Song Jin woke up early today.
Specifically, she was jolted awake by the contents of her dream.
Last night, that soft and squishy little brat who barely reached her knees had suddenly shot up to 1.75 meters today. He cornered her against a wall at every turn to kiss her, and to top it off, he had bloodshot eyes and gripped her waist, pleading with his life for her to “taste his hate.”
A warm, sentimental script turned into an R-18 rated one in a flash—who wouldn’t be terrified?!
She pulled her arm back inside from where it was hanging out, wrapped herself tightly in her cozy cotton quilt, and curled into a ball. Burying the lower half of her face in the soft bedding, she felt a phantom pain where her lips had been bitten.
After tossing and turning and failing to fall back asleep, Song Jin finally gave up the struggle and grabbed her phone from the nightstand to play with it.
She didn’t know what she was thinking, but after swiping through pages on her phone, she eventually opened her WeChat chat log with Wen Yu.
The chat history between the two was pathetically sparse—not even a full page. Aside from the automated greeting when they added each other, there was only the link to that bottle of shampoo.
Her finger tapped around the screen for a while before she eventually entered Wen Yu’s Moments.
Wen Yu hadn’t set any privacy restrictions, but there was very little content—even less than what Song Jin usually showed in her own “three-month visibility” range. The posts were almost exclusively images without captions: food, scenery, or stray cats on the street. There wasn’t a single selfie.
Song Jin scrolled down further and her finger paused when she saw a game poster.
It was a game called The Fourth Disaster, a large-scale open-world exploration game that had been a massive hit six years ago. Back then, almost everyone with a computer had downloaded it. But as time passed, the lead creators split up, other competitors emerged, and players drifted away. The Fourth Disaster couldn’t hold on and officially shut down its servers the year before last.
However, Song Jin wasn’t sentimental because Wen Yu had played the game; rather, seeing that screenshot reminded her of her “ex-girlfriend.”
She had met her ex-girlfriend in The Fourth Disaster. At first, they were just gaming buddies. Over time, they realized they got along well in all aspects, and since the game happened to introduce a “Couple System,” Song Jin half-jokingly asked if she wanted to bind with her.
Surprisingly, the other person actually agreed.
Before officially becoming a couple, neither knew the other’s real name or appearance; they only knew they were girls of similar age. In fact, due to hardware issues with the game equipment, Song Jin had never even heard her voice.
Yet, they somehow ended up in a relationship anyway.
Song Jin had no dating experience and didn’t know how to act with a partner. She spent her time copying the “Couple Three-Piece Set” found online: matching profile pictures, couple IDs, and a couple’s bio that she thought was cool at the time but now made her want to poke her own eyes out from cringe. But Song Jin later discovered that they only had the “couple” label in name; their way of interacting was no different from before. As time went on, she couldn’t tell if they were actually a couple or just very close friends.
It wasn’t until she flew abroad to become a trainee—and the signing company forbade artists from dating—that Song Jin steeled her heart and broke it off.
Speaking of which… she wondered how that person was doing now?
The sudden thought gave Song Jin a start. She quickly shook her head, trying to shake off the irrational idea.
She backed out of Moments and switched back to the chat interface with Wen Yu.
Song Jin originally wanted to message her to ask if she was awake, but the other person beat her to it. Just before Song Jin could click the input box, Wen Yu “nudged” (patted) her.
“Wen Yu” patted me and said, “Can I kiss you?”
Song Jin:
Damn it, she had changed that setting during a game of Truth or Dare last time and forgot to change it back.
But clearly, the other person was even more embarrassed. The “The other party is typing…” status at the top of the chat interface appeared and disappeared fitfully for a long time before Wen Yu finally typed out four words to explain herself.
Sorry, accidental touch.
Song Jin typed rapidly: Haha, no big deal.
Why are you up so early?
The other person replied instantly: I was afraid of making you wait too long.
Song Jin froze for a moment, her eyes instinctively darting to the top left corner of the screen.
05:22.
I mean, there’s really no need to get up that early…
For some reason, Song Jin suddenly thought of an elementary school student who was too nervous to sleep the night before a field trip.
Why don’t you nap for a bit more? I’ll call you at six? Song Jin advised. The workload on set is heavy as it is. If you don’t rest well, you won’t be able to hold up.
Okay (Fist-palm emoji) (Fist-palm emoji) Wen Yu nodded on her end of the phone and actually rolled over to find a comfortable position to sleep. See you in a bit?
See you in a bit.
Song Jin put down her phone and nestled in bed for a while longer. Once she confirmed she really couldn’t fall back asleep, she finally dragged herself out of bed and slipped into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face.
Fearing she might get sleepy halfway through work, Song Jin poured herself a cup of coffee. Worried that drinking it on an empty stomach would be bad, she grabbed a Want Want Senbei cracker to pad her stomach. After finishing, she sat in her chair and dozed for a bit, then called Wen Yu when the time was right.
To her surprise, Wen Yu didn’t hang up.
In Song Jin’s experience, when people encounter a “call you in XX minutes” situation, they usually hang up first and reply with “Okay” or “1” to show they received the message. Wen Yu was the opposite; she picked up almost the second Song Jin called, her voice slightly raspy from just waking up: “Good morning…”
“Good morning,” Song Jin replied. “It’s about time to get up. We’re leaving at seven.”
She thought for a moment and asked, “Should I come down to find you when it’s time?”
“Have you eaten?” Wen Yu didn’t answer her, asking something else instead.
