This world is always dazzling

After triple-checking that Ming Shuzhen was truly okay, Ming Shuyan returned to her own bed.

But as soon as she lay down, Ming Shuzhen turned, grabbed her phone from the nightstand, and messaged Zhong Shuo.

“That butterfly theory you mentioned—is there scientific evidence for it?”

Zhong Shuo didn’t reply immediately. Ming Shuyan, keeping an eye on her, said, “Sleep early, don’t play on your phone.”

“Oh,” Ming Shuzhen blinked, reluctant to put it down, waiting for Zhong Shuo’s response.

Soon, Zhong Shuo, likely fresh off a game, replied with a voice message: “I think it’s believable. Mental stress affects the body—hair loss, acne, sallow skin. Some news stories say bankruptcy or losing loved ones can turn hair white overnight. So, when emotions are intense, the body reacts.”

Ming Shuzhen converted the voice to text, reading it several times before replying.

“How do you know if it’s a crush causing the butterfly effect, or just physical discomfort causing the stomachache?”

“Hm…” Zhong Shuo, brain foggy post-gaming, missed the intent behind her question.

She replied casually, “You’d feel a crush, right? Like me, when I like someone, I want to stick to them, be around them, always thinking of them.”

“Oh…” Ming Shuzhen relaxed. She had no desire to cling to Ming Shuyan—quite the opposite, wanting to stay far away.

“What’s up?” Zhong Shuo finally sensed something.

“Nothing,” Ming Shuzhen deflected. “Just curious about your theory.”

“Oh,” Zhong Shuo replied. “But I’ve never felt that way. Hard to imagine liking someone so much it hurts physically.”

“…” Ming Shuzhen ended the chat, set her phone aside, pulled the blanket up, and closed her eyes.

—

At 1 a.m., Ming Shuzhen woke, overheated.

Sweat coated her skin, her throat parched.

Ming Shuyan had left the wall light on, as promised, casting a dim glow.

She slowly adjusted to the light, then turned to glance at Ming Shuyan.

Ming Shuyan slept lightly, but since Ming Shuzhen made no sound, she didn’t stir.

Wanting to sleep through it, the sticky sweat was too uncomfortable. Quietly, she crept to the bathroom.

Mindful of Ming Shuyan, she kept the shower flow low, but it still made a “whooshing” sound on the tiles.

Emerging, she found Ming Shuyan awake, as expected.

At this hour, everything was eerily quiet.

Steam trailed Ming Shuzhen from the bathroom. In fuzzy pajamas, her wet hair twisted and draped behind her head.

“Did I wake you?” she broke the silence.

“No, just woke up,” Ming Shuyan said, stepping off the bed. “I’ll blow-dry your hair.”

“I’ll do it,” Ming Shuzhen turned back to the bathroom.

Through the frosted door, she saw a shadow outside.

Holding the blow dryer, she stared at it.

Her heart fluttered—she was getting used to this feeling.

The dryer’s warm air brushed her neck, making her shiver, then sneeze.

She sensed her cold, nearly improved from sweating, might worsen after this.

Emerging again, her face flushed, faintly feverish.

Ming Shuyan glanced at her, silently handing her a fever patch.

“Hm?” Ming Shuzhen’s vision was hazy, like through a fog. “Where’d this come from?”

“Vending machine downstairs. Got it while you showered.”

“Oh…” That was foresight.

Ming Shuzhen took the patch, tore off the wrapper, and pressed the cool, jelly-like patch to her forehead, clambering back into bed.

She closed her eyes slowly, body heavy, sighing deeply.

Realizing someone was nearby, she yanked the blanket up, pretending nothing happened.

“Heh,” Ming Shuyan chuckled softly beside her.

The room’s lone wall light cast a warm, yellowish glow, like an old paper filter over their faces.

Ming Shuyan, sleepless, grabbed her iPad to work but ended up scrolling through Moments instead.

Past 2 a.m., Ming Shuzhen woke again.

Nasal congestion made breathing tough, her head foggy, sleep restless.

Awake but still, she tilted her head slightly, eyes finding Ming Shuyan.

Sensing her gaze, Ming Shuyan saw she was awake. “Thirsty?”

Ming Shuzhen nodded faintly. Ming Shuyan poured her warm water.

“Boss, why aren’t you sleeping?” After drinking, her throat eased, but her voice remained hoarse.

“Not tired,” Ming Shuyan said.

“Oh.” Ming Shuzhen set the cup down, pulled the blanket, and lay back.

Instead of returning to her bed, Ming Shuyan sat on the edge of Ming Shuzhen’s, watching her.

Her rose-colored robe, a tricky shade, looked elegant on her. Hair loose over her shoulders, curls framing her face—she could be a magazine model with red lipstick.

“Rest at the hotel tomorrow, skip the Book House. I’m giving you the day off,” she said.

Ming Shuzhen, limp with no energy for work, nodded.

Blinking, she stared up at Ming Shuyan from the bed.

Ming Shuyan smiled, brushing hair from her forehead. “Sleep, I won’t disturb you.”

Despite her words, she stayed put. Given time, Ming Shuzhen reached out, hooking Ming Shuyan’s robe.

Ming Shuyan paused, seeing the pale hand. Her heart stirred, but she asked calmly, “What? More water?”

Ming Shuzhen shook her head, retracting her hand under the blanket.

“Want to chat?” Ming Shuyan smiled patiently, reading her mind.

Ming Shuzhen nodded, eyes brightening.

“About what?”

“Anything, just want someone to talk to,” her voice still raspy.

“Voice that hoarse, and you want to chat?” Ming Shuyan teased.

Ming Shuzhen pouted, whining, “Mmm.”

