Chapter 3
Lin Qian.
Only Lu Yin called her that.
Before meeting Lu Yin, Lin Qianqian had loathed her name, finding it unsophisticated, even joining her classmates in mocking it.
As a minor, rebelling against teachers and parents felt like a powerful act, and Lin Qianqian excelled at challenging authority.
She’d scoured the dictionary for a new name, only to be praised by her teacher for her love of learning, while her mother, Lin Yun, scolded her for being foolish. “Common names are easier to live with,” Lin Yun had declared, forbidding any further name-changing schemes.
This was probably the reason she had survived Lin Yun’s often-frantic parenting.
Later, when she moved in with Lin Yun, Lu Yin called her Lin Qian on the first day.
Using her full name felt distant, using a diminutive felt too intimate.
Lin Qian was the perfect fit.
From then on, Lin Qianqian saw her name in a new light.
Lu Yin always said her name softly and gently, her voice clear and warm, a gentle smile gracing her face. Lin Qianqian wished she could hear her name eight hundred times a day from Lu Yin’s lips.
Within a few days, she had developed a remarkably positive impression of Lu Yin, and the feeling of being an outsider gradually dissipated under Lu Yin’s kindness.
In elementary school, her Chinese teacher would mark beautiful sentences with red wavy lines.
In Lin Qianqian’s award-winning third-grade essay, there was this sentence:
Early morning, in the dew-kissed grass of a shallow field after the rain, a deer sings freely.
“dew-kissed grass of a shallow field”: This directly relates to Lin Qianqian’s name. Lin Qianqian (林浅浅), as a “shallow field of grass.”
“a deer sings freely”: Deer (鹿 – lù) are closely associated with Lu Yin (鹿吟). 吟 (yín) can mean “to sing,” “to chant,” or “to recite.” Therefore, Lu Yin’s name itself evokes the image of a deer singing.
After being publicly praised by her teacher, Lin Qianqian read the essay to Lu Yin over and over, wanting her to acknowledge how cleverly she had woven their two names into a single sentence.
Lin Qianqian had revisited this sentence three times in her life.
The first time was while racking her brains writing the essay.
The second was when Lu Yin(the deer) pressed her down, inhaling the scent of dew-kissed grass. (The original Chinese uses the word “mi,” which is slang for female genitalia. This reveals a previously unstated intimacy between the two characters.)
The third time was now, as the deer’s attitude towards her was devoid of its former warmth, replaced by a cool detachment.
“You’ve been staring at me a lot since you got back,” Lu Yin met her gaze. “Is there something you want to say?”
She finally looked directly at the person before her. Lin Qianqian’s long, soft hair was still slightly damp and messy, the ends tucked into the collar of her pajamas, peeking out with her movements.
Finally swallowing the rice in her mouth, Lin Qianqian took a sip of juice, brushed her hair back, and licked her lips contentedly. “Um… how can I contact you?”
Although Lu Yin had picked her up, her text messages hadn’t been answered, and she didn’t know if Lu Yin had seen them.
After much deliberation, adding Lu Yin back on WeChat seemed like the best option, but she was too embarrassed to ask directly.
Lu Yin picked up her chopsticks again, her voice soft. “Just contact me on WeChat.”
“But I…” Lin Qianqian almost blurted out that she had deleted and blocked Lu Yin. “I was afraid you wouldn’t see WeChat messages, so I texted you, but you didn’t reply.”
She didn’t know if Lu Yin had tried to contact her after that, or if Lu Yin knew she had been blocked.
All she knew was that her last message from years ago, Don’t ignore me! I’ll really be angry with you, had gone unanswered.
Lin Qianqian had researched it. If you deleted the “I am…” section of the friend request, you could add someone back as if nothing had happened, with no notification on the other end.
She tried it, and a message popped up: You have added the other party as a friend.
It seemed Lu Yin hadn’t deleted her.
“I’ll see them now,” Lu Yin replied.
“Oh, okay,” Lin Qianqian mumbled. An awkward silence descended upon the living room, punctuated only by the clinking of dishes.
Lin Qianqian wanted to say more, but Lu Yin seemed uninterested in conversation.
She was essentially a houseguest, and this woman was probably eager for her to find a place and move out.
“I’m full,” Lin Qianqian took her bowl to the sink, then hesitated, unsure where to put the clean dishes.
Lu Yin entered, carrying a stack of bowls. “Just leave it there. I’ll take care of it later.”
Lin Qianqian stepped back, watching as Lu Yin expertly washed the dishes, wiped the counter and sink, and placed the bowls in the cabinet below.
Finished, Lu Yin washed her hands with soap, glancing back at Lin Qianqian, as if wondering why she was still standing there.
Lin Qianqian silently returned to her room and sprawled on the bed.
Awkward.
Nothing but awkward.
And she hated awkwardness. She’d rather tell the corniest jokes than endure this helpless silence.
