Chapter 58
Lu Yin had been a bit of a neat freak, initially unable to tolerate even a speck of paint on her clothes.
Later, it had evolved into a mild form of OCD, her brushes and paintbox always meticulously cleaned, unlike other art students, who often displayed their messy, paint-splattered tools as a badge of honor, a testament to their hard work and dedication.
She could mix any color she wanted, but she couldn’t stand a messy workspace.
And her closet, filled with identical white shirts, reflected her need for order, her aversion to distractions.
Until Lin Qianqian had moved in.
Lin Qianqian, as a child, had loved colorful dresses, and Lu Yin had indulged her, buying her an endless array of vibrant garments.
She had practically every color of the rainbow, from long flowing gowns to short, playful skirts, her wardrobe a reflection of her ever-changing moods, her desire to stand out, to be seen.
And so, the pristine white of Lu Yin’s world had been invaded by Lin Qianqian’s kaleidoscope of colors, her energy a disruptive force, her chatter a constant background noise.
She would point at Lu Yin’s paints, asking why there were two shades of blue in separate compartments, and Lu Yin would patiently explain the nuances of color, the subtle differences between cerulean, azure, and teal.
She would clap her hands in delight as Lu Yin mixed yellow from red and green, declaring it magic.
Lu Yin, her head throbbing from the constant interruptions, had delegated the task of cleaning the paintbox to Lin Qianqian, a way to secure a few moments of peace.
Lin Qianqian had taken the task seriously, meticulously cleaning the paintbox with her fingers, her fingertips red and raw, then complaining about the effort, proudly displaying the clean paintbox to Lu Yin, the lingering water droplets creating a messy pattern on Lu Yin’s canvas.
The next time, she had carefully dried the paintbox before presenting it.
Some childhood habits, it seemed, never died.
After their snowy adventure, they had dinner, and Lin Qianqian offered to wash the dishes.
Lu Yin watched her, her fingers scrubbing at the greasy plates, her nails scraping at the stubborn residue.
Lu Yin pointed out the steel wool, and Lin Qianqian replied seriously, “I prefer washing dishes by hand.”
After receiving her customary post-dishwashing kiss as a reward, Lin Qianqian took a shower and went to bed early.
The temperature had dropped after the snow, and she felt cold.
Lu Yin joined her later, adjusting the duvet and touching Lin Qianqian’s feet. “Why are they so cold?”
“I don’t know…” Lin Qianqian mumbled, Lu Yin’s hands warming her feet.
She shifted into a more comfortable position, enjoying the pampering, then checked her phone, noticing she hadn’t heard from Ming Yao since she moved.
She called Ming Yao, who answered quickly.
“Ming Yao, how are you?” Lin Qianqian asked, her voice filled with concern.
“I’m fine. I’m living alone now,” Ming Yao replied.
“Let’s meet this weekend. I’ll come visit you,” Lin Qianqian said, wanting to see if Ming Yao’s condition had improved. Her previous encounters had been unsettling.
Lu Yin was massaging Lin Qianqian’s feet, her touch firm and deliberate.
Lin Qianqian winced, pulling her foot away. “Sister, that hurts!”
Lu Yin looked at her, pressing her thumb against a specific point on Lin Qianqian’s foot. “Here?”
Lin Qianqian frowned. “Yes, right there.”
“That means you have an unhealthy lifestyle,” Lu Yin said, releasing her foot and going to the bathroom.
Lin Qianqian quickly ended her call with Ming Yao and followed Lu Yin. “Since when are you a Chinese medicine expert?”
“Since you weren’t looking.”
“But your lifestyle is even worse than mine,” Lin Qianqian retorted.
“Then let’s fix it together. How about the gym this weekend?” Lu Yin suggested.
“No way! I have plans. I’m busy!” Lin Qianqian said, rejecting the idea.
She saw Lu Yin smile, a rare, genuine smile, and then Lu Yin left the bathroom.
Where did that come from?
She followed Lu Yin to the bedroom, jumping onto the bed and playfully pinching Lu Yin’s cheeks.
“When I’m rich, I’ll take care of you,” she said, her fingers poking Lu Yin’s nose, her cheeks, her chin.
