Two sticky baked sweet potatoes

Morning arrived, and power returned to the room.

Ming Shuyan heard the “ding” of electricity resuming and slowly opened her eyes.

Winter mornings dawned late, the sky still dark. Ming Shuyan didn’t know the time.

She glanced down at the person in her arms, sleeping soundly, chest rising and falling gently with each breath.

Lazily stretching her shoulders, Ming Shuyan relaxed completely.

Ming Shuzhen’s feet had slipped off her, and Ming Shuyan inched closer, her chin resting on Ming Shuzhen’s head.

She didn’t dare make big moves—partly out of politeness, partly because, despite her less-than-pure intentions, she wanted their relationship to stay genuine. She feared crossing boundaries.

But Ming Shuzhen moved instinctively.

People gravitate toward warmth. In her sleep, Ming Shuzhen rolled closer, fully nestling into Ming Shuyan’s embrace.

Ming Shuyan’s warmth comforted her, and Ming Shuzhen nuzzled in, face buried against her chest, curling up like a kitten beside its mother.

Ming Shuyan froze, then slowly extended her arms, embracing her gently.

This closeness was a first—even as a child, she hadn’t felt this.

Like a sticky, golden roasted sweet potato, fresh from the oven, steaming hot, warming the stomach.

Ming Shuyan’s lips curved slowly, eyelashes fluttering, eyes faintly misty.

—

When Ming Shuzhen woke, Ming Shuyan was gone, showering in the bathroom.

The sudden blackout last night had rushed things; feeling unclean, Ming Shuzhen planned to bathe again.

Lying in bed, she stretched her arms, feeling residual warmth. Rolling over, she claimed the entire bed.

Flat on her back, she listened to the shower’s water, its sound blooming like a soft “pop.”

When Ming Shuyan emerged, Ming Shuzhen slowly rose, dressing.

Having shared a bed, she felt no awkwardness.

Instead, she was a bit giddy, dismissing her earlier worries about butterfly theories and such as overthinking.

She was a straight woman—tested and true. Sleeping beside her “admired” person, she felt nothing but comfort.

*Admired*? She corrected herself—no, *appreciated*.

Sitting on the bed’s edge, big eyes blinking, she watched Ming Shuyan.

Fresh from drying her hair, Ming Shuyan met her gaze, puzzled. “Why’re you staring?”

“Hehe, Boss, sleep well last night?” Ming Shuzhen grinned.

“…” Ming Shuyan composed herself. “Pretty well.”

“Oh~” Ming Shuzhen grew giddier, concluding her boss was also straight. “That’s great, hehe.”

“Heh.” Ming Shuyan saw her overthinking again, eyes teasing. “What, you didn’t sleep well?”

“Of course I did!” Ming Shuzhen puffed up. “Slept like a log.”

“Mm. No need for such a big reaction,” Ming Shuyan paused.

After breakfast in the room, they met Qian Duoduo and Chen Hao, heading to the Book House by car.

The weather remained gloomy, the view from the car a dull gray.

In the back seat, Ming Shuzhen messaged Zhong Shuo.

“Sister Shuo, I’m *so* straight. Slept with my boss last night, felt nothing, slept like a baby.”

“No way I’d suddenly like her—we’re both women, too weird.”

“It’s your fault, talking about hot nonsense and butterfly theories, making me paranoid. But I’m chill now—no feelings for my boss, hehe.” She grinned dumbly.

Zhong Shuo, struggling through a night of failed gaming, hadn’t slept. Her phone buzzed relentlessly.

Glancing at Ming Shuzhen’s messages, her bloodshot eyes reddened further.

She dripped eye drops, then pressed the voice button.

“I’ve never seen a straight girl dissect this stuff with me. Real straight girls don’t even think this way. Whether you are or not, I’ve got my judgment.”

“…” Ming Shuzhen gaped. “What’s your judgment?”

Then added, “Wow, up this early? Or didn’t sleep?”

Zhong Shuo sent a “cool guy” emoji. “All-nighter’s my vibe.”

“Oh, failed to take the tower, huh?” Ming Shuzhen teased.

“Tch.” Zhong Shuo sent a “don’t change the subject” emoji. “We’re talking about you, you little lesbian.”

