Chapter 80 Part 2

Meng Ning desperately wanted to defend herself. “I’m not provoking you.”

Did you think that during our talk, when you sat so calmly across from me, I didn’t want to look at you even once more?

Did you think that when I rode in your car, with your perfume filling that small space, I didn’t want to sit just a little closer to you?

Did you think that now, with you right in front of me and no one else around, I didn’t want to embrace you, didn’t want to kiss those lips of yours dotted with flecks of light?

But all those impulses, I held back—because of those words you once said to me about “tenderness and cruelty.”

For Meng Ning, suppressing those urges wasn’t some ironclad resolution.

They weren’t aggressive or showy, but like silkworms quietly munching on mulberry leaves in spring, they turned her heart into that leaf, its edges gnawed into jagged teeth bit by bit.

She had to try so very hard to hold back, to endure that constant tingling surge, that bone-deep, itching ache.

Endurance wasn’t a single moment—it was every minute, every second she spent with Wen Zenian.

Yet right then, Wen Zenian looked at her and said with absolute certainty, “You’re the one provoking me, Meng Ning.”

“You smiling at me is provoking me. Standing far away at the KTV entrance and looking at me through the car’s windshield is provoking me. Even telling me goodnight is provoking me.”

As Wen Zenian spoke, she fluttered her eyelids shut, her thick lashes half-drooping. Her expression held a mix of helplessness and even a touch of bewilderment.

In that instant, Meng Ning understood the unspoken words behind Wen Zenian’s statement—

Because earlier, during hotpot, she’d thought the same: Wen Zenian didn’t have to do anything; just sitting across from her was enough to tease her senseless.

So for Wen Zenian, Meng Ning’s very existence was a provocation.

Later, when Meng Ning recalled that night, it felt fragmented into disjointed frames, not a smooth sequence.

When the drunken Wen Zenian looked at her with eyes like that.

She could no longer suppress the itching ache in her heart. She reached out, gently stroking Wen Zenian’s hair, then her cheek.

And somehow, before she knew it, their lips met.

No one had spoken of the year and more they’d spent apart after reuniting—no one voiced their longing or resentment. Their only expression was this kiss, lingering between their lips and tongues.

The kiss wasn’t fierce; it was quiet and lingering. Amid the soft, dense sounds of their lips meeting, she could hear a dry leaf outside spiraling into the window frame.

Deep down, Meng Ning harbored a selfish wish: the slower the kiss, the longer the embrace could last.

She feared Wen Zenian might push her away, but when her tongue tip ventured forward, Wen Zenian parted her lips and accepted her.

Meng Ning’s heart felt like it might explode. The autumn chill deepened outside the window, gradually contrasting with the burning warmth of the skin in her arms, its textures radiating heat. Her hands began to wander.

Suddenly, Wen Zenian said, “I didn’t bring any.”

Their relationship now was far from the days when Wen Zenian carried a small blue box in her bag.

“Then…” Meng Ning pressed her forehead against Wen Zenian’s, her voice laced with even more uncertainty.

Wen Zenian fluttered her thick lashes and murmured, “We don’t need it.”

Meng Ning asked, “Are you sober right now?”

Wen Zenian lifted her eyelids, shooting her a look that seemed almost displeased.

Meng Ning knew she was spoiling the mood, but she had to ask.

Wen Zenian countered, “Does it matter if I’m sober or not?”

“It does,” Meng Ning replied. She was used to being easygoing, but now she was uncharacteristically stubborn. “You have to be sober.”

Wen Zenian’s arms draped around her neck from behind, their foreheads touching. In a blink, their lashes seemed to brush. Wen Zenian let out a soft sigh. “I’m very sober, Meng Ning.”

“My body is drunk, but my mind is clear—clear enough that I can still ask you this: this time, you’re not planning to just lie there and enjoy it, are you?”

Meng Ning: …

She rubbed her forehead gently against Wen Zenian’s. “I wasn’t thinking that.”

Wen Zenian had no idea how many times, in the quiet nights of the year and more they’d been apart, Meng Ning had lain awake replaying their intimate moments.

She dissected every tiny detail, freezing frames to savor over and over. Those yearnings were her silent rehearsals.

Before letting go of Wen Zenian to wash her hands, Meng Ning felt Wen Zenian softly hook her arms around her neck and ask, “What about you? Are you sober?”

Meng Ning answered softly, “I’m very sober. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Every time Meng Ning’s palms rumpled Wen Zenian’s prim and proper suit, it stirred an inexplicable sense of guilt.

Perhaps the stark contrast was too symbolically potent.

It symbolized the ascetic’s indulgence, the rational mind’s surrender to passion—revealing how the flawless jade mask she always wore cracked open right before one’s eyes.

Then it shattered with devastating force, exposing the flushed corners of her eyes, the slight furrow of her brow, and her teeth lightly grazing her lower lip.

Wen Zenian found Meng Ning utterly deceptive.

For instance, everyone saw her calm demeanor, which masked the near-mad possessiveness beneath her refined features.

Like now, as she kissed so gently, even having the leisure to brush away the sweat on Wen Zenian’s forehead before pressing her lips to the furrowed spot between her brows.

Her eyes remained cool, but if you noticed that coolness was for focusing intently on you, you’d realize how deeply immersed she was.

She soothed Wen Zenian softly: “Shh, it’s okay. Everything’s fine.”

But her actions said otherwise.

She wore a facade that lowered one’s guard, only to draw her into a warm tide and plunge together.

She watched Wen Zenian’s expressions closely. “Do you want to bite me?”

