight.

What if there was no pass?

But the colleague smiled at her and handed it over.

Meng Ning took it, gripping the small card with its elegantly rounded edges. Even so, clenching it hard in her palm still felt like it was cutting into her skin.

She couldn’t tell if a weight had lifted from her heart or if she’d grown even more panicked.

Then she came to the helipad.

The time she’d spent staring at that sleek, metallic helicopter wasn’t much shorter than Qi Xiao’s.

In her mind, she thought: Haha, in TV dramas and novels, people always see their lovers off at airports or train stations for those dramatic farewells. Here she was, standing by a helicopter. So cool!

But no matter how much she cracked jokes with herself internally, she couldn’t smile. She didn’t even notice the mosquitoes biting her. She just stood there quietly until that slender figure in fine high heels appeared.

The helicopter’s engines roared to life, shredding the night’s intended peace. She opened her mouth, suddenly wondering if, amid all this clamor, Wen Zenian could even hear her call out.

But before she could make a sound, Wen Zenian hung up her phone and inexplicably glanced back.

She froze.

The helipad lights twinkled like stars, and she stood in the shadows, like something adrift beyond the galaxy.

How had Wen Zenian spotted her?

Yet Wen Zenian did stride toward her, bag in hand, the lights forming a backlight that obscured her features. Still, those deep eyes seemed to shine even brighter.

Meng Ning opened her mouth, feeling the surrounding grass and trees whipping in the helicopter’s downdraft. A wind from nowhere rushed straight into her mouth.

She worked her lips, tried again, but no sound came out.

Wen Zenian carried no suitcase. Of course—a cool beauty like her should cut a sharp figure in her suit, luxury bag in hand, striding toward the helicopter. A rolling suitcase would ruin the vibe! Her assistant must have handled the luggage ahead of time.

Wen Zenian looked at her, expressionless.

Meng Ning’s fingers curled at the seam of her pants, then relaxed, then curled again, digging into her thigh.

Amid the helicopter’s droning roar, Wen Zenian asked, “What are you doing here?”

Meng Ning didn’t deliver a crisp, heroic response like some storybook heroine.

She let a moment of silence stretch before murmuring in a very low voice.

“What?” The noise drowned it out, and Wen Zenian leaned slightly toward her.

Wen Zenian’s perfume varied, but whichever it was, blended with her natural scent, it became both light and profound—like the hazy night you longed for in the bright day, or the clear expanse you yearned for in the darkness.

Meng Ning’s lips parted softly. “Can you… “

“Don’t go.”

Meng Ning thought that everyone had that one phrase in life that was hardest to say aloud.

For some, it was “I love you.” For others, “Goodbye.” For her, it was—”Don’t go.”

She had once said it to Shi Yang, not with words, but with schemes and actions.

Then heaven had delivered its cruelest punishment. It made her watch Shi Yang fall ill, watch her fade from beautiful and gentle to frail and pallid. She had peeled an apple for Shi Yang with her own hands, only for Shi Yang to lack the strength to hold it, letting it roll across the floor and gather dust.

God had pried open her clenched fingers with ruthless finality, cracking her knuckles audibly, forcing her to let go without even the release of tears as Shi Yang slipped away.

Letting Shi Yang go into death’s embrace, rather than linger in hopeless agony by her side.

From then on, it became her nightmare.

Every time she wanted to hold Wen Zenian back, the fear gripped her: If she altered Wen Zenian’s life path this time because of her, what cruel joke would heaven play next? Would even the slightest misfortune befall Wen Zenian?

Her shoulders were already too frail, scarred from the past—they couldn’t bear another ounce of guilt. But…

“Don’t go.”

Gazing into Wen Zenian’s profound eyes, she realized that if they betrayed even a flicker of restrained sorrow, she would come, no matter what.

Once she was here, no matter how hard, she would say it.

Even if it meant endless unrest for her afterward.

Even if it plunged her into an even deeper abyss of guilt, tormented by her conscience forever.

Even if she could never sleep soundly again, instinctively checking her bathroom mirror after showers for fresh bloodstains on her shoulders from the crushing weight.

But—”Don’t go.”

