Chapter 12

They had only known each other for three days.

And yet their bodies were like conspirators who had already signed some secret contract; before their awkward souls could catch up, they had grown familiar with each other’s warmth and contours.

Even Jin Zijin herself couldn’t quite explain it. The moment she touched Wen Yan, it was as if dry wasteland had met the first spark of a wildfire.

Wen Yan’s fingertips, her lips, every touch seemed to strike with uncanny precision; wherever she reached, the flames began to spread.

Right now, she was sitting in Wen Yan’s arms, half-sunken into the edge of the soft single bed.

Her hands cupped the other woman’s face, and her fingertips could feel the sharp line of Wen Yan’s jaw.

But every nerve in her body felt as if it were being repeatedly washed over by an overcharged current; her skin hummed all over.

The heat surging deep inside her was wet and sticky, empty and itchy, almost gnawing at her reason.

She couldn’t help clutching at the fabric behind Wen Yan’s neck; the cloth wrinkled in her fingers like the only driftwood in an endless sea.

It wasn’t until Wen Yan’s hand slid along the curve of her waist that Jin Zijin seemed to wake abruptly from the dazed feeling of drowning; she grabbed her wrist at once.

“W-wait..."

She let go of Wen Yan’s lips, breathing unevenly, her cheeks flushed a rosy red.

Wen Yan lifted her face, holding her in her arms.

Those always-clear eyes were now veiled in a layer of wet mist as she looked straight into hers. “Don’t want to?”

Her voice was low and hoarse, like sandpaper dragged over silk.

Jin Zijin remembered there were still a houseful of people downstairs, waiting for them to come eat dinner together.

And they were fooling around here instead.

Ridiculous.

And yet her body was disgracefully honest.

She looked at Wen Yan’s beautiful face, which still carried that straightforward, almost too honest air, and couldn’t help lightly brushing her slightly swollen lower lip with her thumb before letting out a low laugh. “Dr. Wen, are you going through a rebellious phase right now?”

Her tone was teasing and superior, but her uneven breathing betrayed her.

Wen Yan’s hand, resting at the edge of her skirt, suddenly moved upward and stopped on her thigh, pressing once, neither too light nor too hard.

“Can’t I?”

She asked back, her voice even lower.

Wen Yan leaned in, sending her breath over Jin Zijin’s slightly parted lips, and added in a husky voice, “I’ll stay outside. I won’t come in.”

And yet her face was so clean-cut and proper, while what she said was so bluntly, shamelessly suggestive.

Jin Zijin’s breath caught, then she laughed, the corner of her eyes lifting with a seductive curve. “Of course you can.”

Wen Yan smiled too.

It was a faint smile, but it was like a spring wind breaking through ice.

She lifted Jin Zijin’s skirt and tilted her head to bite at her lips.

A surgeon’s hands were precise, steady, and endlessly patient.

Like grinding an excellent stick of old ink; she worked the same spot again and again, even, measured, unhurried, her angle subtle and exact.

The ink in the stone slowly spread, growing thicker and richer...

The sweet citrus scent in the air was steamed into a warm, sticky dampness, threads of it winding through every breath.

Jin Zijin’s consciousness hovered on the edge of dizziness the whole time.

She had Wen Yan hooked around the neck, her body taut as a fully drawn bow, her sharp teeth clamped hard on her lower lip as she swallowed back the moan rising in her throat.

“Hng..."

Still, a muffled sound slipped out; short, restrained.

Wen Yan immediately leaned in and pressed her whole body against hers, then in the rocking rhythm of movement offered up her shoulder beside Jin Zijin’s lips, coaxing in a low voice, “Bite here.”

Jin Zijin clutched at it like a lifesaving straw and bit down on the shoulder beneath Wen Yan’s shirt.

Her force wasn’t light; even through the fabric, one could feel the mark of her teeth.

Yet her whole body curled in like a little beast seeking shelter, burying herself into Wen Yan’s arms.

Wen Yan caught her steadily, her arms tightening as she completely wrapped that trembling body in her embrace.

Jin Zijin went soft all at once and fell into her arms.

Wen Yan held her close, letting her press against her chest; only after a long while, once the other woman’s breathing had steadied, did she loosen her grip slightly.

Her lips brushed against Jin Zijin’s damp temple, kissing it gently as she asked, “Better now?”

Desire receded like a tide; reason once again reclaimed the shore.

Jin Zijin lifted her eyes and looked at the person in front of her, who wore such an innocent, harmless expression; then she thought of her own loss of composure just now, and a surge of embarrassment rushed straight to her head.

She raised her hand and gave Wen Yan’s shoulder a light, not-quite-hard punch. “It’s all your fault.”

Wen Yan knew she was in the wrong and took her hand as it tried to vent its frustration, yielding obediently. “Okay, it’s all my fault.”

She paused, then let a little smile spread in her eyes. “I’ll apologize to President Jin.”

As she said that, she lowered her head to kiss her lips again.

The kiss wasn’t particularly skilled, but it was sincere enough.

It was like reviewing homework Jin Zijin had once taught her, tracing the shape of her lips bit by bit, licking gently, using the clumsiest method possible to soothe the unrest that still hadn’t fully settled.

Just as their breaths began tangling and warming again, the doorbell rang at the worst possible moment.

Both of them froze, turning to look toward the door at the same time.

Wang Manyu’s voice came through the door, carrying deliberate eagerness. “Zijin, Yanyan, your father’s finished cooking. Come downstairs for dinner.”

Jin Zijin reacted quickly, shoving Wen Yan away at once. She cleared her somewhat hoarse throat and raised her voice in reply, “Okay, Mom, we’ll be down right away. Please go downstairs first.”

