Chapter 79 Part 1

Meng Ning stayed silent, biting into a skewer of grilled tofu skin as she waited for Qi Xiao to speak at her own pace.

“She’s always gotten along well with my mom. Not many people knew about Mom’s illness, but she did. Before I came back to Pei City, she was the one bustling around, handling everything. After I returned, though, she never set foot in the hospital again.”

“I didn’t know about it at the time. Then one day, a nurse came by and asked, ‘Where’s your daughter?’ Mom pointed at me and said, ‘She’s right here.’ The nurse smiled and replied, ‘I thought that really quiet girl earlier was.’ It hit me all at once, but Mom never mentioned it, so neither did I.”

“Mom was probably afraid bringing it up would spark another fight and send me running off again.” Qi Xiao smiled faintly. “But honestly, with her sick like that, where could I even go?”

The child wishes to care for their parents, only for the parents to depart first. Meng Ning understood that truth all too well.

“Do you want to see her?” Meng Ning asked Qi Xiao.

Qi Xiao paused, then swept a dramatic gesture from her hairstyle down over her upper body. “Do you think I’ve gotten prettier?”

Qi Xiao had changed.

It was the first impression that struck Meng Ning the moment she laid eyes on her, enough that she’d barely recognized her silhouette from afar.

The old Qi Xiao had always come across like a kid. Not because her features looked babyish—though they were softly rounded—but because of that fearless, innocent energy she radiated.

Come to think of it, she was a professor’s daughter, raised in comfort, who’d graduated college and bolted without taking a single penny from home. She’d bounced through odd jobs before landing as a beach lifeguard on a modest salary, crashing in a rundown apartment with a few other girls. The lifestyle was night and day from what she’d known.

And yet Qi Xiao stayed cheerful about it all. It wasn’t an act—she truly didn’t care. Next to the wounds Lin Qingwan had inflicted, a drop in living standards barely registered.

Meng Ning liked that about her. She envied it, too. That kind of innocent boldness only came from someone life hadn’t yet beaten down.

But this reunion with Qi Xiao felt different. She’d grown steadier, suddenly carrying herself like a full-fledged adult.

Long hair cascaded over her shoulders, paired with a crisp shirt and khaki pants. Her speech and smiles echoed the old days, but in her quiet moments, a quiet melancholy shadowed her face.

She had matured. And yes, become beautiful.

No one chose to anchor their life story on “accompanying the only person who mattered through the jaws of death.” Qi Xiao surely wished hers could remain forever innocent, forever bright.

Meng Ning tried to brighten the tone. “You have gotten prettier. If Fang Ji saw you now, she wouldn’t let you out of her sight.”

“Fang Ji’s always thought I was pretty, okay?” Qi Xiao rolled her eyes with haughty flair, then softened into a smile. “Not just others—sometimes I catch myself in the mirror and think, yeah, Qi Xiao, you’ve grown up. You’re pretty now.” She waved a hand. “Not being narcissistic or anything!”

Her lips curved, but no joy reached her eyes. “I was just wondering if I’m finally closer to the type she liked. What would she think of me now? What would she say? But I don’t dare find out.”

She twirled an empty bamboo skewer from the table without thinking. “What if she looks at me and still doesn’t think I’m pretty?”

“Qi Xiao.”

“Hm?”

“If you’re still hungry, order more barbecue. Don’t eat the skewer.”

“Get lost.” Qi Xiao laughed, swatting at her verbally.

The two stepped out of the barbecue shop together. “How’d you get here?” Meng Ning asked.

“Subway. I was just wandering to blow off some steam anyway. Another ride and I’m home.”

“Then let me know when your mom’s free sometime. I’ll go visit her.”

“Deal. But fair warning—I used to think Mom wasn’t much of a talker, but now? Hospital’s turned her into a chatterbox.”

“Still not as bad as you.”

“Hey!”

They bantered and laughed all the way as Meng Ning walked Qi Xiao to the nearby subway station. “How often do you see her?” Qi Xiao asked.

Meng Ning shook her head. “Not often. She’s doing interviews at Xihua Hotel these days. Outside that one time, we barely cross paths even by accident.”

The situation felt tricky to Qi Xiao.

Step back, and she’d watch the woman she liked slip away right in front of her.

Step forward, and she had no idea how to break through.

Meng Ning patted her shoulder. “Don’t stress.”

“How can I not?” Qi Xiao’s brows furrowed, her expression turning fiercely maternal.

Two days later, Du Shuwen organized the third group meal for her colleague interviews.

She had a knack for venues—rowdy KTVs or steaming barbecue hotpots. Even with casual acquaintances, conversation never lagged.

Her restaurant picks hit the sweet spot: upscale enough to feel special, relaxed enough not to intimidate. Right now, the brass hotpot basin boasted a snarling dragon in the center, so over-the-top that three colleagues prodded its whiskers with chopstick tips while Du Shuwen laughed beside them.

She lifted a “dragon boat”—a bamboo tube artfully arranged with snowflake beef slices. “About ready? Time to add the meat?”

Meng Ning glanced diagonally across at Wen Zenian, a knot of worry forming in her chest.

