Category: Immature Confession Day gl

Chapter 80: 

After her mother’s death, Lu Yin’s life revolved around two things: uncovering the truth and her art. She avoided home, her relationship with her father strained.

Then, she was called back, a small child timidly calling her “Sister,” Lin Yun beside her, Lu Yin’s life irrevocably changed. She disliked children, their noise disrupting her work. Her premonition proved correct. Even sketching in the countryside, Lin Qianqian’s calls would summon her back.

The first call had been a tentative attempt at connection, an offer of dinner. Lu Yin, unwilling to burden the child, politely declined.

At thirteen, she was mature beyond her years, self-sufficient and independent. But Lin Qianqian, five years younger, lacked her self-reliance, her vulnerability evident in her second call at midnight. Lu Yin, having just returned to her hotel, ignored it.

At 3:00 AM, the third call woke her.

“Sister, are you coming home tonight…?” a small, tearful voice pleaded.

Lu Yin sighed, her voice tired. “Go to sleep. It’s late.”

Lin Qianqian didn’t reply, clutching the phone, staring at the cold noodles, the congealed egg a symbol of her own inadequacy. She sniffled, wiping away her tears.

She had been alone for days, the wind and darkness a constant source of fear. Lin Yun would scold her, and her estranged father was a stranger. Her only hope was Lu Yin, the woman who had smiled at her, her touch gentle. Perhaps this sister would be kind.

As Lu Yin was about to hang up, Lin Qianqian’s voice, small and hesitant, stopped her. “I want you to come home…please…I’m alone…I’m scared…”

Lu Yin sat up, her heart conflicted. She didn’t want to drive back to the city at this hour, not for a child she barely knew.

“It’s okay if you can’t…” Lin Qianqian whispered. “Then I’ll just…go to sleep…”

Lu Yin heard the scraping of a chair, footsteps, then a thud. The line went dead.

She couldn’t tell if Lin Qianqian had fallen, a child’s pride often masking their vulnerability.

Lin Qianqian stared at the phone, the pain in her bruised limbs making her cry, the tears a mixture of physical and emotional pain.

When Lu Yin arrived, she found her curled up on the floor, as if asleep. She lifted her gently, noticing the bruises.

“Sister…” Lin Qianqian sobbed, clinging to Lu Yin.

Lu Yin tried to put her down, but Lin Qianqian’s grip tightened, her cries intensifying. She sat down, holding Lin Qianqian on her lap, her hand gently rubbing her knee. “Does it hurt?”

Lin Qianqian shook her head, pointing at the cold noodles. She always cried, afraid of being disliked, her tears a childish expression of her fear, her need for affection.

“Did you make this?” Lu Yin asked, stirring the congealed noodles. She tasted them.

“It’s cold…” Lin Qianqian said softly, watching Lu Yin’s face. “If you like it, I can make it for you again.”

Lu Yin wiped her mouth, her expression a mixture of amusement and pity.

“Try it,” she said, placing Lin Qianqian on a chair and tending to her bruises.

Lin Qianqian took a bite. “Too much salt…” she mumbled, embarrassed.

“Did you have dinner?” Lu Yin asked.

Lin Qianqian didn’t want to lie, or burden Lu Yin. She just wanted her to be close.

“What do you want to eat?” Lu Yin asked, taking the noodles away.

Lin Qianqian followed her to the kitchen, ignoring the pain in her leg.

“I’m not hungry,” she said, then, seeing Lu Yin’s knowing look, added, “Anything is fine.”

“Nothing you like?” Lu Yin asked, opening the refrigerator.

“Noodles are fine,” Lin Qianqian said, watching Lu Yin prepare the meal, her movements efficient, her expression softening whenever she looked at Lin Qianqian.

If only this sister would hold her hand, would hug her.

“Are you afraid of me?” Lu Yin asked, turning around, their eyes meeting.

“A little…” Lin Qianqian admitted, her fingers fidgeting with her shirt.

Lu Yin made a bowl of cold noodles.

Lin Qianqian ate quickly, her hunger a gnawing emptiness.

Lu Yin noticed her stained clothes. “Take a shower. I’ll wash your clothes for you.”

“I don’t have any other clothes…” Lin Qianqian said, her cheeks flushing.

Lu Yin was silent.

“This is all I have…no pajamas…I’ve been sleeping naked…but the sheets are clean! I shower every day! No one came over…I wasn’t lying…” she said, her voice a desperate plea. She didn’t want to explain, the details of her solitary existence too humiliating.

“You can borrow some of my clothes,” Lu Yin said. “I didn’t make too much. You shouldn’t eat too much before bed.”

“Are you staying home tomorrow…?” Lin Qianqian asked, her voice small, her gaze pleading.

“I’ll take you to the mall tomorrow,” Lu Yin said, understanding her unspoken plea. “Make a list of everything you need.”

Lin Qianqian’s eyes lit up, and she nodded eagerly, a smile finally appearing on her face.

She’s so kind, she thought. And the noodles are so good.

Lu Yin washed Lin Qianqian’s clothes and went to her room, finding the bedding in a tangled mess. She made the bed, her touch gentle, then brought Lin Qianqian a clean shirt.

“Are you sure you want a shirt?” she asked, and Lin Qianqian nodded.

The oversized shirt looked like a dress on Lin Qianqian.

Lu Yin rarely wore shirts now, preferring comfortable sweaters and pants, her shirts reserved for formal occasions.

“It would look more like a dress with a belt!” Lin Qianqian said, her laughter bubbling over, then quickly fading, her emotions still raw, her vulnerability hidden beneath a mask of playful banter.

“I can find a belt for you,” Lu Yin offered, smiling.

Lin Qianqian stared at her for a moment, then they both laughed, the shared moment a spark of warmth in the cold, sterile room.

She sat down, watching Lu Yin dry her hair, her heart filled with a mixture of guilt and gratitude.