Wang Manyu answered repeatedly from outside, then her footsteps faded away.

Only then did Jin Zijin turn back and glare at Wen Yan, lowering her voice. “What do we do?”

Wen Yan was clearly still immersed in the lingering afterglow and let out a blank “Ah?” “What do you mean, what do we do?”

Jin Zijin lowered her head and looked at her own miserable skirt, the tips of her ears burning. “What do you think?”

Wen Yan touched her nose, her gaze drifting for a moment, and offered a suggestion that was truly not very brilliant at all: “How about... wipe it off?”

——————

After a quick cleanup, the two of them went downstairs to find the living room filled with the false appearance of harmony and joy.

The dining table was covered with abundant dishes, and Wang Manyu enthusiastically pulled out the chair beside the seat of honor. “Zijin, sit quickly. Try your dad’s cooking; he specially made it for you.”

Jin Zijin’s expression had already returned to its usual coolness. Holding Wen Yan’s hand, she sat down calmly.

She tried a few bites, and the whole table looked at her eagerly.

“Well?” Wen Xinjian asked with a face full of smiles; even the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed eager to please.

“Not bad.” Jin Zijin nodded. Her tone was flat, but it still gave enough face.

Wen Xinjian immediately beamed. “As long as Zijin likes it, as long as you like it!”

Everyone busied themselves serving food and chatting, not mentioning their marriage by a single word; they focused only on the meal before them, attentive and ingratiating as if they were the best relatives in the world.

There was a braised dish of sour bamboo shoots and ham on the table; it was pleasantly tangy and whetted the appetite, and Jin Zijin reached for it several extra times.

Wen Xinjian immediately caught the signal and hurriedly said, “If Zijin likes it, I’ll have Wen Yan learn from me. She can make it for you at home later.”

The moment he finished speaking, the air around the table stiffened subtly.

Jin Zijin set down her chopsticks and looked at him.

Her gaze was faint and carried little emotion, yet it made the smile on Wen Xinjian’s face freeze.

“No need.” Her voice cooled a little. “Dad can just send the recipe to my assistant; the housekeeper at home can learn to make it.”

She paused, her gaze sweeping over Wen Yan’s hands around her bowl. Her tone turned hard in defense of her wife. “Wen Yan’s hands are for holding a scalpel; there’s no need for them to get involved with this.”

She really was an ice-element archmage, very good at freezing the atmosphere at the table in an instant.

The whole table fell silent.

Wang Manyu was the first to react, quickly smoothing things over. “Oh, look at you, Old Wen. Yan Yan’s hands are so precious; how could you let her learn this... right? Zijin’s right, absolutely right...”

One round of agreement followed another, all careful flattery, surging like a tide toward Wen Yan, who had remained silent the whole time.

Wen Yan found it a little amusing.

She turned her head to look at the woman beside her. Jin Zijin’s profile was sharp and defined, looking somewhat stern under the light of the dining room chandelier.

Wen Yan suddenly remembered Wen Chen’s message, saying Jin Zijin was an “iceberg big demon,” someone who never showed outsiders any warmth.

So that was it.

She wasn’t cold by nature; she simply reserved her warmth and softness only for those who had entered her territory.

And now, Wen Yan was standing at the very center of that territory.

Watching her mother and relatives change their attitudes because of one sentence from Jin Zijin, and pile on smiles they had never before shown her, Wen Yan felt something strange stir in her chest.

It was like watching an absurd silent comedy; feng shui had finally reversed, and the neglected corner had now been illuminated by a single, exact beam of light.

The “good-for-nothing honest type” who had been useless for more than twenty years had finally found a “mistress” who could make her stand up straight.

She suddenly reached out and, hidden by the tablecloth, gently took Jin Zijin’s left hand hanging at her side.

The moment their hands touched, Jin Zijin turned her hand over and held on in return, interlacing their fingers with firm resolve.

The warmth of their joined palms swept away all the false merriment around them.

With Jin Zijin there, this meal felt more at ease than ever before.

——————

After dinner, Wang Manyu still wanted to keep them over for the night; every word and gesture carried a desperate eagerness to cling to them.

Jin Zijin declined smoothly, citing an “important early meeting tomorrow.”

Wen Xinjian and Wang Manyu escorted them all the way to the door and watched the extended Rolls-Royce Phantom glide silently into the night.

Inside the car, the space was vast and quiet, like another world.

Soundproof glass cut off the noise outside completely, leaving only the faint whisper of the air conditioner.

Wen Yan looked across at Jin Zijin on the opposite seat. The woman sat upright and still, staring steadily at her, the expression in her eyes dark and unreadable.

The neon lights flowing past outside reflected on her face; her lush, striking beauty was so intense it even made Wen Yan feel faintly unreal.

Wen Yan couldn’t help calling to her, “Zijin...”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Jin Zijin suddenly let out an indignant huff, pulled something from her pocket, and flung it hard at Wen Yan. “You jerk!”

Along with the woman’s angry voice, a soft, cool black cloud struck Wen Yan’s face without warning.

Wen Yan instinctively caught it and looked down.

A black lace pair of underwear lay crumpled in her palm.

The extremely fine threads caught the light from the reading lamp in the car, glinting with a damp, crystalline shine.

Wen Yan froze, her mind blank for an instant.

But her instincts were already analyzing automatically: cotton lining, lace embroidery work, and the edge was... mm, a little wet.

She slowly looked up.

Jin Zijin on the opposite seat was glaring daggers at her.

That face, which was usually composed and noble, was now flushed red with shame and anger; even the corners of her eyes were stained with blush.

She clenched her teeth and said, word by word, her voice squeezed out between them: “Bastard!”