Although Song Jin didn’t know why she asked, she answered honestly: “I just had a cracker. I’ll probably buy something else on the road later.”
Wen Yu’s tone was very light and slow, making Song Jin wonder if she would fall back asleep mid-sentence. She seemed to chuckle softly: “I have congee cooking in the pot. Do you want to come down and have some?”
When she saw the door number 311 in front of her, Song Jin still hadn’t quite processed it.
Her brain had turned into mush; she couldn’t for the life of her remember how she had agreed to this.
What should I do? I’m so afraid the “awkwardness bug” will kick in again.
But since she had agreed, no matter how cowardly she felt, she had to pull herself together. Song Jin cheered herself up in her heart, coaxing herself for a long time before she was willing to take another step forward.
Wen Yu had messaged saying she left the door unlocked, that she didn’t need to change shoes, and could just push the door and come in. Song Jin thought about it and decided to ring the doorbell anyway before entering, so as not to startle her by appearing suddenly.
The layout of the apartment was the same as Song Jin’s, but the decoration style looked much more “sunny and cheerful.” The overall theme of the living room was “forest style.” In the center of the light brown wood floor was a dark square rug, with two checkered round floor cushions placed at the very edge. In front of the dark green velvet sofa sat a round glass coffee table, topped with a tea set—a staple for people from Qing City—and a bouquet of fresh peach blossoms.
There seemed to be aromatherapy in the living room; there was a very faint citrus scent, but Song Jin looked around for a long time without finding the source.
A faint sound of footsteps came from behind her. She looked up and saw Wen Yu, wearing a warm nightgown, coming down the stairs.
The cream-colored nightgown was fluffy and looked like it felt great to the touch. Below the knee-length hem, the lines of her calves were smooth, and she was wearing a pair of flip-flops.
Wen Yu looked like she had just washed her face; the strands of hair at her forehead were inevitably dampened by the water. Usually when they met, she had at least some makeup on her face, but right now she was completely bare-faced. Her fair face looked sleepy, the beauty mark was a striking dot at the corner of her right eye, and her thin lips were very pale, looking a bit bloodless.
When she saw Song Jin downstairs, Wen Yu’s footsteps noticeably faltered. Then, she quickened her pace down the stairs and said, “You’re fast.”
“I’m here to scavenge a meal, of course I have to be proactive.” The curve of Song Jin’s smile wasn’t wide as she slowly walked toward her. “Should I help you out?”
“Sure. Wait for me a moment, I’ll clear the things off the table first.” Wen Yu didn’t stand on ceremony with her. She moved the tea set and vase from the round table to the TV cabinet, then gestured for Song Jin to follow her to the kitchen.
The kitchens in these apartments were generally small, barely enough for two people to stand. Wen Yu took two ceramic bowls out of the disinfection cabinet and lifted the lid of the electric cooker. The rising white mist carried the scent of eight-treasure congee. Wen Yu filled the bowl about two-thirds of the way and asked, “Is this enough?”
“Enough, enough, enough.” Song Jin accepted it like a loyal follower and asked, “Do you have sugar here?”
Wen Yu took a transparent glass bottle from the storage rack and gave it to her, along with a spoon: “I’ve already added some, see if you need more.”
“Got it.” Song Jin started to carry the things out but quickly rushed back. Wen Yu thought she wanted to grab something, but before she could speak, the bowl in her hand was taken by Song Jin. Song Jin gave her a little smile: “I’ll carry it for you.”
Their fingers inevitably brushed against each other. The senses that had been slowed by sleepiness suddenly jolted awake at that moment. Wen Yu stood in place for a good while before finally regaining her composure. She reached out to the tap, splashed a handful of ice-cold water onto her face, and then followed her out.
In the living room, Song Jin moved the floor cushions next to the round table and closed her eyes to pick one to sit on. She didn’t start eating immediately, instead focusing on taking photos of the eight-treasure congee with her phone as if she were seeing it for the first time.
Only when the host took her seat did Song Jin feel comfortable starting to eat. The plump beans paired with the fragrant, thick, and soft grains slid down her throat into her stomach, sending a wave of warmth upward from her belly.
“How is the sweetness?” Wen Yu asked, scooping up a spoonful and blowing on it to cool it down.
“Perfect!” Song Jin said happily. After speaking, she couldn’t help but sigh, “Sigh, I was supposed to be the one treating you to a meal, how did it turn into you treating me—”
The round table wasn’t very large. Although they were sitting face-to-face, they were very close. From this distance, Song Jin could even count Wen Yu’s eyelashes.
Wen Yu also smiled, the frost in her eyes melting away: “No rush, we have a long time ahead of us.”
It was a very simple sentence, but Song Jin’s head suddenly felt hot as she involuntarily associated it with certain… less-than-wholesome scenarios. She gave a few awkward, sheepish laughs and hurriedly lowered her head to keep drinking the congee.
The stainless steel spoon made a crisp clinking sound against the ceramic bowl. Before long, the bowl of sweet congee was empty.
Seeing that it was almost time, Song Jin, now full and satisfied, told Wen Yu to go change clothes while she naturally started clearing the table.
“Leave it, I’ll do it.” Wen Yu tried to stop her, but failed.
“Don’t mention it, you go do your thing.” Song Jin nimbly dodged Wen Yu’s reaching hand and sauntered toward the kitchen. Soon, the sound of splashing water and the clatter of pots and bowls came from inside.
Wen Yu gave a helpless smile and obeyed her arrangement.