Lu Yin’s eyes darkened. “Can you even afford to feed yourself?”
“Of course! I would beg for food if I had to,” Lin Qianqian said, pounding her fist on the bed. “Don’t you believe me? I have many talents!”
She had actually begged for money before, but it had been for a school fundraiser.
The photography club had organized a charity drive, and Lin Qianqian had been the top fundraiser, her persuasive skills earning her the admiration of her classmates.
If it had been daytime, Lu Yin would have indulged her, asking about her “talents,” but she was tired.
The studio rearrangement was proving to be a logistical nightmare.
She had been at the institution since early morning, teaching her last class, then playing in the snow with Lin Qianqian, making her dinner, her day a blur of activity and exhaustion.
And the cold weather made her crave the warmth of her bed.
“Are you cold? Come under the covers.”
Lin Qianqian, her hands and feet icy, snuggled into Lu Yin’s arms, her coldness chasing away Lu Yin’s sleepiness.
Lu Yin turned up the heater and held her close.
The next morning, Lu Yin was woken by Lin Qianqian’s movements.
It was almost noon. Lin Qianqian was getting ready to meet Ming Yao.
Lu Yin rolled over and tried to ignore her.
“Sister?” Lin Qianqian called out, then, seeing no response, left the room.
Lu Yin heard the door close and opened her eyes.
Lin Qianqian was now accustomed to her work schedule, her days long and demanding, her weekends the only time off.
But Lu Yin’s teaching schedule was heaviest on weekends, and she had been rescheduling her classes to free up her weekends for Lin Qianqian.
And Lin Qianqian had been spending her weekends with her friend.
Things were getting out of hand, both with her and with Zhong Shiwu.
Only Lin Qianqian seemed oblivious, attributing Ming Yao’s strange behavior to stress, wanting to comfort her, to help her.
Lu Yin was getting impatient. Zhong Shiwu was usually so efficient, so decisive.
This time, she seemed to be dragging her feet.
Ming Yao waited at the entrance of the complex, her driver parked nearby.
It was a different car, a different driver, a woman this time.
Lin Qianqian, after locating the car, got in, wrapping her scarf tighter, the warmth of the car a welcome relief from the cold.
“Living the high life, I see,” she teased.
“Let’s go,” Ming Yao said to the driver, offering no explanation.
“Where are we going?” Lin Qianqian asked.
“Where do you want to go, Qianqian?”
“I’m a little hungry,” Lin Qianqian said, thinking. “Since you’re living alone now, you can eat whatever you want, right? No one to tell you what to do.”
Ming Yao nodded, a flicker of sadness in her eyes.
She couldn’t be alone now. Her thoughts, when unchecked, always returned to Zhong Shiwu, the memories a constant torment. The only way to distract herself was to stay busy, to fill her time with activities, with other people.
Lin Qianqian chose the hot pot restaurant they had visited with Lu Yin, the perfect comfort food for a cold winter day.
They arrived half an hour later.
Ming Yao told the driver to wait, and Lin Qianqian sighed enviously. “Being rich must be nice.”
The restaurant wasn’t crowded, and they were seated by the window.
“How have you been?” Lin Qianqian asked, concerned.
“Same as always,” Ming Yao said, wanting to avoid any discussion of her current state.
Lin Qianqian ordered, then asked what Ming Yao wanted.
“Anything is fine,” Ming Yao said, her gaze fixed on the street outside, the icy pavement making the cars and pedestrians move slowly and cautiously.
She saw someone slip and fall and smiled, then quickly suppressed the expression.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed.
A fast food restaurant next door was bustling with activity, couples and families coming and going.
Ming Yao watched them, wondering about their relationships: sisters, friends, lovers, mothers and daughters.
A car pulled up, and a familiar figure emerged, holding a young girl’s hand.
Ming Yao’s gaze was drawn to Zhong Shiwu, her heart pounding with a mixture of longing and resentment.
They were heading towards the fast food restaurant.
Ming Yao stood up and followed them, watching as Zhong Shiwu ordered food for the girl, who looked about thirteen or fourteen.
“Order whatever you want. Mom isn’t here. I snuck you out,” Zhong Shiwu said, her voice filled with a playful affection.