Lu Yin had asked how she had managed her hair, and she had lied, saying she had washed it earlier and let it air dry before going to bed.

She hadn’t dared to use anything in the unfamiliar house, her fear of breaking something, of doing something wrong, a constant companion.

She had spent most of her allowance on groceries, even buying some meat, but she didn’t know how to cook it, so it sat untouched in the refrigerator.

Lu Yin had given her more money, her kindness a constant source of both comfort and a strange, unwelcome shame.

“Are you afraid to sleep alone?” Lu Yin asked, tucking her into bed.

“Can I…” Lin Qianqian finally voiced her request, her voice barely a whisper. “Can I sleep with you…?”

Lu Yin nodded and lay down beside her.

She wasn’t used to caring for others, her own needs always paramount, but fulfilling Lin Qianqian’s every whim, her every request, was, perhaps, her way of showing love, her affection expressed through actions, not words.

But that night, she hadn’t realized the impact of her actions, the joy and hope she had ignited in Lin Qianqian’s heart.

Lin Qianqian, watching her sleep, her face peaceful and relaxed, felt a surge of happiness, of gratitude.

She could ask for things now, small things, simple things, and someone would listen, would care, would fulfill her wishes.

She wouldn’t be scolded, wouldn’t be called a burden, a useless, money-grubbing child.

She moved closer, snuggling into Lu Yin’s arms.

Lu Yin’s eyes didn’t open, but her arm wrapped around Lin Qianqian, her hand gently patting her back. “Go to sleep,” she murmured. “It’s almost morning.”

Lin Qianqian, drifting off to sleep, didn’t know what awaited her the next afternoon.

She woke up naturally, her body refreshed, her clothes clean and fragrant, Lu Yin’s scent a comforting reminder of their shared night.

They went to the mall, and Lu Yin seemed to know her every preference, her every desire, buying her clothes, shoes, treats, her generosity a silent expression of her love, her indulgence a way to make up for the lost years, the pain they had both endured.

“Sister, how did you know I liked all these things…?” Lin Qianqian asked, her arms full of shopping bags, her voice filled with wonder, as they sat down on a bench.

“Your eyes were practically glued to them. I had to buy them so you could admire them properly,” Lu Yin said, sitting beside her, holding two popsicles.

She couldn’t eat them with one hand, so Lu Yin fed her.

“I have enough clothes for years,” Lin Qianqian said happily. “I won’t need to buy any more for a long time…”

“We can buy more whenever you want. They’re not expensive,” Lu Yin said, wiping her mouth with a tissue, her actions a quiet expression of her care, her love.

“Can I ask for one more thing?” Lin Qianqian asked, her gaze meeting Lu Yin’s.

“What is it?”

“You have to promise to say yes before I tell you.”

“Then forget it.”

“No!” Lin Qianqian whined, tugging at Lu Yin’s sleeve, her voice a playful plea, her heart pounding with a sudden anxiety.

Lu Yin looked down at her hand, her fingers gripping Lu Yin’s sleeve, her touch insistent. “Tell me,” she said, her voice soft.

“When you’re done with work…can you come home?” Lin Qianqian asked, her voice barely a whisper, her fear of rejection a familiar ache. “I know you’re busy with your classes this summer, but…can you come home? I don’t want to be alone…”

Lu Yin hesitated, then nodded.

Lin Qianqian’s heart soared, her joy a burst of warmth in her chest, and she kissed Lu Yin’s cheek, her voice filled with gratitude.

“Sister, you’re the best!”

She had called her “Sister” countless times that day, the word now a familiar endearment, a symbol of their rekindled bond.

---

Lin Qianqian’s transformation from a timid child to a demanding, often spoiled, young woman was entirely due to Lu Yin’s unconditional love, her willingness to indulge her every whim.

Can I do this?

Can you help me?

Those had been Lin Qianqian’s first words to Lu Yin, her requests hesitant, her voice small.

I want this!

You have to listen to me!

Those were her words now, her demands more insistent, her voice louder, her confidence growing with each passing day, her love for Lu Yin a powerful, transformative force.

The quiet house had become a place of constant noise, of playful banter, of laughter and tears, their shared life a chaotic mix of joy and sorrow, of love and loss.

“You’re eighteen years old, and you still don’t know how to put on a duvet cover?” Lu Yin had asked, her voice a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

Lin Qianqian, home for winter break during her freshman year of college, stood in the corner, her head down, the uncooperative duvet cover a symbol of her own inadequacy.

“Is it a legal requirement to know how to put on a duvet cover at eighteen?” she muttered, then touched her stomach. “Sister, hurry up and help me! I want cold noodles! With extra eggs!”

Lu Yin, exasperated by her childish antics, threw the comforter on the bed and walked away.

Lin Qianqian immediately followed, her arms wrapping around Lu Yin’s waist, her weight dragging Lu Yin down, her footsteps stumbling.

“Sister, I’m sorry! I’ll try harder next time!” she said, then promptly slipped and fell, landing on her bottom with a thud.

She glared at Lu Yin. “Just let me starve! I’m just a poor, unloved little grass anyway!”

“I’m running away!” she declared dramatically, crawling across the floor and then, seeing her opportunity, clinging to Lu Yin’s leg, her eyes wide and pleading. “Will you come find me under the bridge and give me a hundred yuan?”

Lu Yin picked up a ruler and pointed it at the corner. “Stand there,” she said, her voice firm.

“But it hurts!” Lin Qianqian whined, already anticipating the punishment, her face a mask of exaggerated pain.

“Hold out your hand,” Lu Yin said coldly. “Ten strokes. Count them yourself.”

“Wait!” Lin Qianqian protested. “Can I request a different punishment?”

She whispered in Lu Yin’s ear. “I don’t want to use my hands, you know…”

Lu Yin frowned, and Lin Qianqian ran to her room, slamming the door shut.

