Chapter 78 (Main Story Conclusion)
On the seventh day of the Lunar New Year, the office was abuzz with activity.
“Qianqian, did you apply for your tax refund?” a colleague asked, as Lin Qianqian sat down with her breakfast.
“Not yet. Should I do it now?” she opened the app and submitted her application. “I only worked for two months…”
She took a bite of her bread and messaged Lu Yin, letting her know she had arrived at the office.
Lu Yin was busier than ever, preparing for the new term, inputting student data, reviewing the curriculum for Yu Miao’s classes.
Lin Qianqian had woken up to a cold bed that morning, Lu Yin already gone.
Her message to Lu Yin went unanswered, and she opened her laptop, her eyelids heavy, the post-holiday fatigue a powerful force. She had spent the previous afternoon traveling, and she usually slept late after a long journey, but now, sitting at her desk, she could barely keep her eyes open.
“Did you hear? They caught a tax evader. A businessman, surnamed Su. Evaded millions. He’s going to be in prison for a long time,” a colleague said.
“Where did you hear that?” another asked.
“Family gossip during the holidays. I don’t know if it’s true, but it sounded serious. He just got married too. Now his wife is going to be a widow.”
“That’s awful. Imagine marrying someone and then they go to prison.”
“Bad luck, I guess.”
Lin Qianqian rested her head on her hand, her eyes half-closed, the office gossip failing to capture her attention. She wanted to go home and crawl back into bed.
She dozed off at her desk, her mind still foggy from lack of sleep, her appetite diminished. She had a simple jianbing for lunch.
Lu Yin was busy, and she didn’t want to bother her.
A message from Ming Yao arrived, an invitation to meet after work, and her spirits lifted.
Something to look forward to.
She ignored the office gossip, the whispers and rumors about tax evasion and arrests, her mind focused on Ming Yao, on Lu Yin.
Lu Yin received a message from Lin Qianqian, saying she was having dinner with Ming Yao and wouldn’t be needing dinner.
She had finished her work early, hoping to pick Lin Qianqian up from work, but Lin Qianqian had other plans, her earlier clinginess replaced by a newfound independence.
Another message arrived, this one from Zhong Shiwu, requesting a follow-up appointment.
It was after work hours, and knowing Zhong Shiwu, Lu Yin doubted she would be working late at a cafe.
She went to the cafe, finding Zhong Shiwu already there, a cup of coffee in front of her.
“I ordered you a juice. No coffee for you tonight,” Zhong Shiwu said, her tone brisk and efficient, anticipating Lu Yin’s questions. “I have a flight at midnight.”
Lu Yin sat down. “Are you asking me to evaluate your mental state, Dr. Zhong?”
Zhong Shiwu’s face looked pale, her exhaustion evident.
“You guessed it. All those holiday shifts have taken their toll,” she said, frowning. “I’m feeling a bit…irritable.”
Zhong Shiwu was known for her self-assuredness, her unwillingness to tolerate any perceived slight.
Lu Yin had seen her lose her temper before, more than once, usually with difficult parents who questioned her methods, her diagnoses.
One parent, refusing to believe their child had any mental health issues, had accused Zhong Shiwu of incompetence, their second visit a tirade of insults and accusations.
Zhong Shiwu, her patience exhausted, had calmly and systematically dismantled the parent’s arguments, reducing them to tears, their earlier arrogance replaced by a quiet, defeated silence.
The anonymous complaint box at the hospital had been filled with letters criticizing Zhong Shiwu’s behavior, and she had even shared them with Lu Yin, reading them aloud, her laughter a strange mix of amusement and a chilling detachment.
Lu Yin, though puzzled by this peculiar habit, had assumed it was a psychiatrist’s way of dealing with stress.
Now, hearing Zhong Shiwu admit to feeling irritable, Lu Yin, for the first time, regretted her excellent memory.
“I need a vacation. Somewhere quiet,” Zhong Shiwu said, taking a sip of coffee. “You took too long. My coffee’s cold.”
“Should I get you a fresh cup?” Lu Yin asked, noticing her message to Lin Qianqian had gone unanswered.
