That "madam" counterattack on the terrace was like a key that opened a certain door in Zong Yi's heart—a door filled with competitiveness and playful mischief regarding forms of address.
At first, it was just unwillingness to be constantly "bombarded" by Yan Hanxie's "wife" and "wifey," while she herself only had the more distant options like "President Yan" or "Yan Hanxie." Occasionally countering with "madam" was effective, but it still felt… not equal enough, not intimate enough.
Why could Yan Hanxie come up with endless variations?
While she could only passively endure, and even her counterattacks felt like imitation?
The more Zong Yi thought about it, the more she felt a little "at a disadvantage."
That plain ring on her ring finger felt heavy—symbolizing promise and belonging—but this "imbalance" in how they addressed each other stirred up a small sense of competitiveness in her as a young lover (even if they were only two years apart).
She didn't want to always use just one form of address, nor did she want to always have fewer "variations" than Yan Hanxie.
Thus, a silent "competition" over forms of address quietly began in Director Zong's heart.
She started observing, looking for opportunities.
Her first attempt was on an especially quiet morning.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting warm patches of light across the bed.
Yan Hanxie hadn't woken up yet, lying on her side, her long hair spread across the pillow, her eyelashes casting faint shadows beneath her eyes. Her sleeping face was relaxed, lacking her usual cold sharpness, appearing softer and harmless.
Zong Yi was already awake, lying on her side, watching her quietly for a while.
Then she reached out and very lightly tapped Yan Hanxie's nose.
Yan Hanxie's eyelashes fluttered, but she didn't open her eyes. She only unconsciously moved closer, letting out a vague "mm."
Zong Yi's heart skipped a beat.
She leaned closer, her lips almost brushing Yan Hanxie's ear, and in a breathy voice, extremely soft and slow, she called:
"Hanxie."
Not "Yan Hanxie" with the full name, but just her given name.
The two syllables slipped from her lips, carrying the faint huskiness of morning and an unprecedented, cautious intimacy.
Yan Hanxie's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.
She slowly opened her eyes, her gaze still slightly unfocused at first, then settled on Zong Yi's face so close to her own, noticing the trace of testing and barely concealed nervousness in her eyes.
Then, the corners of Yan Hanxie's lips slowly curved upward. That smile was unlike her usual calculating or triumphant ones—it was pure, tinged with sleepiness, gentle and pleasantly surprised.
"Mm?" she responded, her voice even hoarser than Zong Yi's, carrying the laziness of just waking up. "Say it again."
Zong Yi's cheeks warmed slightly, but seeing the encouragement and delight in her eyes, she grew a bit bolder.
She leaned closer again, this time her voice clearer:
"Hanxie."
Yan Hanxie smiled, reached out, pulled her into her arms, rubbed her chin against the top of her head, and let out a satisfied sigh.
"Sounds nice," she murmured softly above her head. "Call me that every morning from now on."
The first attempt was a great success.
The small pride and sweetness in Zong Yi's heart instantly outweighed her initial nervousness.
With "Hanxie" as a successful start, Zong Yi became even bolder.
She began trying different variations in different situations.
Sometimes in the study, when both of them were working quietly.
Zong Yi encountered a difficult problem and instinctively wanted help. She looked up and saw Yan Hanxie's focused profile across from her.
She paused, not saying "President Yan, this data…" as she would have before. Instead, she lightly tapped her desk, waited for Yan Hanxie to look over, then said:
"Sister Han, could you take a look at this model?"
The words "Sister Han" came out naturally and smoothly, carrying a sense of professionalism suitable for work, yet because of the word "sister," it added an indescribable intimacy—somewhere between colleagues and lovers.
Yan Hanxie was clearly stunned for a moment, then raised her brows, a trace of interest flashing through her eyes.
She set down the pen in her hand, stood up, and walked over, leaning down to look at Zong Yi's screen. One arm naturally braced against the back of Zong Yi's chair, forming a half-enclosing posture.
"Where's the problem?" she asked. Her voice was calm, but her gaze shifted from the screen to the slightly reddened tip of Zong Yi's ear, a faint smile lingering at the corner of her lips.
Zong Yi forced herself to stay composed and began explaining while pointing at the screen.
The faint cool fragrance from Yan Hanxie's body lingered at her nose, along with the close, slightly oppressive warmth of her presence, making her heartbeat a little unsteady, her explanation stumbling slightly.
Yan Hanxie listened patiently, occasionally raising one or two key questions.
When the discussion came to a pause, she didn't leave immediately. Instead, maintaining that leaning posture, she moved closer to Zong Yi's ear and, in a voice only the two of them could hear, let out a low chuckle:
"Sister Han? Sounds… not bad."
Warm breath brushed against her ear, tinged with teasing and a hint of flirtation.
Zong Yi's ears turned completely red. She suddenly turned her head and glared at her, but the moment she met those smiling, deep eyes, her temper vanished. She could only hurriedly look away.
The term "Sister Han" was thus tacitly accepted in that subtle atmosphere.
