Chapter 12 : The Trade

Jiang Yanlin’s Instagram didn’t have many posts; after all, her professional accounts were all on domestic platforms.

But for that very reason, the content on her Instagram was more personal, spanning several years of her life’s journey.

Trading this for the young miss’s Twitter account didn’t seem like a bad deal.

But Jiang Yanlin didn’t do deals where she lost out, not even a little.

She mimicked Péi Wanyi, taking out her phone and unlocking it as she leisurely replied,
“My account is private, followers only.”

Péi Wanyi looked up at her. A woman who truly refused to lose out on anything.

With a few quick taps on the screen, she copied the link to her first bargaining chip, pasted it into the chat, and sent it.

Jiang Yanlin immediately forwarded it to a backup account.

Only then was she willing to send her own account link.

Soon, an Instagram notification popped up with a follow request. Jiang Yanlin accepted it.

Both had private accounts. After following each other, their respective pasts were finally revealed.

Photos and videos, laid out before them.

Jiang Yanlin put her phone back in her bag with satisfaction.

Péi Wanyi casually slipped her phone back into her pocket, leaned over to pack the backpack left in the RV, and put the tablet and pen inside.

Finally, she picked up the car keys and lightly tapped Jiang Yanlin’s shoulder.

“Let’s go. I’ll take you home.”

—Earlier this morning, she had said she would take her to the “subway station.”

Jiang Yanlin raised an eyebrow and glanced at the woman getting off the bike.

Give her an inch, and she’ll take a mile.

She thought to herself but said nothing, following her off the vehicle.

“I’ll wash this jacket and return it to you.”

Jiang Yanlin was wearing her gray windbreaker. The hem covered most of her body, providing excellent wind protection.

Péi Wanyi got on the motorcycle, put on her helmet, and replied casually, “Okay.”

When Jiang Yanlin reached the front of the bike, she handed her the backpack.

“Do me a favor.”

After freeloading a private camping trip for a night, complete with a free human-sized pillow and a healthy breakfast, Jiang Yanlin’s tolerance for this woman had increased significantly.

So she took it without a word and put it on her back.

Seeing that both her hands were full, Péi Wanyi simply turned to the side to help her with the helmet.

“Chin up.”

Jiang Yanlin cooperated, lifting her chin slightly. Her gaze inevitably fell on her face.

“Remember to send me the list of cosmetic procedures when we get back.”

She had remembered it again.

Péi Wanyi had to admire her unique way of complimenting people.

“Okay, I will.”

She fastened the helmet’s buckle, looked into Jiang Yanlin’s eyes, and added,
“Skincare you can try, but surgery isn’t really necessary.”

Jiang Yanlin wasn’t buying it. “You’re saying my skin condition needs improvement.”

Péi Wanyi let out a laugh.

“Improving your skin just requires exercise, a healthy diet, and a good sleep schedule.”

As she spoke, she took Jiang Yanlin’s hand to help her up.

Jiang Yanlin got on the bike and wrapped her arms around her waist again. Although she wanted to nitpick that her words sounded like a gym sales pitch, the feeling in her hands was real.

Miss Péi’s body was indeed very healthy. She looked tall and thin in clothes, with long legs, a perfect clothes hanger.

But in reality, her figure wasn’t slender. The muscles in her arms were well-defined, hiding a sense of strength. Her frame was also wider than the average woman’s, and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on her waist.

It would be impossible to maintain such a physical condition without a long-term fitness habit.

Health comes from exercise; even the most expensive skincare products couldn’t compare to a healthy lifestyle.

Unfortunately, Jiang Yanlin was a lazy homebody. Doing two HIIT sessions a day was her limit.

She pretended not to hear the piercingly true advice, hugged her waist, and urged,
“I hope to be home within an hour.”

Péi Wanyi started the engine and raised her voice to ask,
“Are you in a hurry?”

Jiang Yanlin replied righteously, “To go home and catch up on sleep.”

The daytime wind wasn’t as chilly as at night. As the motorcycle descended the mountain, her eyes were filled with alternating views of lush greenery and rock formations.

As they gradually entered populated areas and the traffic slowly came into view, Jiang Yanlin had the strange feeling of returning to the human world.

Before she could sort out her scattered thoughts tangled with the wind, the familiar streets near her home were already in sight.

Péi Wanyi glanced at the subway station ahead and asked casually,
“Walk from here or right to the door?”

The motorcycle moved much slower in the city, and her voice easily reached her ears.

Jiang Yanlin wasn’t surprised that she had guessed this station was close to her home; after all, the subway had already passed its last train time that night.

She simply gave the name of her apartment complex. “Gate 2, through the underground parking lot, thanks.”

Right to the elevator, saving a lot of walking.

Péi Wanyi tapped the motorcycle’s GPS, entered the name, and the route that came up was very close.

“Next time, you can give the previous station.”

This station was as good as giving her address.

The motorcycle weaved through the streets and soon arrived at Gate 2 of the apartment complex. Jiang Yanlin swiped her key card, and they went straight to the underground parking lot.

When they reached the elevator, she got off, took off the helmet, and handed it back.

Péi Wanyi took the backpack and slung it over one shoulder.

“I’m off.”

Jiang Yanlin gave a polite little wave of her fingers and turned towards the elevator.

Péi Wanyi watched her retreating back, which showed no sign of lingering, and let out a laugh.

“By the way.”

The person in the gray windbreaker turned back and answered her previous question:
“There’s a saying: it depends on the person.”

