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Chapter 25: Devour

The movie hadn’t started yet, and people were still trickling in. Jiang Liuyi lowered the armrest between them, held the bucket of popcorn in her lap, and asked, “Want some?”

Song Xian turned her head. In the dim light, Jiang Liuyi’s eyes were especially bright, like rippling water—clear and soft. She shook her head. “You go ahead.”

She reached for the drink beside her. The icy cola was crisp and refreshing, and as she took a sip, the opening credits began to roll. Her body slowly relaxed.

When was the last time she watched a movie?

Song Xian could barely remember. Most of the time, it was just eating at home while casually picking something to watch. Coming out to the theater like this—taking the initiative—this was the first time since she moved to this city.

And even more of a first: being led here by someone.

Song Xian lowered her gaze to their tightly clasped hands, frowning slightly. Jiang Liuyi’s fingers were long and slender, her joints distinct, her skin warm. In the chilled, air-conditioned theater, it was actually quite comforting—she just wasn’t quite used to it yet.

It was only after getting married that she realized how many things two women had to do in a marriage. So many, far more than she’d expected. Fortunately, she’d been mentally prepared, so it wasn’t too hard to accept. Song Xian glanced sideways, quietly thinking—good thing they’d gotten married straight away instead of dating first. If they had dated, wouldn’t there have been even more to navigate?

Just the thought of it felt exhausting.

Song Xian suddenly felt grateful for that rare moment of decisiveness—skipping the dating phase and proposing marriage to Jiang Liuyi right away. She was genuinely satisfied with the way things were now.

So satisfied that holding Jiang Liuyi’s hand to calm her nerves didn’t seem like a big deal at all.

Besides, she was her wife. If she was scared, she ought to be comforted.

With that thought, Song Xian relaxed completely, letting Jiang Liuyi squeeze her hand as tightly as she wanted. Jiang Liuyi caught a glimpse of her composed profile—the way her eyelashes fluttered—and suddenly, it was like a pebble had been dropped into her chest, sending ripples across the surface.

The movie officially began. The screen went black, and suddenly a hand reached out from the darkness. Jiang Liuyi instinctively tightened her grip on the hand she was holding. Song Xian turned to look at her and, seeing the shift in her expression, asked softly, “Are you really that scared?”

If she was that scared, why come?

Then Song Xian recalled an old roommate who was also terrified of horror movies but always the most enthusiastic when the dorm planned a group viewing.

Just like Jiang Liuyi now.

After a moment’s thought, Song Xian reached out her other hand and held it up in front of Jiang Liuyi, trying to block her line of sight so she wouldn’t be quite so frightened. Jiang Liuyi turned her head, meeting Song Xian’s gaze in the dark, light flickering across her face. Her heartbeat rose and fell in time with the shadows.

The soft trickling of water from the screen finally drew both of their attention back to the film.

Song Xian asked, “Still scared?”

Jiang Liuyi’s voice dropped a little. “Not scared.”

“Then I won’t block your view anymore?” Song Xian offered.

In the quiet around them, Jiang Liuyi could hear the loud thump of her own heartbeat. She feigned calm. “Mm, okay.”

Song Xian withdrew her hand, sat upright, and turned her attention back to the screen, her expression composed and unreadable. Only when the scenes became too intense did she frown slightly. Jiang Liuyi, on the other hand, spent the entire movie barely following the plot.

She’d been too busy watching Song Xian.

It seemed she hadn’t lied—she really wasn’t afraid of horror films.

And yet, Jiang Liuyi didn’t want to let go of her hand.

The movie was long, over a hundred minutes. The two of them shifted positions several times, but their hands remained clasped the entire time. When the film ended, Song Xian immediately pulled her hand back and rolled her shoulder a little. For the first time, Jiang Liuyi felt as if the movie had gone by too quickly.

They followed the crowd out of the theater. Two girls in front of them were deep in discussion about the plot. Jiang Liuyi turned to ask something about it, only to realize she hadn’t really paid attention at all.