She sent another message, reminding her not to drink too much.
“Don’t bother,” Zhong Shiwu said, her voice laced with a playful annoyance. “I hate it when people are distracted during our appointments, their attention glued to their phones.”
“If it weren’t for this unexpected interruption, I would be driving right now,” Lu Yin said, her tone echoing Zhong Shiwu’s earlier words, her gaze fixed on her phone. “I should be picking up my sister from work, not having coffee with you.”
She paused, then nodded.
She never hid her feelings for Lin Qianqian from Zhong Shiwu.
She was grateful for Zhong Shiwu’s help, her support during those difficult years.
If she had to choose a friend, Zhong Shiwu would be at the top of the list.
“It’s a shame. She’s probably out drinking with Ming Yao,” Zhong Shiwu said thoughtfully. “Want to join us?”
“I have to drive. Maybe next time,” Lu Yin said, expecting Lin Qianqian to call for a ride home.
Zhong Shiwu didn’t press the issue.
“I just wanted to say goodbye before I leave. You know I prefer solitude. I don’t know when we’ll see each other again,” she said, sighing dramatically. “Do you mind if I visit Lu Sui before I go?”
Lu Yin’s gaze softened. “She would appreciate that.”
Their conversation was brief. Lu Yin watched as Zhong Shiwu left.
“Goodbye, Teacher Lu,” Zhong Shiwu said, her eyes twinkling. “I hope you’re doing even better when I see you again.”
“I will,” Lu Yin said, smiling faintly.
Lin Qianqian no longer waited for Lu Yin’s approval.
Her messages were now notifications, not requests.
She was in charge!
As soon as work ended, she met Ming Yao for dinner.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder!” she exclaimed, her cheerful greeting echoing through the restaurant before she even sat down.
Ming Yao had arrived earlier, calculating the time since their last meeting: one week.
“Three days apart feels like nine autumns,” she replied calmly, her voice a quiet contrast to Lin Qianqian’s exuberance.
Lin Qianqian studied her friend, noticing the change in her demeanor, her usual bubbly personality replaced by a quiet reserve.
But the shyness and awkwardness from the previous year were gone, her movements now graceful and composed.
“When did you start wearing glasses?” Lin Qianqian asked, Ming Yao’s new look, the black-framed glasses, adding to her air of sophistication.
“Don’t I look more mature?” Ming Yao asked, touching the frames. “They’re non-prescription. Dr. Zhong bought them for me. Do they suit me?”
“Not really,” Lin Qianqian said, resting her chin on her hand, her gaze assessing. “You’ve just changed a lot.”
“But you haven’t changed at all.”
“Have I not? I’ve improved my painting skills! I even attended a masterclass during the training retreat!” Lin Qianqian said, her voice filled with a playful boastfulness.
Ming Yao looked at her, a flicker of envy in her eyes.
Perhaps it was spending so much time with Zhong Shiwu, but her own demeanor had become more subdued, her emotions less volatile, her behavior more controlled.
She had seen the effects of mental illness firsthand, and her own responses were now more measured, more cautious.
She couldn’t be as carefree as she used to be.
Lin Qianqian, however, seemed unchanged, her playful spirit undimmed, her heart light and free.
Lu Yin had protected her, sheltered her from the harsh realities of the world.
Ming Yao envied her, her own life a stark contrast to Lin Qianqian’s, her freedom a distant dream.
“Order whatever you want. I’m treating you,” she said, trying to recapture their earlier easy camaraderie. “I’m using my own money. I earned it.”
“Then prepare to be broke,” Lin Qianqian said, ordering a feast. “Have you even been working for a full month?”
“It’s an advance. I have to work for two more weeks,” Ming Yao explained. She was now proficient at her tasks at the hospital.
Zhong Shiwu hadn’t given her much work, but she had made mistakes at first.
She had expected punishment, but Zhong Shiwu had simply treated her like any other employee, her reprimands based on the hospital’s rules and regulations, not on their personal relationship.
