So You Had Always Been In Love With Me

The evening sky burned with streaks of crimson as Mingke returned from the cafeteria to the dormitory. The moment she stepped inside, Chen Yi’s cheerful voice reached her ears, chattering about the latest trivial gossip with her new boyfriend. Upon noticing her entrance, Ji Feng, one of her closer dorm mates, nodded toward her. “Ke-Ke, you’re back! Free tonight? Yi-jie said we could hang out later, you should come too.” Chen Yi, still turned away, twirled a strand of hair as she responded to Ji Feng: “Sure, come along.” The invitation was polite but laced with indifference and subtle arrogance. The dorm housed four in total, though one had long moved out to live with her boyfriend, leaving the three of them in daily company. Mingke, however, was the exception—beautiful and aloof, yet without the wealth to indulge her whims. “No, I have things to do,” Mingke replied, collecting her clothes and heading for the shower. Once the water ran, faint murmurs floated from the room. “I told you she’s busy, why do you even ask?” “She has to work,” Chen Yi’s voice came back. “With what little she earns, it wouldn’t even cover a bag I buy.” “Don’t know what she’s thinking, such a pretty face wasted.” Ji Feng fell silent, then veered off into laughter, shifting the conversation to the latest celebrity reality shows. By the time Mingke finished and emerged, Chen Yi was nowhere to be seen, leaving only Ji Feng exchanging glances with her. “You really aren’t going?” Ji Feng, lacquered nails glinting, asked. “Work doesn’t stop for the night.” “Not interested,” Mingke said, offering no further explanation. She casually wrapped her damp hair in a towel. Her minimal attire and slight bend of posture drew a flicker of envy from Ji Feng. “Can you send me that long-cup technique you mentioned last time?” They say heaven is fair; Ji Feng firmly believed it. Just like Mingke and Chen Yi—when they first entered school, both vied for the title of department beauty. Yet despite Mingke’s flawless face and figure, Chen Yi’s financial power overshadowed her. Mingke’s cold demeanor and lack of social polish naturally left her trailing behind. Mingke paused briefly before smiling. “Sure, I’ll send it to you.” She had hastily copied it from online when a neighbor insisted on seeing it last time—now Ji Feng wanted it too. The file sent quickly, and before long, she watched Ji Feng busily applying powder to her face. Mingke, blow dryer humming over her hair, ignored her words—though she didn’t want to hear them anyway. That evening, Mingke picked up a gig at an upscale private club, a simple drink-serving job that netted a four-figure sum in one night—a rare exception her looks afforded her. After Ji Feng left, Mingke slept an hour before heading to the club to prep. She wasn’t exhausted, but among the guests, it was either the sharp or the strikingly beautiful—she was the most ordinary of them all. Yet that was fine; while others came to flaunt wealth, her goal was the modest tips. The manager, aware of her need, assigned her the highest-spending tables. On a lucky night, she earned more in tips. Mingke, dressed in her pink uniform, began arranging drinks when Chen Yi’s exclamation drew attention. Chen Yi, in a tight dress, leaned provocatively against a blond man; the surrounding seven or eight men immediately turned their gazes. Mingke caught a glimpse and offered a slight, knowing smile in acknowledgment. As the door clicked shut, she imagined how Chen Yi would describe her: “My roommate… proud yet penniless, dying poor, always talking about independence. Truth is, she looks down on men beneath her level, waiting to catch a big fish.” Chen Yi’s coquettish words prompted laughter from the room—a crowd of wealthy heirs, accustomed to Chen Yi’s circle, leaving Ji Feng and Mingke untouched. “Brother Wen, when’s Zhao Yi arriving?” Chen Yi asked, engaging a cornered young man without concern for his indifference. Her boyfriend nudged her waist, and she wisely fell silent, resuming their dice game. Soon, a dark figure entered, smoking nearly half a pack that night. Mingke, observing from a distance, felt a mixture of relief and wariness, keeping her gaze fixed on the entrance as she coquetted with her own task. — Back in high school, it had been trendy for girls to gift lighters to boys. Wen Yu’s, an ugly, pitch-black one, had been given during that time—others etched hearts or initials, yet he received only stark black. Recently, his craving for cigarettes had surged; the stricter he tried to restrain it, the fiercer the rebound. Those friends were Lin Zhaoyi’s companions. Wen Yu rarely lingered, but he knew the price his WeChat account fetched among them was absurd—comparable to a rare Hermès skin. Rather than sit with them, he preferred eavesdropping from the shadows, a quiet amusement. In this blind spot on the second floor, lazy bartenders and servers gravitated, and so did those chasing indulgence. Mingke had just shooed away a couple when Wen Yu overheard snippets of conversation: “Why don’t you go? You know how much Xiao Liu earned last time—five thousand!” “Why don’t you take my shift? I really don’t want to go,” Mingke murmured, her resolve clear. The manager could only shake his head in frustrated resignation. “Fool! Such a golden opportunity and you refuse, claiming you need money.” “Thanks, Wang Ge. Next time, I’ll bring some homemade fried cakes.” Mingke smiled and readjusted her mood, confident Wang Ge wouldn’t give her trouble. The complaints that night doubled the usual, and she willingly handled them. Lin Zhaoyi’s uncle ran the establishment; he dragged Wen Yu along for the spectacle. By the time they arrived, Mingke had already resolved everything. A server carrying milk tea slipped near Wen Yu, spilling perilously close to him. Startled, the young girl froze under his icy presence. “Call your manager,” Wen Yu said, a curl of a smile tugging at his lips. The girl obeyed. That night, though, the manager’s duty fell to Mingke. Without negotiation, Wen Yu declared: “She spilled it on me. Thirty-six thousand for the jacket. You’re paying.” Mingke glanced at the wet patch, then at his clothes—spotless. Muttering a curse under her breath, she employed her usual tactic: soft words with a hint of authority. “Sir, she didn’t mean it, and there’s barely any stain. Would you like to remove your jacket for our staff to clean, or shall I call the manager?” She signaled a nearby assistant to offer a drink. The young man repeatedly bowed in apology as he took it. “Finished?” Wen Yu toyed with his lighter, the flickering flame casting brief illumination across his eyes. He stepped closer—despite her heels, he towered over her. The faint scent of his breath hovered, then he pressed the drink into her hands. “Hm?” In the next instant, he seized her wrist, tipping the drink into his own lap. “Sorry, I misspoke. Not her—you owe me.” Everyone present froze in disbelief. Even after a year of work, Mingke had never encountered such blatant audacity. The more flustered she grew, the more triumphant he appeared. When she first met him, he hadn’t been this insolent. “Sir,” Mingke inhaled deeply, her form wrapped in soft, elegant lines. “We have surveillance.” “Go ahead. Let it help you,” Wen Yu retorted, eyes smoldering like coals. The girl nearby, sensing the tension no longer involved her, dashed off. Mingke realized with a sinking heart that this would not end peacefully.