“You…”
Su Yuqing instantly felt as if a breath had gotten stuck in her chest.
“Wanxue wants to know.”
Bai Wanxue leaned in a little closer.
The distance between them was now so close they could feel each other’s breath.
Her gaze locked tightly onto Su Yuqing’s eyes, her voice soft yet carrying an obstinate, penetrating force.
“Exactly why… would Master be so concerned about the expressions on those ‘outsiders’ faces? Why… would Master want to deliberately conceal, even deny, the relationship that truly exists between Master and Wanxue in front of ‘them’?”
Her chain of logic was terrifyingly simple, terrifyingly pure: We have a clear relationship (Master and owned).
This is a fact.
Outsiders have various reactions to this.
That is the outsiders’ business.
So, may I ask, why should we change or hide the fact of what is happening between us two because of outsiders’ reactions?
She paused.
Deep within her pale red eyes, an extremely faint, almost wounded emotion seemed to flash by, so fast one might think it an instant illusion.
Yet her voice remained steady as she voiced that most fatal, and also most childish, conjecture:
“Could it be… could it be that Master, all this time, deep down… has always felt… that being with Wanxue, being called ‘Master’ by Wanxue… is something very… shameful? Meow?”
The word “shameful,” spoken in that ethereal voice of hers, carried a kind of innocent cruelty.
Like the finest needle, it precisely pierced a corner of Su Yuqing’s heart—a corner mixed with complex emotions she herself hadn’t even clearly been aware of.
“Ah…”
Su Yuqing took half a step back abruptly, as if scalded by the word.
The agitation and anxiety on her face instantly froze, then slowly faded, replaced by a deep weariness and a kind of flustered embarrassment, as if part of her inner thoughts had been seen through.
Looking into Bai Wanxue’s eyes, which were filled with incomprehension and a trace of barely perceptible unease, her heart felt as if gently squeezed by an invisible hand—sour and swollen.
She suddenly realized that all her previous anger, embarrassment, and professional considerations seemed so complex, so “human,” and even… so cowardly in the face of Bai Wanxue’s simple logic based on “factual recognition” and “purity of relationship.”
She shook her head hard, as if trying to shake off those chaotic thoughts.
She no longer raised her voice.
It lowered, carrying an unprecedented seriousness, even a hint of earnestness.
“No, Wanxue. It’s not like that. Listen to me.”
She looked into Bai Wanxue’s eyes, trying to convey her thoughts in the most straightforward way possible.
“Bai Wanxue, I, Su Yuqing, have never, ever felt that me, personally, being with you, is something ‘shameful.’ Similarly, I absolutely, absolutely… cannot be said to dislike you.”
She said this slowly, clearly, as if trying to pour all her sincerity into the other person.
“However, I want you to understand, to comprehend another matter.”
Her tone grew heavy, bearing the weight of reality.
“I really need this job here. I really need to continue working at the ‘Little Paw’ company, long-term and stably. This job, for me, is more than just a job.”
Bai Wanxue’s eyes still brimmed with incomprehension, seemingly not understanding what necessary connection there was between “needing a job” and “not being able to call her Master.”
To Su Yuqing, Bai Wanxue’s silence and the confusion in her eyes seemed laughably naive, yet so pure it made her heart ache.
She had to continue explaining, tearing open bit by bit those cold, realistic burdens belonging solely to the adult human world, showing them to this seemingly mature yet fundamentally ignorant-of-human-society-rules being before her.
“Of course it’s because…”
Su Yuqing pulled a bitter, almost self-mocking smile, her voice dry.
“I’m still young, yet I’m already carrying a not-insignificant, damn mortgage that needs at least another twenty years of repayment. Just the fixed monthly payment number hangs over my head like a sword.”
“And then there are my parents back in my hometown. They’re getting older, and their health is starting to have minor issues. I need to set aside enough money for their potential future medical needs and a better retirement life. That’s my responsibility.”
“And also… my own basic needs living in this city. Entertainment, utilities, commuting, food, clothing… each one requires money. A lot of money.”
With each item she listed, her tone grew heavier, her shoulders seeming to slump a little more.
These pressures she usually didn’t like to mention, just silently endured, now under Bai Wanxue’s pure, uncomprehending gaze, seemed exceptionally naked and exhausting.
“I really need the income and platform this job provides, Wanxue.”
She finally summarized, her voice filled with a sense of powerlessness and deep weariness—the kind of clear helplessness that comes after being tamed by life.
“The salary, benefits, and future possibilities this job offers are currently the most important, and the only, lifebuoy I can grasp to maintain my current life and even my family responsibilities.”
She looked at Bai Wanxue, hoping the other could understand the weight of this.
“I really need this job, so I must maintain my professional image, my reputation for expertise, and… relatively ‘normal’ interpersonal evaluations here.”
“Any factor that might cause controversy or make people question my professionalism or even character, I must avoid as much as possible. And the title ‘Master,’ in the workplace, in public settings, is precisely such a ‘factor’ that would bring countless troubles and misunderstandings. Do you understand?”
She paused, gathering her last bit of strength to convey that most important sentence once more, with utmost gravity.
“So, Master also hopes that you can slowly come to understand—Master really, really needs this job of staying in what might seem like a ‘boring, closed-off’ office, going to work on time, handling various trivial matters, and facing various interpersonal relationships, all to earn that salary.”
“This ‘need’ outweighs many personal feelings, and even… outweighs the public expression of certain ‘relationships.’ This isn’t dislike, nor is it feeling shameful. This is… survival. It’s the compromises and choices adults in this world are forced to make.”
“So can you… try to understand a little bit?”
After finishing, Su Yuqing felt as if she had exhausted all her strength.
She leaned against the cold wall, waiting for Bai Wanxue’s reaction.
She didn’t know if this explanation, mixed with the cruelty of reality, personal helplessness, and a bit of sincere confession, could penetrate the other’s simple, pure “cat’s logic” and reach that perhaps equally complex yet differently operating “heart.”
A few seconds of silence, filled by the monotonous hum of the central air conditioning.
Finally, Bai Wanxue gave a slight nod.
The movement was small, yet carried a gravity of having made some kind of decision.
She raised her eyes.
Her gaze had already regained its usual calmness, even appearing more clear and resolute than before.
She looked at Su Yuqing and said clearly in her ethereal voice:
“Wanxue understands. Meow.”