Chapter 2
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Chapter 2: Likes
Song Xian stepped through the front door at precisely five o’clock. The apartment had been purchased by Jiang Liuyi—a fully furnished unit she’d bought before they’d even registered their marriage, so it didn’t count as joint property. Not that Song Xian cared to calculate such things, but after their wedding, she had still taken it upon herself to handle the appliances and buy a car.
Jiang Liuyi’s car was provided by her company, and since Song Xian already owned one, the new vehicle remained in the garage, untouched except for the occasional outing when Jiang Liuyi needed it for a social event.
As she pushed open the door, Song Xian noticed the silence immediately. Jiang Liuyi wasn’t in sight. Mildly curious, she set down her bag and walked further inside. Just as she neared the bedroom, she heard the sound of running water.
Jiang Liuyi was taking a shower.
Song Xian left the room and walked out onto the balcony to bring in the laundry. While folding clothes, she heard the bathroom door open behind her.
“You’re back?” Jiang Liuyi called out.
She hadn’t bothered dressing, only slipped into a bathrobe for convenience. Her damp hair was wrapped loosely in a dry towel, beads of water trailing down and soaking into the soft fabric of the robe.
“The hair dryer’s over here,” Song Xian said, her voice calm.
Jiang Liuyi made her way to the vanity and sat down. She took the hair dryer that Song Xian handed her and turned it on. Warm air began to hum through the room. Song Xian finished folding the clothes and tucked them neatly into the wardrobe. She grabbed a set of loungewear—no undergarments—and said, “I’m going to shower.”
“I just ran a bath,” Jiang Liuyi offered. “Want to soak a bit?”
She’d been swamped all week, flying from city to city. There hadn’t been many performances, but the tight schedule left her drained. The first thing she did upon getting home was draw a bath. She’d nearly fallen asleep in it, too—startled awake only by the sound of the front door opening, she’d rinsed off quickly and stepped out.
Without looking back, Song Xian replied, “No need. A shower is fine.”
In such a hurry?
She must’ve missed her a lot.
Jiang Liuyi turned the hair dryer up to its highest setting. The third gear blew even hotter air than before.
A little over ten minutes later, Song Xian stepped out of the bathroom. She wore a fitted, pure white pajama set. The soft fabric clung to her figure, accentuating graceful curves. Barefoot, she crossed the floor and tugged off her shower cap—she hadn’t washed her hair today.
At the vanity, she ran her fingers through her hair, giving it a simple comb through. Her long, dark hair fell in a cascade down her back—thick, jet black, and naturally straight. Back in school, her classmates were always trying to drag her to salons for a big wavy perm, but within days, her hair would stubbornly return to its sleek form. She’d given up experimenting after that, choosing instead to simply maintain it well.
Jiang Liuyi adored her hair. After they were done, she always loved to wrap her arms around Song Xian from behind, burying her face into the silky strands. She’d say it felt incredibly comforting.
A strange little quirk, Song Xian thought.
She set down the towel and hairbrush and walked over to the bed, smoothing out the sheets with practiced ease.
From her seat at the vanity, Jiang Liuyi watched through the mirror. Song Xian leaned over slightly as she straightened the bedding. Her sleeveless top revealed slender arms and porcelain skin—enticing enough that Jiang Liuyi found herself losing interest in drying her hair altogether.
With her hair still slightly damp, Jiang Liuyi set the hair dryer down, slipped off her shoes, and walked quietly toward Song Xian. Just as Song Xian happened to turn her head, their eyes met—gazes locking, breaths drawing closer. The soft scent of body wash seemed to blend seamlessly between them, wrapping the moment in warmth.
Jiang Liuyi’s gaze dropped slightly, lingering on Song Xian’s lips.
They were naturally pale pink, delicately shaped—thin, almost fragile. Made for kissing.
No one knew that better than Jiang Liuyi. The taste… sweet, sweeter than candied fruit.
As the thought bloomed in her mind, she leaned down instinctively. Just as her lips were about to brush against Song Xian’s, a quiet voice said, “Turn off the lights.”
It wasn’t the usual cool tone—there was something else beneath it, something restrained.
Jiang Liuyi understood. Song Xian had her ways. Before they did anything, the lights had to be off. The special blackout curtains drawn. Not even the faintest trace of light allowed into the room.
She complied, switching off the lamp. In the darkness, the warmth between them surged. Like two fish swimming in the deep sea, they melted into each other, completely and utterly.
Afterward, Jiang Liuyi murmured, “I told the media about our marriage. I didn’t go into detail, though.”
For someone in the public eye, privacy was a luxury. But marriage—something this significant—wasn’t something Jiang Liuyi intended to hide. She just hadn’t been sure how Song Xian would feel about it.
Song Xian hadn’t minded. Jiang Liuyi had made the announcement before her tour. It had stirred up quite a buzz. Song Xian had even taken a look at the headlines herself.
Jiang Liuyi hesitated, then asked, “If you don’t want us to be photographed together…”
Many public figures chose to keep their families out of the spotlight, to protect them from scrutiny. But Jiang Liuyi didn’t think Song Xian was that type. She loved her—deeply—so surely, she wouldn’t mind being seen.
