The lights were on inside the apartment, dimmed a few shades to suit Fu Xizhi’s preference.
Hearing movement from the bathroom, she set down her bag, walked to the door, and tapped on the frosted glass, which was already opaque with steam. “Are you done? I need to shower too.”
Rong Xue raised her voice, her words muffled from within. “Go to the other bathroom.”
“Alright,” Fu Xizhi replied.
Giving up on me so soon?
Rong Xue took it for granted. After all the drinks Fu Xizhi had consumed tonight, even if she wanted to make a scene, she’d have to wait until tomorrow.
Fu Xizhi went to the other en-suite for a quick cleanup, then retrieved a bottle of red from the temperature-controlled wine cabinet and poured it into a stemmed glass.
The spacious 2,000-square-foot flat was decorated in a minimalist style, with few unnecessary pieces of furniture. A grand piano stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, and she placed her glass on the side table next to it.
After that, she gazed at the view outside. It was all much the same; the river at night was a slate blue. She couldn’t say if she liked it or hated it, but the feeling of the wind blowing from such a height was pleasant.
The sound of running water gradually ceased. Fu Xizhi waited by the door. Rong Xue emerged, wrapped in a bathrobe and trailing a cloud of warm steam. Their eyes met.
A beauty fresh from her bath, Fu Xizhi ignored her. “I need to shower. Move.”
Rong Xue stepped aside, but her eyes couldn’t retreat in time. Fu Xizhi turned her back to her and stripped bare. Rong Xue hastily averted her gaze.
“Couldn’t you have gone inside before taking your clothes off?”
Fu Xizhi didn’t look at her, her tone harsh. “Stay away. Your hair is soaking wet. It’s annoying.”
“Okay,” Rong Xue said. She hadn’t seen Fu Xizhi for a while, and the other woman seemed to have swallowed a pound of gunpowder outside. Any word could set her off.
Rong Xue took care of the housework, learning step by step from the housekeeper. Now, she kept everything in perfect order.
She picked up the dirty clothes, threw them into the hamper, and went to the guest room to dry her hair.
After Fu Xizhi finished showering, she couldn’t find anyone in the bedroom. She went to the guest room and saw a lump under the covers. Crossing her arms, she called out to Rong Xue, “What are you sleeping for? Get up and party!”
Rong Xue had already crawled into bed and been asleep for a while.
She opened one eye slightly. The time on the nightlight was past 12 midnight. Propping herself up on her elbows, she said, “Stop messing around. I have a class tomorrow morning.”
A rectangular object was tossed onto her lap, hitting her with a dull thud. She rubbed her eyes as Fu Xizhi threw her phone across the room.
“Do you admit you were wrong?” Fu Xizhi asked.
Rong Xue picked up the phone; it wasn’t hers, and she left it unlocked. “I don’t want your phone, and I’m not sure what you mean by ‘admitting I was wrong.'”
“WeChat.”
“WeChat?”
Fu Xizhi wasn’t in the mood for a parrot. She strode forward and yanked the blanket away, revealing the lace hem of her dress resting at her waist. Her skin glowed with the polished luster of jade.
“Take it all off.”
Rong Xue was bewildered. She didn’t want to do anything tonight, but her opinion didn’t count.
She had no choice but to comply.
Fu Xizhi stepped back to the doorway, silhouetted against the light. She appraised her for a moment, observing her like a smooth river stone, devoid of a single shred of desire.
Rong Xue clutched the blanket, ready to fall asleep at a moment’s notice. “Whatever you want to do, just do it quickly.”
Fu Xizhi turned sideways, clearing a path. She beckoned with a wave of her hand. “Don’t sleep yet. Come here.”
“Where?”
“Inside. Don’t worry.”
“Like this?”
“It’s not like we haven’t done this before. Have you still not gotten over it?”
Of course she had. The very first command Fu Xizhi had given her when they signed their contract was to strip naked.
Rong Xue fell silent for a moment before walking to the spot Fu Xizhi had indicated for her to sit, the piano bench, which had no soft velvet cushion.
The first ten seconds after she sat down were chilly as she acclimated to the temperature.
Fu Xizhi held her wine glass, taking a small sip as she curled up on the sofa. She didn’t look at Rong Xue, her gaze fixed on the floor. “Play the one you broke your promise on.”