And gradually, she had begun to take pride in her work, her motivation no longer driven by fear of punishment, but by a desire to be competent, to be useful.
She wasn’t sure if this change was good or bad, but her dependence on Zhong Shiwu had lessened.
And the second schedule, the one she had written herself, was gone, as if it had never existed, Zhong Shiwu’s earlier promise a forgotten dream.
The food arrived, and Ming Yao expertly used the knife and fork, ordering a bottle of wine.
“You can drink, right?” she asked, no longer worried about her own restrictions, Zhong Shiwu’s control no longer absolute, her concern now focused on Lin Qianqian, whose life, under Lu Yin’s watchful eye, seemed more regulated, more constrained.
“Can I…?” Lin Qianqian asked hesitantly.
Ming Yao looked at her, her expression unreadable. “Are you asking me?”
“Then I can. Don’t worry, my sister wouldn’t dare to stop me,” Lin Qianqian muttered. “Little Lu Yin is nothing to be afraid of.”
She checked her phone. Lu Yin had acknowledged her message, saying she had something to do and couldn’t pick her up, reminding her to come home early and not to get drunk.
Sent half an hour ago. Does she really think I’ll get drunk that easily?
Lin Qianqian refilled her glass, a subtle act of defiance.
Their dinner lasted for hours, their conversation a comfortable mix of shared experiences and playful banter, their topics now focused on work, on the challenges of dealing with difficult patients and demanding clients.
They had both grown up, it seemed, but their friendship, their shared history, remained a constant, a source of comfort and support.
“I might be going on a trip soon,” Ming Yao said.
“Where? A vacation?”
“I’m not sure…” Ming Yao hesitated. “Dr. Zhong said she needs a break. I don’t know if she’ll take me with her.”
“Do you want to go?”
The question made Ming Yao pause. “I think so…” she said slowly.
“Then just ask her! Why are you so hesitant now?” Lin Qianqian said, exasperated by her friend’s timidity. “Just ask! Even if she says no, it’s better than agonizing over it!”
“I want her to take me, but she probably doesn’t want to…” Ming Yao said, her voice barely a whisper, her thoughts echoing Zhong Shiwu’s earlier words, her mind still trapped in the patterns of their past relationship, her need for Zhong Shiwu’s approval a powerful force. “I don’t know what she’s thinking…I can’t read her mind…”
She couldn’t define her feelings for Zhong Shiwu, her desire for independence warring with her need for her presence, her touch.
If only Zhong Shiwu loved her…
She shook her head, the thought both terrifying and strangely exhilarating.
Zhong Shiwu was probably too self-absorbed to care about anyone else.
But did she, Ming Yao, love Zhong Shiwu?
She couldn’t decipher her own emotions anymore.
“Just ask her!” Lin Qianqian said, her voice firm, her hand clenching into a fist. “Go get her!”
“I’m not as brave as you,” Ming Yao sighed.
If only she could be as bold as she had been before, when she had first met Zhong Shiwu, her confidence unwavering, her desires unburdened by fear.
But now, she was afraid of Zhong Shiwu, her constant smile a mask for something darker, something she couldn’t understand.
By the end of the evening, Lin Qianqian was slightly drunk, but her mind was clear.
Ming Yao, seemingly much better now, helped her out of the restaurant and hailed a taxi.
“I’ll take you home, then I’ll go back,” she said, looking at Lin Qianqian. “Why are you always acting like a child? Grow up.”
“I’m just a little unsteady on my feet. I’m not drunk,” Lin Qianqian said, her cheeks flushed, her eyes half-closed. “Being a child is good. My sister likes taking care of me.”
Ming Yao smiled faintly. “That’s nice.”
“Doesn’t Dr. Zhong take care of you?” Lin Qianqian asked, her tone slightly mocking, implying that even without their previous relationship, Zhong Shiwu should still be looking after Ming Yao.
Ming Yao understood, but didn’t reply.
Perhaps she and Zhong Shiwu would continue living together, or perhaps, once she regained her independence, she would leave, severing all ties, but the future was uncertain, the possibilities endless.
