Chapter 15
Back at the apartment, Lin Qianqian avoided Lu Yin, silently retreating to her room and then to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
She splashed water on her face, the droplets running down her cheeks.
The sound of running water from the kitchen indicated Lu Yin was probably making cold noodles, even though it was past ten.
Lu Yin wasn’t as easily swayed by flattery as before, yet Lin Qianqian still found herself susceptible to Lu Yin’s cooking.
She didn’t want to admit it, but it was true.
After her shower, her mood had improved slightly.
Only in Lu Yin’s home, alone with Lu Yin, could she delude herself into believing things were the same as before.
A bowl of cold noodles, garnished with chopped scallions and spices, sat on the dining table.
Lin Qianqian mixed the noodles. They weren’t soggy, perfectly cooked.
It tasted exactly like last time, exactly like when they were younger.
She glanced towards Lu Yin’s room and knocked on the door, bowl in hand. No answer.
She knocked again. Silence.
Her attempt to express gratitude through culinary praise had failed.
She had only wanted to maintain appearances in front of others. Once they were home, the charade was over.
Lu Yin must be in the loft.
Lin Qianqian quickly finished the noodles, drank some water, grabbed a popsicle from the freezer, and went upstairs.
There she was.
Lu Yin sat at the easel, staring blankly at the canvas, her brush clean, the paintbox untouched.
An empty stool sat beside her. Lin Qianqian sat down without hesitation.
Her rebellious streak was short-lived. In front of Lu Yin, she always reverted to her submissive self.
“Sister, I can’t open it,” Lin Qianqian offered the popsicle. “I finished the noodles and washed the bowl.”
Lu Yin set down her brush and broke the popsicle, giving Lin Qianqian the shorter end.
It was a childhood habit.
Back then, Lin Qianqian’s small hands could only hold a small portion of the popsicle. If given both halves, the second would melt and drip onto her clothes, forcing her to lick her shirt if she didn’t change immediately.
“You eat this one. I want the bigger half,” Lin Qianqian pointed. “The one with the wrapper. It has a little extra.”
She grinned mischievously. “Sister, you’re so greedy, taking even the smallest advantage.”
Lu Yin gave her the larger half and picked up her brush again, still not touching the paint.
“Did you eat any noodles?” Lin Qianqian asked, already knowing the answer. “You didn’t, did you? Are you hungry? Did you only make one serving?”
Lu Yin put down her brush again, placing it in the holder.
“There’s no paint in the paintbox. How can you paint?” Lin Qianqian knew she was being disruptive but continued her relentless teasing.
“I was too tired to talk at the studio.”
They both knew the real reason, but tacitly accepted the excuse.
Lin Qianqian felt pathetic, and she was.
She had rejected Lu Yin’s attempts at reconciliation, only to return later, seeking her approval.
When she was in a good mood, Lu Yin became distant.
She didn’t know when this cycle of alternating moods would end.
It didn’t matter. She could comfort herself.
If Lu Yin ignored her, she would secretly dislike Lu Yin for one minute.
No, one minute was too long.
One second.
“If you’re tired, go to bed,” Lu Yin said, placing the easel in the corner and picking up some scraps of paper from the rug.
“Are you sleeping here tonight?” Lin Qianqian glanced at the rug on the floor. “The floor is hard. I’d feel bad if you got sick.”
Lu Yin put the paintbox away. “Did you buy new paints for your classes? What colors? Can I see them?” Lin Qianqian asked.
Lu Yin walked towards the empty hook on the wall and stood there silently.
Lin Qianqian joined her. “Am I bothering you?”
“What do you think?” Lu Yin stared at the wall.
“Not really. You never thought I was annoying when we were younger,” Lin Qianqian touched the hook. “What painting are you going to hang here?”
She looked up at Lu Yin, realizing Lu Yin was staring at her.
“Why are you looking at me?” Lin Qianqian felt uneasy under her gaze, looking down and poking Lu Yin in the side.
Lu Yin grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away.
Lin Qianqian felt a slight twinge of pain but didn’t let go, her other hand reaching out to grasp Lu Yin’s.
Lu Yin’s expression shifted, her eyes filled with an emotion Lin Qianqian couldn’t decipher. She reluctantly released her grip.
“I asked you, what painting are you going to hang here?” Lin Qianqian tried to break the tension. “If you haven’t decided, I can help you choose.”
“How about a portrait of me?”
“No, no, that would be bad luck!”
“Then a picture of us together? But we don’t have any…”
Lin Qianqian fidgeted with the hem of Lu Yin’s shirt, tugging at it and watching it spring back.
“Lin Qian.”
“What?” Lin Qianqian looked at her, her hands behind her back, her expression defiant.
Lu Yin looked back at the wall, at the hook Lin Qianqian had touched.
Lin Qianqian wasn’t like a painting, easily hung and confined.
She had her own will, her own thoughts. Just like she had touched the hook and then dismissed it.
While Lu Yin felt trapped, bound to the wall by an invisible force.
Her desires, locked away, formed an invisible net, holding her captive.
Lin Qianqian didn’t interrupt the silence, patiently waiting for Lu Yin to speak, sensing the gravity of the moment.
Moonlight streamed through the window. The expression in Lu Yin’s eyes seemed to dim, like a drowning person releasing their last grasp on a lifeline.
Lin Qianqian dismissed it as an illusion. Her sister, so driven and determined, had gone from having nothing to achieving so much in just four years.
Perhaps less than four, considering she knew nothing about Lu Yin’s life during that time, hadn’t even spoken to her.
She hadn’t dared to contact her.
How could someone so resilient appear so defeated?
Lin Qianqian felt a growing unease.
She waited for Lu Yin to speak, her head bowed, her toes nudging Lu Yin’s.
Then, she heard the words she had dreaded the most.
“It’s the weekend in two days. Pack your things.”
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