Rong Xue complied. A few minutes later, as the song ended, Fu Xizhi’s neck was flushed, and she was already heading toward the wine cabinet.
“Fu Xizhi, you’re truly a romantic.”
Fu Xizhi stopped in her tracks. Romantic? Was that a word used to describe her?
“What makes you say that?”
“Listening to the same song on repeat for a month without getting tired of it.”
So that’s it. Fu Xizhi set down her wine glass, walked up behind her, and pressed her hands onto Rong Xue’s smooth shoulders. She leaned down, her wine-scented lips brushing against the tip of Rong Xue’s ear.
“Since you’re so curious, I’ll give you a hint. I really like the lyrics.”
A tingling sensation spread behind Rong Xue’s ear, and she froze for a moment. “‘I know you inside and out.’ That line?”
“No.”
“Which line?”
“I’ll tell you later.” Fu Xizhi’s eyes lit up, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “I have a new idea. Read me some poetry.”
The second task had arrived.
Rong Xue was now completely awake. The two moved to the master bedroom. When she asked which poem to read, Fu Xizhi didn’t even bother to answer, instead hugging her phone and chatting on WeChat.
The conversation on the screen was full of giggles and jokes. Rong Xue caught a glimpse of it: Fu Xizhi was chatting with friends, all of whom seemed to be night owls.
Rong Xue pulled a collection of Emily Dickinson’s poetry from the bookshelf and flipped to a bookmarked page, the very poem Fu Xizhi had underlined.
Fu Xizhi shut her phone. In truth, she was furious, fuming over a long list of grievances.
Rong Xue had gone to a blind date without saying a word. She’d blocked Rong Xue on WeChat, only to add the contact information of the person who had approached her. Fu Xizhi was furious at herself for pretending to sleep on someone else’s shoulder, while Rong Xue remained completely indifferent.
And Rong Xue hadn’t even waited for her downstairs to welcome her home.
Was Rong Xue blind? She paid absolutely no attention to her.
These were all crimes, and none of them were related to jealousy.
As someone being kept, shouldn’t she keep her benefactor in mind? To go running wild like this was simply too disrespectful!
Rong Xue heard her huff sharply and assumed she was upset from chatting with her friends. “Should I read it now?” she asked, confused.
Fu Xizhi didn’t spare her a single glance.
Taking her silence as consent, Rong Xue still felt a lingering trace of shame. Her voice dropped slightly, but it was the perfect volume for reading bedtime stories or poetry.
【The Bustle Within the House】
【In the dawn after death…】
【…until eternity.】
A wave of sorrow washed over her. She couldn’t understand why Fu Xizhi was so captivated by this poem, however profound and beautiful it was.
Yet, the shamelessness of her body had completely vanished by the poem’s end.
She gazed at Fu Xizhi. “I have a question. You get drunk so easily; look, your face is flushed again. Why do you insist on drinking?”
“To drown my sorrows, of course,” Fu Xizhi replied dismissively. In truth, her mind had drifted to her grandmother, who had passed away in the early hours of a certain day.
“I can’t see what you’re so troubled about. You’re just worrying over nothing.”
Back when Rong Xue’s family went bankrupt, her home had been devastated. The collapse was total, a crushing blow from every angle. It was the darkest period of her life, and even praying to gods and Buddhas had proven futile.
Fu Xizhi had shown her mercy, but it came with an irresistible condition: to break the contract, she had to pay back the money, or face being sued in court.
The contract was no different from an ancient indenture, and she would only be freed if her master chose to be generous and let her go.
But now, Rong Xue couldn’t find a single hint of such generosity in Fu Xizhi.
Fu Xizhi gripped the book and set it on the nightstand. She smiled and said, “Alright, I want to be touched. That’s my current frustration.”
“Touch? Touch what? Where?” Rong Xue’s expression turned tense.
“Why ask so specifically? Everything in this house, including you, belongs to me.” Fu Xizhi reached out, stroking Rong Xue’s hand for a moment, then said with a hint of sorrow, “I want you to satisfy me. I’m a little sad.”
With that, she guided Rong Xue’s hand to undo the buttons of her pajamas.
