Chapter 55
Lin Qianqian still hadn’t figured out how to make Lu Yin take her pants off.
She stared at the bathroom light, her humming off-key, and decided to ask Lu Yin about installing a speaker in the bathroom for her impromptu concerts.
After her shower, she went to Lu Yin, hairdryer in hand, and simply stared.
Lu Yin, seeing the hairdryer and Lin Qianqian’s damp hair, knew what she wanted.
“Sit down,” she said, turning on the hairdryer and adjusting the temperature.
Lin Qianqian, enjoying the pampering, checked her phone and saw several missed calls from Ming Yao. She frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Lu Yin asked, turning off the hairdryer.
“The calls…” Lin Qianqian had been about to ask if Lu Yin had heard them, but then noticed the phone was on silent. “When did I put this on silent…?”
Lu Yin resumed drying her hair.
Lin Qianqian called Ming Yao back, but there was no answer.
In her bedroom, Zhong Shiwu was getting annoyed. She rarely stayed up late, her frequent travels disrupting her sleep schedule, and she rarely slept past midnight, even in China.
Ming Yao sat on the bed, wearing only a thin silk robe, her shoulders bare, her hair a tangled mess.
She clutched her phone, her body trembling, her teeth chattering, her gaze fixed on Zhong Shiwu.
The fear of pain was a primal instinct.
Zhong Shiwu looked at her, knowing Ming Yao’s carefully constructed routine had been disrupted, her actions now driven by instinct, not by logic.
She took a step towards Ming Yao, and Ming Yao instinctively stepped back, her body pressed against the wall, her feet shuffling nervously.
Seeing the incoming call, Ming Yao opened the door and ran downstairs, grabbing a steak knife from the dining table.
She was trying to reclaim her old habits, her old self, but the knife in her hand felt like a weapon, not a tool.
But she had taken too long. The call went to voicemail.
Zhong Shiwu followed, her own appearance impeccable, her pajamas elegant and pristine.
She didn’t go downstairs, her hands resting on the banister, her gaze fixed on Ming Yao.
Ming Yao held the knife aloft, her fingers fumbling as she typed a message to Lin Qianqian.
“Qianqian, are you there? I really need you…”
“Zhong Shiwu is crazy. She’s controlling me, my thoughts, my actions. I feel like I’m going insane…”
“How can anyone sleep with their own mother? It’s incest! It’s wrong!”
“Qianqian, I don’t know when I’ll see you again…”
“Qianqian, please reply! Save me…call the police…”
Her words were slurred, her voice thick with tears, her message a jumbled mix of fear and confusion.
Zhong Shiwu watched her, her patience wearing thin, her arms crossed, her body leaning against the banister, a yawn escaping her lips.
She didn’t want to be woken up again. It had happened once before, and it wasn’t pleasant.
Staying up late was a regular occurrence for Lin Qianqian and Lu Yin.
And midnight snacks were always the most delicious.
After enjoying Lu Yin’s hair-drying service, Lin Qianqian declared she was hungry.
Lu Yin, her head throbbing, looked at the half-finished student applications, then asked what Lin Qianqian wanted.
“We’re out of noodles,” she said, checking the kitchen. “I’ll buy some tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll have instant noodles,” Lin Qianqian said, rummaging through her snack box. “I have a lot of different flavors.”
She had begged Lu Yin to allow her to keep the snack box in the living room. Eating snacks while watching TV was one of life’s greatest pleasures.
The contents of the box, however, were a secret. Lu Yin would confiscate most of it.
“Don’t eat too much junk food,” Lu Yin said, opening the grocery delivery app. “I’ll order some vegetables.”
“Then I’ll wash the vegetables and prepare the sauce,” Lin Qianqian said cheerfully.
Being with Lu Yin made even mundane tasks enjoyable.
Lu Yin returned to her work, noticing the notifications flashing on Lin Qianqian’s phone.
She couldn’t read the messages, but the sender’s name was clearly visible.
Ming Yao again.
Lin Qianqian was so careless, her phone a treasure trove of personal information, her notifications displaying the sender’s name, her apps unlocked, her lock screen password Lu Yin’s birthday, 0828, a blatant declaration of her affection.
Lu Yin opened the voice messages, listening to Ming Yao’s rambling, her words a jumbled mix of fear and confusion.
A particular phrase caught her attention, a sharp, painful reminder of her own past.
She knew she was still insecure, still haunted by the fear of abandonment. The old Lin Qianqian would have run away. And the present Lin Qianqian? She couldn’t be sure.