---

At twenty-three, having returned from abroad, Lin Qianqian still didn’t know how to put on a duvet cover, and her culinary skills, or lack thereof, had resulted in several trips to the hospital for food poisoning.

“I’m glad I spat out that first bite of noodles,” Lu Yin said one day, remembering Lin Qianqian’s first attempt at cooking.

“What?” Lin Qianqian asked, her mouth full of food. “What noodles?”

“The ones that were so overcooked they resembled jelly. You had to eat them with a spoon.”

“Why do you even remember that?” Lin Qianqian asked, her cheeks flushing slightly. “There are so many other things I’m good at. Cooking and making beds aren’t my forte.”

“If I had swallowed that, I probably would have died before the ambulance arrived,” Lu Yin said, her voice dry.

Lin Qianqian slammed her chopsticks down. “You’re ruining my appetite! It was just a little too much salt!”

“It seems you remember it quite clearly too,” Lu Yin said, her lips twitching. “Calling me at three in the morning, begging me to come home.”

Lin Qianqian leaned back in her chair, staring at Lu Yin.

What had she done to deserve this trip down memory lane?

“I’m sorry, Sister. I realize now, years later, how wrong I was. I shouldn’t have made a minor come home at three in the morning, and I definitely shouldn’t have tried to poison her with salty, gelatinous noodles,” Lin Qianqian said, her apology laced with sarcasm.

She had been defiant then, her apologies insincere. Now, her sarcasm was a mask for her guilt, her regret.

“Anything else?” Lu Yin asked, her gaze meeting Lin Qianqian’s.

“Anything else?” Lin Qianqian thought for a moment. “Doing my laundry? Drying my hair? Making my bed? Wearing your shirts?”

She had taken Lu Yin’s generosity for granted, her kindness a constant, unwavering presence in her life. These small acts of love, so insignificant on their own, had accumulated over the years, their weight now a comforting presence, a reminder of their bond.

“If I hadn’t fallen that night, would you have come home?” Lin Qianqian asked, her gaze searching Lu Yin’s, her voice soft, her question a vulnerable plea.

“Probably,” Lu Yin said. “I don’t know.”

“So you came because you cared about me, because you loved me, not just because you felt sorry for me, right?” Lin Qianqian asked, her voice barely a whisper, her need for reassurance a familiar ache.

Lu Yin looked at her, then smiled.

She always had a way of articulating the things Lu Yin couldn’t say, her words a perfect expression of Lu Yin’s unspoken feelings.

“It wouldn’t have been just that one night,” Lu Yin said softly.

Even if Lin Qianqian hadn’t called, she would have found a reason to return, her heart drawn to Lin Qianqian, her love a powerful force, a guiding light in the darkness.

That night, Lin Qianqian had waited for her, alone on the sofa, a bowl of cold, unappetizing noodles a testament to her own clumsy attempts at caring for Lu Yin, her love expressed through actions, not words.

She didn’t want to disappoint me, Lu Yin thought.

And she hadn’t. Not then, not ever.

–The End–

Chapter 79: Zhong Ming (Part 1)

Ming Yao couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment she had become completely subservient to Zhong Shiwu.

She ate her meals obediently, her head bowed, her teeth tearing into the perfectly cut steak on the plate.

Zhong Shiwu sat beside her, her legs crossed, her posture relaxed, the sharp point of her high heel a glint of light in Ming Yao’s peripheral vision.

As she swallowed the first bite, Zhong Shiwu leaned closer, her hand gently stroking Ming Yao’s hair. “Good girl,” she murmured, her voice a soft purr.

A warmth spread through Ming Yao’s lower abdomen, a pleasant tingling sensation that filled her chest, her heart pounding with a strange mixture of fear and excitement.

The praise, the attention, made her feel seen, her obedience a source of both shame and a strange, unwelcome pleasure.

A soft whimper escaped her lips, and Zhong Shiwu looked at her, her expression feigning concern. “Is it not good?”

“No…it’s delicious…” Ming Yao said quickly, her voice barely a whisper.

“Good,” Zhong Shiwu said, picking up a fork and offering her another bite.

This one tasted even better than the last.

Eating was no longer a solitary act. She was being fed, being cared for, her every action dictated, her every response controlled.

This feeling of being cherished, of being needed, was both new and intoxicating.

She was addicted, she realized.

But Zhong Shiwu didn’t offer her another bite, and she felt a pang of disappointment, her head bowing slightly, like a neglected puppy’s drooping ears.

Zhong Shiwu held a glass of milk to her lips, and Ming Yao instinctively licked the rim, her tongue tracing the smooth glass.

Seeing Zhong Shiwu’s smile, her eyes lit up, her spirits lifting.

She was like a trained animal, her every action a response to Zhong Shiwu’s cues, her rewards and punishments a carefully calibrated system of control.

Zhong Shiwu, her expression carefully neutral, sat down on the sofa, and Ming Yao, unable to resist, crawled towards her, then stopped, seeing Zhong Shiwu’s warning glance, her body tensing.

She sat down beside Zhong Shiwu, her legs curled up, her arms wrapped around them, her body small and vulnerable.

She listened to Zhong Shiwu’s phone conversation, her voice cool and detached, so different from the gentle tones she used with Ming Yao, her words a stark reminder of the distance between them, the power imbalance.

Those people, those strangers on the other end of the line, weren’t as important as Ming Yao, who secretly craved Zhong Shiwu’s undivided attention, her every thought, her every action, a performance for an audience of one.

Whether it was praise, a gentle touch, or even anger, Zhong Shiwu’s hand on her neck, her body pinned against the sofa, the bed, the pressure increasing, the feeling of suffocation a strange, unwelcome thrill, she wanted it all, her obedience a form of validation, her pain a twisted pleasure.

She sat quietly, leaning against the sofa, her eyelids growing heavy, her hand resting on the cool fabric of Zhong Shiwu’s pants.