Thanks to Zhong Shuo’s prior explanation, Ming Shuzhen knew “lesbian.” She fired back a “furious” emoji. “I’m NOT a lesbian!!”

“Tsk.” Zhong Shuo rubbed her chin, nodding. *Veteran lesbian vibes.*

“Listen, your boss? Go for it. Worst case, you lose a job. What’s wrong with being a lesbian? I think straights are embarrassing—greasy faces, oily hair. Us little lesbians are sweet. You’d be lucky to be one.”

“No, you already are.”

Ming Shuzhen stared at Zhong Shuo’s rant, unsure how to respond.

“My job was hard to get…” *Humble kitten.*

“Pathetic.” Zhong Shuo sent a “mocking” emoji. “We’re 985 grads—jobs are a breeze. Companies beg for us.”

Ming Shuzhen sighed—Zhong Shuo’s confidence rivaled a superpower.

At the Book House, as they stepped off the car, Liu Wenjing pulled Ming Shuyan aside.

Assuming they had business, the others entered without much thought.

—

“Look, I’m embarrassed to say this. Xu Bao’s got an artist’s temperament—hot-headed. He decided to terminate the contract, and I can’t interfere,” Liu Wenjing said, troubled.

Ming Shuyan listened calmly, face unreadable.

“Let’s keep the contract active, not void it,” Ming Shuyan mused. “We’ll issue the inspection report as usual. No construction team from us—Xu Bao can find his own for repairs.”

Liu Wenjing, studying her calm face, thought her a worthy ally.

Ming Shuyan’s stance was clear: Red Brick would deliver the report. If the contract ended, they’d work for free. They’d only inspect, not handle follow-ups.

If Xu Bao distrusted Red Brick, he could hire his own team, leaving no room to accuse them of fabricating XPS board issues for profit.

“Village Chief Liu, Red Brick doesn’t stoop to petty gains. Whether this project goes to us is minor. We took it as a公益 project, planning to do it free from the start.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Inspections ensure safety. But if the Book House has hazards, even if Xu Bao wins awards or officials get promoted, what then? If a wall collapses, injuring a kid who finally came to read, should we celebrate no kids were there?”

“You built this Book House for awards and promotions, then walk away? It’s public money—taxpayers’, our money. Don’t you care?”

Her tone wasn’t heated, nor did she blame Liu Wenjing, knowing her limited power as a village chief. Still, her barrage of questions startled Liu.

Liu Wenjing looked down at the cement ground, paved just years ago.

When she arrived, it was all mud.

Few spoke of ideals now—too laughable.

But Liu Wenjing had hers, too shy to share, even with Song Jin, who shared her hopes.

No ambitions for wealth or power, she just wanted better lives for villagers.

Smoother roads, not muddy in rain, passable by cars. Better education, teachers speaking standard Mandarin so kids wouldn’t be mocked for accents. More local jobs, so workers could return, sparing kids and elders from being left behind.

Her wishes were pure, but years of work showed how hard it was.

Even a公益 project like Qingyuan Book House saw people scheming for profit.

Xu Bao’s distrust stemmed from repeated fake issues by colluding inspection and construction firms, fleecing him.

Seeing Liu silent, Ming Shuyan continued, “We’re an independent third-party inspector. If our report’s questioned, they can seek a review.”

Legally, she was unafraid.

Liu Wenjing shook her head. Red Brick’s dedication was evident, unlike others.

She’d seen the wall’s sticky notes, the mud-dyeing tools in the yard—touched by their extra efforts to engage kids.

Taking the pressure, Liu said, “Sorry, forget I mentioned it. I’ll talk to Xu Bao.”

“No,” Ming Shuyan refused. “Contracts require mutual consent. If Xu has issues, we don’t force deals.”

She didn’t want Liu caught in the middle.

“But one thing: whether we get this project is small. The XPS board issue is big. Whoever inspects next, I hope Xu Bao takes it seriously—patch what needs patching, replace what needs replacing. Missing an award is fine; there’s always next time. But a collapsed wall injuring someone? That’d ruin his reputation, not just an award—his record would be stained.”

“I get it. I’ll tell him,” Liu nodded, looking up. “Thank you.”

Ming Shuyan said no more, composed herself, and entered the Book House.