Chapter 9 The Next Day
The night view from the executive suite looked no different than it had from the elevator.
The dizziness from the height forced Wen Bairan to close her eyes for a moment.
Footsteps approached from behind her.
She didn’t turn around.
"Feeling better?" The man stood beside her, politely asked as he handed her a glass of red wine with his left hand.
Wen Bairan took it and shook her head honestly, "Not really."
Ke Shumin’s texts kept coming in, the phone’s vibration unusually noticeable in the quiet space.
She turned it off and tossed it onto the divan behind her.
The wine at Song Xu’s place was different from the bar’s—a prestige cuvée Romanée-Conti. Wen Bairan had only seen it in Zhou Lin’s family wine cellar; he’d said it was the wine his father served for entertaining guests.
Back then, Wen Bairan had just graduated, working as a creative assistant at a small ad agency. Her time was stretched too thin, and meeting up required advance planning. Zhou Lin was impatient—once he wanted to see her, he couldn’t wait another minute. He’d repeatedly urged her to quit that "lousy job," but she refused. Finally, she managed to free up an evening for him. She changed her flight ticket and took a red-eye back from Hangzhou. With her meager salary, after much deliberation, she ultimately chose to take the subway.
Only when she arrived did she realize the subway’s last stop was still seven kilometers from the villa district. Of course—why would anyone living in a villa take the subway home?
Wen Bairan dragged her suitcase and spent an hour trying to hail a cab right there. She finally reached the entrance of the compound, where the security guard, after taking down her info, said someone had to come pick her up. So she called Zhou Lin. He didn’t pick up.
She dialed repeatedly, listening each time to the automated female voice saying no one was picking up. Occasionally, cars came in and out, and the security guard waved her aside.
A black Maybach slowly drove out through the wrought-iron gates with ornate European-style carvings. Its headlights briefly glanced over her five-hundred-yuan blazer, as if looking too long would be contaminated by her shabbiness.
Wen Bairan had just started working then. Though the most valuable thing she owned was her phone, having been sheltered in the ivory tower for four years, she was still naive and had no sense of the gap between herself and this secluded, upscale world.
The security guard, perceptive and clear-sighted, saw the disheveled girl, exhausted and disheartened, crouching to the side late at night. He knew even if he let her in today, she wouldn’t cause a scene in this compound. He kept her ID and suitcase and let her pass.
The Zhou estate was huge. By the time Wen Bairan found the main entrance, two hours had already passed since the time she and Zhou Lin had agreed upon.
The three-story villa had the air conditioning in the living room set to sixteen degrees Celsius.
As soon as she stepped inside, sweat-soaked, she shivered from the cold.
Not far away, Zhou Lin was wearing a limited-edition basketball jersey, looking clean and relaxed as he played on his PSP on the sofa.
When he saw her come in, he barely glanced up, showing no intention of getting up to greet her.
Wen Bairan complained about why he hadn’t answered his phone—she’d almost not been able to get in.
But Zhou Lin’s privileged temper flared. He retorted, "What time is it now? What time did we agree on? You’re the one who’s late, and you have the nerve to ask why I didn’t answer my phone?"
Wen Bairan was left speechless by his barrage of questions. She opened her mouth but couldn’t get a word out.
She didn’t know where to start. Should she mention hiking ten kilometers on her business trip in Hangzhou? Or not being familiar with the transportation there and almost missing her flight after boarding the wrong bus in the afternoon? Or that when checking the map at the airport, she hadn’t realized the subway was still seven kilometers from his place? Or simply say that because he hadn’t answered his phone, she’d lost forty minutes at the gate?
The day had been unbearably long, and it still wasn’t over.
Her body was nearing its limit, but her mind was still buzzing with anticipation for their planned meeting.
Couldn’t he see how exhausted she was?
These thoughts raced through her mind like a runaway train. Zhou Lin glanced over at her.
His eyes scanned her from head to toe without much emotion, then he frowned and said, "Didn’t you go home to change first?"
He definitely didn’t realize how obvious the disgust in his eyes was.
He probably didn’t even think he was condescending to her.
But Wen Bairan saw it clearly, unmistakably.
All the frustration and exhaustion from the journey erupted in that second. She felt so wronged she felt like the sky was falling. Tears welled up uncontrollably, streaming down her face like pearls from a broken necklace.
She had never wanted to leave a place so badly in her life.
