Chapter 10 : Sleepless nights

The inky night swallowed the sky’s light as the two strolled along the shore.
Wet sand clung to their steps, the air heavy with humidity.
In July’s sweltering heat, an evening walk felt refreshingly pleasant.
To onlookers, their complex bond—wife and mistress—was invisible.

Ye Qinghe broke the silence, “Ever been to the beach before?”
Qi Yuanhan hummed affirmatively.
“Do you like the sea?” Ye Qinghe pressed.
Qi Yuanhan paused, eyeing the nearby waves, “The sea in photos is beautiful. I’ve never seen one so vividly blue.”

Did such seas exist? Sapphire-hued, shimmering with orange glints under sunlight, reflecting a half-moon at night?
Ye Qinghe said, “The sea’s overrated, but the shore’s fun—picking shells, doing risky things…” She leaned closer, “You’ve never done something like that, have you?”
Qi Yuanhan frowned, baffled by the intimate question.
Why did Ye Qinghe, a mistress, know her so eerily well? Wasn’t she misplacing her efforts?

Ye Qinghe sighed, “People without a girlish heart are tough to chase.”
Qi Yuanhan blinked, stunned.
She wanted to remind her: You’re Zhou Weichuan’s mistress, not mine.
This was dangerously confusing.

“Come on, let’s grab some food,” Ye Qinghe said, undaunted.
Her easy familiarity with people and places shone as she led the way, bypassing shops to a small stall.
She wiped the table with a napkin, sliding a tattered, grease-stained menu to Qi Yuanhan, “What do you want?”
Qi Yuanhan stared, perplexed.

The stall owner bounded over, “New tourists? Try our jellyfish skin—a local gem, bursting with flavor!”
“Start with that,” Ye Qinghe said, enthused.
“Coming right up!” the owner bellowed.
The stall filled quickly, the owner’s wife hauling out extra stools.

Tourists perched, gulping beers, while the two studied the menu.
Ye Qinghe ordered, propping her chin, “Hey, you done yet?”
Qi Yuanhan had never eaten at a night market—or had she?
A high school memory flickered: post-graduation, she and roommates tried street food—gristly bones, fried, doused in spicy seasoning, served in a bag, tingling her tongue.

She couldn’t recall the dish’s name, scanning the menu fruitlessly—seafood dominated here.
Back then, it was forgettable; now, she craved it.
Ye Qinghe called to the owner, “Serve my order first—orange soda and beer. Don’t skip the soda!”
The owner roared agreement but forgot, delivering only beer.

Ye Qinghe swapped it out, the owner chuckling, “My bad!” and fetching two orange sodas.
The food was delectable, the seafood fresh.
The jellyfish skin, crisp and paired with sauce, stayed delightful through a whole plate.
Mid-meal, they ordered lobster; Ye Qinghe, gloved, cracked the shell, offering tender meat to Qi Yuanhan’s mouth.

Qi Yuanhan declined, breaking her own.
Leaving, Ye Qinghe settled the bill, returning with, “Next time, your treat?”
She was slick, knowing which favors to claim, never stingy.
Qi Yuanhan stayed silent, quickening her pace back to the hotel.

In the lobby, two tourists booked rooms; they waited nearby.
Ye Qinghe retrieved her luggage from the desk—a small suitcase slid out.
Qi Yuanhan recognized the clerk from earlier, who’d thwarted Zhou Weichuan’s shared-room ploy with unwitting bluntness.
The clerk asked Ye Qinghe, “This the friend you were waiting for?”

Ye Qinghe nodded.
The clerk’s lips twitched, hesitating, then muttered, “Her husband’s no prize. He was here on a ‘business trip’ before.”
She eyed Qi Yuanhan, gauging her reaction.
Qi Yuanhan froze, unsure whether to thank the clerk’s candor or feign outrage with a curse at Zhou Weichuan.