Lin Qianqian buried her face in a pillow, unwilling to face reality.
She scrolled through social media, looking at influencers, celebrities, and models, but even the most alluring figures couldn’t quell her frustration.
Damn Lu Yin.
Lin Qianqian shouldn’t have sent that text message.
After learning of her return, Lin Yun had contacted her first, saying she had sold their house and was now renting a one-bedroom apartment with no spare room.
Lin Qianqian hadn’t planned on staying with Lin Yun anyway, but for some reason, she had texted Lu Yin, saying she had just returned and was about to be homeless.
Lu Yin had replied, asking for her flight information and promising to arrange accommodation.
Her tone was casual, no mention of the past, just like before, when Lu Yin would unconditionally fulfill all of Lin Qianqian’s whims, reasonable or not.
Receiving a reply was unexpected. Lin Qianqian had been prepared to figure things out on her own.
Emboldened, she had sent Lu Yin her entire itinerary, including how she would get to the airport, what transportation she would take, and how long she would spend in the airport lounge enjoying a sugar-free iced Americano with two croissants.
Despite the lack of further responses, she continued to bombard Lu Yin with messages.
The result was no second reply.
Which led to her shivering at the airport, huddled in a corner like a pathetic stray, waiting for Lu Yin to take her home.
Lin Qianqian wasn’t picky about beds, but she couldn’t fall asleep no matter how much she tossed and turned.
She needed a sleep aid, specifically, her most familiar one.
In the early hours of the morning, Lin Qianqian found Lu Yin in the living room. Without a word, she simply stared.
Lu Yin was filling out forms on her computer. Hearing the movement, she didn’t turn around. “Just say what you want.”
“Do you have an extra pillow in your room?” Lin Qianqian scratched her head. “You know I like to cuddle something when I sleep, but my period came early, and I accidentally got it on mine.”
Lu Yin got up and fetched a pillow from her room. “There are clean pillowcases in your closet. You can change it.”
Lin Qianqian hugged the pillow, inhaling the familiar scent of Lu Yin’s shampoo.
She didn’t comment, just nodded. “Okay.”
Glancing at the time, she saw it was two or three in the morning. “Shouldn’t you get some rest?”
She wasn’t genuinely concerned about this aloof woman, only wanting to make sure everyone was asleep so she could…take care of business.
“I still have some work to do,” Lu Yin sat back down, resuming her form-filling, seemingly oblivious to Lin Qianqian’s presence.
“I’m going to bed then,” Lin Qianqian said, receiving no response.
Well, their conversation had been dull and pointless anyway.
Lin Qianqian didn’t know much about Lu Yin’s work, only that she worked at an art training institution.
Four years had changed Lu Yin, making her seem distant, and Lin Qianqian lacked the courage to ask for details.
She quickly dismissed the conversation, adjusted the sanitary pad beneath her, tossed her own pillow aside, and hugged the one from Lu Yin’s room tightly.
It was soft and fragrant. Lin Qianqian buried her face in it, unable to get enough of the scent.
She began to reminisce.
Four years ago, Lu Yin would hold her like this, generously allowing her to nuzzle and snuggle.
The woman from her memories emerged, lying beside her, warm hands roaming over her body, caressing every inch of her skin.
Lin Qianqian draped one leg over the pillow, her eyes half-closed, vividly recalling scenes repeated countless nights.
Like a gentle spring rain, the deer reappeared in the field of grass, the soft rain falling, moistening the newly sprouted buds.
Out in the living room, Lu Yin was struggling with the forms. She needed to fill in student information for the past few years, creating separate documents for each term.
She had to finish tonight. She hated being interrupted when engrossed in something, but now, with a ticking time bomb in the house, she had to be prepared for distractions—
Just like earlier.
Looking at the half-finished forms, she rubbed her temples, deciding to establish some ground rules with Lin Qianqian.
She didn’t know how long Lin Qianqian would be staying, and setting some boundaries upfront would ensure they didn’t disturb each other.
Instead of knocking, Lu Yin opened WeChat. She scrolled past the four-year-old messages and sent Lin Qianqian a message, asking her to come to the living room.
Lin Qianqian had just gone back to her room. If her habits hadn’t changed, she would be on her phone, probably browsing attractive photos on foreign websites.
Lu Yin stared at the chat window for several minutes, but received no reply.
She didn’t send another message, instead getting up and walking towards Lin Qianqian’s room.
As she raised her hand to knock, she heard a suppressed sob, as if someone was trying to hold back tears.
Her hand froze on the doorknob. Then, she heard a faint whisper, “Sister…”
Perhaps Lin Qianqian was thinking of a past lover from abroad, or expressing longing for a girlfriend in a long-distance relationship.
There was a third possibility, but she didn’t want to consider it.
Lu Yin turned away, deciding to talk in the morning. A new cry came from the room—
“…Lu Yin!”
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