Chapter Fifty-Five: The Gift

“Don’t open it just yet, Yi. If we keep drinking this bottle, I’m afraid I’ll end up ruining your precious Persian carpet,” Ning said, not addressing Mengmeng directly, but instead giving a roundabout, cautious reminder to Zheng Yi.

Mengmeng cocked her head, brushing aside the silky hair that had fallen over her eyes. “You’re nothing like a man. We rarely have a chance to enjoy ourselves, yet you have to spoil the mood. I’m disappointed in you! Never mind him, Yi. If he doesn’t want to drink, let him be.” With that, she opened the bottle and filled Zheng Yi’s crystal glass, then poured another full glass for herself.

Zheng Yi sighed. “Alright! Tonight I’ll drink with you to your heart’s content. It’s a pity Jing isn’t back yet—if only she were here, the three of us would be even happier!”

The two women clinked glasses and downed their drinks in one go. Ning shook his head in silence, focusing on his food, when suddenly Mengmeng flung herself into Zheng Yi’s arms and began to sob. “Yi, I don’t want to marry that bastard in Chengdu. I hated him even back at university! Why is my life so bitter…”

Zheng Yi hurriedly half-led, half-carried Mengmeng into her bedroom, leaving Ning sitting in the living room, dumbfounded. Reflecting on Mengmeng’s troubles, he could only shake his head in helpless sympathy. Knowing that Mengmeng and Zheng Yi wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon, and feeling it would be awkward to go in and offer comfort, Ning picked up the remote and switched on the TV, flipping aimlessly through the channels, changing again when nothing caught his interest.

In truth, Ning was weighed down with a heavy heart. Seeing Mengmeng’s distress cut him deeply, yet he found no way to console her. The thought of his own case, still without a trace of news, left him anxious and melancholic every day. Though his current life was stable and full, it was only a temporary refuge. If he couldn’t clear his name, was he to remain on the run forever?

He kept his adopted brother Zhang Jianhan’s warnings firmly in mind, not daring to contact him or his family, nor his beloved Liu Yiqing, for fear of dragging her into his troubles. He knew his brother must be doing everything to find evidence to prove his innocence, but facing such power and resistance, how much hope could he really have?

Lost in these thoughts, Ning’s hand continued to press the remote, the shifting images flickering silently across his vacant gaze.

Suddenly, a familiar face flashed across the screen.

Ning snapped upright as if shocked, checked the remote in his hand, and quickly switched back to the previous channel. When the logo of Guangxi TV appeared in the upper left corner, there she was—the face he knew so well: Liu Yiqing, his beloved.

…“This is our reporter live at the scene: The Nanning Public Security Bureau is strictly following directives, launching a citywide campaign against criminal activity. During last night’s crackdown, authorities apprehended…”

Ning’s mind whirled in chaos, his ears buzzing. He could not fathom when Liu Yiqing had become a television anchor, or how she’d gone from a city newspaper to a provincial TV station, even hosting the high-profile “Focus” segment. He knew all too well how difficult it was to become a TV host—every year, hundreds of graduates returned from broadcasting and arts academies; even with money, without connections, breaking into the industry was nearly impossible. What had enabled Liu Yiqing, with her humble background and simple social ties, to succeed? Was it her learning? Her beauty? Her presence? What had inspired her to give up her dream of writing and becoming an author? Who had supported her climb to a position countless girls only dreamed of?

A sense of foreboding rose in Ning’s heart. He tried to grasp this fleeting premonition, but it vanished like a breeze, leaving behind a heaviness that threatened to suffocate him.

When the program ended and that familiar smile faded from the screen, Ning quietly poured himself a drink and drained the glass in one gulp, the burning alcohol offering a brief, numbing respite. He sat there, drinking glass after glass, his mind drifting far away.

Zheng Yi emerged with a now-calm Mengmeng, and was startled to see Ning finishing off a second bottle. She touched his forehead, then withdrew her hand. “Are you feverish?”

Ning came back to himself and, seeing the empty bottle in his hand, quickly set it down. “I’m fine. Just needed a drink to clear my head.”

