Why does Ming Shuyan have three girlfriends?

“Your boss makes bank, huh? Driving a Cullinan?” Back home, Zhong Shuo kept tabs on Ming Shuzhen’s mood, relentlessly poking at Ming Shuyan’s flaws.

“First time I’ve seen a girl play *that* hard. Not to stereotype, but I’m floored. Pillow, your boss doesn’t deserve you. Stop moping over her—she’s not worth it.”

Zhong Shuo placed a cup of honey water in front of Ming Shuzhen, ruffling her cheeks.

Ming Shuzhen’s face flushed from the rubbing. “I didn’t say I’m sad over Ming Shuyan. Why would I be?”

“Heh.” Zhong Shuo saw right through her.

Who got sick from a few sweet drinks? Drunk on something else, huh? Who was wrestling with whether it was love, only to cave the moment a rival appeared, admitting she was smitten, head over heels, and cared too much?

“Sigh.” Zhong Shuo leaned in. “Pillow, crushing on someone like that is embarrassing. Don’t worry, after today, I’ll forget it all. We won’t mention it.”

Ming Shuzhen fell for it, not denying her feelings. “Why’s liking Ming Shuyan embarrassing?”

“Hiss.” Zhong Shuo knew she was clueless and didn’t want to lead her astray, but she also feared Ming Shuzhen clinging to false hopes.

“What were those four doing together?” Zhong Shuo guided her slowly.

“How should I know?” Ming Shuzhen pouted, irritated just thinking about them hugging Ming Shuyan.

“Think about it,” Zhong Shuo pressed, frustrated. “Your boss said she likes girls. Navel Girl confessed she’s her ‘life’s person,’ then two more women showed up, hugging your boss.”

“They all like her?” Ming Shuzhen frowned, deep in thought.

“Or maybe your boss likes all three?” Zhong Shuo hesitated, hands fidgeting.

“Quit, Pillow,” she urged again. “You’re playing pure love; she’s playing free love. You can’t win.”

“Hm.” Ming Shuzhen nodded seriously. “You’re right.”

“Hey!” Zhong Shuo laughed, straightening up, tempted to smack her back but worried it’d make her dumber.

“But I can’t quit,” Ming Shuzhen said, resolute.

“I’ll avoid her. I’m just a small employee; she’s the big boss. We barely cross paths anyway.”

“I like my job. It’s meaningful, and the company vibe’s great.”

“The break room’s awesome—tons of snacks, delicious ginger tea, smells sweet and cozy, makes the air feel warm.”

“Everyone’s nice too. None of that online nonsense—backstabbing or scheming.”

“I…” Ming Shuzhen wailed.

It was a dry cry, all thunder, no rain—just needed to let it out.

Zhong Shuo patted her back. “My god, I’m impressed. I thought you’d never cry over love. Your life’s so happy—your parents dote on you. Mine don’t care, but yours raised you so well, and here you are, eating love’s bitterness.”

Done howling, Ming Shuzhen vented.

Her wet lashes clumped as she blinked, waking from a dream. “Yeah, I’m letting my parents down. They’re so good to me, and I’m getting sad over someone random. I’m failing them.”

“Wah, I’m failing them…” She cried again.

This time, it was real—heartbroken, not just for Ming Shuyan but missing Wu Yuanchu and Ming Jianchang, and shaken by realizing she might really like Ming Shuyan, feeling lost and panicked.

Zhong Shuo soothed her to sleep, ending the ordeal.

“Pillow, baby, you’re a soft little kitten, meow~” Zhong Shuo sat by her bed, patting her.

“Meow meow meow.” Her lazy soothing routine: human words to cat sounds.

“Squeak squeak.” Sometimes a mouse.

“Shuo,” Ming Shuzhen mumbled, eyes closed, bedside lamp casting a faint glow, gilding her lashes.

“Hm?” Zhong Shuo’s voice softened, sleepy.

“I hate her,” Ming Shuzhen muttered.

“Me too. Want me to sing the Ming Shuyan song?” Zhong Shuo chuckled.

Still eyes closed, Ming Shuzhen said, “Not meows again.”

They laughed, teeth showing.

“I’ll sing squeaks. Cats are too cute for her.”