Wen Zenian… why on earth wear a white shirt to hotpot?

As Du Shuwen added meat nearby, Meng Ning watched Wen Zenian’s shirt through half-lidded eyes, dreading the slightest oil splatter.

A shirt meant nothing to Wen Zenian—dry clean it or toss it. But Meng Ning’s mild OCD couldn’t abide the thought of stains on pristine white.

Wen Zenian sipped her chrysanthemum tea.

Meng Ning noticed something miraculous.

Oil splatters dotted the table everywhere, yet Wen Zenian’s shirt gleamed spotless. Sleeves rolled to her elbows—no jewelry on those wrists, just elegantly shaped ulnas.

She held the transparent tea cup between delicate fingers, took a sip, then rested her wrist lightly on the table edge as she set the glass down. Pale chrysanthemum petals seemed to dance in her palm.

A single hand could captivate. Slender as she was, Wen Zenian’s skin held a soft, creamy allure; the faint pressure mark from the table evoked unexpected fullness.

Meng Ning fluttered her lashes, her gaze drifting upward.

Their eyes met without warning.

Why was Wen Zenian looking at her?!

Then she realized: Wen Zenian had caught her staring first.

And since her fixation had been on that white shirt… did Wen Zenian think she was ogling her chest?!

Meng Ning: …

Wen Zenian looked away after a beat, lifting the glass again. The petals fluttered like butterflies in her palm.

The meat was nearly done. Du Shuwen tapped her wine glass with a chopstick. “Let’s toast!”

This fusion hotpot spot had a modern Chinese vibe. Everyone rose in a circle—Du Shuwen with red wine, others with beer. Glasses clinked, and Meng Ning saw Wen Zenian still cradling her chrysanthemum tea.

A quick glance up: Wen Zenian’s thick lashes lowered, fixed on a petal clinging to the glass.

Du Shuwen, beside her, was about to burst from curiosity. These two kept trading glances—didn’t look like a messy breakup. What was holding them back?

Wen Zenian nudged her elbow lightly. “Give the toast.”

Every gesture from her felt graceful, restrained—like willow branches whispering against a silver hall, rain kissing fine dust.

Du Shuwen thought, Why tease me? Try the one across the table if you’re bold.

Glasses clinked; they all sat. Meng Ning wondered why Wen Zenian—a woman who loved her drinks—was skipping alcohol tonight.

Some health issue?

She drank through periods without a second thought. Stomach trouble?

Zou Min called over. “Eat up, Meng Ning—this meat’s top-notch.”

She fished a chopstickful into Meng Ning’s bowl.

“Thanks.” Meng Ning picked off the peppercorns, bit in—wow, spicy.

Another glance at Wen Zenian: a small white porcelain cup sat perfectly beside her supple wrist, like kiln-fired porcelain made for her. Listening to Du Shuwen, she idly flicked away peppercorns with chopstick tips.

Meng Ning set her chopsticks down and stood.

“Hey, where to?” Zou Min asked.

“Bathroom.”

She returned shortly and sat.

Moments later, the private room door opened. A server entered with a small tray, using silver tongs to place a slice of toast in each bone dish. “To soak up the oil and spice,” she explained softly.

At Wen Zenian’s spot, she rested her chin lightly. “Thank you.”

Her gaze flicked toward Meng Ning across the table.

Meng Ning handled spice fine—Crane City tough. Hunched slightly, she ate a slice of red-oil bamboo shoot with calm focus, lips faintly red.

Wen Zenian looked away.

Du Shuwen whispered nearby, “Bet you’re dying over there.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Du Shuwen gulped down a snowflake beef slice whole. “Everyone, eat fast before the meat toughens.”

Hotpot’s magic lay in the division: some orchestrated, others snatched.

Meng Ning wasn’t big on portions. She laughed and chatted along, soon comfortably full.

As steam and smoke softened everyone’s smiling faces, she slipped out quietly.

Spotting a server, she asked, “Excuse me, where’s the smoking room?”

They pointed her in the right direction.

Meng Ning headed there.

She’d cut back on drinks lately, barely touched cigarettes. But tonight, Wen Zenian had rattled her thoughts into chaos.

She needed the smoke’s bite to steady her, weigh down her heart—or else…

The membership hotpot lounge wasn’t cheap. Smoking rooms split by gender; hers featured soft beige walls, elegant as a powder room.

She lit up but didn’t inhale, resting her wrist on her knee, lost in reverie.

Until the door eased open with a soft creak.

Meng Ning looked up. Wen Zenian stepped in on high heels. Her heart lurched; instinct screamed to snuff the cigarette.

Then she thought better—why panic? Don’t chicken out.

Wen Zenian always carried more poise. Spotting her, she merely arched a brow—no excess surprise—just dipped her chin in greeting, then passed by to the farthest sofa.

She sat, setting her cigarette case and lighter on the side table, then pulled out her phone to reply messages.

This time, sound was on. The tap-tap-tap of keys echoed softly as her fingers danced across the screen.

Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up, murmuring a few words in rapid-fire French that Meng Ning couldn’t follow.

After a brief exchange, she hung up and reached for the cigarettes and lighter on the coffee table.