Forbidden Deep Affection (GL) - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The motel was run-down, with sparse amenities, but it had a small balcony for some fresh air.

Ming Shuang stepped out of the cramped bathroom, unable to find a hairdryer anywhere. Giving up, she said to the person on the balcony, “No hairdryer here, it seems.”

“Mm,” Ye Ting Shuang replied.

“What’re you doing?” Ming Shuang noticed she hadn’t come inside for a while. Stepping onto the balcony, she saw Ye Ting Shuang at a tripod with a camera aimed at the stars.

“Taking this long?”

“Shooting star trails.” Ye Ting Shuang, holding her phone, replied to a message and sat on a nearby stool.

Ming Shuang looked up at the night sky, dotted with countless stars—a sight she hadn’t seen in ages. She grabbed a stool from the room and sat beside Ye Ting Shuang, gazing at the stars.

Downstairs, voices drifted up—guests chatting with the motel owner—but their balcony was quiet.

“When I was little, I saw this many stars at my grandma’s place in the countryside. No streetlights, but the sky was packed with stars, like little bulbs lighting our way home. Grandma held our hands, one in each, telling scary stories to spook us, then said not to be afraid—she’d become a star one day, always watching over us,” Ming Shuang said softly.

Ye Ting Shuang glanced at her. “How old’s your grandma now?”

“Sixty-eight. She’ll always be sixty-eight.” Ming Shuang smiled faintly.

“Painful?” Ye Ting Shuang asked.

Ming Shuang shook her head. “She didn’t suffer much before she passed.”

“I meant you.”

Ming Shuang looked at her, surprised. Ye Ting Shuang’s eyes were calm, no trace of concern or pity, her tone steady. It oddly put Ming Shuang at ease.

“Want the truth?” she said. “I’m not in pain.”

“Grandma lived in the countryside, and we rarely visited. I only saw her three or four times that I can remember. I was young, didn’t really get what death was—just knew I was supposed to be sad, so I cried hard at the funeral. But I forgot her pretty quickly. If I hadn’t seen the stars tonight, I might not have thought of her at all.”

Ming Shuang let out a long breath. “Connections between people are so fleeting.”

“Not fleeting.” Ye Ting Shuang looked up at the starry sky, speaking softly. “One glance, and you remember. That connection’s carved in your bl00d and bones.”

Ming Shuang froze, staring at her profile, speechless for a long moment.

A knock came at the door.

Ming Shuang jumped up. “I’ll check.”

“Hi, want to join us? We’re setting up a BBQ downstairs,” said a friendly middle-aged foreign woman at the door.

“Hang on.” Ming Shuang relayed the invite to Ye Ting Shuang, asking her opinion.

Ye Ting Shuang glanced at the courtyard below, where a dozen people were preparing BBQ supplies. With nothing else to do, she agreed.

“Ugh, I showered too early,” Ming Shuang said, changing to head downstairs.

“If it’s a hassle, we don’t have to go,” Ye Ting Shuang said.

“No way, I love this kind of vibe.” Ming Shuang thrived in the free, open atmosphere, where you could make friends on the spot.

Everyone came from all over, no need to share origins—just a brief, lively gathering before parting ways.

Downstairs, Ming Shuang jumped in, introducing herself to the strangers. “Hey, I’m Nana, and this is Lily.”

Lily shot her a look.

“Learning from you.” Ming Shuang winked smugly.

Ye Ting Shuang shrugged. “Whatever makes you happy.”

The event was hosted by a middle-aged DINK couple, traveling the world, living it up, and making hundreds of friends along the way.

As they shared travel stories, everyone grilled lamb chops. Someone strummed a guitar, couples whispered sweet nothings, and Ming Shuang grabbed snacks from the car to share, laughing and chatting in a warm atmosphere.

The motel owner joined with a case of beer, livening things up further. They ate BBQ, drank, and Ming Shuang handed Ye Ting Shuang a bottle. “Can you handle it?”

Ye Ting Shuang took it, clinked bottles with her, and took a couple of swigs.

The guitarist wanted a drink and asked if anyone could take over.

Ming Shuang stood. “I’ll try.”

She sat, plucked a string.

Ye Ting Shuang looked at her.

The melody started, and everyone quieted, turning to her, swaying to the rhythm, holding their breath for the moment—

Ming Shuang scanned the crowd, her smile soft. Her eyes met Ye Ting Shuang’s as the first note hit, and the group burst into song.

“—Hey, Jude.”

“Don’t make it bad.”

“Take a sad song and make it better.”

“Remember to let her into your heart.”

“Then you can start to make it better.”

The Beatles’ song “Hey Jude” was timeless, its melody etched in hearts. Everyone waited for this moment, waving hands, voices rising, faces glowing with pure, radiant smiles.