“Squeak squeak squeak! ~Squeak squeak squeak! Squeak~”

—

The next day, not a weekend, Ming Shuzhen used a “cold and fever” excuse to take another day off from HR.

Learning from last time, she followed protocol. Deduct a day’s pay? Fine, she didn’t care *that* much.

Lingering in bed, her stomach growled, forcing her up to forage.

In the kitchen, Wu Yuanchu and Ming Jianchang were stuffing the fridge with food.

Seeing her emerge, they peeked out. “Up?”

“Mm.” Seeing their familiar faces, Ming Shuzhen wasn’t surprised.

Dragging slippers, half-eyed, she shuffled to the kitchen. “Got food?”

“I’m simmering soup,” Ming Jianchang said, apron on, wielding a ladle.

“That’s for lunch—too heavy for morning,” Wu Yuanchu interjected. “I’ll get you millet porridge and some stir-fried dishes from home.”

Ming Shuzhen nodded, pulling a stool to sit and wait.

Ming Jianchang glanced at Wu Yuanchu, signaling.

Wu Yuanchu spoke, “What’s up? Tough trip? You look drained.”

Ming Shuzhen shook her head, chin in hands.

The trip was fine—Xu Bao was kind, despite being burned by other firms, even sacrificing two award chances.

Just… some hiccups.

Exhausted, she didn’t want to tell Wu Yuanchu and Ming Jianchang.

“Look what Dad brought!” Ming Jianchang set down his ladle, fetching a square box from the living room.

A bird photography collection—close-up shots: Walden Lake’s blue heron, Sahara’s purple-breasted parrot, chestnut-spotted red-flanked bush robin. The birds’ faces, eyes on either side, looked odd yet artistic.

He flipped through excitedly. “Check their different poop shapes.”

White splatters, overexposed, showed clear textures.

Ming Shuzhen took the heavy book, Ming Jianchang’s name on it.

“Impressive,” she said listlessly.

“So half-hearted,” Ming Jianchang teased, sitting beside her. “I brought it for you—signed, too.”

He was proud of this collection. As *Fine Bird Photography*’s founder, he had fans seeking his advice. Yet every publication thrilled him like the first, brimming with newborn anticipation.

“Dad, these birds are cute—ugly-cute,” Ming Shuzhen tried again, lifting her eyes.

“Ha!” Ming Jianchang laughed. “High praise, my daughter.”

Wu Yuanchu rolled her eyes. “This book’s pricey. The publisher gave your dad just a few, and he brought you one.”

“Mm,” Ming Shuzhen nodded. “Thanks, Dad.”

She knew photography books were costly—thick, special paper, often hundreds of yuan. Some, like this one with rare birds from tricky angles, were non-commercial, auctioned, or gifted to connoisseurs.

And Ming Jianchang shared one with her.

Normally, she’d be thrilled for his new work.

But now, gloom weighed her down. She forced a smile, eyes dull.

Ming Jianchang, seeing the book didn’t cheer her, glanced at Wu Yuanchu.

Wu Yuanchu pulled out a mall card. “Not school-issued—I got this myself.”

“Lots of trendy and luxury brands there. You’re working now—buy some nice clothes.”

She placed the card on the book.

Ming Shuzhen looked at the porridge, book, and card, nose stinging.

“What’re you doing?”

“Nothing, just missed you after your trip,” Wu Yuanchu said, hugging her.

Last night, Zhong Shuo messaged Wu Yuanchu, saying Ming Shuzhen was down post-trip, urging her to check in.

With no classes today, they came over, more worried seeing her so listless.

“Pillow, if you can talk to Mom, I want to hear why you’re upset. Boyfriend trouble?” Wu Yuanchu sat, the three together.

Ming Shuzhen spooned porridge. “What? Did Zhong Shuo blab?”

“She’s worried, just said you’re off lately,” Wu Yuanchu said, smoothing her uncombed hair.

“That’s basically everything,” Ming Shuzhen grumbled, telling Ming Jianchang to grab her phone.

She bombarded Zhong Shuo with emojis, scolding her big mouth.

Wu Yuanchu teased, “Shouldn’t have mentioned her. She cares, told us, and we sold her out.”

Ming Shuzhen glared. “You better.”