Yan Hanxie seemed to quite enjoy it as well, especially in moments where she could emphasize the "two years older" authority (or perhaps… a kind of playful charm?).
As for "Jie," it appeared in even more private, more relaxed moments.
For example, one night when they were soaking together in a massage bathtub.
Steam filled the air, scented with essential oils.
Yan Hanxie leaned against the edge of the tub with her eyes closed, resting. Zong Yi sat across from her, watching the way her brows relaxed in the rippling water, and the elegant lines of her shoulders and neck.
As if possessed, Zong Yi reached out, her fingertips lightly stirring the floating petals on the water, then looked at Yan Hanxie and softly called:
"Jie."
This form of address was even more abbreviated than "Sister Han," more unique, and… clingier, carrying an ambiguous warmth born from the mist.
Yan Hanxie's eyelashes trembled slightly as she slowly opened her eyes.
The steam made her gaze seem a little hazy, yet it still locked precisely onto Zong Yi.
Her eyes lingered for a moment on Zong Yi's flushed cheeks and damp, glistening eyes from the heat. Then, slowly, a meaningful smile spread across her lips.
She said nothing, only extended her hand toward Zong Yi.
Zong Yi hesitated for a moment, then placed her hand in hers.
Yan Hanxie grasped her hand and gave a gentle pull.
Caught off guard, Zong Yi leaned forward and fell into Yan Hanxie's embrace, splashing water.
The warm water instantly enveloped them both.
Yan Hanxie's arms wrapped around Zong Yi's waist, holding her firmly in front of her. Their bodies pressed close together, separated only by the thin layer of water and bathrobes, clearly feeling each other's curves and warmth.
"Say it again?" Yan Hanxie lowered her head, her nose brushing against Zong Yi's, her voice low and husky, damp with the mist and laced with temptation.
Zong Yi's face flushed so deeply it seemed ready to drip blood, her heart pounding wildly as if it would leap out of her chest.
She looked at Yan Hanxie's lips so close to hers, moistened by the steam, her throat dry, yet she still obediently called again:
"…Jie."
Before the words fully fell, a burning kiss followed—carrying the warmth of the water and the fragrance of essential oils, lingering and deep, more intense than any before.
Zong Yi was left dizzy from the kiss, able only to passively endure it, her hands unconsciously gripping Yan Hanxie's shoulders, her fingertips pressing into her damp skin.
The term "Jie" seemed to carry a certain magic, always able to ignite the deepest fire in Yan Hanxie's eyes.
As for "older sister"… this was the term Zong Yi used the least and required the most courage.
It was more direct than "Hanxie," "Sister Han," or "Jie," more coquettish, and also… required a specific mood and emotion.
Usually, it was when Zong Yi was especially tired or especially wanted to rely on her.
For example, after a stretch of overtime work, she returned to the villa exhausted, without even the strength to speak. She simply buried herself into Yan Hanxie's arms when she came to open the door, pressing her face deep into her shoulder.
Yan Hanxie was pushed back half a step by the impact, then steadied herself and caught her, her hand gently patting her back as she asked softly, "Tired?"
Zong Yi nuzzled in her arms, breathing in her reassuring scent, and gave a muffled "mm."
Then, after a few seconds, in a barely audible voice tinged with a nasal tone and deep dependence, she softly called:
"…older sister."
That "older sister" was light and soft, like a feather brushing against the tip of Yan Hanxie's heart.
Yan Hanxie's body stiffened instantly.
Then she tightened her arms, holding the person in her embrace even closer, as if she wanted to press her into her bones.
Her chin rested on top of Zong Yi's head. She took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, her voice carrying a restrained, almost trembling gentleness:
"Mm, I'm here."
She didn't ask more, nor did she tease. She only responded with a warmer embrace and a steady heartbeat, answering that complete dependence and trust.
In that moment, Zong Yi felt that all her exhaustion and pressure dissolved completely in that "older sister" and that embrace.
From then on, "older sister" became the most special and softest form of address between them.
It appeared only in their most vulnerable moments, when they needed each other the most—like a hidden defense line, a soft harbor opens only to each other.
"Hanxie," "Sister Han," "Jie," "older sister"…
Zong Yi's "vocabulary of address" grew richer by the day, and she no longer felt at a disadvantage.
She realized that different forms of address were like different keys, capable of unlocking different responses from Yan Hanxie, and expressing her own varying emotions.
And Yan Hanxie clearly enjoyed it.
She relished every time Zong Yi took the initiative to call her in different intimate ways, and would always respond in the most fitting—and most heart-stirring—manner.
This silent "competition" and "exchange" over forms of address not only created no distance between them but instead added countless lively little pleasures and unspoken codes of understanding to their intimacy.
From the initial "President Yan" and "Director Zong," to later "wife," "wifey," "madam," and now "Hanxie," "Sister Han," "Jie," "older sister"…
Each change in address recorded the path of their growing closeness, their gradual adjustment to each other, and their final merging into one.
And this path continued to extend toward a longer, warmer future.
They had plenty of time to create more unique forms of address that belonged only to them, and more sweet memories.
—
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