Rong Xue’s breath hitched. Wherever her fingertips touched, Fu Xizhi trembled like a fragile, heartbroken cat.
If I don’t stop this now, it’ll take all night, Rong Xue thought.
“My hand’s tired,” she murmured, killing the mood with her gentle tone. “Or how about I tell you a story? Don’t be angry anymore, or you won’t be able to sleep tonight.”
Fu Xizhi shot her a skeptical glance. …Another lie. She actually likes this, so why does she want to stop?
Still, Rong Xue isn’t completely dense.
“You don’t have tendonitis,” Fu Xizhi said dismissively. “Don’t try to fool me. How could you tell I was angry?”
Rong Xue mimicked her expression. “The moment you put down your phone, your brow furrowed, and you pouted. Did you get into a fight with a friend?”
“…”
What are you talking about? Their trains of thought were completely out of sync.
Fu Xizhi pursed her lips, speechless. Bai Xiao was just chatting with her about recruiting new members for their club.
She’s a good mimic, Fu Xizhi thought, but I really shouldn’t have expected her to pay much attention to me.
“Fine, fine,” Fu Xizhi said. “Since you’re so eager to comfort me, how about I stay on top this time?”
“No, you’re still bleeding a little. It’ll get infected,” Rong Xue protested. But before she could finish, Fu Xizhi grabbed her wrist and flipped her, pinning her down.
Fu Xizhi kissed her forehead. “Tell me a story.”
“What kind of story?” Rong Xue struggled, but with a full-grown person pressing down on her, she was at a natural disadvantage. She couldn’t break free. “I’ll go find a book.”
“No, you have to improvise,” Fu Xizhi wriggled like a little caterpillar. “Here’s the deal: I want to hear about your childhood. Only embarrassing stories, though. No glory days.”
The more Rong Xue struggled, the harder it was to breathe. Fu Xizhi’s weight was crushing her chest.
A blurry memory flashed through Rong Xue’s mind, a scene from elementary school where she’d been pinned down and beaten by a chubby girl. It was too painful to recall…
Rong Xue pressed her hand against Fu Xizhi’s back, pleading, “I can’t remember. Pick something else.”
Fu Xizhi snuggled into the soft warmth, muttering, “No requests. Just tell me anything.”
Rong Xue thought for a moment. The dark of night… perfect for a story about a cop tracking down and taking down a criminal. As she spoke, she felt Fu Xizhi’s head slip lower.
Something’s wrong.
Rong Xue’s voice shifted. She took a deep breath and grabbed the back of Fu Xizhi’s neck.
“What are you doing?”
Fu Xizhi was like a desperately thirsty little animal. Her tongue tasted a hint of salt, and she swallowed.
“That song… the part I like is ‘That I feel it on my skin, breathe it in.'”
I feel you on my skin… breathing you into my body.
She kept her head down, her eyes lowered as she asked earnestly, “Can you feel the breath? Hello, hello… I’m getting a response.”
Rong Xue felt as if she were in a sauna, her whole body burning. She raised her arm to cover her eyes.
Because Fu Xizhi wasn’t greeting her. She was greeting there, even though there was still a part of her.
Fu Xizhi patted Rong Xue’s stomach and urged, “Keep going. A story needs a proper ending.”
Rong Xue: “…” How am I supposed to continue?
“If you don’t, I’ll bite you,” Fu Xizhi threatened.
“I won’t.”
“Then I’m biting.”
“Go ahead.”
“I didn’t know you still had a backbone. Fine, don’t blame me for being ruthless.”
Fu Xizhi had a sharp canine tooth.
She followed through on her threat. With all the frustration she’d been bottling up, her teeth sank in hard, just as she’d intended.
Tears forced their way out of Rong Xue’s eyes. She bit down on her own knuckles, tears streaming down her face, yet her gaze remained defiant, the posture of a stubborn bone that would rather break than bend.
Fu Xizhi felt her trembling, her muscles taut. After a few seconds, she let go.
She pried open Rong Xue’s clenched fist, revealing deep tooth marks and angry red welts.
Fu Xizhi looked at her. In Rong Xue’s crimson-rimmed eyes, there was no trace of gratitude, nor was there any hatred.
So cold. So captivating.