When Zhong Shiwu stood up, she startled awake, her body stumbling slightly before Zhong Shiwu caught her.

She looked up at Zhong Shiwu, her gaze innocent, her head resting against Zhong Shiwu’s hand, seeking comfort, reassurance.

“Go to bed early, okay?” Zhong Shiwu said, her hand smoothing Ming Yao’s hair, then she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing on the stairs.

“Mom…” Ming Yao called out, then, remembering Zhong Shiwu’s dislike of the word, her voice faltered, her gaze dropping to the floor, her cheeks flushed with shame.

But Zhong Shiwu ignored her, her footsteps fading, the closing door a final rejection.

Ming Yao sat back down, staring at the empty space where the dinner plates had been, their surfaces gleaming in the light of the chandelier.

She stood up, her legs stiff, and slowly climbed the stairs, her hand hovering over Zhong Shiwu’s doorknob, her heart pounding with a mixture of longing and fear.

She wanted to knock, to ask permission, but she knew she wasn’t allowed to enter without being invited, her obedience a conditioned response, her body remembering the rules, the boundaries.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept in her own room, her nights spent either in Zhong Shiwu’s bed or on the living room floor, her deliberate acts of defiance a way to test Zhong Shiwu’s limits, her patience, her love.

And she had always been rewarded, a warm blanket a silent apology, a sign of forgiveness.

She heard the doorknob turn and stepped back, watching as Zhong Shiwu emerged, her white coat replaced by a dark green slip dress, her bare shoulders and arms a stark contrast to the formal attire she usually wore, her vulnerability a disarming, almost intoxicating sight.

She rarely wore jewelry at night, her beauty unadorned, her power undiminished, her presence a magnetic force.

Ming Yao felt a surge of gratitude, a sense of privilege, for being allowed to see this side of Zhong Shiwu, this rare glimpse of her true self.

Her gaze lingered on Zhong Shiwu’s collarbone, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, her heart beating steadily beneath the thin fabric, then lower, to her long, slender legs, her feet bare, the sight of them a jarring reminder of their earlier encounter, the sharp pain, the humiliation.

She shook her head, pushing the memory away, her mind now focused on the soft curves of Zhong Shiwu’s body beneath the silk, her imagination filling in the details, the forbidden images a source of both shame and a strange, unwelcome excitement.

“Can I…sleep in your room tonight?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, her gaze fixed on Zhong Shiwu’s lips, hoping for a yes, for a promise of warmth, of comfort, of the touch she craved.

“Were you a good girl tonight?” Zhong Shiwu asked, her fingers tilting Ming Yao’s chin up, her gaze intense, demanding.

Ming Yao’s lips trembled, but she couldn’t speak.

“Tell me,” Zhong Shiwu said, her voice soft, but her gaze unwavering. “I want to hear you say it.”

Ming Yao couldn’t assess her own behavior, her obedience now an automatic response, her rewards and punishments a blur of sensations, of pleasure and pain, her desire for Zhong Shiwu’s approval a constant ache.

But she had always enjoyed it, the attention, the control, the feeling of being both cherished and possessed.

Under Zhong Shiwu’s intense gaze, she couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, only nodding slightly, her silent acquiescence a surrender, a plea.

“Then come in,” Zhong Shiwu said, her hand sliding from Ming Yao’s chin to her arm, her wrist, her touch a gentle pull, an invitation, a command.

Ming Yao followed her into the room, undressing quickly and climbing into bed, lying on the far side, her back against the wall.

She loved the darkness, the anonymity it offered, the freedom to be close to Zhong Shiwu, their bodies touching, their breaths mingling, the intimacy a secret shared only between them.

Zhong Shiwu held her close, her hand gently stroking Ming Yao’s back, her touch a comforting reassurance.

Ming Yao closed her eyes, the warmth of Zhong Shiwu’s body a welcome contrast to the coldness of the room, her breath against Ming Yao’s cheek sending shivers down her spine.

She instinctively reached up to scratch her face, and Zhong Shiwu’s hand stilled, a soft sigh escaping her lips, a sign of displeasure.

Ming Yao froze, her hand hovering over her face, afraid to move, afraid to break the spell.

Zhong Shiwu took her hand and pulled it away, placing it on her own chest, the movement making Ming Yao’s breath catch in her throat, her heart pounding against her ribs.

She didn’t understand Zhong Shiwu’s intentions.

“Be good. Don’t move,” Zhong Shiwu whispered, her voice soft, but her words a warning.

Ming Yao’s hand felt the steady beat of Zhong Shiwu’s heart, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her breasts, and she couldn’t distinguish between reward and punishment anymore, the sensation both exhilarating and terrifying, her body trembling with a mixture of desire and fear.

She felt like a trapped animal, her hand a prisoner against Zhong Shiwu’s chest, her own heart a frantic bird, its wings beating against its cage.

Zhong Shiwu had never refused her touch, her intimacy, their bodies a shared canvas, their desires a tangled mess of pleasure and pain.

But Zhong Shiwu was always in control, her movements deliberate, her gaze unwavering, her own emotions hidden beneath a mask of cool indifference.

Ming Yao didn’t try to understand her, knowing it was futile.

She simply accepted Zhong Shiwu’s affection, her touch, her presence, building her own world around it, her love a fragile construct, her hope a flickering flame.

She wanted Zhong Shiwu to be hers, and hers alone, her every thought, her every action, a silent declaration of ownership.

Mom, Mommy, Mama… She repeated the words in her mind, a silent litany of forbidden desires, her secret language of love and longing.

If Zhong Shiwu wouldn’t give her what she wanted, she would find a way to take it, her own needs, her own desires, a force to be reckoned with.

“Can I have a different reward tonight?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, her gaze searching Zhong Shiwu’s face in the darkness, unsure if her unspoken plea had been heard, her desire understood.