“Can we ask about the trip? Why so down?” Wu Yuanchu asked gently.

“Not down.”

“Face dark enough to paint walls,” Ming Jianchang quipped.

Ming Shuzhen looked annoyed. Wu Yuanchu surrendered. “Okay, no questions.”

“But men,” Ming Jianchang added, “I get them—I’m one. Men are jerks. Our Pillow’s gorgeous, kind, cute—what’s that word, kawaii?”

He nudged Wu Yuanchu.

“Right,” she chimed. “Anyone with our Pillow is lucky. Not cherishing her, making her mad? Dump him. Love’s for joy—what’s there to talk about with someone draining your energy?”

“Keep your energy,” Ming Jianchang added. “You’re cute even when mad.”

Ming Shuzhen sighed at their duet. “I’m not dating.”

“Oh.” Wu Yuanchu blinked, nudging Ming Jianchang. “I said it’s work.”

“Work’s just a time-filler,” he mused. “Without it, you’d get bored at home. It sacrifices time to make the rest meaningful. Don’t sweat it—do well, everyone’s happy; mess up, the sky won’t fall.”

Annoyed, Ming Shuzhen slammed her bowl down.

Ming Jianchang hushed, like a scolded kid, waiting.

She wasn’t angry, just frustrated, but seeing their worried faces calmed her.

Why throw a fit over Ming Shuyan, who couldn’t see it? She’s probably laughing with Navel Girl, White Coat, and Short Hair right now.

Looking at the book and card, her heart warmed.

Enough. Her shoulders slumped, deciding to let go of her crush. She didn’t want her loving family and friends to worry or to waste emotions on someone insignificant in her life.

—

Next day at the office, Ming Shuzhen’s mood was back to normal.

She told herself it was just a youthful flutter, now passed.

On the fourth floor, in familiar territory, she relaxed.

The break room had kumquat-pear soup today, its citrusy aroma hitting her as she entered.

She poured a cup and returned to her desk.

The kumquat’s tartness blended with pear’s gentle sweetness, mixed with goji and dates, carrying a medicinal fragrance.

Sipping, she felt the air sweeten.

“Did Pocket Rice make this? So good,” she said to Qian Duoduo, praising it.

Qian Duoduo winked, her yellow lipstick and plaid sweater making her a chubby bumblebee. “Boss made it this morning. For your cold? First time I’ve seen her cook tea—kumquat-pear’s for colds, right?”

“…I’m not sick,” Ming Shuzhen said coolly, glancing at her.

She pushed the cup away, muttering, *Tastes bad.*

At lunch, Meilin, Qian Duoduo, Ming Shuzhen, and Ke Lipeng from Group Two hit the commercial street.

It was getting colder. They found a private soup kitchen, ordering two big steaming bowls.

“Enough, or more?” Meilin asked.

Bamboo cane-horseshoe soup, coconut-pear pork soup, plus free fried five-spice rolls and chili intestines—plenty.

“Fine for now. We’ll add if needed,” Qian Duoduo said.

If even big-appetite Qian Duoduo was satisfied, they didn’t order more.

Full and happy, listening to Qian Duoduo and Ke Lipeng banter, Ming Shuzhen’s mood lifted.

Slouched in her chair, her mind replayed recent events, convincing herself.

First, she swore she had no improper thoughts about Ming Shuyan. Despite knowing about lesbians and hearing Ming Shuyan’s orientation, she grew up around straight couples. Even with Zhong Shuo, she didn’t think she liked girls.

Second, Ming Shuyan was just her boss. That butterfly theory? One of the century’s biggest scams.

And pitying herself for thinking Ming Shuyan meant to kiss her? Laughable and sad.

Coincidentally, Qian Duoduo steered the talk to orientations. “Heard of ‘heteronormative cognitive bias’? Society assumes heterosexuality’s the only natural standard, so we conform. Many don’t realize their true feelings without that framework. Surrounded by straight norms—marriage, kids—we follow, blind to our own instincts.”

“Agree,” Ke Lipeng mumbled through soup, swallowing. “I read a Japanese study. Some women, not until 30 and studying gender theory, realized their teen possessiveness over friends was same-s*x attraction. Heteronormative standards delay recognizing or normalizing it.”