For now, this was enough.
She had a home, of sorts.
She dropped Lin Qianqian off at her apartment complex and then left.
She slept in the car, the dizziness subsiding, but her movements still slow and hesitant.
Lin Qianqian tried to unlock the door, but her keys were at the office. She tried the Bluetooth lock on her phone, but it wouldn’t connect.
She rattled the doorknob, wanting to call out to Lu Yin, but unsure if she was home.
She called Lu Yin, her voice a pathetic whine. “Sister, I can’t open the door…”
The door opened.
Lu Yin hung up the phone, pulled her up, and said coldly, “You’re drunk again.”
“I just missed you…”
“Didn’t I tell you not to drink too much?”
“I just missed you so much, it made me dizzy…”
“You reek of alcohol.”
Lin Qianqian closed her eyes, nuzzling Lu Yin’s shoulder. “But you smell so good, Sister…”
Lu Yin, exasperated by her illogical responses, her drunken affection, led her to the sofa and poured her a glass of hot water.
Lin Qianqian opened her eyes, watching Lu Yin. “Ming Yao said I’m like a child today,” she said, sitting up, her gaze unfocused. “Sister, do you think I’m a child?”
Lu Yin held the glass to her lips, not hearing her clearly. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ll always be a child in your eyes,” Lin Qianqian said, taking a sip of water, her gaze meeting Lu Yin’s. “Should I…do something for you? To prove I’m not a child anymore?”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Lu Yin said. “Just be yourself.”
“So you love me no matter what?” Lin Qianqian asked, a smile playing on her lips, unable to contain her happiness. “Even if I’m always like this? Childish and demanding?”
Lu Yin wiped her face and hands with a wet wipe. “Are you?”
“You studied abroad alone, you defended me, you always try to make me happy,” Lu Yin said, her gaze soft and warm, her words a gentle reassurance, a love letter disguised as a simple observation. “Is there anyone more mature, more considerate, than you?”
“Sister…” Lin Qianqian’s eyes filled with tears. “And there’s no one better than you.”
She hadn’t been so carefree as a child, living with Lin Yun, her early years a lesson in reading people’s moods, her behavior carefully calibrated to avoid their displeasure, her words a constant stream of flattery and praise.
She had believed that early conditioning would define her, but Lu Yin had changed her, her love a transformative force, her acceptance a safe haven.
Despite her unconventional upbringing, her less-than-ideal family, Lu Yin had given her a childhood filled with love and laughter, her childish antics indulged, her spirit untamed.
And her flaws, her insecurities, her rebellious nature, had gradually faded, replaced by a genuine kindness, a deep, unwavering love for Lu Yin.
“Now, I want the best sister in the world to kiss me!” she said, tilting her head up, her lips brushing against Lu Yin’s cheek.
Lu Yin’s hand moved to her hair, gently stroking it, her touch a silent affirmation of her love.
Their lips met, Lin Qianqian’s body melting into Lu Yin’s embrace, the kiss a promise, a beginning.
They were making love, their bodies intertwined, their movements a dance of shared pleasure, their intimacy a sacred ritual.
Even in the cold of winter, their bodies, bare and vulnerable, were warmed by their shared heat, their love a fire that burned within.
Lin Qianqian’s gaze drifted towards the dining table, the furniture seeming to sway and shift, the room tilting, her vision blurring.
She tried to rub her eyes, but Lu Yin’s hands, holding her wrists above her head, prevented her, her grip firm, yet gentle.
In moments like these, she couldn’t distinguish between Lu Yin’s tenderness and her possessiveness, her control a subtle force, her kisses both sweet and demanding, her touch both a comfort and a constraint.
As Lu Yin’s fingers moved between her legs, her touch exploring, insistent, she thought of Lu Yin’s injured hand, the one that had created such beauty, and wondered if she should kiss it, caress it, her own touch a silent apology, a promise to heal her, to protect her.
But her hand, damp with Lu Yin’s arousal, moved to her own mouth, her tongue tracing the lines of her palm, the taste salty, metallic, a reminder of their shared intimacy, their intertwined desires.
