Chapter 73 Part 1

The summer sun was blinding.

When Meng Ning stepped out of the hospital, turned right, and headed down the path lined with red brick and iron fencing toward the subway station, a perfectly ordinary thought bubbled up in her mind.

Overhead, the dense canopy of trees bloomed with clusters of pale yellow-white flowers. Meng Ning didn’t recognize them—they resembled osmanthus blossoms, but osmanthus didn’t flower in midsummer. The leaves clustered thickly like scattered puzzle pieces, their irregular edges interlocking haphazardly. Sunlight filtered through the gaps, speckling her eyelids and lashes.

Yeah, she thought. The summer sun really was blinding.

This was the meaning of getting better. She’d passed her final psychological assessment, and life felt no different. But when that simple phrase surfaced in her mind, she finally accepted it as nothing more than a mundane insight—no need to dissect her subconscious for hidden meanings, layer by layer.

Sometimes it wasn’t just Qi Xiao who treated her like a patient.

Even she couldn’t help seeing herself that way.

After getting off the subway, the surroundings grew even more everyday. This was the old district, full of little shops that had been open for decades. A third of them had no signs, and their walls were streaked with grime.

As she passed the raucous vegetable market, her phone rang. It was Qi Xiao.

Qi Xiao was at work that day, so the call came from the seaside, carried on a gust of salty ocean breeze. “How’d it go?” she asked.

When Wen Zenian was still in the country, Qi Xiao never would have asked like that—the contact was saved under Wen Zenian’s name. But now that Wen Zenian was abroad, protocol required removing her name. Meng Ning had no family, so Qi Xiao had taken her place.

After passing two psychological assessments, though, Meng Ning was no longer classified as “high-risk.” Unless it was an emergency, the hospital wouldn’t call Qi Xiao.

Meng Ning paused for a beat, and on the other end, Qi Xiao’s heart leaped into her throat.

“I passed,” Meng Ning said finally. “The last assessment.”

There was a two-second silence. Then Qi Xiao replied calmly, “Yeah, that’s great.”

Meng Ning couldn’t hold it in. She burst out laughing with a “pfft.”

Qi Xiao joined in with a string of “hehehe… hahaha!” at last. “Damn, I was so worried about making a big deal out of it and stressing you out. But you’re thrilled, huh? Hahaha!”

“Of course I’m happy,” Meng Ning said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She could finally face those plain, everyday thoughts without a pang. How could she not be happy?

“I’m back the day after tomorrow,” Qi Xiao said. “Let’s get crayfish to celebrate.”

“Sure. My treat.”

“With what money?”

Qi Xiao knew Meng Ning was using Wen Zenian’s family card, spending every penny with utmost care.

“I’ve always wanted to work at that 711 near our place,” Meng Ning replied. “They’re hiring right now. I’ll ask about the hourly rate. Two days’ work might cover a crayfish dinner. If not… eat a little less.”

“No way!” Qi Xiao declared grandly. “I’m having two basins full! Don’t care—figure it out!”

She was genuinely thrilled! So much so that when she dashed up to the observation deck for her shift change, it felt like she was flying.

But midway there, her steps grew heavy again, thudding back to earth.

She couldn’t help thinking: Sure enough, Meng Ning had started getting better soon after Wen Zenian left.

When Song Xiao got home from work, she didn’t pry. Meng Ning shared the good news on her own.

“That’s awesome! Want a drink?” Song Xiao asked. “Wait—can you even drink?”

Song Xiao wasn’t as outgoing as Qi Xiao, so their rapport had a touch of polite distance.

“Cola instead?” Meng Ning smiled. “I froze some in the fridge.”

Truth be told, now that she’d stopped her meds, she wasn’t completely barred from alcohol. It just didn’t feel necessary.

“Sure, sure.” Song Xiao was truly happy for her.

They chatted and laughed for a while, but Song Xiao—the overworked office drone—was exhausted. After a shower, she headed to her room.

Meng Ning settled cross-legged in the living room to finish the movie she’d started that afternoon.

Then she showered and returned to her own room.

As she sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her damp hair dry with a towel, her other hand held her phone. She searched for the time difference between Paris and home.

It was her first time daring to look it up. Six hours.

That meant midnight here was dusk there. Her sunrise would be their midnight.

She’d been thinking of sending Wen Zenian a WeChat message about the assessment results.

But she’d already left. What was the point of notifying her now? It’d just come off like bragging.

Meng Ning locked her phone screen. Besides, Wen Zenian probably wasn’t even using that domestic number anymore. No way to reach her even if she wanted to.

The image etched forever in her mind was that helicopter lifting off, Wen Zenian’s back as she boarded—without a single glance back.

From then on, it was the distance between morning and dusk, the misalignment of day and night.

Qi Xiao wasn’t bluffing about Meng Ning. Every evening after work, when she had nothing better to do, she’d put on a little fashion show in the dorm.

That night, after removing her makeup and showering, she flopped groggily onto her bed when her phone buzzed.

“Hello?” She fumbled for it with her eyes closed and answered.

No one spoke.

Qi Xiao cracked open one eye and checked the caller ID.

