To Sweep Across Like Wildfire - Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Meng Chi remembered Shen Qingruo saying she couldn’t sit still and quickly added, “You don’t need to stay still. Just do whatever you want.”

Earlier, Shen Qingruo had joked that she would only agree to the Weibo upload if Meng Chi kissed her. The “kid” had proven quite adept at taking an inch and reaching for a mile; she had leaned in for another kiss just to ask her to be a model.

Shen Qingruo pressed her lips together. The faint, warm sensation of the kiss still lingered, and her throat felt a bit dry. She leaned over to grab a water glass from the table. “You look like a proper, serious student, but you’re actually quite the opportunist, aren’t you?”

After spending some time together, Meng Chi had learned that Shen Qingruo was rarely serious. Every word out of her mouth was a tease; it seemed she couldn’t speak without making a joke. Knowing this didn’t stop Meng Chi’s face from heating up. Luckily, the dim light of the bar hid her blush, or she would surely have been mocked again.

Shen Qingruo took a sip of water. Seeing Meng Chi still standing there, she softened. “Alright, I’m just teasing. Draw whatever you like.”

As it grew late, the three of them left the bar. Shen Qingruo had driven there, and knowing she had to drive back, she hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol.

Xie Zhen sat in the back. She had originally felt like she could drink more, but the soothing aromatherapy scent in the car acted like a sedative. Before long, her eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, and she was on the verge of nodding off.

Shen Qingruo caught Xie Zhen’s exhaustion in the rearview mirror. “Don’t bother going home,” she said, keeping her hands on the wheel. “You have to be at Xiling Plaza tomorrow anyway. Just crash at my place for the night.”

Xie Zhen, limbs limp with sleepiness, let out a soft “mm-hmm” in agreement. She glanced out the window, and her drowsiness vanished instantly. “Shen Qingruo, are you so tired you’ve forgotten the way? You just drove past Xiling Academy. Little Meng is still in the car—aren’t you dropping her at the gate?”

Meng Chi was still sitting in the passenger seat.

Shen Qingruo said flatly, “The kid is drawing me. She hasn’t finished yet, so I’m taking her back to finish at my leisure.” She paused for a beat, then added with a smirk, “It’s nothing, really. I’m just sacrificing myself for art.”

Xie Zhen: “…” Meng Chi: “…”

Meng Chi really hadn’t thought that far ahead. She didn’t know why, but a perfectly normal situation turned incredibly suggestive the moment it left Shen Qingruo’s mouth.

The fatigue vanished from Xie Zhen’s face, replaced by a look of utter complexity. She felt her ears had committed a sin for having to hear that.

Seeing Xie Zhen’s “too much information” expression, Meng Chi realized she had been led astray by Shen Qingruo’s phrasing. She hurriedly explained, “It’s just… simple drawing.”

But saying it only made it worse. The “paper window” of adult understanding was clumsily poked through by Meng Chi’s panic, and a timely silence fell over the car.

Shen Qingruo stayed quiet on purpose to tease the kid, while Xie Zhen’s mind began to fill with even more colorful interpretations. Meng Chi realized the more she said, the messier it got, so she decided to “mute” herself. She just wanted time to move faster—she wished it were ten years later so this memory could be buried deep under the dust of time.

But fate is cruel. The awkwardness remained, loyal and unmoving.

Ten seconds later, Xie Zhen processed everything and pointed at Shen Qingruo. “You’re doing ‘artistic creation’ with Little Meng, and you’re still making me stay at your place?”

“It doesn’t interfere,” Shen Qingruo replied. “The room is big. There’s a sofa you can sleep on.”

“Am I supposed to sit there and watch?” Xie Zhen shouted. She immediately realized how that sounded. Knowing the shameless Shen Qingruo, she half-expected a reply like: What? You want to join?

The thought made the “iron-straight” woman shudder. She shook her head to clear out the adult content and barked, “I’m getting a separate room!”

“We’re all women. Why waste the money?”

Xie Zhen looked defeated. “Maybe my artistic consciousness is just too low. I simply cannot sacrifice myself for art.”

Meng Chi, hearing this, knew the conversation was beyond saving. She covered her face with her hands.

…

After they reached the hotel and checked in, Xie Zhen didn’t look back; she went straight to her own room.

Shen Qingruo patted Meng Chi’s shoulder. “Don’t mind her,” she said soothingly. “Lust is in the eye of the beholder.”

Meng Chi: “…”

Back in the room, Shen Qingruo went to shower first. Meng Chi opened her tablet. In the center was the sketch of Shen Qingruo and Xie Zhen dancing. She touched up a few lines and uploaded it to Weibo. In the caption box, she thought for a while before typing two words: “Them.”

She used to not notice, but now she realized she was a person of few words. Comparing herself to Shen Qingruo and Xie Zhen’s witty, talkative natures, her one or two-word captions made her look like an introvert with a social block.

Would Shen Qingruo find me boring?

Meng Chi dazed off for a bit before hitting post. She refreshed the page, and ten comments immediately popped up. She was surprised; her comments usually didn’t come this fast. Her gloom lifted slightly.

Followers commented: “First!” “Whoa, people are actually fighting for ‘First.’ Xiao Sui is blowing up!” “The art is beautiful as always. Xiao Sui is so productive lately!” “Is that a familiar silhouette again? You’ve drawn this person several times. Is she Xiao Sui’s Muse?” “The Muse looks like she has a story. I’m following this.” “I’m obsessed. All the beautiful heroines in the novels I read finally have a face.”

