It’s About You (GL High H) - Chapter 11

“What’s wrong?” Xing Enxi’s heart tightened, and she rushed to the bathroom door on reflex, her hand already on the doorknob.

Silence lasted two seconds inside, then Wanqi Lang’s voice came through: “Nothing, nothing—don’t come in. The ointment just fell on the floor.”

Xing Enxi: “……”

She closed her eyes briefly, utterly speechless and wondering what heavens had she offended—this woman was absolutely her nemesis.

“Open the door.” Xing Enxi’s voice held a resigned determination. “Let me in.”

“No way!” Wanqi Lang refused categorically, though her voice wavered a bit.

“The ointment’s dirty now and can’t be used. Are you sure you want to apply something covered in bathroom floor grime?” Xing Enxi raised her voice slightly. “I bought a spare. Open up.”

A few seconds later, just as Xing Enxi prepared to force her way in, the lock clicked open, and the door cracked a slit.

Xing Enxi pushed the door open and went inside.

There sat Wanqi Lang, bare from the waist down and wearing that oversized T-shirt, its hem barely covering her privates. Her two smooth white legs pressed together awkwardly as she turned her body sideways toward the door.

Her cheeks burned red enough to drip bl00d, and she clutched the half-empty ointment tube in her hand.

At the sight of Xing Enxi entering, Wanqi Lang’s eyes flashed with equal parts shame and annoyance. Her lips pressed into a tight line, her expression one of someone bracing for the inevitable end.

Xing Enxi pretended not to notice and fished another identical new tube of ointment from the fruit bag she had brought back.

“Sit on the stool.” Xing Enxi’s tone brooked no argument as she pointed to that vile plastic stool under the showerhead.

Wanqi Lang eyed the stool, her mind full of memories.

“Or sit on the toilet—you pick.” Xing Enxi urged her. “Hurry up; my arms are getting tired holding this.”

Wanqi Lang thought to herself that yesterday she had not seen any tired arms from Xing Enxi, but now they suddenly ached—such a big show-off!

She sat on the toilet lid, her legs still clamped shut tight, her head twisted away to avoid looking at Xing Enxi, every muscle in her body tensed in resistance.

Xing Enxi squatted down and pulled out a cotton pad. She deliberately ignored the other’s awkward posture.

“Legs.”

Wanqi Lang did not budge.

“Be good. Do you want me to drag you to the emergency room?”

“……”

Wanqi Lang had no retort and parted her knees just a fraction.

Xing Enxi moved swiftly, slipping her hand into that narrow gap and forcing her legs apart with pressure.

“You—” Wanqi Lang let out a startled yelp.

Xing Enxi’s other hand already advanced with the cotton pad soaked in disinfectant.

The cool touch brushed the swollen entrance of her pvssy.

“Mm…” Wanqi Lang shuddered and drew in a sharp breath, her legs instinctively trying to clamp shut.

Xing Enxi anticipated it and held firm on her knees without budging: “Don’t move.”

The cotton pad gently wiped a circle around the swollen, slightly parted petals, removing traces of the previous ointment.

Wanqi Lang bit her lower lip hard, turning her head away with eyes squeezed shut, her body trembling faintly—not clear if from pain or pure mortification.

Once clean, Xing Enxi tossed the soiled pad and opened the new tube of ointment. She scooped a pea-sized dab onto her middle finger pad.

“Relax a bit.” Xing Enxi’s tone softened just a touch as she looked at the entrance swollen red because of her, a pang of heartache stirring.

Her fingertip, carrying the cool ointment, touched down lightly on the sensitive petal edges.

“Mm…” Wanqi Lang’s body jerked again, a suppressed grunt escaping her throat.

Xing Enxi used her pad to circle gently, spreading the ointment evenly over every inch of the red, heated tender skin.

After the initial coolness, the ointment brought a soothing moisture, and Wanqi Lang’s rigid body eased considerably.

Xing Enxi kept her eyelids lowered, focused on the application.

The warm, tender feel under her fingertip, that entrance slightly opening and closing with each breath… Even as she controlled her own breathing with effort, her cheeks and ear roots still burned uncontrollably.

She could feel sweat beading slightly in the palm pressing the knee.

At last, the ointment covered every needed spot evenly.

“All done.” Xing Enxi stood and walked to the sink, turning on the faucet to rinse her hands.

Wanqi Lang grabbed the new panties and pulled them up her legs, her sore waist making her movements clumsy—she nearly slid off the toilet lid several times.