A strange number starting with 00—an international call.

Her heart clenched. Oh god, what if it was some shady overseas outfit? They’d seen how pretty she was and targeted her for organ harvesting!

She was about to hang up when another possibility hit her. “Gwyneth?”

The call disconnected.

Qi Xiao clutched her phone, leaning against the headboard as she pondered. In the end, too wary of scams, she didn’t call back.

Or maybe, deep down, she felt letting go might be for the best.

Wen Zenian didn’t know about Meng Ning’s assessment results.

She’d made a point of not knowing. She was afraid Meng Ning would fail and she’d be heartbroken. Afraid she’d pass… and she’d still be heartbroken.

But she’d never truly lost track of Meng Ning.

Meng Ning’s WeChat was linked to her family card. Those tiny daily transactions were like proof of life—a quiet affirmation that she was still here, still breathing.

Then one day, a deposit hit the account.

Meng Ning had asked for the card number earlier. Wen Zenian did the math: it was three days after the assessment. Not much money—just ninety yuan.

Probably her hourly wage from some part-time gig, minus living expenses, sent straight back.

Wen Zenian was sitting in a roadside café at the time. Across from her, Chen Luzi picked at a salad, chattering about the haute couture show she’d attended the day before.

Her tone held a petulant whine: “This season’s designs are terrible. Nothing worth buying.”

Wen Zenian was staring at her phone, lost in thought, her other hand idly twisting one of her diamond earrings.

“Work stuff?”

“Nope.” Wen Zenian locked the screen and set the phone aside.

A daily wage of ninety yuan felt worlds apart from haute couture pieces starting at over a hundred thousand. Even she found the contrast jarring.

Meng Ning could have paid her back monthly, but she’d wired the daily earnings right away. As if to say: I passed the assessment. I can work now. Don’t worry.

“Ah!” Chen Luzi suddenly let out a soft cry from across the table.

Wen Zenian had been watching pedestrians stroll by on the street. She turned to look.

A faint red rash had bloomed on Chen Luzi’s neck, and she was scratching at it.

“Don’t scratch,” Wen Zenian said. “You’re allergic. Anything in the salad that might trigger it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then we’re going to the hospital.” Wen Zenian assessed the rash and decided on the spot.

They packed up the rest of the salad and took it with them.

Chen Luzi’s allergy test showed nothing severe—medication would fix it.

While waiting for the prescription, the two sat in the hospital corridor. Chen Luzi leaned back against her chair, grinning. Wen Zenian shot her a glance.

“I’m not happy about the allergy,” Chen Luzi said, waving her hand with lips curved upward. “I’m happy because you’re so cool.”

Wen Zenian blinked. ?

“That black suit and wide-leg pants you’re wearing today? Super handsome. Coming with me to the hospital, talking to the doctor all logical and composed.”

“Miss,” Wen Zenian replied, “if anything happened to you, your dad would have my head.”

Chen Luzi grinned mischievously. “Do you ever actually panic about anything?”

Wen Zenian’s lips pressed together ever so slightly. Her gaze drifted to the abstract humanistic painting on the opposite wall of the corridor.

She remembered the time Meng Ning had an allergic reaction at C Hotel.

It had been so extravagant—calling in a helicopter for medicine. But amid all that extravagance, had there been genuine care?

Only she knew the truth. There had. She’d panicked, floundered, fumbled helplessly—and that’s precisely why she’d put on such an air of invincibility.

Two days later, back at the hospital for the allergen test results, they sat in the corridor again. As the medical assistant approached with the report, Wen Zenian stood first.

Chen Luzi gazed appreciatively at how the suit accentuated her sharp shoulders and slender waist—elegant enough to span with one hand.

Wen Zenian glanced back. “Don’t you want to know your exact allergens?”

“Totally.” Chen Luzi took the report from her.

Once Chen Luzi had read it, Wen Zenian took it back. She couldn’t afford to overlook details about the boss or his inner circle. The results listed: house dust mites, dog dander, ragweed, mango.

A faint smile tugged at Wen Zenian’s lips.

In a way, she was an allergen for Meng Ning too.

Their most painful shared history was tied to her. Her present life yawned with an unbridgeable gap from Meng Ning’s. If she stayed, Meng Ning would inevitably interpret her actions as “sacrifice,” piling ever more “guilt” weights onto her already fragile shoulders.

What she most wanted to protect was precisely what she had to keep away from.

The closer she got, the more it triggered those blotchy red marks on Meng Ning’s heart.

Wen Zenian’s smile deepened just a touch.

That was the way of the world, more or less.

So when she stepped out of the hospital and spotted the word “miss” on a poster outside the American-style coffee shop across the street—meaning both longing and missing the mark—it felt apt.

Meng Ning juggled part-time shifts at the 711 while job hunting.

On one of Qi Xiao’s days off, Meng Ning treated her to barbecue and shared the news: she’d landed a pool patrol job at another five-star hotel in the city.

“Isn’t this exactly like what you used to do?” Qi Xiao asked, gnawing on a beef brisket skewer. “Why not go back to the C Hotel Lifesaving Team?”