The car glided into the underground garage. The low hum of the engine was amplified in the enclosed space before fading into silence when it was turned off.
The driver politely asked whether they needed to be escorted upstairs. Yan Hanxie kept her eyes closed and only waved her hand lazily.
Once the driver left, the garage was filled only with the pale white light of the motion-sensor lamps and an endless, ear-pressing silence.
Zong Yi got out of the car first and walked around to the other side to open the door.
Yan Hanxie seemed to be deeply asleep, leaning against the seat without moving.
Zong Yi waited for a moment, then bent slightly into the car.
"President Yan, we're here."
Before she finished speaking, Yan Hanxie suddenly opened her eyes.
There was not the slightest trace of grogginess in them. They were clear to the point of sharpness as they collided directly with Zong Yi's gaze.
She said nothing.
She simply stretched out her hand. Instead of reaching for the arm Zong Yi had extended to help her, she precisely grabbed Zong Yi's wrist again.
This time the force was even stronger, carrying an unquestionable command as she pulled her inward.
Caught off guard, Zong Yi's upper body was pulled halfway into the car. She steadied herself only by bracing one hand against the seat beside Yan Hanxie.
The distance between them instantly shortened until they could hear each other's breathing.
The car's fragrance mixed with the scent of alcohol and lingering perfume on Yan Hanxie, forming an extremely aggressive presence that surrounded Zong Yi.
"The work isn't finished yet, Director Zong," Yan Hanxie said in a very low voice. Her breath brushed against Zong Yi's jawline. "Take me upstairs."
The pad of her thumb pressed directly on the pulse at Zong Yi's wrist. The beat there was steady, though the rhythm seemed just slightly faster than usual.
Zong Yi lowered her eyes, avoiding those overly scorching eyes—and also avoiding the lips that were too close.
"President Yan, you can walk by yourself."
She tried to pull her hand back, but failed.
"Is that so?" Yan Hanxie chuckled softly.
Her other hand lifted as well, but not to help herself. Instead, she began slowly undoing the clasp of the Buddhist beads on her left wrist.
The small metal clasp snapped open with a light click, which sounded especially clear in the silent garage.
Zong Yi's back stiffened almost imperceptibly for a moment.
The sandalwood beads slid down from Yan Hanxie's wrist and were caught in her palm.
The polished wood pressed against her skin, carrying the warmth of its owner and not cold at all.
Holding the string of beads, Yan Hanxie replaced the hand that had been gripping Zong Yi's wrist. Maintaining that posture, she looped the beads once and loosely wrapped them around Zong Yi's wrist.
One hundred and eight beads.
Not tight, but impossible to slip free easily.
The wooden beads hung heavily against the sensitive skin of her wrist, the outline of each bead clearly distinguishable.
"Like this," Yan Hanxie raised her eyes and finally released her hold. Her tone carried the satisfaction of completing a prank. "Now it counts as tying you up. Help me upstairs, otherwise…"
Her fingertip tapped lightly on the string of beads.
"Tomorrow the entire company will know that the atheist Director Zong is wearing the CEO's consecrated Buddhist beads on her wrist—and that she was wearing them when she got out of the CEO's car outside working hours."
Zong Yi's breathing paused almost imperceptibly.
She looked at the extra object on her wrist. Under the pale lights of the garage, the color of the sandalwood appeared even deeper, as if carrying some invisible weight.
She silently maintained the awkward position of being half pulled into the car for several seconds.
Then suddenly she stepped back, breaking free from the not-so-firm restraint—the beads were still hanging on her wrist.
She straightened up, no longer looking at Yan Hanxie, and reached out to help her out of the car.
Her movements were as standard as a demonstration in an etiquette manual, carrying an untouchable distance.
Yan Hanxie naturally leaned most of her weight onto her. Contentedly, she inhaled the clean, cool scent that belonged to Zong Yi nearby, mixed with the faint smell of laundry detergent.
She almost closed her eyes, letting Zong Yi guide her toward the elevator.
