The Bet

Yu Mao didn’t just look at her. Her gaze could cut through the blinding sheen on the surface, and like air seeping through skin, it reached deeper, into the woman’s core.

So the beauty she saw in Nan Changgeng wasn’t limited to her appearance.

Her straight body tipped downward like a biscuit snapped in half, so thin it looked hard and brittle; every movement carried a crisp, upright sharpness. She reached out both paws to rest on the woman’s armrest, then crouched, her field of vision rapidly widening until it settled on one button on the suit jacket.

She lifted her chin, rested both hands on the armrest, and tilted her head, revealing her misty eyes and brows; deer-like, obedient, tame.

She had to prostrate herself. She didn’t want to stand, didn’t want to look at Nan Changgeng from such a complete angle. The tangled surge of overwhelming happiness and dissatisfaction would twist her into something dangerous and hard, giving her the illusion that she was about to shatter.

She suspected that all the appetite she had lost for food had transferred onto Nan Changgeng. The more she saw, the more clearly she saw, the more hunger rose in her; not just in her stomach, but spreading through every inch of her body.

The woman continued to lure her on like a dreamlike mirage, yet forbade her from looking directly.

Nan Changgeng looked down at her, unable to tell what she was thinking through those mist-shrouded eyes. Only the attachment she felt came through clearly, as if even every strand of hair were stubbornly speaking to her.

She lifted a hand and gently brushed the loose hair at the girl’s forehead; her fingertips grazed the edge of the bandage, then, with the same motion, tucked the hair at her temple behind her ear.

“How’s the wound? Does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt. I forgot about it.” Her voice was soft, but always sincere.

“You can even forget something like that?” Nan Changgeng couldn’t help being a little surprised. She raised a brow, then smiled. “Being able to forget whatever you want—that’s a rare talent.”

Yu Mao nodded with complete seriousness. She was satisfied with that too; it meant she could easily clear away more room to store the things that mattered more.

“Being able to forget pain is pretty good too. Anyway, you’ll remember it when you see the mirror, so it won’t interfere with changing the dressing.”

Nan Changgeng wasn’t too worried. Her elbow rested on the armrest, fingers lightly tapping near her jaw; she looked at the little face so close to her with a rather leisurely air, a faint smile on her lips. “If I had that kind of ability to forget, I wonder how much easier life would be now.”

She gave no sign of how sorrowful she felt when thinking back on the past; no stubborn resistance stuck at some impassable hurdle, no unresolved regret, no pain that flared at the slightest touch. There was only the faintest trace of emotion in those words, like a soft sigh.

But Yu Mao’s heart still trembled, and a rotten ache spread through her chest.

A wound only healed in the one who bore it. She was the bystander; she cared, so it would always hurt, as though she were carrying a fresh wound herself.

“Changgeng…”

Her eyes moved slightly, swallowing back tears as they shifted. She wanted to say something, but then a memory flickered through her mind, and she immediately shook her head and said solemnly, “Abilities come with a price. A very big price. You’d better not have one.”

“Hm?” Nan Changgeng couldn’t help being interested. Somewhat puzzled, her expression turned hesitant and probing. “A price?”

She couldn’t help suspecting that this too came from some painful experience in the girl’s past, and for a moment she hesitated over whether she should ask further.

But Yu Mao didn’t give her the chance to hesitate. She looked away, a trace of embarrassment flashing in her catlike, glassy eyes. “Yes, but I’ve forgotten what it was exactly.”

Her teacher should remember. If Nan Changgeng wanted to know, she could take leave tomorrow and go ask. She didn’t say that out loud.

Nan Changgeng didn’t find it strange at all. She smiled softly; her chest seemed to sink for a moment, and the tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding eased as she leaned back into the chair. “Then forget it. It was probably not a very pleasant memory anyway. If you’ve forgotten it, then forget it.”

Yu Mao naturally answered obediently, and then changed the topic.

“Tonight we have to face a lot of audience members and sing, Changgeng. Are you nervous?”

“A little. But mostly I’m happy.”

She no longer enjoyed standing onstage and seeing the eyes below her the way she once had, but she was still happy when there were people sharing the same music with her.

Joining the show was for the sizable paycheck, yes, but she wasn’t really opposed to it either. At the very least, it was a music program; it let her return to the stage and sing. She couldn’t hide in her shell forever. This sudden trouble had, in a sense, pushed her outward.

Besides… she had picked up an unexpected bonus.

Nan Changgeng let her gaze settle on the girl’s face, a slight smile lingering at the corners of her mouth. Her lashes lowered and lifted; her eyes were light, but those gray-blue depths seemed to hide a whirlpool leading to the deep sea.

She hoped Yu Mao wouldn’t disappoint her tonight.

Yu Mao caught her look and seemed to sense something, though she couldn’t understand where that anticipation came from, so she showed a little confusion.

Both of them were unusually perceptive people. Nan Changgeng could also see her confusion, but she only smiled and said nothing, then mischievously pinched one of her little braids and swept it across her face.

Yu Mao itched miserably, but didn’t dodge. Her brows pinched with concentration; she puffed out her cheeks hard, trying to use the pressure of air to ease the itch by stretching the skin.