Ming Shuang noticed Ye Ting Shuang wasn’t singing, but her foot tapped lightly to the beat.

She grinned, stretched out her leg, and nudged Ye Ting Shuang’s calf with her toe.

Ye Ting Shuang looked confused.

Ming Shuang turned to the others, then stood, performing like it was a concert, engaging everyone, earning loud applause when the song ended.

The crowd begged for another. The motel owner wanted a Chinese song.

“What should I sing?” Ming Shuang turned to Ye Ting Shuang.

“Whatever. They won’t understand anyway,” Ye Ting Shuang said.

“You’re right, but you’ve got no flair.” Ming Shuang strummed, starting “Shuidiao Getou”.

The melody slowed, and the foreigners listened intently, the music’s resonance untouched by language barriers.

Ye Ting Shuang understood the lyrics but ignored the tune, focusing on Ming Shuang’s voice, surprised at how well it suited the song.

This trip had landed her a great companion—full of surprises.

After two songs, Ming Shuang refused to sing more, handing the guitar back.

Ye Ting Shuang asked why she stopped.

“Just for fun. I’m not a street performer—singing nonstop is tiring,” Ming Shuang said, slumping lazily into a chair.

Ye Ting Shuang studied her, then said, “You only know those two songs, don’t you?”

“…Ever heard of not calling out the obvious?” Ming Shuang laughed. “Learned them as a kid for performances. I’ve got one more I’m good at, but it’s not right for here.”

“What’s it for?”

“Weddings.” Ming Shuang brushed back her wind-tousled hair. “Since you’re decent, I’ll perform at your wedding for free.”

“Thanks, but no need.”

“What, my three songs aren’t good enough?”

Ye Ting Shuang shook her head. “I’m not getting married.”

Ming Shuang nodded, clinking her beer bottle against Ye Ting Shuang’s. “Same here.”

Ye Ting Shuang suddenly reached out, touching her hair.

Ming Shuang froze, looking at her curiously.

“Your hair’s dry,” Ye Ting Shuang said, feeling it.

“Oh…” Ming Shuang glanced at her hair. “It’s warm out, dried quick.”

“Are you two friends or a couple?” someone asked.

Ye Ting Shuang let go. Ming Shuang laughed, her expression playful. “What do you think?”

Ye Ting Shuang looked at the person. “Business partners.”

“Oh, business partners! You seemed so close, I thought you were a couple,” the person laughed carelessly, raising a drink to them.

Ye Ting Shuang looked at Ming Shuang, puzzled. “Close?”

“Honestly, yeah, pretty close.”

“…”

The grilled lobster was ready, and they split it, still craving more, so they kept grilling.

While waiting, someone suggested a game. The motel owner brought out a deck of cards, and everyone sat around, learning the rules before starting.

Ming Shuang was a party pro; she knew the game well. However, Ye Ting Shuang was new; she studied the rules and played cautiously. Ming Shuang found her serious expression cute, sneaking glances to see when she’d slip up.

But before Ye Ting Shuang faltered, a young girl lost and drew a penalty card: drink three shots.

The girl downed them cheerfully, and the game went on.

After eight or nine rounds, Ye Ting Shuang hadn’t lost once. Ming Shuang peeked at her, noticing her ease and confidence.

Tch, when did she master this?

Lost in thought, Ye Ting Shuang suddenly turned to her.

Caught staring, Ming Shuang looked away, flustered, and heard her say, “You lost.”

Ming Shuang checked her cards, slapping her thigh in regret. “Even the wise slip up sometimes!”

“Take your penalty, wise one,” Ye Ting Shuang said, hiding a smile.

Ming Shuang drew a card, glanced at it, and smiled without speaking.

The others clamored to know the penalty. Someone peeked and shouted excitedly, “Kiss the person next to you!”

The crowd laughed, egging her on.

Ming Shuang looked left and right, smiled at the guy beside her, then quickly turned and kissed Ye Ting Shuang on the lips.

Everyone roared with laughter, the person who’d asked about their relationship bouncing with excitement.

“Don’t blame me. Gotta own the bet,” Ming Shuang said, grinning.

“Did I blame you?” Ye Ting Shuang asked.

Ming Shuang blinked, pressing, “How was it?”

“Tastes like lobster,” Ye Ting Shuang said honestly.

“…” A mistake, a huge mistake. She couldn’t let someone have a bad kissing experience on her watch.

Ming Shuang grabbed Ye Ting Shuang’s half-empty milk and chugged several gulps.

Ye Ting Shuang wondered what she was up to when Ming Shuang kissed her again, catching her off guard.

“Now?” Ming Shuang leaned on her chair, staring for a reaction.

Ye Ting Shuang licked her lips. “Not bad. Lobster and fresh milk—like a no-substance midnight snack. Won’t upset my stomach, will it?”

Ming Shuang: “…”