She asked, “Was it good?”

Song Xian answered sincerely, “It was okay. But the plot could’ve been scarier.”

Scarier? Jiang Liuyi remembered a girl behind them who had been scared to tears. But now, it seemed she had uncovered one of Song Xian’s preferences—she liked horror films.

On the way back, Song Xian leaned against her seat to rest. The scenery outside flew past, scene after scene retreating into the distance. All of a sudden, she noticed something and turned to Jiang Liuyi. “This isn’t the way home.”

Jiang Liuyi nodded. “I’m taking you somewhere.”

Song Xian frowned but didn’t say anything.

Half an hour later, she was dozing off when Jiang Liuyi brought the car to a stop. “Wait for me a bit.”

She watched Jiang Liuyi jog toward a street stall. A few minutes later, she returned with a bag in hand. Song Xian was suddenly struck by a sense of déjà vu—memories from the night she got drunk came flooding back.

“You want a pancake? Okay, I’ll go get it.”

“Not this one? Then I’ll find something else.”

“If they don’t have it here, we’ll try somewhere else. Drive us around the city.”

“Song Xian, I got it.”

“Let’s go home and eat.”

Though it had been a drunken memory, it was now vivid—every detail sharp. Song Xian even remembered how Jiang Liuyi had teased her, making her nibble on her own hand. Jiang Liuyi walked up to the car window and knocked. Song Xian rolled it down, and Jiang Liuyi’s profile appeared with a soft smile as she handed over the bag. “The pancake you wanted.”

For a split second, a tingling sensation spread across Song Xian’s chest.

She remembered now—how hard it had been to find it that night, how long they’d searched, how many times Jiang Liuyi had gotten in and out of the car. Even though she’d been drunk then, Jiang Liuyi had gone out of her way to fulfill her unreasonable demand.

Taking the pancake, Song Xian lowered her eyes. “Thanks,” she said, her voice just a touch gentler than usual.

Jiang Liuyi smiled. “Eat up. We’ll go home after.”

Song Xian took a bite. It was savory, the surface sprinkled with sesame seeds, rich and fragrant. She ate slowly, deliberately, occasionally glancing up at Jiang Liuyi. “Want some?”

Jiang Liuyi looked down. She’d already filled up on popcorn at the theater and wasn’t really hungry—but when she met Song Xian’s gaze, she replied, “I can have a bite.”

Song Xian tore off a piece and handed it to her. One sat inside the car, the other stood by the door. Neither of them spoke—they simply ate the pancake in quiet companionship.

The aroma of food drifted over from nearby stalls, and the air between them felt warm, unhurried.

Before long, Jiang Liuyi finished her portion. She got in, buckled her seatbelt, and turned to Song Xian. “Home?”

Song Xian nodded.

The car slowly pulled away from the entrance of the food street and headed in another direction. With her belly full and her body warm, sleepiness crept in easily. Song Xian leaned back against the seat, and in a daze, she found herself back in her old art room. The window was half open, a chilly wind blowing in. 

She sat by the window with a sheet of drawing paper in her lap, gazing downward—someone was outside, shoveling snow. Half an hour later, that person came back inside, dusting snow off their coat, and scolded her gently: “Why’s the window open again? You just got over your cold. Want another trip to the hospital?”

She kept her head down, quietly drawing, with a faint smile on her lips.

That person came over. “Drawing me?”

She answered, “Mm. Does it look good?”

Then she looked up, wanting to see the face—but all she could make out was a blur, indistinct and featureless. Song Xian jolted awake.

Jiang Liuyi had just parked. “We’re home,” she said.

Song Xian’s face was a little pale as she got out of the car with her bag. Jiang Liuyi walked beside her, and once they were in the elevator, she finally asked, “Did you fall asleep just now?”

“Just dozed off for a bit.”

Jiang Liuyi glanced sideways. “Nightmare?”