She looked at Wen Zenian, who usually wore a faint, expressionless mask or a feigned casual smile. Now, though, the corners of her eyes reddened faintly.

A deep crimson, like blood seeping from her heart.

But before she could voice those three words, Wen Zenian stepped back, putting distance between them.

She watched her, fingers twitching as if to brush the corner of her eye. In the end, she didn’t. She just said calmly, “Meng Ning, you’re always like this.”

The surrounding noise provided perfect cover—no one else could overhear them.

Wen Zenian asked, “Do you know why I took the thermos with the monk fruit tea you brewed for me? Because I need to remind myself that you’re always like this. You do things that seem gentle on the surface, without considering how much crueler they might feel to the other person.”

“You worried about my throat and brewed me monk fruit tea while breaking up with me. And now you rush here recklessly tonight—I know what you’re thinking. You’re afraid I’ll be sad.”

Meng Ning’s shoulders stiffened.

Wen Zenian understood her far too well.

Meng Ning began, “I…”

Wen Zenian cut her off. “If you haven’t even sorted out your own feelings, you shouldn’t have come tonight. That would have been the kind thing to do. Do you understand?”

Gentleness and cruelty. Control and submission. Attachment and parting.

Meng Ning wondered why everything between her and Wen Zenian felt like snakes and roses, shifting seamlessly back and forth.

Wen Zenian continued, “Back then with Aunt Shiyang, you felt responsible for her choices, for her life. And now with me, it’s the same.”

“But Meng Ning, Aunt Shiyang was an adult back then, and I am now. We both know what we’re doing. I don’t need someone to shoulder my entire life. I just need someone to…”

She smiled—a sincere, sorrowful smile in the night, like a symphony with a low cello weaving in, or a bright classical oil painting suddenly brushed with dark tones, its restrained tragedy accentuating a breathtaking bloom.

Smiling, she said, “I just need someone to love me.”

“Love me clearly, without hesitation.”

That was her final smile for Meng Ning. Then her expression faded like the night itself.

She glanced back at the helicopter, spotted the takeoff signal, then turned to Meng Ning once more. She stepped forward, embracing Meng Ning’s shoulders, her hands clasping lightly at Meng Ning’s back.

Meng Ning froze—she hadn’t expected a hug.

The tea-and-thyme notes behind Wen Zenian’s ear grew more pronounced, enough to illuminate a clear, pristine night. Her scent, her breath, her arms all enveloped Meng Ning as she leaned close and whispered, “Dream of me tonight.”

Meng Ning’s heart skipped.

Those were the words Wen Zenian had murmured in her ear on the night they’d reunited—then laced with seductive allure. Now, as she left, she said them again, her tone even gentler, warmer.

Suddenly, Meng Ning understood Wen Zenian’s earlier words.

Why the thermos of monk fruit tea had been cruel.

Why rushing here tonight out of fear for Wen Zenian’s sadness had been cruel.

Because this phrase from Wen Zenian was cruel too.

It soothed her even as it cast an eternal curse.

From now on, she wouldn’t suffer insomnia—yet she would never sleep peacefully, haunted nightly by a person so gentle she could never let go, invading her dreams.

Wen Zenian released her and walked toward the helicopter without looking back, bag in hand.

On the other side of the helipad, Qi Xiao suddenly broke into a sprint toward Meng Ning. The grass and bushes were thick and overgrown, nearly tripping her, but she barreled on without stopping. Momentum carried her forward, and she gave Meng Ning a heavy shove amid the roar of the helicopter. “What the hell are you doing?” she bellowed. “She’s leaving!”

Qi Xiao had resolved not to let her own emotional turmoil interfere with Meng Ning anymore.

But this was Meng Ning. It wasn’t her.

Even setting aside all her past biases to look at Meng Ning and Wen Zenian objectively, Qi Xiao still couldn’t understand why two people like them had to part ways.

Panting heavily, Qi Xiao stood there as Meng Ning remained still in place. “She won’t stay,” Meng Ning said quietly.

“Why not?!” Qi Xiao shouted.

“Because she thinks I came to her without sorting out my own feelings.” Meng Ning paused. “All she needed was for me to take one step toward her. But if that step wasn’t firm enough, she wouldn’t have it.”