Zhou Lin chased after her.
The expensive scent of his cologne felt chilled by the AC.
He grabbed her arm, yanking her back sharply. His words cut off abruptly when he saw the tear stains on her face. "You dare walk away? Do you even know… Ran Ran?"
He used her pet name.
His eyes were dark and bright, stunned in a way she’d never seen before.
From the moment they’d met, Wen Bairan had always been calm and composed, whether in public or private. Even the biggest issues only made her frown briefly. Zhou Lin had never seen her cry.
The sight of Wen Bairan crying her eyes out in front of him frightened him. He hurriedly hugged her, stroking her hair tenderly, calling her name repeatedly: "Ran Ran."
"Ran Ran, why are you crying? How did you end up like this? I only said you kept me waiting for a long time. I’m not blaming you. Who else would dare make me wait besides you? It’s okay, it’s okay. Ran Ran, be good, stop crying, alright? It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have ignored your calls. I should’ve picked you up from the airport directly. I wanted to, but you said no... I’m sorry, okay? Don’t cry. You’re breaking my heart."
When he tried to soothe her, he would say anything.
"You didn’t come because I told you not to. You got angry and didn’t answer my calls, leaving me standing outside for half an hour for nothing. What’s the use of saying all this now?"
Wen Bairan hated him to death. She punched and hit him with all her strength, but it still didn’t feel like enough. She opened her mouth and bit down on his exposed right arm. She heard Zhou Lin suck in a sharp breath.
He didn’t pull away or make a sound. His other hand gently stroked the long hair at the back of her head, still coaxing her softly, "Bite me. Bite me all you want."
She tasted blood and let go.
Wen Bairan didn’t look up. She didn’t want to see him.
Zhou Lin’s palm was warm as he slowly wiped the moisture from her face—both sweat and tears. The faint trace of blood, he hid behind his back.
She saw it, and waves of aching bitterness spread through her chest. She asked him, "Does it hurt?"
He grinned, "It doesn’t hurt." Then, as if reconsidering, he covered his arm and pretended to be pitiful, "Actually, it does. It hurts like hell."
Wen Bairan finally cracked a smile at his antics.
As she was wiping her tears and sniffling, he suddenly grabbed her hand and pressed it against his chest.
Zhou Lin’s gaze was intense and burning as he said, "Please don’t cry anymore. It really hurts. Right here."
That was Wen Bairan’s first and last time at Zhou Lin’s home.
He gave her a tour of the front yard, the back garden, the glass greenhouse, and the underground wine cellar.
They hid among the gaps in the wine racks and kissed until they were disoriented.
In the heat of youth, physical touch was the purest expression of love.
Wen Bairan asked him, "Will you love me forever?"
Zhou Lin said yes.
She asked again, "If we break up, will you love someone else the way you loved me?"
Zhou Lin said no.
She asked why.
Zhou Lin said, "We won't break up. Even if we do, I won’t chase after someone else the way I pursued you." He added, "You know, I'm a germaphobe. Only you can cure me."
Wen Bairan couldn’t tell whether her trembling then was because of his words or his actions. She only knew she clenched her toes desperately, afraid to let any sound escape beyond the wine cellar, even though he had said there was no one else in his house.
He saw she was holding back and led her upstairs. He said the bedroom was safer than the wine cellar—no valuable items, and any stains on the sheets would be gone by the next day, tossed into the laundry.
Indeed, nothing remained.
Wen Bairan now understood: even the finest *Romanée-Conti* still tasted bitter.
She never acquired a taste for red wine, never experienced the aftertaste of sweetness some described. Tannins left only bitterness and sourness in her mouth.
She tilted her head back and drained the glass.
A faint gleam of moisture shone at the corner of her eye.
This way of drinking was almost sacrilegious.
Song Xu said nothing, simply refilled her glass.
He didn’t mention her earlier emotional moment at the door.
In the silence, the lights across the river suddenly went out.
The silhouettes of distant buildings stood like spires of monsters, their sharp edges stabbing into the night sky.
He asked abruptly, "Have you been to France?"
Wen Bairan said no.
"There’s a small castle in the Palace of Versailles, *Petit Trianon*. Rococo style, neoclassical architecture." As he spoke, he didn’t look at her, his profile colder than the moonlight. The French rolled off his tongue, his voice like a cello carrying a warm, intoxicating quality.