But she wasn’t the same person she had been four years ago. She wouldn’t push Lin Qianqian away, wouldn’t let her go. She would keep her close, protect her, even if it meant resorting to drastic measures.
And that meant eliminating anyone who might influence Lin Qianqian, anyone who might trigger her emotions, positive or negative.
She deleted the messages, her expression unchanged as Lin Qianqian approached.
“What are you doing?” Lin Qianqian asked, looking at her phone. “Trying to steal my phone and send that picture of us to yourself?”
She snatched the phone away. “I told you, you can’t have it, not unless you beg!”
She puffed out her chest, mimicking a begging gesture, her voice a playful whine. “Please, please, pretty please, can I have the picture?”
Lu Yin flicked her forehead.
She went to the kitchen, Lin Qianqian following close behind.
“Did I wash them properly?” Lin Qianqian asked, seeking praise, gesturing towards the vegetables.
Lu Yin filled a pot with water, then heard the doorbell and asked Lin Qianqian to retrieve the delivery.
“Cold noodles take too long. Let’s have soup noodles tonight,” she said.
“Okay, okay!” Lin Qianqian said cheerfully. “I want two eggs! Poached, not fried!”
Lu Yin prepared the noodles, her own appetite gone.
Lin Qianqian sat at the table, watching her. “Why aren’t you eating? You can’t skip meals just because you’re working.”
“You eat. I’m not hungry,” Lu Yin said, organizing the documents and putting them in her bag.
Lin Qianqian opened her phone, the screen still on Ming Yao’s contact page.
A single voice message, marked as read.
She glanced at Lu Yin, then clicked on the message.
—”How can anyone sleep with their own mother? It’s incest! It’s wrong!”
Lin Qianqian quickly lowered the volume, then, realizing she had pressed the wrong button, making it louder, she locked the screen.
She looked at Lu Yin, who seemed oblivious to the message, assuming Lu Yin didn’t know about Zhong Shiwu and Ming Yao.
But Lu Yin and Zhong Shiwu were close. She couldn’t be sure.
But Zhong Shiwu didn’t seem like the type to gossip…
Lin Qianqian’s mind was a mess. Since their reunion, she had avoided mentioning the past, her apologies vague and nonspecific.
“Why are you staring at me? Eat your noodles,” Lu Yin said, leaving the room.
Lin Qianqian’s appetite vanished, Lu Yin’s subtle shift in mood, the tension in her silence, a familiar signal.
She had always been attuned to Lu Yin’s emotions, even when Lu Yin tried to hide them.
Like that day, years ago, when she had hidden behind Lin Yun, afraid to face Lu Yin.
While others had assumed Lu Yin was speechless from shame, Lin Qianqian had known Lu Yin was waiting for her, her gaze seeking her out, the opinions of others irrelevant.
After that, she had become acutely aware of Lu Yin’s moods, even when Lu Yin tried to appear indifferent.
But this sensitivity, this unique connection, no longer brought her joy. It filled her with anxiety, a fear of being unable to comfort Lu Yin, to bring her back from the darkness that threatened to consume her.
“Sister…” she said, reaching for Lu Yin’s hand. “She wasn’t talking about…”
She trailed off, unsure how to explain, her words only making things worse.
Lu Yin walked towards her bedroom, and Lin Qianqian followed.
“You haven’t taken your medicine yet,” she said, retrieving the pill bottle from Lu Yin’s drawer.
She had been monitoring Lu Yin’s medication intake, but she couldn’t tell if it was helping. Lu Yin seemed no different from before.
“Wait!” she called out, as Lu Yin continued towards her room, but the door closed, the lock clicking shut.
She knocked on the door, frustrated.
Lu Yin stood on the other side, silent. She was no longer easily triggered by words, the painful memories a fleeting discomfort, quickly forgotten.
She was simply delaying Lin Qianqian, hoping she would forget about the message, the desperate plea for help.
The knocking annoyed her, but she didn’t respond.
Since abandoning her suicidal thoughts, since choosing to live, clinging to the image of Lin Qianqian, there was nothing else that mattered.
The painting was ruined, but Lin Qianqian, the real Lin Qianqian, was the only thing worth saving.
And she would save her, even if it meant keeping her captive, hidden away from the world, from anyone who might try to take her away.
She was selfish. She knew it.
She was also crazy. She knew that too.
And this was her only way to survive, to keep Lin Qianqian safe, even if it meant sacrificing everything else.
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