That afternoon, for the first time in a long while, Jiang Yanlin gave her apartment a thorough cleaning.

The apartment was small, and usually, the robot vacuum and dusting were enough. The occasional deep clean was outsourced, especially when she was swamped with work.

The weather was bright. She washed all her clothes and bedsheets and hung them on the balcony to dry.

Only after finishing did she clean herself up, inside and out.

The RV’s bathroom was limited. Home was still the most comfortable. A nice bath, a hair mask, and a full skincare routine later, she finally felt “clean” again.

With her hair about 70-80% dry, she let it down and curled up on the beanbag chair by the floor-to-ceiling window, scrolling through her phone.

A small golden fan spun slowly beside her. In this little space that belonged only to her, time always seemed to flow slowly.

But the world in her phone was vast and boundless.

Miss Péi’s Instagram didn’t have much on it either. The last photo was from two years ago, and the rest went back three or four years.

Jiang Yanlin scrolled through it briefly. It was either pictures of restaurants from around the world, custom motorcycles, or fitness, with not a single photo showing her face.
—Just like her, she didn’t post selfies.

Among all the vehicles, one motorcycle looked very familiar. Jiang Yanlin clicked on it and saw it was the same one, just in a different color.

The photo showed a bright, warm yellow, like Bumblebee.

Bumblebee was Jiang Yanlin’s favorite among all the Transformers, so she gave the photo a red heart.

After scrolling through the photos, she noticed an unread message notification.

Clicking on it, she saw three or four consecutive likes from the same account.

The timeline stretched all the way back to her earliest travel records, a clear indication that her profile had been thoroughly viewed.

Jiang Yanlin curled her lip, closed the app, and switched to another.

The style on Twitter was a completely different world: a large number of tweets, quote retweets, art posts, and random thoughts.

Jiang Yanlin looked at the stark contrast and was momentarily silent.
—To be honest, if it were her own account, she would never let anyone from her real life see it.
It was like being completely exposed.

Jiang Yanlin was grateful that she had long since deleted her old accounts, but she didn’t hesitate to scroll through this one.

People like them often kept their real and online lives completely separate, just as Jiang Yanlin had different social media accounts for different purposes, carefully isolated from each other.

Péi Wanyi’s Twitter account also had no trace of her real life. Apart from retweets, the content was only about games and occasional art posts.

Most were sketches, clearly done without time for refinement, drawn purely for her own enjoyment.

After a rough scroll-through, Jiang Yanlin had a preliminary profile of Miss Péi’s preferences.
—A plebeian who likes competitive games.
So judged Jiang Yanlin, who never touched competitive games.

But she wasn’t surprised. Péi Wanyi was clearly a very competitive person. No matter how well she disguised it, that pride was always there.

Confidence and a desire for control, a self-centeredness that followed its own rules—these were all part of Péi Wanyi’s fundamental character.

But these were not enough to satisfy Jiang Yanlin.

She wanted to see more, something deeper.

Anyone who enjoys flirting knows that being proactive doesn’t mean you’ll lose the upper hand.

How to be proactive, to what extent, when to pull back, when to show weakness—it’s all a game that stimulates dopamine secretion.

Jiang Yanlin casually screenshotted a faceless photo from Miss Péi’s Instagram and added a comment: “Gray looks good.”

It was from a time when Péi Wanyi’s hair wasn’t as long, a messy gray cut paired with her denim jacket, a very casual vibe.

Péi Wanyi’s reply was not slow.

[“Blue looks good too.”]

She didn’t include a screenshot, but Jiang Yanlin knew she was referring to the old photo on her own Instagram.

A selfie with hazy blue long hair, also faceless.

The conversation revolved around hair dye for a few simple exchanges before branching off to other topics.

Péi Wanyi sent a picture of the tea she was drinking, with her computer in the background, a photo of standard straight-guy quality.

Jiang Yanlin immediately replied with a picture of the iced soy milk she was drinking, even more casual, showing other items on her desk.

Then the topics diverged again: what they had for dinner, what workout they did, what time they went to bed.

One was writing copy and organizing data, the other was playing chess and drawing. The infrequent chat lasted the entire evening.

A person’s own will is the most obvious signal.

The difference between intention and lack thereof is that even the most boring daily topics can be continued. Every lull is met with a new initiative.

In Jiang Yanlin’s view, Péi Wanyi was not a truly passive type.

On the contrary, she was very capable of taking control. Even if her words were simple and emotionless, she could always control the pace of the conversation at the right time.

Just like now, when she asked casually and directly:
[“Can I add you on Steam?”]

Jiang Yanlin rarely gave out this kind of account.

She didn’t like being in “invisible” mode; it felt like she was hiding something shameful.

But if she wasn’t invisible, people could see what she was doing at any time: what software she was using, what games she was playing, her weekly playtime, and what she had played recently.

So, apart from very close friends and family, no one had ever added Jiang Yanlin on Steam.

Let alone flirtatious interests and her “fish.”

But again—it depends on the person.

To Jiang Yanlin, Péi Wanyi was very “valuable.”

Her pride was obvious, but she was not what she seemed.

Her wealth and appearance gave her many halos, which were undeniably attractive bonus points. But more than obtaining a treasure, Jiang Yanlin was interested in the origin of the treasure.

Like writing a documentary herself, using her unique understanding and unbiased pen to tell the story of its past and present.

This process, for Jiang Yanlin, was the greatest value.

But in a place she refused to admit, she also understood.
—I want to know you because I want to have you.