No stranger had ever so bluntly exposed her marriage’s flaws.
Embarrassment crept in, rooting her in place.
After a pause, Ye Qinghe reclaimed her ID, tugging Qi Yuanhan’s sleeve, “Let’s go.”
Their rooms were on the fifth floor, but they skipped the elevator, climbing the stairs.

At the third floor, winded, Qi Yuanhan asked, “Did you book the rooms around mine?”
Ye Qinghe laughed, “You overestimate me. I’m not that cunning.”
Lugging her suitcase, she looked wearier than Qi Yuanhan, leaning on the handle, “I didn’t book any room.”
Qi Yuanhan tilted her head, “You can book one now—it’s not late.”

Ye Qinghe pouted, “You’re heartless.”
“My room’s a single. If you want to sleep…” Qi Yuanhan swallowed “in the bathroom,” fearing Ye Qinghe might actually agree.
This woman’s actions consistently defied expectations.
They switched to the elevator, reaching the fifth floor.

Ye Qinghe trailed leisurely, her suitcase wheels clattering on the floor.
Qi Yuanhan pursed her lips, pausing at her door.
Ye Qinghe said, “I won’t crash your room, but can I hang out?”
“Do what you want,” Qi Yuanhan replied.

She swiped her keycard, pushing the door open.
Ye Qinghe stood in the doorway, her gauzy dress with spaghetti straps barely supporting her figure, hinting at alluring skin.
The skirt’s slanted cut bared one long leg, both ethereal and seductive.
Her stance was perilously inviting.

Gripping her suitcase handle behind her, Ye Qinghe arched slightly, her eyes fluttering softly, a stray lock of hair begging to be tucked away.
A woman crossing leagues to find you, clad in a flimsy dress, her gaze brimming with tender vulnerability—few could resist such allure.
But Qi Yuanhan closed the door.

She showered, changed, and prepped for bed.
A knock interrupted her.
Ye Qinghe’s voice came through, “I’m here to hang out. Can’t sleep.”
Qi Yuanhan’s mind raced—this woman might sweep in, draped in allure, or even linger indefinitely.

How would she refuse then?
She opened the door, hair damp, towel in hand, glancing at Ye Qinghe.
Still in that dress, her suitcase gone, Ye Qinghe smiled, “What should we play?”
Qi Yuanhan said, “Aren’t you tired? Sleep.”

Ye Qinghe hummed, “Goodnight.”
Her voice was sweet, almost docile without her usual teasing edge.
Qi Yuanhan paused, as if Ye Qinghe had come solely to say goodnight.
Goodnights were mundane, but a smile or an extra “don’t overwork” could turn them tender.

Ye Qinghe’s smile made her gesture achingly warm.
Qi Yuanhan shut the door again.
Falling into someone’s gentleness was a dangerous trap.
She sat on the bed, still, then lay down.

Minutes later, the roaring sea outside jolted her up, prompting another pill.
Three white tablets tumbled into her palm, swallowed with water.
The usually reliable meds failed her.
Time crawled, and she tossed, unable to sleep.

She rose, toggling the light, searching online for quick sleep tips—eye-rolling, squats, daydreaming—all useless.
She parted the curtains, peering at the dark sea, telling herself it was distant, safe.
But as waves crashed against rocks, she yanked them shut.
Her phone held sleep tracks, but each fizzled after three seconds—every one wove in wave sounds.

Flat on her back, she counted seconds.
Her phone buzzed.
Too weighed down to answer, she let the ring drown the sea’s clamor.
She inched toward it, the sound soothing her frayed nerves.

It stopped, auto-disconnected.
Checking, she saw an unknown number.
Assuming a misdial, she set it down, expecting no repeat.
“Buzz—”

The same number called again.
She let it ring, cutting it at twenty seconds, then thirty on the next, until she forgot to stop it.
All night, the phone vibrated relentlessly.
Someone, tireless, kept dialing her in the dark.