Guava and sorghum candy

“Liking stinky men, is that something to be proud of?” Ming Shuyan teased, her eyes glinting.

“Huh?” Ming Shuzhen froze. *Is it?*

“Then, Boss, are you straight?” Ming Shuzhen mustered her courage.

“Tch,” Ming Shuyan felt like she’d bitten into ice, teeth chattering. “Who asks that?”

“Oh, I won’t then,” Ming Shuzhen clammed up.

But Ming Shuyan, pointedly, said, “You’re not honest, so how can I be?”

“Hm?” Ming Shuzhen blinked, feeling plenty honest. “I’m not dishonest, Boss.”

“Pfft,” Ming Shuyan knew she missed the hint and didn’t bother explaining—too awkward.

“Are you *really* straight?” She stared at the shadow, eyes sharp.

“Uh, I… I don’t know,” Ming Shuzhen admitted.

“Fine, something you can answer,” Ming Shuyan eased off. “What do you think of me?”

“Huh?” Ming Shuzhen caught a trace of uncertainty in her tone. *The boss cares what others think?*

“Pretty good.”

“No half-answers.”

Ming Shuzhen counted on her fingers. “Good-looking, capable, cares about employees…”

Same as last time.

“Beyond that,” Ming Shuyan clearly wasn’t after generic praise.

“What’s it like, being around me?” she guided slowly. “No half-answers, no flattery, just truth.”

With those demands, Ming Shuzhen drew a blank. “I need to think.”

“Go ahead.”

“Hm…” Ming Shuzhen fell silent, finally landing on something.

“Boss, ever had guava?” her voice broke the darkness.

“Yup.”

“Nice?”

“Heh,” Ming Shuyan chuckled, sensing Ming Shuzhen relaxing, their chat finding a casual rhythm.

“Alright, kinda bland.”

“Yup, that’s you,” Ming Shuzhen nodded, agreeing.

“What’s that mean?” Ming Shuyan’s fox-like eyes narrowed, sensing no compliment.

“Guava—looks great, nice shape, nice color,” Ming Shuzhen blinked, sharing her raw impression. “But the taste is faint, like watered-down bad apples, with tons of tiny seeds.”

“The seeds are small, scattered, a hassle to eat,” she paused, “kinda tedious.”

“A tedious, good-looking bad apple,” Ming Shuyan summed up.

The air cracked, turning cold for a moment.

Ming Shuyan laughed self-deprecatingly. “First time someone’s called me a bad apple.”

“Uh, that’s not what I meant,” Ming Shuzhen said innocently. “You said that, Boss.”

“Hm, then sum me up,” Ming Shuyan’s tone was flat, leaving Ming Shuzhen unsure if she cared.

“Unique, rare, needs extra care,” Ming Shuzhen said, unable to see her face, picturing it instead.

“More?” Ming Shuyan’s voice trembled slightly, unnoticed by Ming Shuzhen.

“More?” Ming Shuzhen tilted her head. “Seems like an apple but more fragile.”

“Heh,” Ming Shuyan gave a short laugh, blinking rapidly in the dark.

She went quiet for a long time.

Only when Ming Shuzhen, unsettled by the silence, called out did she respond.

“Boss?”

“Hm?”

“Why so quiet?” Ming Shuzhen pouted.

“What’s to say? Not sleepy?” Ming Shuyan wanted to keep talking, but her heart was struck, emotions swirling, leaving no room for more.

“Say…” Ming Shuzhen hunted for a topic. “Describe me. What am I like?”

“Sorghum candy,” Ming Shuyan said without hesitation.

“Huh? Sorghum candy?” Ming Shuzhen peered at her shadow.

“A Shandong specialty,” Ming Shuyan said, voice low, fitting the night. “Starch-based gel candy. Clean ingredients—cornstarch, sugar. Not too sweet, a bit sticky but doesn’t cling to your teeth.”