Song Xian was quiet for a moment, then said, “Not exactly.”

That piqued Jiang Liuyi’s curiosity. “What did you dream about?”

“I dreamed about someone I used to like a lot.”

Jiang Liuyi’s heart skipped a beat. She turned to look at Song Xian. Someone she used to like—a lot?

At the door, she couldn’t hold back and asked, “Was it an ex-girlfriend?”

Song Xian shook her head, answering calmly, “I’ve never had a girlfriend.”

Jiang Liuyi’s mood brightened instantly. Come to think of it, despite being married for quite a while now, they’d never really talked about past relationships. Her curiosity fully awakened, Jiang Liuyi couldn’t stop herself from asking, “You’ve really never dated anyone before?”

Song Xian met her gaze, eyes still and clear. “No.”

Jiang Liuyi let out a quiet “Oh.”

Now her mood wasn’t just sunny—it was radiant. Sure, Song Xian had once liked someone, but who didn’t have a past? Feeling she should be honest too, Jiang Liuyi admitted, “I used to date someone.”

Song Xian looked at her, puzzled. “I know.”

After she said that, Song Xian set down her bag and told Jiang Liuyi, “I’m going to shower first.”

Jiang Liuyi watched her walk into the bathroom, still finding it hard to believe that someone like Song Xian had never been in a relationship. She was so outstanding. But the thought that such an exceptional person now belonged to her sparked a quiet, unexpected joy in Jiang Liuyi’s chest.

She stood outside the bathroom, listening to the gentle sound of water. A sense of calm washed over her.

Song Xian only took a quick shower and soon stepped out wrapped in a towel. “I left the light on. Go ahead.”

Jiang Liuyi grabbed her pajamas and went in.

When she came out, Song Xian was lying on the chaise lounge, a face mask on, scrolling through her phone with one hand. Jiang Liuyi sat at the vanity, drying her hair, occasionally sneaking glances at Song Xian through the mirror.

Song Xian shifted her position, lying on her side. Her off-shoulder nightgown slipped slightly, revealing both arms. Under the glow of the crystal light, her skin shimmered softly. The air from the blow-dryer suddenly felt even hotter.

Jiang Liuyi turned her gaze away. Song Xian finished checking her messages, replied to the ones she needed to, then finally set her phone aside. When she noticed Jiang Liuyi had nearly finished drying her hair, she walked into the bathroom, peeled off the mask, and splashed cool water on her face. She patted her skin dry with care before coming out again.

Jiang Liuyi had already put down the blow-dryer. In the mirror, she was gently applying toner and lotion.

Their eyes met in the mirror for half a second before Song Xian quickly walked to the doorway and turned off the light. A wordless understanding rose within Jiang Liuyi—swift and sure.

And with it, a wave of heat.

Song Xian wrapped her arms around her from behind. Jiang Liuyi’s hands, mid-application of lotion, froze. Invisible sparks ignited in the room, flaring in bursts. The cream on her palms melted into her skin.

Song Xian hooked an arm around her neck and pulled her backward. Jiang Liuyi stumbled and caught her, the two of them tumbling onto the bed. The fire between them grew dry and restless, craving water to cool it.

Jiang Liuyi reached out instinctively, trying to find that water. But Song Xian caught her hand and pulled it close. In the dark, her voice, no longer steady, lowered with a hint of something else. “Is there any pancake left?”

The rustling stilled. Jiang Liuyi froze, momentarily unsure of what Song Xian meant. She hesitantly reached out—only for Song Xian to catch her finger between her teeth.

Delicate fingers enveloped in warmth and dampness—last time had been a drunken accident. This time, Song Xian was fully aware. Jiang Liuyi felt her heart turn to softness, but Song Xian wasn’t finished. She bit down gently, her teeth pressing against the pad of Jiang Liuyi’s finger.

In that instant, Jiang Liuyi felt something being consumed—not her finger, but her soul.