The elevator rose steadily. The mirrored walls reflected their figures. Yan Hanxie leaned against the wall of the elevator, her gaze falling on the hand hanging at Zong Yi's side—the one wearing the Buddhist beads.
Zong Yi's fingers were slightly curled, and the bones of her wrist stood out clearly from the tension.
The dark beads wrapped around it formed a stark contrast, creating a kind of… striking sense of compatibility.
"Ding."
The top floor had arrived.
The fingerprint lock opened, and the heavy door slid open silently.
The motion-sensor light in the entryway lit up, revealing an extremely minimalist space with almost no trace of daily living—cool tones and sharp lines, like a model home, or like the side of Yan Hanxie she showed to the world during the day.
Zong Yi helped her onto the wide sofa in the living room, immediately let go, stepped back, and began removing the Buddhist beads from her wrist.
Her movements were somewhat hurried. The tips of her fingers even turned slightly pale from the force.
"What's the rush?"
Yan Hanxie sank into the soft leather sofa, resting her head against her hand as she watched her. The drunkenness seemed to return to her eyes.
"Pour me a glass of water, Director Zong. This is the final step of your 'work.'"
Zong Yi's movements paused.
She raised her eyes to look at Yan Hanxie. The other woman lazily smiled as she waited.
The Buddhist beads had only been unclasped and still hung loosely around her wrist.
They faced each other silently for several seconds.
Then Zong Yi turned around and walked toward the open kitchen.
She could feel the gaze behind her—sticky, burning—following her the entire way.
She found a cup and filled it with water. Her fingertips touched the cold metal faucet, slightly calming the unfamiliar restlessness in her chest.
When the cup was full, she turned around.
At some point, Yan Hanxie had already risen from the sofa and was now standing behind her, less than half a step away.
Zong Yi was startled. The water in the cup sloshed slightly.
"What are you afraid of?"
Yan Hanxie took the cup, her fingertips "accidentally" brushing the back of Zong Yi's hand.
She did not drink. Instead, she placed the cup on the kitchen island, producing a crisp sound.
Then her gaze fell on Zong Yi's wrist. Because of her earlier hurried movements, the beads had become even more tangled.
She reached out—not to take them, but to gently touch the top bead with her cool fingertip.
"Consecrated things shouldn't be thrown around casually, nor should they be… given to people at random."
Yan Hanxie's fingertip slid along the string of beads, faintly brushing the inside of Zong Yi's wrist. The skin there was extremely thin, and the pulse beneath beat steadily and strongly.
"But if they're used to 'tie up' the right person," she lifted her eyes and looked deep into Zong Yi's calm, unreadable gaze, trying to find even the slightest crack there, "perhaps… even Buddha would turn a blind eye."
Zong Yi suddenly pulled her hand back.
The beads were dragged upward, drawing an arc in the air before striking the stone edge of the kitchen counter with a dull sound.
"President Yan, you've had too much to drink."
Zong Yi's voice was colder and harder than usual.
"The water is here. Please rest early. Tomorrow's meeting—"
"I won't be late for tomorrow's meeting, and I'll read the materials," Yan Hanxie interrupted her. The smile on her face faded slightly, but her gaze remained scorching. "Zong Yi, don't always talk about work."
She stepped closer.
Zong Yi had nowhere left to retreat. Her waist hit the cold edge of the kitchen island.
"You're still wearing my things on your wrist," Yan Hanxie's voice lowered, carrying a drunken hoarseness and a far more dangerous implication. "And you're just going to leave like that?"
Zong Yi's back was perfectly straight, like a taut string.
She met Yan Hanxie's gaze and spoke clearly.
"You forced this onto me. Now, please take it off."
Yan Hanxie looked at her for several seconds.
Suddenly she laughed again.
This time there was something else in the laugh—something like helplessness, but also deeper interest.
"Alright."
She agreed readily.
She extended her hand, but instead of undoing the clasp, she grabbed the wrist wearing the beads. Her thumb pressed heavily against the sensitive skin on the inside, then guided Zong Yi's hand and placed it—together with the obstructing string of beads—against her own lower back.