“What do you want?” Zhong Shiwu asked, her hand pressing against Ming Yao’s, her voice a soft purr. “Be a good girl and try it yourself.”

Zhong Shiwu’s mood was unusually playful tonight.

Ming Yao could sense it, her intuition honed by months of careful observation, her every action, every word, a response to Zhong Shiwu’s subtle cues, her moods.

She had been given permission, a license to explore, to experiment, her boldness both exhilarating and terrifying.

She moved closer, her breath warm against Zhong Shiwu’s skin, her lips trembling as she leaned in, her hand instinctively tightening its grip on Zhong Shiwu’s, the soft gasp that escaped Zhong Shiwu’s lips a sign of encouragement, an unspoken invitation.

Her own heart pounded in her chest, a frantic rhythm against the steady beat of Zhong Shiwu’s, her own vulnerability a stark contrast to Zhong Shiwu’s calm, her control.

She gently kissed Zhong Shiwu’s lips, her touch hesitant, almost reverent, as if afraid of breaking the spell, of losing this precious moment of intimacy, this fleeting taste of freedom.

She wanted to please Zhong Shiwu, but she was also afraid of angering her, her past transgressions, her punishments, a constant reminder of the precariousness of their relationship, the power imbalance.

The kiss ended almost as soon as it began, and she saw the warmth in Zhong Shiwu’s eyes, the soft glow in the darkness, and she kissed her again, her tongue tracing Zhong Shiwu’s lower lip, a bolder, more insistent touch.

A hand on her back, the touch no longer a warning, but a caress, an encouragement, a silent permission.

Was Zhong Shiwu giving her what she wanted?

In the darkness, she felt Zhong Shiwu’s steady breathing, her own breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her body trembling with a mixture of desire and fear.

She kissed Zhong Shiwu again, her own kiss deepening, her tongue exploring, her hand moving to Zhong Shiwu’s shoulder, her touch more confident, her own inhibitions fading.

She felt a surge of self-loathing, her own timidity a frustrating contrast to Zhong Shiwu’s boldness, her hesitant touch a mere shadow of the pleasure she craved.

But she didn’t dare push it, her fear of rejection, of punishment, a powerful force, holding her back, her body yearning for Zhong Shiwu’s touch, her control.

A hand on her neck, the pressure not painful, but firm, a silent command, and she tilted her head back, her mouth opening, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her body arching into Zhong Shiwu’s touch.

Her other hand moved to Zhong Shiwu’s shoulder, her fingers digging into the soft flesh, her heart pounding, her mind racing, her control slipping away.

A soft moan escaped her lips, and she bit her lip, trying to suppress the sound, the rising tide of pleasure threatening to overwhelm her.

Zhong Shiwu chuckled, Lin Qianqian’s predictable responses, her eagerness to please, a source of amusement, her vulnerability an invitation, her desire easily manipulated.

She was so easy to control, her every reaction, her every movement, a reflection of Zhong Shiwu’s own desires, her will.

“My heart…it’s beating so fast…” Ming Yao whispered, her words a question, a plea, her awareness of her own body, her own physical responses, a desperate attempt to anchor herself to the present, to the reality of this shared intimacy, the moment both exhilarating and terrifying.

“Mine too?” Zhong Shiwu asked, her gaze falling on Ming Yao’s hand, still resting on her chest, her voice a soft purr, her question a subtle tease.

Ming Yao shook her head. “Do you…did you like it? When I kissed you like that?”

Zhong Shiwu sighed, a sound that made Ming Yao’s heart pound with anticipation, her fear of rejection a familiar ache.

“I can…I can do better,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Next time…”

“Next time?” Zhong Shiwu repeated, her voice soft, almost mocking, throwing her words back at her, her eagerness, her vulnerability, now a weapon in Zhong Shiwu’s hands.

Ming Yao’s attempts at seduction seemed so clumsy, so childish, but she couldn’t think of anything else, her mind a blank canvas, her words a jumbled mess of half-formed thoughts and unspoken desires.

“Every time,” she said, her voice firm, her gaze meeting Zhong Shiwu’s in the darkness, her words a promise, a plea, her need for Zhong Shiwu’s approval a constant, unwavering force.

She wanted Zhong Shiwu to know, to understand, her every touch, her every kiss, a silent declaration of her love, her devotion.

“I like kissing you…like that…or…”

Or something more.

She stopped herself, the words too bold, too dangerous.

Zhong Shiwu leaned closer, her voice a low murmur against Ming Yao’s ear. “Good girl. Let me guess what you’re thinking.”

Ming Yao waited, her breath held, her heart pounding with anticipation.

A hand on her neck, the pressure increasing, her head tilting back, her lips parting, and then Zhong Shiwu’s lips were on hers again, the kiss deeper this time, more demanding, her tongue tracing the outline of Ming Yao’s lips, a silent invitation, a command.

Ming Yao opened her mouth, her tongue meeting Zhong Shiwu’s, her eyes closing, her body surrendering to the pleasure, the warmth, the intoxicating feeling of being cherished, of being wanted.

The kiss deepened, their tongues tangling, the gentle suction a sharp, almost painful sensation, her mind a blur of white sparks, the darkness momentarily illuminated by the fireworks of her own desire.

The kiss seemed to last forever, a slow, sensual dance of tongues and lips, a shared intimacy that made her heart ache with a longing she couldn’t name, a feeling she had never experienced before, a connection she couldn’t deny.

Zhong Shiwu held her close, her arms a comforting weight, her voice a soft murmur against Ming Yao’s ear. “Was I right?”

The warmth of her embrace, usually a source of comfort, now only intensified her desire, her heart pounding, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her body trembling with a need she couldn’t articulate, her pleasure a dangerous, addictive drug.

Zhong Shiwu’s fingers tangled in her hair, the gentle touch a soothing balm, a silent reassurance.