She spoke disarming words in the softest, gentlest voice.

“Don’t hold back. Bite my shoulder, okay?”

By the time Wen Zenian was spent, most of her drunken haze had dissipated. Her stomach hadn’t been too bad that night anyway—just her mood had felt stuffy.

Now, she lacked the energy for a soak and settled for a quick shower under the spray.

Wrapped in a bathrobe, she stepped out to the living room and saw Meng Ning on the sofa, elbows on her knees, leaning forward slightly.

It was such a docile, quiet posture—as if the wild one from moments ago hadn’t been her.

Wen Zenian asked, “Why haven’t you left yet?”

Meng Ning paused, then lifted her gaze, her refined face tilting up toward her.

Wen Zenian turned toward the master bedroom, tossing over her shoulder, “The guest room sheets aren’t on the bed. If you’re not leaving, put them on yourself.”

That was the thing about being drunk.

The headache only hit after the buzz faded. Wen Zenian changed into sleepwear and lay on her side against the pillow, one hand pinned under her cheek, fingertips lightly massaging her temple.

About two minutes later, someone entered the master bedroom softly.

She didn’t go farther in at first, heading straight to the bathroom.

With no lights on, the dim room was perfect for drifting off. Wen Zenian’s mind was half-foggy, too tired to bother with her. She only heard the sound of the shower.

Just as Wen Zenian neared sleep, the covers lifted gently. She slipped in, embracing Wen Zenian from behind.

Wen Zenian hovered on the edge of sleep, her headache pounding. The fingertips pressed to her cheek twitched instinctively.

Meng Ning had just showered, her fingertips warm as she touched the other temple. “You sleep. Don’t mind me.”

Her soft pads massaged slowly and steadily.

The throbbing nerves eased at once, and sleep washed over her like a wave. As Wen Zenian drifted off, she thought the breathy words Meng Ning had murmured—”You sleep. Don’t mind me”—sounded like hypnosis.

Stripping away her will, until now, leaning into Meng Ning’s embrace, she sank into the dream Meng Ning had given her.

The next morning, Wen Zenian’s alarm jolted her awake.

She was diligent about early rising, her body clock rarely letting her sleep until the alarm.

She couldn’t blame last night’s drinks—she’d been drunk plenty before.

Not wanting to face Du Shuwen’s prying, gossipy stares, she silenced the alarm and got up.

The Swimming Pool Patrol Team started early; Meng Ning was already gone.

Wen Zenian sat up and winced, hand flying to her lower back. Ouch—it hurt.

It had been so long; her body wasn’t used to it anymore. Suddenly, she understood that time Meng Ning had complained of back pain. It really, truly hurt.

She got out of bed to wash up. On the living room table, Meng Ning had made breakfast from the sparse ingredients in her kitchen, with a note beside it in her neat, elegant handwriting: “Remember to eat, or your stomach will feel worse.”

Wen Zenian ate a little. After doing her makeup and pinning her hair into a bun, she glanced at her pale, slender neck in the mirror.

Grabbing her bag, she headed downstairs and spotted someone leaning against the hood of her Maybach from afar.

Du Shuwen stood with arms crossed. She wore suits more casually than Wen Zenian, usually leaving the buttons undone, and grinned as Wen Zenian approached.

Wen Zenian asked flatly, “Did you crash here last night too?”

Du Shuwen straightened up at once. “What kind of question is that? Have you forgotten who carried you home last night?”

“I was drunk, not amnesiac.” Wen Zenian walked around, opened the driver’s door, and jerked her chin toward the passenger seat. “So the one who carried me home clearly wasn’t you.”

“Good thing you remember.” Du Shuwen tapped the center console with a finger, her upturned eyes crinkling with mischievous delight.

More mischievous than ever.

Like a fox finally showing its form after toying with mortals. “So, tell me—what happened last night?”

Wen Zenian said, “Don’t try to pry it out of me.” She turned the wheel, easing the car out of the garage.

Du Shuwen snorted. “You know, last night after meeting the investors, you immediately called me to your office to brainstorm. You seemed so sharp, like you could whip up three proposals. But once we finished and headed out, you suddenly said, ‘Wait, I’m a little dizzy,’ and plopped onto the sofa.”

“You sat there so primly, holding your cup like some dowager empress. But I know you. One look and I knew you were done for, so I figured I’d help you downstairs and get you home. The moment we hit the lobby, we ran into your ex.”

“I’d spotted your ex from afar. I thought she’d duck out—after all, you’d insisted there was no chance for you two. But she came right over. I didn’t call her. Guess your ex figured she had more experience helping you out and made me step aside.”

Wen Zenian glanced at Du Shuwen, her lip twitching slightly.

“What?”

Wen Zenian said, “Can you stop calling her my ex every other word?”

“What, she’s not your ex-girlfriend anymore? She’s your current girlfriend now?”

Wen Zenian paused. “No.”

“So what exactly did you two do last night? Don’t tell me you were just admiring the harvest moon and raking up the fall leaves, talking dreams and life philosophy?”

Wen Zenian fell silent. Du Shuwen tapped the center console sternly with her finger. “There’s a parking spot marked on the roadside up ahead. Pull over for a minute.”

“What for?”

“Pull over. I have something to say.”

Wen Zenian eased the car to the roadside and gave a light tap on the brakes. Seizing the perfect daylight streaming through the windshield, Du Shuwen leaned in for a close look at Wen Zenian’s neck. She let out a loud “Ha!”

“Who would’ve thought your ex-girlfriend looks so prim and proper, but she’s actually pretty wild!”