Meng Chi scrolled through, then opened a search engine to look up some keywords she didn’t understand. Since an art blogger had shared her work earlier, her Weibo was now flooded with… young people. Though she didn’t grasp all the slang, she could feel the genuine love in their words. Her heart skipped a beat—she felt that same spark of joy she had as a child when she first saw colors appear on a white sheet of paper.

She replied to the comments and returned to her unfinished work.

A few minutes later, Shen Qingruo walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a loose towel. Her fair skin was slightly flushed, and her every movement carried a hint of laziness. She leaned against the cabinet to pour a drink. Two drops of wine accidentally splashed onto her hand. She lowered her head and, without thinking, licked the wine from between her fingers with the tip of her tongue.

Meng Chi’s pupils contracted. She couldn’t help but remember the feeling of that tongue on her own fingers. The stylus in her hand grew warm.

The rest of the night mirrored the one before. Shen Qingruo worked on her bed, while Meng Chi, fresh from her shower, sat on the sofa drawing. An hour later, Meng Chi uploaded another sketch.

She thought everyone would be asleep by now, but a dozen comments appeared instantly. The “Night Owls” were out in force.

One comment read: “The woman in the drawing is so seductive! Sister, don’t lick the wine, lick me!”

Meng Chi paused at this one. She didn’t understand modern internet culture—how people loved to exaggerate, typing “Hahaha” while maintaining a blank face. She found the comment too direct and didn’t know how to respond.

Seconds later, the comment section was filled with a chorus of “Lick lick lick” and “prprprpr.”

The drawing depicted the scene from moments ago: Shen Qingruo licking wine from her hand. The only difference was that while the real-life Shen Qingruo was in a towel, the one in the drawing was fully dressed, with her buttons done up to the very top. If Shen Qingruo saw it, she’d probably shake her head—she hadn’t dressed that conservatively in ages.

Then came a new suggestion: “I really want to see a serialized manga with this character design!” “Sui-Da, your inspiration is so strong lately. Single illustrations aren’t enough for your imagination. Have you considered a serialized story? (I’m not saying I want to read it, but I want to read it.)”

The idea took root. Whenever Meng Chi thought of Shen Qingruo, she had an endless stream of ideas. If she could collect these moments into a story, she could bring a more vivid Shen Qingruo to life on the page.

She made the decision faster than she ever had before. It seemed that whenever it involved Shen Qingruo, she lost her usual composure. She chuckled at herself—everyone, including her family, thought she was steady and calm. Clearly, she wasn’t.

She began searching for how to serialize manga on Weibo. She had read some manga before, but after starting university, she’d had no time for it. She realized it was more complicated than she thought. Following a blogger’s recommendation, she bought several professional textbooks on manga creation. Then she realized she didn’t know how to write a script; she had no structured story in her head.

While pondering the plot, she scrolled through her Moments and saw a post from Jiang Sitian from three minutes ago:

The pork rib soup Sister Nianzhu made is so good! Never drinking that much again, my head is killing me! [Image]

The photo showed a tall woman from behind, standing at the stove. Meng Chi vaguely remembered her; it was Jiang Sitian’s sister-in-law, Wen Nianzhu.

She messaged Jiang Sitian: “Is your head feeling better?”

Jiang Sitian: “!” Meng Chi: “?” Jiang Sitian: “!” Meng Chi: “?” Jiang Sitian: “!”

The punctuation war went on until Meng Chi gave up. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m better. It’s just… why are you still awake in the middle of the night? This doesn’t fit your ‘retired old cadre’ sleep schedule.”

Meng Chi didn’t want to lie, but she also didn’t want to admit she was in a hotel room with Shen Qingruo again. She dodged: “Are you at Sister Nianzhu’s house?”

“!(How did you know?)” Jiang Sitian replied.

“Your Moments.”

“Oh right. I drank too much, and Sister Nianzhu picked me up.”

Meng Chi: “You should drink less when you’re out. It’s not safe.”

Jiang Sitian: “I know. Sister Nianzhu said the same thing.”

Meng Chi suddenly remembered Jiang Sitian loved reading novels. “Do you have any book recommendations?” she asked. Maybe she could learn how to layer a plot.

“?” Jiang Sitian was suspicious. “Are you the real Meng Chi? Staying up late and asking for novels? You must have been hacked.”

She sent a video call request. After a moment, Meng Chi declined and sent a two-second voice clip: “It’s me.”

“I don’t believe you. That was pre-recorded. Tell me the exact time right now,” Jiang Sitian demanded.

Meng Chi humored her. “It’s really me.”

“Once in a lifetime. When we were in middle school, I pushed so many books on you and you never looked at them once.” Jiang Sitian decided to be the bigger person and let it go. “What genre are you looking for?”

“What do you mean?”

“Wait, let me edit my current reading list for you,” Jiang Sitian said. “Actually, let me send you some ‘good stuff’ first.”

Ten minutes later, Shen Qingruo finished her work and got up to stretch. She saw Meng Chi staring intently at her phone, frozen. She poured a glass of water and handed it over, glancing at the screen.

She began to read aloud, her voice smooth and melodic:

“Woman, stop lying to yourself. My performance last night must have satisfied you, right? You were crying and begging me not to stop. And where was your precious fiancé then?”

Shen Qingruo’s red lips parted as she read the title:

“My President is Too Ferocious GL.”