She always found solace in Zhong Shiwu’s touch, her presence, her every action a validation of her own existence, her own desires.

“Next time, you can kiss me like this,” Zhong Shiwu whispered, her hand moving to Ming Yao’s back, her touch a promise, a subtle instruction. “I can teach you.”

Ming Yao’s fingers dug into Zhong Shiwu’s skin, the sharp sting of her nails a reminder of her own excitement, her own growing need for control, for possession.

Zhong Shiwu’s offer, her willingness to teach, to guide, was a subtle form of manipulation, a way to maintain her power, her control.

And Ming Yao, her desire intensifying, a current running through her body, wanted to be controlled, to be possessed, to belong to Zhong Shiwu, completely and utterly.

Her nails dug deeper, her hand instinctively moving to Zhong Shiwu’s waist, her touch more insistent, her own desire a silent challenge.

She looked at Zhong Shiwu, whose eyes were filled with a knowing amusement.

Zhong Shiwu kissed her softly. “Good girl,” she murmured. “You learn so quickly.”

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.

Chapter 77

Lin Qianqian, reassured by Lu Yin’s words, quickly climbed into bed. Lu Yin had already changed the sheets while she was showering. Lu Yin’s practical care, her unspoken affection, always touched her deeply, and she resolved to be more obedient, to control her own childish impulses, her playful provocations.

Despite her exhaustion, she waited for Lu Yin, snuggling into her arms as soon as she lay down, her body seeking warmth, comfort, reassurance.

Lu Yin held her close, her hand gently stroking Lin Qianqian’s hair.

“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” Lin Qianqian asked.

“I’ll wake you up,” Lu Yin replied, pulling Lin Qianqian closer as she slipped down slightly.

“Am I heavy?” Lin Qianqian asked suddenly.

Lu Yin looked down at her, her voice soft. “When you were a child, I used to hold you like this every night. You were so small then.”

“I still am,” Lin Qianqian mumbled, her face buried in Lu Yin’s chest. “In your arms, I’ll always be your little sister.”

While abroad, she had longed for Lu Yin’s embrace, searching for a substitute, a replacement for the warmth, the comfort, the sense of belonging she had always found in Lu Yin’s arms.

She had bought a large deer plushie, had even used the same shampoo Lu Yin used, but her bed had remained empty, the familiar scent a painful reminder of Lu Yin’s absence.

Rainy nights, sunny days, she had waited for Lu Yin at the school gates, the faces around her unfamiliar, the language a foreign tongue, the memories of their shared past a distant echo.

She had hoped Lu Yin missed her too, her social media posts a carefully crafted performance, a subtle plea for attention, a desperate attempt to reconnect.

But they had both been too stubborn, too afraid, their pride a wall between them.

“Sister, we have to have a future together…” Lin Qianqian whispered, her voice thick with emotion, unable to bear the thought of another separation, another loss.

As long as Lu Yin didn’t give up on her, she would cling to her, their lives intertwined, their love a constant, unwavering force.

“What are you afraid of?” Lu Yin asked, her gaze intense, her voice a soft command. “Tell me, Lin Qian.”

“I’m afraid of so many things…” Lin Qianqian said, her voice barely a whisper. “Growing old, getting sick…”

The first heartbreak, the first betrayal, had left scars, her insecurities now a constant companion, her fear of the unknown a heavy weight in her chest.

She met Lu Yin’s gaze, her own fear reflected in Lu Yin’s eyes. “But most of all, I’m afraid of you not loving me…”

“I won’t leave you,” Lu Yin said, her words a promise, a reassurance Lin Qianqian desperately needed to hear.

But in her heart, she knew she was the one who needed Lin Qianqian, her love a lifeline, her presence a guiding light in the darkness.

She didn’t want Lin Qianqian to leave her.

“Sister, teach me how to paint again. I’ll be serious this time,” Lin Qianqian said, her fingers toying with the edge of the duvet. “And then we can hang the painting in the loft.”

“Okay, what do you want to learn?” Lu Yin asked. “Something simple, or something more challenging?”

It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be able to learn anything anyway.

“I still want to paint a round sun and a house,” Lin Qianqian said. “And two little people, standing beside the house. You and me.”

She needed these small acts of creation, these tangible expressions of her love, to reassure herself, to quiet the doubts that lingered within.

Every love letter, every painting, every shared moment, a testament to their connection, their bond.

Lu Yin, of course, wouldn’t refuse. She was like an indulgent parent, her love for Lin Qianqian unconditional, her willingness to fulfill her every whim a constant source of both amusement and exasperation.

Lin Qianqian leaned in and kissed her, the memory of their every kiss, every intimate touch, etched into her mind, her body.

She had always been afraid, her desire for Lu Yin tempered by the weight of their familial connection, the fear of rejection, of reprisal, but her love, her longing, had always been stronger.

There was no bittersweetness to their relationship, no agonizing wait for reciprocation. Lu Yin’s love, like a promised candy, had always been there, sweet and intoxicating, a source of both comfort and a dangerous, addictive pleasure.

She would often tease Lu Yin with suggestive words, her boldness earning her a playful slap, a gentle reprimand, but also, a tightening of Lu Yin’s embrace, her touch more possessive, her gaze more intense.

She knew Lu Yin’s desires mirrored her own, and she pushed the boundaries, her playful provocations a test, a challenge.

But this New Year had been a disappointment, her plans disrupted, her desires unfulfilled.

And her new ear piercing, a small act of rebellion, throbbed with a dull ache.

She touched it instinctively, and Lu Yin gently took her earlobe, examining the piercing.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

Her ear was slightly red and swollen, a sign of irritation.

“It’s a little sore,” Lin Qianqian said, wincing as Lu Yin’s touch pressed against the sensitive skin.

“Tell me if it gets worse. We can go to the hospital.”

