Chapter 9

Meng Ning stood there in a daze.

At that moment, her phone buzzed in her pocket—”bzzz,” “bzzz.”

A faint rustling came from the sofa area. The slightly sunken seating nook resembled a pool brimming with moonlight. Wen Zenian rose to her feet. She stood there for a moment facing the night breeze beyond the window, then made that gesture of tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear with one hand.

Her nape gleamed white in the intimate setting. Then she turned around, her expression unsmiling.

It was hard to say whether she looked better smiling or not. When she didn’t smile, she had an innate elegance to her—perhaps from the classical lines of her nose, or the subtle yet sharp arch of her brows. She faced Meng Ning, still dressed in the formal uniform from earlier that day.

The night breeze toyed gently with the collar of her shirt from behind. No one else would dare approach her; only the wind had the liberty to do so.

She straightened it casually, then parted her lips toward Meng Ning. “Pick it up.”

Only then did Meng Ning realize her phone was still vibrating relentlessly in her pocket.

Wen Zenian lingered by the sofa without any intention of giving her privacy. She watched as Meng Ning fished the phone from her jeans pocket, her posture as natural as her earlier command to “pick it up,” as if she were simply waiting for the call to be answered.

It was as though they were old intimates.

Meng Ning glanced at the caller ID and actually answered. “Hello.”

It was Qi Xiao on the other end. “Meng Ning, have you made it back to your room?”

“Yeah, I have.”

Meng Ning figured her one-sided chatter must sound trivial and meaningless to Wen Zenian. Yet Wen Zenian simply stood there, her expression showing no trace of impatience—as if she were listening intently, or perhaps a little lost in thought.

Qi Xiao went on. “Good, I was starting to worry about you.”

Logically speaking, Meng Ning knew she should end the call. But for some reason, sitting there across from Wen Zenian, she clutched the phone like a lifeline. Hearing Qi Xiao’s straightforward voice offered a shred of calm.

The world before her eyes and the one in the phone split cleanly apart.

In the phone, it was an utterly normal conversation. “I forgot to check your room card earlier. How’d you do? Did you get the administrative suite?”

Before her eyes… it was a magnificent dream.

Wen Zenian’s skin took on a soft, gauzy pallor under the warm-toned lights, the color of moonlight. The open terrace revealed the vastness of nature beyond, waves crashing against the rocks, a starless sky like navy velvet.

Yet the room’s decor was decadently lavish. To be honest, after five years working at the C Hotel Group, this was Meng Ning’s first time stepping into an administrative suite—and her first realization that South Seas styling could be so intoxicatingly seductive. French, English, and Chinese influences collided here with unabashed confidence: rattan chairs woven like concubine recliners, bed curtains of diaphanous gauze stirring in faint lilac hues, as if a mere breath of wind might dissolve them away.

And there stood Wen Zenian in her uniform amid this scene of sybaritic splendor, as if all the sensuality existed only to accentuate her ascetic poise.

Meng Ning thought: What a bizarre mishmash.

Yet when you were truly immersed in such a vista, there was no sense of discord at all. Dreams needed no unifying theme; they were simply layers of beauty piled high, the finest elements plucked at will.

Just then, Qi Xiao laughed in the phone. “I just called Song Xiao—she’s thrilled. She said the C Hotel’s promo materials nailed it. Being here really does feel like a dream.”

Meng Ning gazed at Wen Zenian before her, fumbling for words into the phone. But she did want to ask: “What is a dream?”

“A dream is…” Qi Xiao paused, summing up her and Song Xiao’s feelings. “Succulent steak and escargot, white wine scented with floral and fruity notes, cello music drifting through the air, welcoming smiles from everyone making you feel right at home, soft drinks and chocolate bars in the minibar, endless on-demand movies on the screen—and all of it packed into a room like a fairy-tale castle.”

Meng Ning thought: It’s not that complicated.

If a person could enjoy a dream the moment they opened their eyes…

Perhaps that dream was simple, or maybe all those complex elements distilled into pure simplicity. In Meng Ning’s mind, the dream took concrete form under a single name: Wen Zenian.

To describe it a touch more… it was Wen Zenian with the coastline stretching endlessly beyond the terrace at her back, the gauzy curtains dancing like wings on the wind.

Wen Zenian listened quietly as Meng Ning rambled on with Qi Xiao, making no move to hurry her along—until Meng Ning finally ran out of things to say and hung up herself.

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the wind, the distant crash of waves, and…

Meng Ning caught the faintest hum—a quick glance revealed Wen Zenian had activated the room’s aromatherapy diffuser.

If this were truly a dream, she should have woken by now. But after hanging up, Wen Zenian remained before her eyes, the waves sounded in her ears, and the scent of purple sandalwood and cardamom filled her nose.

None of it vanished.

Wen Zenian gazed at her without speaking, so Meng Ning broke the silence herself. “What are you doing here?”