“It’s fine,” Song Xian said.
Just as she’d expected. Jiang Liuyi had known she wouldn’t mind.
They rested for a while, exchanging a few quiet words. Then Jiang Liuyi asked, “What time is it?”
Song Xian replied, “Probably late.”
Jiang Liuyi reached into the drawer and picked up her phone. “Eight thirty.”
In the soft glow of the screen, her gaze fell on Song Xian, who was straightening the sheets. She wasn’t wearing her pajamas. Her narrow shoulders and slender waist stood out against the room’s dim light. Tall and graceful, her long hair draped across her back, swaying with each subtle movement.
Jiang Liuyi turned the phone over and set it face down. The room slipped back into darkness.
“I’ll go out and—” Song Xian began, but before she could finish, Jiang Liuyi caught her wrist and pulled her back into bed.
Fingers entwined, bodies pressed close—they ended the night’s second round in the most intimate way possible.
Exhausted, Song Xian lay motionless on the bed. Jiang Liuyi, somehow still with energy, rose and picked up the crumpled sheets from the floor. She stepped out briefly, and a moment later, the door creaked open just enough for her voice to slip through.
“Come on,” she said. “I ordered takeout.”
Neither of them liked to cook. Jiang Liuyi rarely stepped into the kitchen, and Song Xian had no interest in it at all. So takeout had become their unspoken routine.
Song Xian didn’t linger in bed. She stepped down barefoot, knees giving slightly—nearly collapsing, if not for the edge of the bed catching her in time.
Still, she managed to change the sheets, albeit slowly. Draping on her robe, she stepped out of the room. The flush on her cheeks had begun to fade, her complexion returning to its usual soft, pale calm.
“I’m going to shower,” Jiang Liuyi said.
Song Xian responded with her usual quiet indifference and gathered the sheets, tossing them into the washing machine—along with the bathrobe Jiang Liuyi had just slipped off. The water began to run in a gentle, rhythmic stream. Through the frosted glass of the bathroom door, Jiang Liuyi’s figure was faintly visible, graceful and defined. Song Xian spared it a glance, her expression unchanged.
While Jiang Liuyi showered, her phone rang several times. Song Xian glanced at the screen. A woman’s name lit up in bold characters.
If she remembered correctly, it was the name Jiang Liuyi had mistakenly called her the very first time they met—then quickly apologized, claiming she had confused her with someone else.
That was the moment Song Xian realized she’d misheard the voice.
The phone kept ringing, again and again, urgency pressing from the other side. After several minutes, Song Xian rose and finally decided to bring it to her.
“Your phone,” she said. “You’ve missed two calls already.”
Jiang Liuyi wiped the water from her face with a towel, catching sight of the caller ID. Her brows knit together slightly, but she still answered.
Song Xian, knowing when to give space, stepped out of the bathroom without another word.
Not long after, Jiang Liuyi emerged. She walked straight to the wardrobe, pulled out a long red dress and a dark-colored coat, then sat at the vanity and applied a light touch of makeup.
Song Xian was passing by with a book in hand when she heard her name.
“Song Xian.”
She turned her head. In the vanity mirror, Jiang Liuyi’s face bloomed like a peach blossom—stunning and impossible to look away from.
“I have to go out for a bit,” Jiang Liuyi said.
Song Xian didn’t question it. She simply nodded. “Alright.”
Not a single question asked. She looked so obedient.
Jiang Liuyi had intended to explain, but her phone buzzed again with another message. She stood up. “We’ll talk when I get back.”
Song Xian’s expression didn’t shift. “Okay.”
With that, Jiang Liuyi picked up her bag and brushed lightly past her. The door closed behind her with a soft click. Song Xian sat down on the couch and turned on the television. By coincidence—or perhaps not—the channel landed on entertainment news. The host, seated beside an on-screen image, announced, “Rising painter Yu Bai returned to the country this afternoon at four. Rumor has it she’s here to launch an exhibition. She’s just finished a residency in New—”
Yu Bai. That was the name flashing on Jiang Liuyi’s phone earlier.
Song Xian reached for the remote, ready to turn the TV off, when the doorbell rang. Her brows knit slightly as she walked over.
It was the takeout Jiang Liuyi had ordered earlier.
She brought the bag to the table, opened it, and found stir-fried beef with green peppers—and shredded potatoes with green peppers.
Perfect. Not a single dish she could eat.
They’d been living together for two months. Yet somehow, Jiang Liuyi had still failed to remember she didn’t eat green peppers. She’d mentioned it during their very first meal together. She distinctly recalled saying she disliked them.
Song Xian turned back to the TV, fingers resting lightly on the edge of the takeout box.
Did she really forget?
Or was she simply too distracted, now that someone she cared about had returned?
She had no interest in speculating on Jiang Liuyi’s thoughts. The television murmured on in the background as she repacked the containers and walked them to the trash. Her expression never changed—cool and composed, as always.
When she didn’t like something, she never clung to it.
Not even a little.