Zheng Yi, relieved, sat beside him on the couch. “Sigh! Mengmeng, I feel just as bad. Come on, chances to drink together will be few and far between from now on. Let’s have another glass.”

But finding her glass empty, she shot Ning a flirtatious glance and went to fetch another bottle, grumbling as she did. “You, just now worrying about my carpet—yet the moment we girls were gone, you went and finished a bottle by yourself. Selfish!”

She poured three full glasses and, lifting hers, said softly, “They say marriage is the grave of love. I never believed it before, but after a few years of marriage, I feel it more and more. When will people ever take charge of their own fate? Sigh—enough talk. Here’s to both of you.”

They drank again, but the atmosphere remained somber. By candlelight, Ning noticed how the gentle glow lent Mengmeng’s delicate, round face a rosy radiance. Beneath her arched brows, her almond eyes shimmered with tears, like morning mist. Her smooth ears, aglow in the red candlelight, seemed exquisitely alive, and all her quiet sorrow only made her more touching.

Ning refilled their glasses, raised his to Mengmeng, and said, “Mengmeng, this is the first time I’ve called you that—I hope you don’t mind. From the day we met in the Yao Mountains, it’s been over four months. I’ve always been grateful for the care you and the two sisters have shown me. I didn’t know you’d be leaving so soon, so I haven’t prepared a gift, but in my heart, you are all my dearest friends. If I may borrow a sentimental phrase, you’ve been a beautiful rainbow in the gloom of my life. Tonight, let me toast you.”

Moved, Mengmeng clinked her glass with his and drank it down. Ning signaled to Zheng Yi, then finished his own drink. The three of them continued, glass after glass. Ning’s words touched a sore spot in Zheng Yi’s heart, and tears rolled down her smooth cheeks like pearls from a broken string. Mengmeng clung to her, sobbing uncontrollably.

Soon, Mengmeng collapsed drunkenly onto the couch, and Zheng Yi, swaying, managed to stand with Ning’s support. Indicating the sleeping Mengmeng, she asked him to carry her to the bedroom. Heavy-headed, Ning picked Mengmeng up and laid her gently on Zheng Yi’s bed, then prepared to say his goodbyes and return to the factory.

At the guest room door, Zheng Yi took Ning’s hand, suddenly rose on tiptoe, and planted a deep, lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth with her full, sensual lips. Locking eyes with him, she sighed wistfully, then gently pushed him into the room and closed the door behind him.

Half-asleep, Ning licked his lips, shook his head, and fell heavily onto the bed, kicking off his shoes and clothes before drifting into slumber.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when, in a hazy dream, he sensed a warm, supple body slip into bed beside him. Almost unconsciously, he reached out and drew her near. “Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

“Mengmeng? Weren’t you drunk?”

Mengmeng wrapped her arms around Ning’s neck, burying her head in his chest. “I was pretending. Yi’s the one who’s really drunk.”

“Sigh—let’s just sleep,” Ning murmured.

But Mengmeng rolled atop him, pressing her lips to his in a deep, lingering kiss. Her voice, dreamy and enchanting, breathed into his ear, “I’ve come… to collect my gift.”

“My gift? … Come then.”

Mengmeng gently undid Ning’s shirt, her movements growing faster, almost frantic. Overcome with desire, Ning sat up and kissed her fervently. In moments they were skin to skin, nothing left between them. Their lips pressed together, their breath mingling, hair flying loose in the heat of passion. Ning’s hands roamed tenderly over her satiny skin, and when Mengmeng could no longer resist the pull of desire, Ning rolled her gently beneath him. With a cry that was both pain and release, the two of them soared together into that rapturous, dreamlike realm.

With gentle devotion, Ning guided her through waves of pleasure, sometimes deep, sometimes light, sometimes slow, sometimes urgent. Again and again he brought Mengmeng to heights she’d never known, until, tears streaming down her face, she drifted in dizzy, spent ecstasy, only to rouse and shower Ning’s lips, ears, and chest with kisses, unable to suppress the undulations of her supple waist, offering up her love and joy. And as the storm built again, Mengmeng suddenly rolled him beneath her, igniting with newfound strength and passion the wild, blazing fire of life once more.