“But I’m afraid Mom will be angry. She says this is junk food and I’m not allowed to eat it,” the girl said, glancing nervously around. “Can you keep it a secret, Auntie?”
“Of course. It’ll be our little secret,” Zhong Shiwu said, winking at the girl, then discreetly signaling to the girl’s mother, who was sitting nearby.
She was working, Ming Yao realized. It was Zhong Shiwu’s usual tactic, choosing a location based on the patient’s age and interests, creating a more relaxed, less clinical atmosphere.
But Ming Yao didn’t like it. She didn’t like seeing Zhong Shiwu smile at other people, even if it was just part of her job.
Zhong Shiwu and the girl ate and chatted, and after a while, the girl started to cry. “Mom never lets me eat this kind of food. She says it’s unhealthy. And when I didn’t get first place on my test, she yelled at me, said I was useless, but I tried so hard…”
Zhong Shiwu listened patiently, a familiar scenario, a common complaint among teenagers.
She was an expert at dealing with these cases.
An hour later, having successfully comforted the girl, she reached into her pocket for a piece of candy, only to realize it was a chocolate liqueur, not suitable for a child.
Why had she grabbed that one?
She should throw them all away. They were useless now. She didn’t even like sweets.
As the girl went to the restroom, Zhong Shiwu saw Ming Yao standing in the corner.
She turned away, checking the time, her expression unchanged.
Ming Yao, knowing she had been seen, walked over to the table.
Zhong Shiwu heard her footsteps, the hurried rhythm a familiar sound.
But the girl’s mother was still nearby. She couldn’t talk to Ming Yao here.
She excused herself, saying a few words to the mother, and walked outside.
Ming Yao followed, stopping when Zhong Shiwu stopped at the corner.
“Why are you following me?” Zhong Shiwu asked, turning around.
“I wasn’t following you. I’m having lunch here,” Ming Yao lied.
“Leaving your friend to come find me? That’s not very polite,” Zhong Shiwu said, glancing towards the hot pot restaurant, seeing a blurry figure by the window.
These two girls were inseparable, meeting every weekend. Lu Yin would be annoyed.
And Lu Yin, stubborn and proud, was not someone she wanted to provoke.
“I’ll go back soon,” Ming Yao said quickly. “I just…I just…”
“Just what?” Zhong Shiwu asked calmly.
“I saw you, and I wanted to see you,” Ming Yao said. “I wanted to come find you.”
She repeated the words, but the meaning had changed.
She wanted to go back to Zhong Shiwu, every day, every night.
But she didn’t dare.
Ming Yao’s attachment was still strong, and Zhong Shiwu, though ruthless, wasn’t heartless.
She considered it for a moment, then smiled at Ming Yao.
Sometimes, being heartless was the kindest thing to do.
She took the last piece of chocolate liqueur candy from her pocket and offered it to Ming Yao.
Ming Yao unwrapped it and ate it.
“Good?” Zhong Shiwu asked.
Ming Yao hesitated. “…No.”
Zhong Shiwu chuckled. “Then spit it out.”
Ming Yao quickly swallowed it.
Zhong Shiwu watched her, her gaze intense. “That’s the last one.”
“You never used to have two at a time.”
Ming Yao’s defiance, her attempt to argue, was a small victory, a sign that she wasn’t completely broken.
“Can I come see you?” Ming Yao asked, licking the chocolate residue from her lips, the faint taste of alcohol a bittersweet reminder.
“I’m busy. Very busy,” Zhong Shiwu said, glancing at her watch. “I’ll get complaints if I’m away from my clinic for too long.”
Ming Yao didn’t want to interfere with her work, but she didn’t want her to leave either. “Can I come tonight? Please?”
“What for?” Zhong Shiwu asked, her voice light, almost mocking. “To eat off the floor like a dog?”
“Don’t say such things!” Ming Yao cried, her tears flowing freely, Zhong Shiwu’s coldness a painful rejection.
“It’s the truth,” Zhong Shiwu said calmly. “And you can’t deny it.”
Ming Yao was speechless.
“Go back to your friend. Don’t keep her waiting,” Zhong Shiwu said, glancing towards the hot pot restaurant.
If this continued, Lu Yin would intervene.
And then, Ming Yao would pay the price.
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