“Heterosexuality’s normal, so is homosexuality. But under straight norms, we overlook our potential same-s*x feelings, blindly following society’s rules.”

“Society needs order—straight norms are easiest for rulers. Not about right or wrong, but blaming gays often excuses straights.”

Ming Shuzhen’s earlier logic crumbled.

Right—society’s heteronormative, so liking her boss felt wrong, hard to recognize.

In a world where heterosexuality’s the standard, what if another world normalized homosexuality? There, it’d be normal too. Like Qin Dynasty’s right-hand reverence versus Tang’s left—neither’s wrong, just a different era.

Without standards, following her heart—did she like Ming Shuyan?

So much, inexplicably so.

But… Ming Shuyan didn’t like her back and might have multiple girlfriends, per Zhong Shuo.

Better not like her—it’d be too hard. Ming Shuzhen pitied herself.

—

During nap time, Ming Shuzhen pulled a blanket, lying on the leather sofa.

The fifth-floor lounge was spacious, familiar faces around, though she didn’t know their departments. At noon, everyone quietly napped or dimmed phones.

Such classy people. She rubbed her eyes, sleeping soundly.

Winter naps had a downside: bright sky before, dimmer after, like losing time.

Stretching, she checked her phone—nearly 4 p.m.

Sleeping this late was excessive, but post-Qingyuan Book House, she had no tasks. Idling at her desk was pointless; better a comfy nap.

Group Two wasn’t just her slacking.

Tilting her head, she meant to scroll her phone but caught eyes watching her.

Just two days apart, those eyes seemed prettier. Ming Shuyan usually wore nude eyeshadow, subtle. Today, reddish-brown deepened her gaze, upturned eyes like a fox, tail swaying.

*Peacock showing off for who?* Ming Shuzhen turned away, back to her.

Patiently, Ming Shuyan moved to sit across her.

Eyes closed, Ming Shuzhen heard footsteps, someone settling on a sofa, and felt a gaze burning her face. Was she mad or just wired from seeing Ming Shuyan?

She shot up, heading to her desk.

Ming Shuyan called, “Let me treat you to dinner?”

*Not starving.* Ming Shuzhen grabbed her coat.

“I want to apologize again. I was drunk, didn’t mean disrespect. Sorry. I get your attitude,” Ming Shuyan said, standing, clutching her phone, reciting a drafted speech. “HR said you took sick leave. If seeing me upsets you, I can stay away. Just wanted to say sorry.”

She watched Ming Shuzhen fumble with her blanket, expressionless, heart tightening.

She hadn’t planned to say this—felt like forcing forgiveness or playing dramatic. She meant to peek and leave but lingered, unable to move even after Ming Shuzhen woke.

Ming Shuzhen didn’t stop, aggressively folding the blanket, failing to align the corners.

“I’ll fold it?” Ming Shuyan stepped forward.

Ming Shuzhen dodged but relinquished the blanket.

She wasn’t mad about the lipstick thing. Even if it was a kiss, so what? She wouldn’t be. They agreed on the plane to drop it, yet Ming Shuyan kept bringing it up. She was just…

Just jealous. Why did Ming Shuyan get three girlfriends?

The lounge was empty now. Ming Shuyan folded and packed the blanket.

“Pillow,” she said softly, eyes pleading like a puppy.

“Tch.” Ming Shuzhen raised her work badge, all business. “Boss, I’m Full Pockets.”

Ming Shuyan ignored the badge, locking eyes. Their pupils, not too dark, reflected each other up close.

Seeing Ming Shuyan’s hurt look, Ming Shuzhen softened. Even if Ming Shuyan had 800 girlfriends, it wasn’t her business. As long as they didn’t fight each other, fine.

Standing straight, she sized Ming Shuyan up.

Such a blatant player—rare.

“Boss, you can’t mess around just because you’re gay,” Ming Shuzhen said earnestly.

“Yes,” Ming Shuyan nodded like a scolded student.

Right—she shouldn’t have taken advantage while drunk or lost decorum because they’re the same gender.

Seeing her shamelessly agree, Ming Shuzhen’s teeth ached.

Her brushing habits were solid, rarely causing pain. Now, her gums throbbed like sipping icy water.