A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she collapsed against Lu Yin, her body weightless, her mind blank, the only sound Lu Yin’s steady breathing, the rhythm a comforting lullaby.
As she carried Lin Qianqian to the bathroom, her body small and limp in Lu Yin’s arms, the memories of their past, of Lin Qianqian at eighteen, their explorations of each other’s bodies, the shared showers, the whispered confessions, the tangled limbs, the mingled scents of sweat and arousal, resurfaced, the years melting away, the present indistinguishable from the past.
Since Lin Qianqian’s return, she had avoided thinking about those four years apart, the separation a painful reminder of her own vulnerability, her loneliness.
She didn’t want to admit she had lost Lin Qianqian, her memories of their shared past now merging with their present, the painful years fading, her own illness, her madness, a distant echo.
There was no better medicine than love, and Lin Qianqian’s presence, her touch, had healed her, her recovery a miracle, a testament to the power of their connection, their bond.
“Can you stand?” Lu Yin asked, placing her on the bathroom floor, kneeling down to put on her slippers.
Lin Qianqian nodded, her mind still hazy, the warm water a welcome shock, her body tingling.
She leaned against Lu Yin, the alcohol fading, her hand finding Lu Yin’s, the dampness a reminder of their earlier intimacy.
Lu Yin’s injured hand was washing away the paint, the stained canvas a testament to their passion.
Lin Qianqian whimpered, her head resting on Lu Yin’s chest. “I…I don’t think I can stand…”
Lu Yin chuckled, her hand moving to Lin Qianqian’s back, supporting her as she turned on the shower, the warm water cascading over them.
“Don’t drink so much next time,” she said, wiping away Lin Qianqian’s tears, her voice gentle, her touch a silent reassurance.
“I know…” Lin Qianqian whispered, her head bowed, her mind still reeling from their earlier encounter, her words a mechanical response, her trust in Lu Yin absolute, unwavering.
She always agreed, always obeyed, her own desires secondary to Lu Yin’s, her own judgment clouded by her love, her need for Lu Yin’s approval.
“Dry yourself. I’ll blow-dry your hair later,” Lu Yin said, handing her a towel, placing her pajamas nearby, then gathering her discarded clothes and leaving the bathroom.
Lu Yin put the clothes in the washing machine, then retrieved Lin Qianqian’s clothes from the balcony, folding them neatly and placing them in her closet.
Lin Qianqian dried herself slowly, then put on her pajamas, her hair, still damp, cascading down her back as she removed the hair tie.
She walked into Lu Yin’s room, yawning, the water droplets on her hair trickling down her neck, the coldness making her shiver.
“Lin Qian, come here,” Lu Yin said.
Lin Qianqian looked up, the familiar words a command, an invitation, a promise.
She had heard those words so many times before.
The first time, she had disobeyed, her childish defiance a test of Lu Yin’s patience, her love.
And then, countless times, Lu Yin had called her, summoning her for meals, for baths, for bedtime stories, her every request a silent declaration of her affection, her care.
Now, standing before Lu Yin, her gaze meeting Lu Yin’s, the words held a deeper meaning, a silent confession, a love letter written in the language of their shared history.
The memories flooded back, a torrent of emotions, the painful years of their separation a stark contrast to the warmth of their present, their shared future.
She had never heard Lu Yin say “I love you,” but she knew, with a certainty that defied words, that this was Lu Yin’s way of saying it, her actions a more eloquent expression of her feelings than any words could ever be.
She would always come when Lu Yin called, her obedience a form of love, her presence a constant reassurance, her childish antics, her playful provocations, a way to test the boundaries of their relationship, to ensure Lu Yin’s attention remained fixed on her, her love unwavering.
It was like that day, four years ago, Lu Yin’s voice calm, her gaze steady, her words a silent plea. “Lin Qian, come here.”
This time, Lin Qianqian didn’t hesitate.
She ran towards Lu Yin and hugged her tightly, her embrace a promise, a beginning, their love a story finally being rewritten, the ending yet to be determined.
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