“Pfft, now I’m the sticky one?” Ming Shuzhen, fully relaxed, teased back.

“Gotta think on that.”

“Think? It’s obvious,” Ming Shuzhen huffed. “Calling me sorghum candy—you’re making it up to mess with me, now scrambling for reasons.”

“Nope,” Ming Shuyan said firmly. “Your description deserves care.”

“Fine, but think fast—I’m sleepy,” Ming Shuzhen yawned.

Ming Shuyan hid a smile.

After a pause, Ming Shuzhen prodded, “Got it yet?”

“Yup,” Ming Shuyan’s voice deepened, weighty.

“You’re…” she said deliberately, “pure, healthy, kind, passionate, brave…”

“Tch, Boss, that’s lazy. Just piling on nice words,” Ming Shuzhen grumbled.

“I mean it,” Ming Shuyan laughed earnestly.

“I see you in a vast world, all warm, every color vibrant—no gloomy blacks or browns. You sleep, stroll, grow, daydream there, trusting nothing will hurt you. And it’s true—no one does. People instinctively protect your world, happy when you’re happy.”

“Wow, Boss, you’re good at this,” Ming Shuzhen gaped.

“I thought you were all science—didn’t know you were this sentimental.”

“Heh, you’re not bad at flattery either,” Ming Shuyan’s eyes stayed curved.

“Ugh, sleepy, goodnight, Boss,” Ming Shuzhen mumbled, rolling over, drifting off.

Ming Shuyan stayed silent, eyes open.

She continued her assessment inwardly.

Harmonious family, no childhood trauma, no scars, growing up smoothly. A bit temperamental but mostly steady, not extreme or stubborn.

A complete soul, self-assured, needing no one’s validation.

So rare in this restless world, where “family trauma” is ever-mentioned. Too rare.

So Ming Shuyan worried. Happy family, close friends, never wronged—would marriage trip her up?

She had no bias against men, but she’d seen too many vibrant girls wilt after marriage.

No one seemed trustworthy enough to entrust her to.

The only utterly reliable person was herself. Only she truly knew herself, would cherish this girl, protect her goodness, genuinely hoping she’d never be hurt. No one’s kindness seemed pure enough—only her own was wholehearted.

Years ago, peering out the radio room window at that girl surrounded by friends, she’d thought, *So happy, stay that way.*

But could she dare lead her astray? No.

That path was harder, muddier, dimmer.

Ming Shuyan couldn’t harm her. A simple, worldly life was best.

A mundane life, a safe one.

—

The next morning, Ming Shuyan woke first, moving quietly to wash up.

Water flowed over the sink, the white enamel tub reflecting ceiling lights, dazzling.

Quickly washing and applying light makeup, she sat back on the bed, working on her iPad.

She didn’t move until Ming Shuzhen stirred.

“Boss,” Ming Shuzhen mumbled, groggy, greeting the figure on the other bed.

Hearing her, Ming Shuyan turned, silent, not looking back at her iPad.

The blackout curtains kept the room dim.

“I’ll turn on the light after you change,” Ming Shuyan said.

“Oh, okay,” Ming Shuzhen grabbed her clothes, swiftly swapping out of pajamas.

Ming Shuyan’s gaze returned to her iPad, her focus unusually scattered.

The rustle of fabric filled her ears.

Ming Shuzhen tossed her pajamas to the bed’s foot, soft like falling feathers, soundless.

Yet to Ming Shuyan, it was heavy—a plush winter pajama heap hitting her face with a muffled *thud*.

Her iPad felt hot. She forced her peripheral vision onto it.

Ming Shuzhen, dressed, flicked the light switch.

A crisp sound, and the room lit up.

Ming Shuyan could finally look openly. Ming Shuzhen, slightly puffy from sleep, looked fuller, cuter.

Ming Shuyan smiled faintly, saying nothing, ordering corn silk tea on the hotel app.