Wen Zenian quirked her lips slightly. “This is my room. I’m staying here while optimizing the C Hotel.”

Meng Ning’s first thought: How much does a night here cost? Talk about luxury.

On second thought, the value Wen Zenian generated for the C Hotel Group was worth countless times the room fee.

She probably deserved to live here for ten lifetimes.

Meng Ning nodded. “Oh. They must have mixed up the room cards they gave me.”

She turned to leave, but Wen Zenian called from behind her. “Wait.”

“Do you think the C Hotel staff would make that kind of mistake?”

Meng Ning turned back.

“Sit.” Wen Zenian gestured to Meng Ning. “You seemed to like this wine tonight. Have a couple more glasses.”

The words revealed something: though Meng Ning hadn’t spotted her during dinner, Wen Zenian had been quietly observing.

Meng Ning stayed rooted in place. Wen Zenian pulled out another room card and dangled it. “I told them we’re old acquaintances, and I invited you over for a chat. This is your card—too bad, you didn’t draw the administrative suite.”

“Oh, it’s fine.”

“Come get it.” Wen Zenian set the card on the coffee table and sank back onto the sofa.

Meng Ning walked over and noticed Wen Zenian hadn’t even changed out of her stilettos. She shot Meng Ning a glance and kicked them off; even that was graceful for a beauty like her. One heel now lay perfectly askew on the carpet.

Meng Ning hesitated, then sat on the sofa.

She couldn’t very well just grab the card and bolt.

“Drink?” Wen Zenian asked.

“Sure.”

Drinking beat awkward silence.

“You open it?” Wen Zenian prompted.

Meng Ning had tasted fine wines before—as employee perks in the staff cafeteria. But she’d never uncorked one herself, never had a bottle of her own. She double-checked with Wen Zenian. “Me?”

Wen Zenian nodded lazily.

It was just a bottle of wine, after all. No matter how pricey, it was nothing to someone like Wen Zenian nowadays.

Meng Ning knew how to open a bottle; five years at a five-star hotel had taught her that much. She uncorked it and poured into the two crystal glasses on the coffee table, filling them precisely to the line she remembered as correct.

She slid one toward Wen Zenian. “Please.”

Wen Zenian thanked her in that same lazy drawl. She leaned down from the sofa, picked up the glass, swirled it lightly by the stem, and asked conversationally, “You like this wine, right?”

Before Meng Ning could reply, she took a sip, set the glass back down, and reached for a luxury handbag on the other end of the sofa. Meng Ning eyed the gleaming hardware; she’d heard you had to buy in bulk for this brand, and the most popular style in the hottest gold-brown shade—was it really available to anyone with money?

Wen Zenian handled the bag casually, though. She unzipped it, pulled out a pen, then leaned down again to pick up another unopened bottle of the same wine from the table. She scribbled something on it.

Meng Ning’s heart stirred.

Sure enough, when she looked at the bottle on the coffee table, her name was written there—not “Cara Mong,” but “Meng Ning.”

Wen Zenian lifted her glass and tilted her chin. “We’ll finish this one tonight. That unopened one? It’s yours from now on.”

“Though it’ll stay in my room’s wine cabinet.”

She raised her glass to Meng Ning, blinking slowly.

Meng Ning fell silent. She picked up her glass from the table and drank absentmindedly, feeling like she was wasting it.

She drained the glass and set it down. “I should…”

But Wen Zenian leaned forward as if it were the most natural thing and refilled it for her. At her level, pouring wine was casual; unlike Meng Ning’s precision, the golden liquid levels in the two glasses weren’t perfectly matched, creating an intriguing contrast.

Wen Zenian picked up one. “Why do I feel like you’re avoiding me?”

Meng Ning denied it at once. “I’m not.”

“Then by all rights, since we’ve run into each other like this, shouldn’t we catch up?” Wen Zenian asked. “How have you been these years?”

By now, Meng Ning was deeply grateful for that glass. Her throat felt parched; she downed it in one go. “Not bad.”

Wen Zenian let out a soft chuckle.

As if amused that their shared past, now recounted in this dreamlike nightscape after years apart, boiled down to those two dry words: “not bad.”

But she truly didn’t know how to put those years into words.

She didn’t ask how Wen Zenian had been, either. Looking at her now, the question felt superfluous.

Wen Zenian poured her another glass.

This wine was so smooth going down, its pale gold hue sliding over the throat like moonlight, settling in the stomach as a restless moon that burned.

Meng Ning said, “I can’t drink any more.”

Wen Zenian smiled again.

For someone who rarely smiled, was she smiling too much tonight?

She nudged the glass on the coffee table toward Meng Ning. “I’d advise you to have a bit more.”

“Why?”

“Because you look tense.” She rose, walked to Meng Ning’s side, and sat down, bringing with her a swirl of fragrance. “I’m afraid you’ll get even more tense in a little while.”