Wen Bairan turned her head and saw the man beside her raising his glass unhurriedly. The ruby-red wine touched his lips; he pursed them slightly, letting the wine pool at the back of his mouth, savoring it slowly, with an almost sensual relish.
As if flirting.
Sensing her gaze, Song Xu turned his gaze to her and gently raised his glass, like a gentleman. "It’s not often open to the public. If you have the chance, you might try your luck."
This was likely the kind of charm only a mature man has.
An ordinary person might have followed up on the earlier topic, asking why she was upset, probing into her private life, and sizing up how far their relationship could go based on her attitude toward her ex-boyfriend.
But Song Xu didn’t.
He invited her to drink but didn’t pry into her sorrow.
He saw through her terrible mood yet chatted with her about another country.
His indifferent eyes were like the obsidian on his cufflinks.
Gemstones can dazzle, but they have no warmth.
The tenderness he showed when she first entered seemed like an illusion.
This was fine.
Wen Bairan caught a scent of moisture from him, faint and elusive—close enough to drift over, but gone when she distanced herself.
Song Xu felt like a stranger she’d met on the street. After this brief intersection, they would be like two lines heading in opposite directions, never looking back at each other.
His aloofness and coldness felt very safe to Wen Bairan now.
She wouldn’t develop feelings for him, and neither would he.
"I’ve made up my mind."
"Let’s hear it."
"I agree to transfer to the first group. I’ll work on the Dayun case in the second half of the year. But you have to promise me that what you said is true—that you need my abilities." Wen Bairan reached out, but just before their thin glasses touched, Song Xu pulled his back.
He folded his arms, his gaze intense and his tone slow as he reminded her, "You missed one thing."
Wen Bairan’s fingers around the slender stem clenched until her knuckles turned white, her voice stubborn, though the defiance sounded almost sarcastic. "I’m already here."
From answering the call to before he opened the door.
She’d had countless chances to back out along the way.
But she still stood here.
That said it all.
She knew what she had chosen.
Wen Bairan’s eyes were clear now, no trace left of her tears, only a slight shimmer trembling in the night. A delicate yet resilient fragility.
This fragility was a potent aphrodisiac to any man.
Song Xu curled his lips into a smile and kissed her without hesitation.
The taste of salt lingered on her lips, probably from her tears.
She had cried last night, too.
The same taste.
Only the one who made her cry was different.
What exactly is the relationship between love and sex?
Countless people have weighed in on this.
But tonight, here and now, to Wen Bairan, there was no difference.
Once, love was a heartbeat, butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
Now, sex was lightheadedness, every nerve in her body set alight by his lips and tongue.
Back when Wen Bairan was with Zhou Lin, no matter how long they were together, she was always shy and embarrassed, wanting to hide away in the darkness.
She didn't want him to see her blushing, tongue-out side, didn’t want to admit she too had carnal needs, as if once he knew this secret craving, she would no longer be innocent, chaste, perfect.
She always wanted to remain pure in front of him.
Song Xu’s tongue, dipped in wine, a romantic, wine-dark stain bloomed on her pure canvas, stroke by stroke, unpredictable in its landing, buds of desire waiting to bloom.
Unlike last night when alcohol numbed her mind, now sober, she could even hear the churning river, the plane flying overhead to who-knows-where flashing red lights, gliding over her form pressed against the glass.
Shameful.
Yet intensely thrilling.
As if breaking free from some restraint, in this moment, she only wanted to expose herself more, and even more.
Abruptly.
Wen Bairan heard herself blooming.
She couldn’t hold back a soft moan, the wine glass in her hand trembling unsteadily, red wine spilling out, wetting her arm. Song Xu pressed down from behind, licking it away bit by bit, his tongue wet, utterly indecent.
She was no longer uneasy, even the pain had been smoothed away.
Desire completely evicted reason from her body.
Song Xu’s fingers interlaced with hers, lifting them high above her head. Using the glass in her hand, he sipped the wine, his other hand tilting her chin, turning it back, and forcing it into her mouth.
She was flooded, overflowing red wine sliding down her chin, onto her collarbone, where the little flower he’d drawn suddenly sprouted branches, the stem diving deep into her pink edge.
Song Xu gripped it suddenly.
“Mmm...”
His laughing gasp slipped into her ear, “To a pleasant night for us. Cheers.”