Nan Changgeng saw her cheeks puffed up and her lips unconsciously pursed, and she stopped teasing her. Half-covering her face, she laughed in a muffled way; the smile spilling from the bottom of her eyes was like sunlight scattering over the glimmering surface of the sea.

Yu Mao saw her smile and, puzzled yet delighted, lifted her brows, puffing out the other side of her cheek as well.

Her face looked a little fuller that way, even more chibi-like; her expression was so adorable it didn’t seem quite real.

Nan Changgeng couldn’t resist reaching out. She pinched those puffed-up cheeks between two fingers; they deflated at once, and her mouth was squeezed into a little duck bill, revealing two neat, pearly white front teeth.

“How did the little cat end up with two rabbit teeth?” she teased with a smile.

Yu Mao’s eyes were bright as crystal. She stared at her without moving, seeming unable to understand why she was being teased. She didn’t struggle, didn’t refuse any of the touches given to her; she only extended one small finger and lightly poked the woman’s wrist, indicating that she couldn’t answer while her face was being held like this.

Nan Changgeng let go. Her wrist felt a faint itch, and the girl’s obedience left her momentarily stunned.

Yu Mao spoke with a serious expression, as if answering some solemn question that required proper thought, but her voice was soft and warm: “My teeth are human teeth, not rabbit teeth or cat teeth.”

The makeup room was noisy, filled with contestants joking and laughing, voices overlapping in all directions. The two of them always spoke quietly; their conversation was soft as a whisper, without exaggerated volume or expression, like water flowing gently along.

Nan Changgeng couldn’t help smiling.

She didn’t think Yu Mao’s serious demeanor was boring. She liked that slightly overdone earnestness.

It was as if every word she said mattered tremendously.

Like dealing with an AI: not a single word would fall flat; no matter how strange or dull the question, the other side would spend its computing power to return a serious answer that would never be brushed aside.

But Yu Mao was a living person. How unbelievable that was.

Their idle chatter continued until it was nearly time for the performance, and all the contestants filed into the backstage area.

Among a crowd of contestants shaking their legs, groaning, and taking deep breaths in panic, the two of them stood out for their serene, relaxed attitude.

Lin Baiyu, seated in the back row, suddenly stuck her head between them. “Aren’t you two nervous at all? There are so many people out there!”

The audience was entering one after another. Through the backstage big screen, they could see the live feed of the seats outside; the dense crowd looked like ants, and various cheering light signs lit up in the dim environment.

“Mm…” Nan Changgeng drew out the sound, thinking about how to answer tactfully.

Lin Baiyu looked left and right twice, then pulled her head back. One was someone used to big scenes; the other was not normal.

“Forget I asked.”

Seeing the screen lit up in all kinds of colors, everyone started talking about fan colors. Since the picture was too small to see the specific names clearly, they guessed which fans belonged to whom based on the colors.

“Those light blue ones must be Teacher Nan’s fans!”

“I think so too. So many of them.”

“Red is the most common. It’s almost a third of the whole crowd. Who’s got red fans?”

“That’s kind of exaggerated. Maybe a few fan colors overlapped; red’s pretty common after all.”

Nan Changgeng happened to hear that and glanced over a few times. A faint premonition rose in her heart; she turned to the girl beside her. “How many people do you think in here are specifically here to see you?”

Yu Mao froze slightly. She hadn’t thought about that. She shook her head. “I don’t know, but I guess not many. Nobody really likes me.”

She thought her judgment of herself was quite accurate. Her personality was the kind that didn’t please people; occasionally someone would approach her out of curiosity, but they were all driven away by her coldness and lack of interest.

She just hadn’t considered that the internet was a different situation. Online, people didn’t need to truly live with her, so they couldn’t personally experience those bad parts. They only needed to enjoy the odd, special, slightly quirky cuteness through a screen and like her to their heart’s content.

On the internet, her abnormality was no longer a troublesome flaw people criticized; instead, it was highly eye-catching. It wasn’t surprising that she had attracted so many fans.

Yu Mao didn’t know any of that, but Nan Changgeng had some idea.

At the girl’s self-deprecation, she smiled and didn’t say much, only asked, “Want to make a bet with me?”

Yu Mao saw the interest in her eyes and nodded without hesitation. “Okay. What does Changgeng want to bet on?”

“Let’s bet on which contestant among us has the most fans.” The woman curved her lips. “I’ll bet it’s you.”

“…?”

Yu Mao frowned, confusion rising in her eyes.

She had wanted to go along with Nan Changgeng’s mood and play with her, indifferent to winning or losing, but she truly could not agree with this wager.

She shook her head in disapproval, as if regretting that the woman had chosen a bet she was certain to lose. “I bet it’s Changgeng.”

“Fine.” Nan Changgeng looked at her in amusement. “As for the stakes, whoever loses has to agree to one request from the other. If neither of us wins, then we’ll both agree to each other’s requests. How about that?”

“Okay.”

Yu Mao agreed readily.

She wasn’t sure she could win, but she felt certain that Nan Changgeng would lose.