“The piercer said it’s normal,” Lin Qianqian said, taking Lu Yin’s hand, their fingers interlacing. “It should be fine in a few days.”

She leaned closer, her voice a playful whisper. “But our conversation just now…it sounded a bit dangerous, like we were…”

Lu Yin slapped her mouth lightly, a gentle warning.

“You always do that. You won’t let me say those things,” Lin Qianqian complained. “I didn’t even say anything! What if you’re the one with the dirty mind?”

“Then don’t say anything at all,” Lu Yin said, her hand covering Lin Qianqian’s eyes, her touch warm and comforting.

Lin Qianqian yawned. “Fine, I’ll save it for later.”

Lu Yin turned off the light, her silence a familiar response.

“Wake me up tomorrow! Don’t leave me alone at the hotel!”

Lu Yin’s hand covered her mouth again, silencing her.

---

Lin Qianqian didn’t sleep well. The bed was uncomfortable, the room small and unfamiliar, and she missed the comfort of her own bed, of Lu Yin’s arms around her.

When Lu Yin woke her up, she was grumpy, her eyes still closed, her arms and legs moving sluggishly as Lu Yin dressed her and then carried her to the bathroom.

The cold water woke her up, and she shivered, her voice a playful complaint. “I’m suing you for attempted murder! I…”

Lu Yin’s hand, wiping her face with a towel, silenced her.

They went back to the classroom, and after taking attendance, they boarded the bus, Lin Qianqian sitting beside Lu Yin in the back, the stuffy air making her feel slightly nauseous.

The ride to the countryside took two or three hours, and she slept, her head resting on Lu Yin’s shoulder.

The air in the forest was damp and cool, the trees still bare, the ground covered in fallen leaves. The students set up their easels, their faces turned towards the sun, the natural world their teacher, their inspiration.

Lin Qianqian’s eyes widened as she saw the camera in Lu Yin’s hand. “Where did you get that?”

She hadn’t used a camera in a while, her last photography gig the promotional shoot for the art institution, her passion for photography, like her other hobbies, a source of joy only when it wasn’t work.

She examined the camera, her fingers quickly familiarizing themselves with its features.

Lu Yin’s easel wasn’t with the students’. She led Lin Qianqian further into the forest, their hands clasped together, Lin Qianqian’s grip tight, her steps careful on the damp ground.

They found a spot by a small river, and as Lu Yin set up her easel, Lin Qianqian took her picture.

She had learned photography in college, believing it, like painting, a way to capture beauty, to preserve memories. This was her first time sketching with Lu Yin, their shared experience a moment she wanted to remember, to cherish.

She showed Lu Yin the picture. “I was hoping we could go sketching together sometime. I didn’t expect it to happen so soon,” she said, smiling.

She watched as Lu Yin sketched the landscape, the mountains, the river, her hand moving quickly, the lines fluid and expressive.

“Sister, I’m so glad you’re painting again,” she said, focusing the camera on a distant object, her words a casual observation, a subtle expression of her relief, her love.

Lu Yin glanced at her, then returned to her work.

“I was really worried you would give up,” Lin Qianqian said, her voice sincere.

No one could paint like Lu Yin, her talent far exceeding the accolades and awards she had received, her skill a testament to her dedication, her passion.

In Lin Qianqian’s eyes, Lu Yin would always be the most talented artist she knew.

“Do you want to try? I can teach you how to draw simple figures,” Lu Yin said, changing the subject, not wanting to dwell on the past, her focus on the present, on fulfilling Lin Qianqian’s wishes, her every whim a command.

“Yes!” Lin Qianqian said eagerly, looking around. “Where should I sit…?”

She grinned, sitting down on Lu Yin’s lap. “This is perfect.”

Lu Yin sighed, indulging her, handing her a pencil. “Start with a basic sketch.”

“A sketch? Of what?” Lin Qianqian asked, confused. “I don’t understand these technical terms…”

Lu Yin’s lips twitched. “Not technical terms. Just draw what you’re good at.”

Lin Qianqian’s eyes widened, then she grinned, drawing a large, round sun in the corner of the paper.

“I’m going to draw the biggest house ever!” she declared, her childish drawing surprisingly detailed. “We’re going to live in the biggest house!”

Lu Yin watched her, amused by her enthusiasm, her careful attention to detail as she sketched the roof, the windows, the chimney, her drawing a reflection of her own dreams, their shared future.

Then, she took Lin Qianqian’s hand, her gaze intense, and guided her, their hands moving together, creating their first shared masterpiece, a symbol of their love, their connection.

She added a small figure sitting beside an easel, a young girl holding a popsicle, her cheeks smudged with paint.

“A kitten,” Lu Yin said, her voice a soft tease.

“It’s a tiger!” Lin Qianqian protested, recognizing herself.

“A kitten,” Lu Yin repeated, enjoying their playful banter.

“It’s not!” Lin Qianqian said, her competitive spirit flaring. She bit Lu Yin’s lip playfully.

Lu Yin chuckled, her lips brushing against Lin Qianqian’s. “Now it’s a puppy.”

Lin Qianqian tried to pinch Lu Yin’s cheek, but Lu Yin turned her head away. “Hey! You won’t even let me touch you anymore!”

“The ground is slippery. Be careful,” Lu Yin warned, but as Lin Qianqian hugged her, the stool tipped over, and they both fell, Lu Yin’s body shielding Lin Qianqian’s from the impact.

Lin Qianqian froze, realizing her mistake, her body pressed against Lu Yin’s.

“Sister…” she whispered, her voice filled with a sudden fear.

Lu Yin, unfazed, pointed towards the sky. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Lin Qianqian sat up, her gaze following Lu Yin’s, the winter sky a clear, vibrant blue, dotted with white clouds, the air crisp and clean.

“It is,” she said, her voice filled with wonder, the beauty of the natural world a welcome contrast to the turmoil within.

She leaned against Lu Yin’s shoulder. “Is the view always this beautiful when you go sketching?”