Her face flushed, but Ming Shuyan thought sleep was the best cure for a cold.

Those big, blinking eyes softened her, though. Assuming it was illness-induced petulance, she indulged her.

“Want a story to lull you to sleep?”

“Mm,” Ming Shuzhen nodded eagerly, closing her eyes obediently.

She’d decided she was straight—bold and open. She goofed around with Zhong Shuo without issue, so why feel awkward with Ming Shuyan?

She’d desensitize herself to her boss.

Ming Shuyan grabbed her phone, pulled up a CET-6 English listening track, turned up the volume, and played it.

“Directions: in this section, you will hear two long conversations. At the end of…”

Ming Shuzhen opened her eyes slowly, meeting Ming Shuyan’s gaze, sighing with a deathly expression. “Boss…”

“Listen and sleep. I’ll turn it off when you’re out,” Ming Shuyan said considerately.

“…” Ming Shuzhen pursed her lips, muttering discontentedly, “I don’t want this.”

“Switch to CET-4?” Ming Shuyan asked, then reconsidered—someone who got into Dongda wouldn’t struggle with this.

“Just, can’t you chat like a friend, about anything?” Ming Shuzhen protested, struggling to voice her needs.

“Heh,” Ming Shuyan fondly stopped the audio. “Alright.”

“Anything,” she repeated softly.

Though calm outwardly, she was at a loss for topics.

Neglected by her parents growing up, she lacked emotional connection skills. She could speak confidently at big meetings or persuade clients during bids, but purposeless, casual friend-talk stumped her.

Ming Shuzhen, seeing her silence, nudged her arm. “Talk.”

“Talk…” Ming Shuyan blinked unconsciously. “As a kid, I was very closed off. In high school, a great teacher recommended me for the school radio station to interact more.”

Her tone turned nostalgic. “Without that, I’d probably still be a loner. Maybe lucky enough not to turn cynical, but I wouldn’t have today’s achievements.”

Lacking a typical childhood—parents to come home to, family dinners sharing daily stories—she never developed casual chatting skills.

So, purposeless chit-chat meant sharing her past, her privacy, to keep the conversation going.

As expected, Ming Shuzhen blinked, surprised at her openness.

Lying flat, she listened quietly to Ming Shuyan’s voice.

Truly a broadcaster’s voice—clear, cool, like a white lotus blooming at night under moonlight, bright yet serene.

“People need to fit in, go with the flow, do things that seem necessary but aren’t,” Ming Shuyan paused, continuing, “Like marriage, certain aesthetics, or superficial social events.”

“I don’t know if it’s luck, but even if I don’t conform, stay independent, no one punishes me.” After all, even her parents didn’t care.

Ming Shuzhen opened her eyes, finding the topic heavy.

“You’re not a conformist?” she poked her head out, curious.

“Not really,” Ming Shuyan smiled, realizing her aimless chat had dampened the mood.

“How not?” Ming Shuzhen frowned. “Boss, you’re outstanding, a leader in the field. Others should follow you—you don’t need to conform.”

“Mm,” Ming Shuyan gave a faint, bitter smile. She knew they weren’t talking about the same thing, but she couldn’t clarify.

First, she lacked courage. Second, she was scared.

Ming Shuzhen was the only person she cared about now. She feared saying something clashing with her worldview, scaring her off.

Ming Shuyan first realized she’d never like men at thirteen.

Her stepmother had a son, and her grandparents, father, sighed in relief—the family’s legacy secured.

Everyone held the boy, checking repeatedly, lifting his diaper to confirm he was “male.”

When her father kissed between the boy’s legs, she felt nauseated.

Once, in her father and stepmother’s room, she saw the boy biting his mother’s nipple.

Newly teethed, he tugged hard, mouth bloody, refusing to let go. The stepmother pinched his butt; he released, filling the room with wails, walls trembling.

Thirteen-year-old Ming Shuyan stood at the door, seeing the blood-smeared, red-lipped boy screaming, and fled to the bathroom, vomiting bile.

From that day, she rejected men, physically and emotionally.

She’d never share this with anyone, including Ming Shuzhen.

Now, Ming Shuzhen lay there, naive, idly on the bed, struggling with congestion but enjoying Ming Shuyan’s voice.

Her consciousness faded, half-asleep, as Ming Shuyan continued.

“I envy you. Even the coldest hearts can’t help being drawn to you,” Ming Shuyan sighed softly.

She couldn’t pinpoint why—maybe Ming Shuzhen’s pure aura, like a clear droplet, urging protection.

Or her inner peace, making time with her soft and comfortable.

Ming Shuyan couldn’t say. Initially curious about girls from happy families, she paid extra attention when Ming Shuzhen joined the company.

Slowly, she wondered: if Ming Shuzhen married and was worn down by it, what then?

She was shocked by her sense of responsibility—Ming Shuzhen’s marriage or happiness wasn’t her concern.

Yet she couldn’t help caring. One day, it hit her: this was liking someone.

But she was a woman.

Being female made her unlovable to her parents. Being female meant, even if she liked someone, she couldn’t express it.

She recalled fainting from low blood sugar in elementary school. Her mother, pregnant, yanked her up, scolding her, holding her third sister while her second sister gnawed her fingers indifferently.

The world felt blindingly harsh.

“Boss…” Ming Shuzhen, sleepy, mumbled slowly, voice slurred.

Her call broke Ming Shuyan’s grim memories. She snapped back, thinking: the world was harsh, but Ming Shuzhen stood before her, shielding the glare, making it fade.

“What?” Her expression softened.

Ming Shuzhen didn’t reply—she’d fallen asleep, her “Boss” an unconscious murmur.