The sandalwood beads pressed into the hollow of her waist through the thin silk shirt.
Zong Yi's whole body shook.
Her pupils suddenly contracted.
Yan Hanxie took advantage of the moment to press closer. Her other hand braced against the counter beside Zong Yi's ear, trapping her between herself and the kitchen island.
The smell of alcohol mixed with her own unique scent, completely enveloping her.
"To untie the bell, you must use the person who tied it," Yan Hanxie said. Her lips were almost touching hers, her breath hot. "Director Zong, you were the one who taught me that principle."
Zong Yi's breathing completely fell into disarray.
She tried to break free, but her wrist was firmly pinned down, the Buddhist beads pressing against the skin where their bodies touched.
She could clearly feel the smooth silk of the shirt beneath her palm, and under the fabric, the warm curve of Yan Hanxie's waist and the slight tension of her muscles.
"Let go." She forced the two words out through clenched teeth.
"What if I don't?" Yan Hanxie asked softly. Her gaze fell on Zong Yi's tightly pressed lips that had lost their color, clearly tempted. "Will you attend tomorrow's meeting wearing my Buddhist beads? Or…" she deliberately paused, "…will you take them off yourself now?"
Time seemed to freeze.
Only the sound of their uneven, intertwined breathing rose and fell in the spacious, cold living room.
The motion-sensor light quietly illuminated the scene, casting their entangled shadows onto the smooth floor.
Zong Yi suddenly turned her head away, avoiding the kiss that was about to fall.
The line of her profile was stretched tight, a faint vein visible along her neck.
After a few seconds, she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the intense emotions surging inside had been forcibly suppressed, leaving only a bottomless coldness like a deep pool.
She no longer looked at Yan Hanxie. Instead, with the hand that had gained freedom, she reached for her wrist, found the clasp, and pulled hard.
"Click."
The Buddhist beads fell in response, dropping to the floor beside their feet. They rolled twice with a dull sound before stopping at the border between light and shadow.
Zong Yi did not even glance at the beads. She shoved Yan Hanxie away from in front of her—using considerable force.
Yan Hanxie staggered slightly and had to hold onto the kitchen island to steady herself.
"President Yan," Zong Yi's voice returned to its usual calm, even colder than before, like ice that had been tempered, "Please conduct yourself with dignity. Nine-thirty tomorrow. Do not be late."
After saying that, she turned around and walked straight toward the door without looking back.
Her back was straight, her steps steady. Only the slightly disordered hem of her shirt and the faint suspicious flush that had not yet faded from the tips of her ears revealed the embarrassment of moments earlier.
The door opened, then closed.
The sound of the lock engaging was clear.
In the vast space, only Yan Hanxie remained, standing beneath the cold light of the motion-sensor lamp.
She lowered her head and looked at the lone string of sandalwood Buddhist beads at her feet.
After a long moment, she bent down and picked them up.
The beads were cold, still carrying a trace of another person's warmth and the marks of struggle.
She wrapped the beads back around her own wrist and fastened the clasp.
Then she walked to the window and pulled the curtain open slightly.
Downstairs, Zong Yi's figure was just stepping out of the apartment entrance, walking toward a taxi parked by the roadside.
The night wind lifted the neatly arranged ends of her hair. She opened the car door and sat inside, her movements crisp and decisive, without the slightest hesitation.
The car merged into traffic, and the taillights quickly disappeared around the corner.
Yan Hanxie leaned back against the cold glass window, rubbing the wooden beads on her wrist. The last trace of drunkenness faded from her eyes, revealing a clear and deep calm beneath.
But the corner of her lips slowly curved into a faint, intrigued smile.
"Zong Yi…" she murmured softly, as if savoring a candy coated in ice—knowing it might break her teeth, yet wanting even more to taste the hint of sweetness hidden inside, whether it existed or not.
The motion-sensor light quietly went out, and the living room fell into darkness.
Only the Buddhist beads on her wrist occasionally caught a faint glimmer of light from the distant city outside the window.
—
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