It’s About You (GL High H) - Chapter 10

Sunlight stabbed at her eyelids, and Wanqi Lang irritably hummed and hawed, forcing her eyes open into a narrow slit.

Her consciousness rose slowly, like a stone sinking at the bottom of water gradually floating upward.

“Ouch, fvck.”

As she tried to prop herself up, her waist and buttocks ached as if a big truck had run them over, the soreness drawing sharp intakes of cold air from her until she collapsed back into the pillow. She felt that she wore a soft short-sleeved shirt—someone had thoughtfully changed her clothes for her.

After recovering for a good while, she finally inched her way off the bed, feeling every bone in her body protesting. Her feet hit the cool floor, and a rub at the root of her thigh brought another hiss of pain.

Had someone beaten her up last night?

Wanqi Lang grimaced and clutched her old waist, shuffling one step at a time into the living room.

Her gaze swept over, and on the dining table sat a bowl of porridge, next to which a paper bag revealed half a golden fried dough stick.

“Gurgle…” Wanqi Lang felt her stomach empty and uncomfortable, but she had a more urgent need at the moment.

She skirted the dining table and drifted unsteadily toward the bathroom.

Pushing open the bathroom door, warm light illuminated everything in neat order.

She sat groggily on the toilet and had just relieved herself a little when suddenly something felt off down there—a subtle sour bloating, along with a faint stinging pull.

Puzzled, she glanced sideways, and under the showerhead, the plastic stool stood quietly.

“…”

She remembered—everything came back…

All those messy, intensely wild scenes from last night played in her mind like a looping movie.

“Fvck!”

Wanqi Lang’s face flushed crimson like a boiled shrimp, burning hot.

She grabbed the paper nearby and wiped hastily twice before rushing to the sink and snatching up the brand-new white toothbrush on the counter.

“Thoughtful? Thoughtful my ass!” She squeezed on toothpaste huffily and brushed vigorously at the mirror.

Cold water splashed on her face, cooling her temper a bit, but her heart burned with embarrassment, nearly drowning her.

Finally done fussing, she dragged her aching body back to the dining table with a stiff face and plopped down hard, the chair creaking.

She lifted the lid, and the plain porridge still steamed warm.

Wanqi Lang seized the fried dough stick and tore off a big chunk, stuffing it into her mouth.

“Ow!”

After just two chews, the joint inside her cheek ached and swelled again, the pain making her suck in a sharp breath.

She could only chew more gently, her heart even more vexed. It was all because of yesterday afternoon, drinking tea and chatting with that Shen Zhiwei and downing so much tea water—who could hold it in?

The more she thought, the angrier she got. She vented all her shame and fury from last night’s affair onto the fried dough stick in her hand. She ground her molars, her fingers tearing at it viciously, chewing ferociously with cheeks puffed like a hamster’s, her eyes glaring as if she could devour the table too.

Click.

The door lock sounded.

Wanqi Lang was locked in battle with the fried dough stick and heard nothing.

Xing Enxi pushed the door open, carrying a bag of fruit and ointment in hand, and spotted at once the figure at the dining table radiating fury, her back screaming “don’t mess with me.”

Wanqi Lang wore one of her T-shirts that was obviously a size too big, baring two long white legs. Her hair stuck out in a messy, fluffy tangle as she gnashed her teeth and ripped at the fried dough stick, her cheeks working furiously.

Xing Enxi set the fruit down gently, changed her shoes as quietly as possible, walked to the opposite side of the dining table, and pulled out a chair to sit.

“You’re awake.”

A large swath of light in front of Wanqi Lang got blocked, stalling her chewing of the fried dough stick for a moment. Her cheeks still bulged as she shot Xing Enxi a fierce sideways glare and snorted from her nose, which apparently counted as a response.

Xing Enxi looked at her bristling state and wanted to say something, like “Is the porridge still hot?” or “Want some fruit?” But the words stuck in her throat and wouldn’t come out.

“Um,” Xing Enxi cleared her throat, “How’s it down there for you?”

“Pfft, cough cough cough.”

Wanqi Lang got caught off guard and nearly choked to death on that sentence. She pounded her chest and gulped down several mouthfuls of porridge before catching her breath, her face heating up again as she glared at Xing Enxi: “Good, perfectly good. I could go another three hours straight.”

Xing Enxi fell speechless from the retort and saw right through her from those burning red ear tips.

She said nothing more and rose silently to rummage in the plastic bag she had brought back by the entryway, rustling softly.

Wanqi Lang narrowed her eyes suspiciously at her back, wondering what she was up to now.

Soon, Xing Enxi turned around, holding a flat box of ointment and a small pack of individually wrapped disinfectant cotton pads.

She walked back to the dining table and set the ointment and cotton pads on the table in front of Wanqi Lang.

“Here.” Xing Enxi’s voice regained a bit of its usual tone, though a close listen revealed it still sounded a little unnatural. “Go to the bathroom and apply it yourself. It’s for anti-inflammation and sterilization. Instructions are in the box.”

Her gaze flicked to the indescribable spot below Wanqi Lang’s neck before darting away quickly.

“Last night might have caused some abrasions.”

Wanqi Lang stared at the ointment box and cotton pads and exploded again.

“Why the hell do I have to apply this!” Wanqi Lang felt both angry and embarrassed, grabbing the ointment to throw it back. “I’m fine, don’t need it—take it away!”

Xing Enxi moved fast and pinned her hand down, the ointment box caught between their two grips.

“I’m serious,” Xing Enxi’s voice dropped, “Don’t be stubborn. I saw it—it’s badly red and swollen. Can’t you feel it? That area’s prone to infection; it’ll hurt like hell if it gets inflamed.”

Her tone carried some urgency, as if she truly cared.

Wanqi Lang fell silent. Of course she could feel it—when she used the toilet, when she sat down, even when she walked… But she would die before admitting it.

“None of your business!” She jutted her chin out and tried to yank her hand back with force.

Xing Enxi gripped tighter, her gaze locking straight on Wanqi Lang’s, the eyes behind her glasses holding a stubborn glint: “Either you apply it yourself, or…” She paused, her ear tips reddening too, “I’ll apply it for you.”

What kind of toxic multiple choice was this?

Wanqi Lang’s chest heaved with anger as she glared at Xing Enxi. Xing Enxi stared right back without yielding, neither giving an inch.

They held the standoff for about ten seconds.

Wanqi Lang conceded first. She snatched the ointment with a motion so forceful it sloshed the porridge.

“I’ll do it myself!” She spat the words through gritted teeth, sprang up abruptly while clutching her waist, and staggered into the bathroom.

The door slammed shut with a bang, blocking Xing Enxi’s view from outside, but it couldn’t muffle Wanqi Lang’s low curses.

Xing Enxi stood rigid by the dining table, listening to the intermittent sounds from inside:

“Hiss… so cold!”

“Fvck, how’d it get all over my hand.”

“How the hell do you apply this stuff?”

Xing Enxi’s brows furrowed tighter and tighter, her temples throbbing again. She could picture the woman inside fumbling clumsily and grimacing in pain.

Just as she hesitated whether to knock and ask, a short yelp rang out from the bathroom, followed by a clatter.