It’s About You (GL High H) - Chapter 12

Wanqi Lang finally finished replying to the suppliers, slammed her phone down on the table with a smack, and slumped backward, rubbing her aching waist.

She twisted her waist a bit, and that soreness shot straight to the top of her head. Forget driving away; she doubted she could even grip the steering wheel steadily. Her eyes darted around, then locked onto Xing Enxi, who emerged from the bedroom hugging the bedsheets.

“Enxi sister,” Wanqi Lang called out in a loud voice, utterly righteous, “Call me a designated driver, will you?”

Xing Enxi paused mid-step and looked at her in bewilderment. “Why aren’t you driving back yourself?”

“My waist hurts,” Wanqi Lang immediately straightened her back a touch more and pointed at her waist, her expression a perfect mix of grievance and fury. “This waist of mine, these legs of mine—who do I have to thank for this? You, that’s who. Right now, I can barely walk straight, and you want me to step on the gas? What if I go soft at the wheel and crash, killing us both? Whose fault would that be? You’d compensate me?”

She rattled it off like a machine gun.

Xing Enxi’s glasses nearly slipped off her nose. “Can’t you call one from your own phone?”

“I don’t care!” Wanqi Lang cut her off at once, digging in her heels. “You’re the one who caused this, so you take responsibility. Hurry up—get me a skilled one, the expensive kind.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin high.

Xing Enxi’s temples throbbed again, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides.

Fine… Arguing with her was a total waste of time. Better to spend money for some peace.

Xing Enxi’s face darkened as she silently pulled out her own phone, swiped open the screen, and booked the priciest designated driver service for her, gritting her teeth to pay the deposit.

“There.” She shoved the payment confirmation screen in Wanqi Lang’s face, her voice cold as ice shards.

“That’s more like it.” Wanqi Lang glanced over it smugly, then braced herself on the table and rose slowly, wincing as she started pulling on her little leather skirt.

She fussed and fidgeted until the skirt was on, then yanked off the T-shirt, balled it up, and tossed it back to Xing Enxi with a casual flick. “Here, yours.”

Xing Enxi fumbled to catch it. The T-shirt still carried body heat and perfume, and her face nearly cracked from the strain of holding steady.

Wanqi Lang snatched up her eye-searingly flashy bag and wobbled to the door, one step at a time. Just as she twisted the knob, her phone rang—the driver had arrived.

She turned back and flashed an innocent smile at Xing Enxi, who stood in the living room with a scowl.

“Oh dear, my waist hurts so much, and I’m all dizzy and seeing stars. Even the stairs look like they’re spinning. Any kind soul willing to carry me downstairs?”

She dragged out the last note long and coquettish.

“……”

Xing Enxi seethed. Had this woman gotten addicted to freeloading?

“Wanqi Lang, don’t push your luck.”

“It hurts so bad… I can’t stand… can’t stand anymore…” Wanqi Lang promptly clutched the doorframe and let out a theatrical groan, her upper body slanting outward as if on the verge of collapse.

Xing Enxi watched her over-the-top act, closed her eyes briefly, and marched over with grim resolve. She seized Wanqi Lang’s arm in a firm grip—half-dragging, half-supporting—and hauled her out the door before slamming it shut with a bang.

“Move.” Xing Enxi forced the word out through clenched teeth and dragged Wanqi Lang down the stairs in a rapid thud-thud-thud, her pace frantic as if rushing to a funeral.

“Ow, slow down! My legs hurt—the waist, the waist! Xing Enxi! Are you trying to murder me?” Wanqi Lang wailed the whole way down.

At the building entrance downstairs, sure enough, a uniformed designated driver waited beside a flashy sports car.

Xing Enxi shoved Wanqi Lang into the passenger seat like discarding a hot potato.

She rattled off Wanqi Lang’s name and order number to the driver in a rush, without a single extra word, then turned to bolt back upstairs.

“Enxi sister,” Wanqi Lang rolled down the window, stuck out half her head, and waved at Xing Enxi’s retreating back with a beaming, flower-like smile, her voice syrupy sweet. “Thanks so much! You worked so hard last night~ I’ll treat you to drinks sometime~~~”

Xing Enxi quickened her pace to a run and dashed into the building entrance, vanishing into the stairwell as if ghosts nipped at her heels.

Wanqi Lang watched her go and finally burst out laughing, shaking with mirth until tears welled up—only to pull at her sore waist and hiss in pain.

“Miss, you and your friend seem really close.” The driver scratched his head with a goofy grin and started the car.

Wanqi Lang wiped away her laughter tears, slouched against the seatback, and drawled lazily.

“Thick as thieves. Drive on, sir.”

……

Two days later.

Xing Enxi lifted her head from the dizzying contract sprawl, stretched her neck with a crack, and noted the sky outside had darkened to evening—quitting time. Lights flickered on one by one across the building. She removed her glasses, leaned back, and felt utterly drained.

Yet her mind wandered like it was possessed, dredging up things she had no business thinking about.

“Tch.” Xing Enxi frowned in irritation, shook her head, and slid her glasses back on, forcing her eyes to those dry clauses.

Her phone screen lit up.

A new WeChat friend request.

The profile picture was a blinding cocktail glass, all garish bar lights and flash.

Note: Wanqi Lang

Xing Enxi’s finger hovered over the screen for a long moment before she finally tapped through.

Wanqi Lang: [Image]

Wanqi Lang: Here, the hospital checkup report. Doc says my waist… tsk tsk… big problem [sigh]

Wanqi Lang: Can you see it clearly? Anyway, I’m panicking.

Xing Enxi squinted and tapped open the blurry photo—so out of focus even her mother wouldn’t recognize it. She zoomed in and out frantically until her eyes ached, seeing nothing but glare and vague bone shadows.

Xing Enxi: Take a clearer one, or send the digital report.

Wanqi Lang: Hands were shaking just now~ Nearly dropped my phone, scared me to death~ Waist hurts so much~ Digital version? What’s that? Doc just gave me this paper! Lighting here’s bad too; even lying down is a struggle… [frail]

Another photo followed right away.

The angle was even trickier: Wanqi Lang sprawled on the bed, phone held overhead for a selfie, showing just her profile—face a bit pale, eyes brimming with particular grievance. The kicker: her covers parted at one corner to bare a stretch of fair waist and long legs.

Xing Enxi’s mouth twitched at the sight. This woman was a succubus incarnate.

She pondered a beat, then typed on the screen.

Xing Enxi: Send your address.

Instant reply.

Wanqi Lang: Why?

Xing Enxi: To check on your injury now.

The chat went quiet for a few seconds.

Then the bar’s location pin dropped in.

After sending the message, Wanqi Lang sprang up with a carp flip, bare feet slapping to the full-length mirror. She swiftly peeled off the single medicated patch on her waist and posed left and right in the glass, fluffing her sleep-tousled chestnut curls. Then she rummaged through drawers and pulled on a wine-red silk camisole nightgown—plunging neckline, soft clinging fabric.

She spun before the mirror. Mm, sexy yet delicate—perfect!

She flopped back onto the big bed, yanked over the champagne silk thin quilt, and draped it casually over her midriff to bare pretty collarbones and shoulders. She tossed the diagnosis report haphazardly onto the empty pillow beside her, staging a “just agonized over it” vibe.

All set, Wanqi Lang reclined in her most alluring, seductive pose, grabbed a bag of chips, and started munching.

Moments later, urgent heel clicks sounded outside. Wanqi Lang’s lips curved in a sly arc. She shoved the chip bag into the nightstand drawer, swiftly adjusted into “frail beauty” mode, and half-propped herself against the headboard.

A knock came at the break room door.