Volume One, Chapter One: Hush, I’m Not Well

The first day of the National Day holiday, five minutes past midnight.

Neon lights shimmered, the night deep and unyielding. Jiang Ning stepped out of the bar in her high heels, her stride a touch unsteady.

The man who’d just bought her drinks hurried after her. One arm supported her, the other wrapped around her slender, perfectly curved waist, as he leaned in close to her ear. “How about… coming to my place?”

Jiang Ning turned to look at him. Her beautiful eyes narrowed slightly. By conventional standards, the man was attractive: striking looks, carefully styled damp hair, meticulously groomed brows.

He wore trendy designer brands, exuding boldness and flair.

Her red lips parted as she asked knowingly, “And what would we do?”

He curled his thin lips into a smile, fingers brushing her cheek, his thumb gently caressing her fair, delicate skin. “Sleep.”

Jiang Ning replied, “Sleep, or sleep with me?”

He laughed aloud, drawing her hand to his lips, kissing the tip of her index finger.

“You could sleep with me—I don’t mind.”

Their eyes locked, tension sparking between them.

As she breathed in, Jiang Ning caught the mingled scent of strong liquor and various perfumes on him. Her smile widened, sultry and enchanting.

Though her reactions were a bit sluggish, she was still mostly clear-headed. She leaned into his embrace, relaxing just enough, then withdrew her hand, curling the finger he’d kissed.

He leaned in, but she turned her finger, pressing its soft pad to his lips—like a match struck, igniting a sudden heat in his eyes.

Jiang Ning tilted her head closer, her breath fragrant, voice gentle as silk. “Hush, I’m sick.”

His body stiffened, then he realized she was joking. “Don’t tease.”

But his smile faltered, his body instinctively drawing back.

Jiang Ning straightened, tucking windblown hair behind her ear with a graceful smile. “On account of the drinks, I’ll let you off tonight.”

Her languid, careless tone only made the words sound more sincere.

A man familiar with nightclubs would know that some venues harbored unusual patrons—AIDS support groups, or certain exclusive circles.

Instantly sobered, he raised his hands and beat a hasty retreat.

Jiang Ning couldn’t help but laugh. She took out her phone, intending to call a ride.

Her vision swam, the icons on her screen seeming to dart away from her fingertips.

She was drunk.

She rubbed her eyes, lifting her head for a moment’s respite. Unintentionally, her attention was caught by a glaringly bright magenta sign across the street.

Delight Adult Store.

The playful font, nearly pictographic in its suggestiveness, perfectly matched the theme.

An adult store?

A voice echoed in her mind: I’m an adult—I just want to satisfy an adult’s most basic needs!

Due to the nature of the business, the store’s windows were draped with suggestive fabric decorations, the door curtain adorned with expressive line drawings—simple but vivid.

A lightbox jutted out over the entrance, white with red letters: Self-Service.

Perfect.

Jiang Ning strode over.

A gust of wind made the curtain sway, revealing a glow matching the store’s sign.

She paused, then lifted the curtain and stepped inside.

She walked past this place every day on her way to work and vaguely remembered it, but since she’d never had any use for it, she’d never set foot inside.

This was her first time entering an adult store. Her face warmed—she wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or something else.

Behind the curtain was a sensor gate like a supermarket’s exit. Nearby, a self-service checkout kiosk glowed with white light, looping steamy, provocative ads.

At the far end, a counter stood to the right. The store was awash in magenta lighting, except for a single white lamp above the counter.

Inside a glass display case, all kinds of toys and accessories were neatly arranged. Though still in their packaging, any adult could guess their purpose from the illustrations.

With no one else around, Jiang Ning examined the displays one by one, her slender fingers tracing barely visible lines on the glass.

The packaging descriptions were mostly discreet. She studied them intently, her expression calm—like browsing library shelves, her heart untroubled.

She wondered if she might have some kind of sexual dysfunction.

She’d been with Han Fang for seven or eight years and was still untouched, infuriating him so much that the last time he was back in the country, he’d half-undressed in the car and shouted: “I’m an adult! I just want to satisfy an adult’s basic needs!”

She truly seemed to lack such desires, as if a monk dwelled in her heart, free from worldly distractions.

From the outer aisles to the inner, then back again, at one moment, a box caught her eye.

It was half-transparent, with layered patterns around the edges like breaking waves. The product, cylindrical, was nestled in the center, topped with a bright yellow icon—altogether resembling a lighthouse in the deep sea.

Jiang Ning opened the case, took out the box, and went to the checkout.

She scanned the code—ninety-eight.

She brought up her payment code and tried several times, but the machine kept saying payment failed.

Her frustration mounted. Just as she was about to give up, a tall figure approached from behind, close enough to feel.

With a beep, her phone screen showed: Payment successful.

Even drunk, Jiang Ning was startled.

What happened to self-service?

What was going on?

She frowned and turned to the backlit figure, cursing inwardly, her embarrassment fueling her annoyance.

It was a man—his face indistinct, but he was tall, probably over six feet, hair cropped short.

He stepped forward, put her purchase into a paper bag.

“Good choice,” he said, handing it over.

His voice was low, magnetic.

Jiang Ning lowered her eyes to accept it—and paused.

She had a thing for hands, preferring them to faces. She took meticulous care of her own, with four or five types of hand cream alone.

Under the checkout screen’s light, his hands were elegant, well-defined, fingers long and smooth. He held the bag by its cord, a wide, black-and-silver floral ring encircling his index finger.

They were, quite simply, her dream hands.

Had they met under different circumstances, she might have wanted to befriend him just for those hands.

She accepted the bag, looked up at him, a faint, teasing smile on her lips. “Have you used it?”

He stood still, silent.

She lifted the curtain and left. By now, she was mostly sober. A taxi had just dropped someone off by the curb; she slipped into the backseat and was gone.

The car was warm, and the fading intoxication surged back. Jiang Ning closed her eyes and dozed off. When they reached her apartment complex, the driver had to call her several times to wake her.

She got out into a fine, misty rain.

Ten meters away, a black Cayenne GT blinked its hazard lights. In the back seat, a man took an umbrella from the driver and opened the door, but the petite woman had already dashed into the complex through the rain.

He closed the door and gazed through the window at the old entrance, his features relaxing.

At last—she was home again!