The faint flush that had ebbed from her face surged back in full force.

Xing Enxi finally shut off the faucet. She pulled a tissue and wiped each finger meticulously, especially that middle one used for applying the ointment—it had other slick fluids stuck to it earlier, slippery and hard to clean. She checked it against the light once more after.

Wanqi Lang itched with irritation at the sight, finding her actions particularly grating, as if her hand bore some indelible filth!

So she yanked up her panties with a huff, clutched her waist, skirted past Xing Enxi who still stood by the sink admiring her own hands, and stormed out of the bathroom with great momentum.

Xing Enxi had no idea what had set her off this time—utterly baffling.

Back in the living room, Wanqi Lang gulped down a big mouthful of porridge. The now-cooled liquid slid down her throat and quelled some of the nameless fire in her chest.

Xing Enxi dawdled out of the bathroom at last and went to the counter, picking up several plump oranges to wash.

Wanqi Lang kept her eyes on her nose and her nose on her heart, stirring the porridge in her bowl and deliberately clanging the bowl and spoon against each other.

“Um,” Xing Enxi said with her back to Wanqi Lang, the orange in her hands scrubbing with a splashy rush, her voice a bit muffled, “Does it feel better after the ointment?”

Wanqi Lang paused mid-chew of her fried dough stick and mumbled vaguely: “Mm, it’s okay.”

“Mm.” Xing Enxi acknowledged and said no more, absorbed in washing her oranges.

Wanqi Lang swallowed the fried dough stick in her mouth and sipped at the lukewarm plain porridge in small mouthfuls. Yet her eyes could not help glancing toward the figure washing fruit at the counter.

Xing Enxi wore simple loungewear, sleeves rolled to her elbows to bare her smoothly lined forearms. She kept her eyes down, scrubbing the orange peels meticulously, water droplets splashing onto her fair skin…

Unhelpfully, Wanqi Lang’s mind flashed to those distinctly knuckled hands from last night, the force with which they pressed against her body…

“Cough!”

She suddenly choked and coughed, her face heating up again. She ducked her head and gulped the porridge fiercely, nearly burying her face in the bowl.

Xing Enxi noticed the commotion and turned off the water, bringing over two oranges washed to a shine and still dripping.

“Eat slower—no one’s fighting you for it.” Xing Enxi set the oranges on the dining table and pulled out a chair, sitting diagonally across from Wanqi Lang with a table corner between them.

She just sat there, her fingers tapping lightly and unconsciously on the clean tabletop, her gaze somewhat vacant, lost in thought.

Wanqi Lang stole a glance at her and quickly looked away, sipping her porridge in small mouthfuls.

When she finished the last sip and set down the bowl, Xing Enxi’s gaze finally shifted over, landing on her face.

“Still eating?” Xing Enxi asked stiffly.

“I’m full.” Wanqi Lang replied stiffly.

“Mm.”

Xing Enxi acknowledged, paused a few seconds, and then spoke hesitantly,

“What’s your name?”

“Huh?” Wanqi Lang turned to look at her, finally realizing— this woman had slept with her, provided full-service aftercare with the ointment, and still did not even know her name?

She rolled her eyes and said irritably:

“Wanqi Lang! I run a bar on West Street called ‘Boss Lang’s Bar.'”

Boss Lang—so she was the owner of that bar, which apparently did booming business, though Xing Enxi had never been.

Wanqi Lang felt utterly speechless and inwardly cursed: Fvck, if she had known this woman turned into a leopard starved for three years in bed, she would have died before making that move.

Xing Enxi nodded: “I’m Xing Enxi. The xing from lucky, the en from grace, the xi from west.”

“Got it, got it.” Wanqi Lang waved her hand irritably, unwilling to discuss names further with this woman whose personal style clashed so severely with her bedroom one. “Hand me my phone.”

Xing Enxi pressed her lips together and passed over the phone from nearby.

The screen lit up to reveal several missed calls from suppliers and a barrage of messages.

Wanqi Lang frowned, swiped it open, and jabbed at it hard with her fingers, muttering under her breath: “Debt collectors…”

Xing Enxi stood beside her, watching her furrowed expression under the light that caught her slightly tousled chestnut curls and the bags under her eyes. Draped in that oversized T-shirt of hers, Wanqi Lang exuded a contradictory air of languid vulnerability.

Wanqi Lang was indeed very beautiful, beautiful in a way that seemed layered apart from everyone else.

Xing Enxi averted her gaze, turned, and went into the master bedroom to straighten the bed.