Chapter 9 (1/2)
Mu Wan followed Liu Qianxiu inside.
The corridor light folded across the doorway in a long rectangle. Looking at the entrance, Mu Wan remembered it had been just as empty yesterday when she had come.
“Why isn’t Zhouyi sitting by the door waiting?” she asked.
Behind her, Liu Qianxiu closed the door. The lock clicked into place, and his low voice came from behind her.
“Waiting for what?”
Still holding the bouquet, Mu Wan changed into slippers and said, “Waiting for its owner to come home.”
Liu Qianxiu switched on the lights. The apartment brightened at once—spacious, but no longer empty in quite the same way. He took out a first-aid kit and said quietly, “Only people wait.”
Only people waited for someone to come home.
And today, Mu Wan had waited for Liu Qianxiu at his door.
Put like that, the relationship between them suddenly felt a little delicate.
Coming back to herself, Mu Wan saw that Liu Qianxiu was carrying the first-aid box, his expression unchanged. She smiled and, following his indication, sat down on the rug beside the low table.
The rug was slightly firm beneath her, and the scent of agarwood in the room was rich.
Then Mu Wan came back to herself again and held the flowers out to him.
Liu Qianxiu lowered his eyes to look at her. Mu Wan sat on the rug, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. Her eyes were dark as ink, lit with warm reflections from the room.
“These are for you,” she said. “Thank you for helping me take care of the kittens. And for treating me to yangchun noodles.”
The bouquet was large. Liu Qianxiu’s fingers closed around the wrapping paper with a soft rustle. Then, holding the flowers, he sat down cross-legged across from her and said, “You’re welcome. And thank you for the flowers.”
A handsome man holding beautiful flowers was almost too much to look at.
Mu Wan found herself staring at him, as though gazing at a newly finished oil painting. Every stroke felt perfectly placed, flawless in its balance.
Liu Qianxiu’s presence was so striking that she had, until now, almost overlooked his face itself. Sitting this close, she could study him properly.
There was a natural, understated refinement to his features.
He was like a lake. A grove. Or more than that—like distant mountains behind a lake and forest, softened by mist, removed from dust and worldliness, quiet and enduring. He was nothing like the flawless-faced male celebrities in the entertainment industry.
Male stars lived on their looks, and over time, those faces lost something of their spirit.
But Liu Qianxiu’s spirit only seemed to deepen with time, like clear wine sealed in a jar, growing richer and stronger until looking at him alone could become quietly addictive.
In the wide living room, there were only two of them.
And yet Mu Wan suddenly felt as though the space had narrowed.
Liu Qianxiu sat close beside her, lowering his head to treat her wound. The living-room light rested softly over his face. His expression was focused.
Gentle.
He was such a cool, distant man—cold from the inside out—and yet somehow, on his face now, Mu Wan could see tenderness.
The whole room was silent. The only sound was the faint whisper of air from the vent. Somewhere inside her, warmth began to rise, brushing at her throat, making it itch, just like the cotton swab brushing across the scrape on her knee.
“You’re not cold at all,” Mu Wan said.
She drew up one knee and, to steady herself, leaned back on both hands against the rug. The coarse cotton-linen texture pressed faint woven marks into her palms.
She sounded relaxed, lazy, almost as though she were chatting with an old friend.
With both hands braced behind her, her posture was easy and unguarded. The neckline of her top had slipped slightly to one side, revealing half a collarbone—pale, straight, exquisitely shaped. Above it, her neck ran long and clean.
Liu Qianxiu glanced up at her once.
She was smiling.
Mu Wan was beautiful to begin with, but when she smiled, there was a sweetness and subtle allure to her that she herself did not seem to notice. Red lips. Small face. Pale skin. At this distance, everything about her felt sharpened and drawn closer.
He lowered his gaze again.
After fixing the gauze in place, he finished the last careful step of tending the wound. Then he put the supplies back into the first-aid kit and answered her in a quiet voice.
“I’m only not indifferent to cats.”
Mu Wan’s eyes shifted.
Now that the dressing was done, she lowered her knee and sat cross-legged as well. The two faced each other—he calm and unreadable, she bright and alive.
Mu Wan curved her lips and gave a soft little call.
“Meow~ I’m a cat.”
Her voice spread gently through the small space, like pigment dissolving into water and gradually thinning at the edges. Her tone was slightly husky, carrying that soft, magnetic quality some women had—the kind that could stir people with only a single syllable.
Liu Qianxiu’s throat moved once.
Mu Wan, of course, did not catch such a small reaction. After the first meow, she added, “Can this cat mooch another dinner?”
Liu Qianxiu studied her for a long moment.
Then, without a word, he rose from the rug and went into the kitchen.
Dinner that night was tomato shrimp pasta.
Looking at the two plates set before them, Mu Wan was a little surprised.
“You can eat seafood?”
The deeper meaning being: Taoist Liu didn’t even keep dietary restrictions?
Liu Qianxiu seemed to catch that unspoken layer. As he pulled out a chair and sat down, he said, “I’m not a monk.”
Mu Wan: “...”
After dinner, Mu Wan checked on Ertong and Datou, then went home.
The rain had stopped again by nightfall. Without the sound of rain to keep her company, heaven and earth seemed equally still.
After showering, Mu Wan lay in bed and stared at the lone lamp hanging in the darkness above.
There was only one light in the bedroom.
It hung there by itself, just like her.
Late at night, thoughts naturally deepened.
Mu Wan looked at the light and remembered what Liu Qianxiu had said.
Only people wait.
Why did only people wait?
Because only people can ease another person’s loneliness.
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