“It depends on luck,” Lu Yin said, sharing stories of her sketching trips, the unexpected downpours that had ruined her artwork, the encounters with wildlife, the time she had almost stepped on a snake.

Lin Qianqian listened, captivated, her own desire to experience these moments with Lu Yin growing stronger.

“Sister, let’s go sketching together again,” she said, picking up the camera. “I’ll take pictures! You just focus on painting!”

Lu Yin smiled and nodded.

Lin Qianqian snuggled closer, her heart filled with a quiet joy.

She would be with Lu Yin forever.

They were perfect for each other.

Chapter 76

Lin Qianqian dutifully attended the training course for two days, diligently practicing her sun drawings. For her, not bothering Lu Yin was the greatest help she could offer. She observed her classmates, noticing several with elaborate ear piercings. One girl even showed her a navel piercing, a thin ring adorning her belly button. Lin Qianqian listened to her tales of the painful two-week recovery and how she had almost fainted during the procedure, needing someone to hold her up. Lin Qianqian’s initial interest quickly waned, the thought of the pain making her squeamish. She politely declined the girl’s recommendation for a piercer, her hand, holding the paintbrush, trembling slightly.

Lu Yin entered the classroom and sat beside her, noticing her apprehension. She tapped Lin Qianqian’s paintbrush with her pen, drawing her attention back to the present.

People often feigned busyness when they were embarrassed, and Lin Qianqian quickly unlocked her phone, the image search for navel piercings still on the screen.

Lu Yin’s gaze lingered on the image before she turned off the phone.

“Just curious,” Lin Qianqian said quickly, putting the phone away in Lu Yin’s desk drawer, a performative display of diligence.

“Who were you talking to about this?” Lu Yin asked.

“No one. I saw someone with an ear piercing and then I saw navel piercings in the related searches, so I clicked on it,” Lin Qianqian explained, then asked tentatively, “Can I get one?”

Lu Yin raised an eyebrow. “Do you want one?”

Lin Qianqian shook her head immediately. “Too painful.”

She leaned closer to Lu Yin, her voice a playful whisper. “I prefer your kind of pain. Just the right amount.”

Lu Yin pushed her away, her expression unchanged, and opened her notebook.

Lin Qianqian tried to focus on the lesson, but the memory of her own childhood attempts at accessorizing resurfaced.

She had seen a classmate get her ears pierced and had run home, terrified, then proudly displayed her clip-on earrings at school, her collection a gift from Lu Yin, a substitute for the real thing.

She had paraded around the classroom, showing off her new “piercings,” then taken selfies with Lu Yin’s phone, filling it with pictures of herself.

Lu Yin, finding the photos, had been amused, but also slightly exasperated, Lin Qianqian refusing to delete them, her childish defiance a familiar pattern.

A few days later, she had lost one of the earrings, her tears inconsolable until Lu Yin had promised to buy her a new, even more beautiful pair.

While bathing her, Lu Yin had found the missing earring, tangled in her hair.

Lin Qianqian, mortified, had sunk into the bathtub, her earlier exuberance replaced by a quiet embarrassment, her silence lasting for the rest of the evening.

Just like her reaction just now, quickly closing the image search for navel piercings.

“Maybe…just one?” Lin Qianqian asked, her curiosity still piqued, but her fear of pain stronger. “Just one here?” she said, pointing at her ear.

Lu Yin glanced at her, then at the classroom, silencing her with a look.

After class, Lin Qianqian followed Lu Yin back to the office.

“Can I?” she asked again, her persistence a challenge, a test of Lu Yin’s patience.

“I don’t have time,” Lu Yin said, her expression serious.

“Tonight? Or when we get back?” Lin Qianqian asked, thinking about the piercer her classmate had recommended.

Lu Yin didn’t understand her sudden interest in piercings, but Lin Qianqian’s whims were often fleeting, her enthusiasm for new things quickly fading.

“Then I’ll do some research,” Lin Qianqian said, picking up her phone. “I’ll look for a place nearby. Okay?”

She was testing the waters, pushing the boundaries, her persistence a way to gauge Lu Yin’s reaction.

Lu Yin’s gaze swept over her. “Don’t you remember what happened when you got your ears pierced?”

“That was when I was a kid. I wouldn’t run home crying now,” Lin Qianqian said, not wanting to be reminded of her past embarrassments. “I don’t cry because of pain anymore.”

“Really?” Lu Yin asked, her voice a subtle challenge.

Lin Qianqian’s mind raced. “We’re in public! And I’m on my period! Don’t even think about it!” she exclaimed, deflecting the question, turning the tables, her own discomfort now projected onto Lu Yin, a familiar tactic.

Lu Yin, ignoring her, sat down and started organizing her desk. “I’m free tonight,” she said.

“So you agree?” Lin Qianqian asked, her face lighting up, about to kiss Lu Yin, then stopping as she heard footsteps approaching, another teacher entering the office. She sat down, watching Lu Yin work.

She browsed the piercer’s social media page, admiring the photos of multiple ear piercings. “So cool,” she murmured, touching her own ear, a slight twinge of pain a reminder of her own sensitivity.

Just one small piercing, she thought. That would be enough.

She wasn’t usually so bold, but with Lu Yin there, she felt invincible, her fear replaced by a reckless confidence. She contacted the piercer, confirming the appointment, her relief palpable as she learned she could get it done that night.

Lu Yin accompanied her to the piercing studio, the entire process taking less than thirty minutes, the pain less intense than she had anticipated.

She listened carefully to the aftercare instructions, diligently noting them on her phone.

On their way back, they stopped at a pharmacy for disinfectant and painkillers.

Lu Yin watched her, her gaze following Lin Qianqian’s every move, her independence a surprising contrast to her usual childish antics, her demands for attention.

Perhaps this was how she had been abroad, her playful banter, her need for constant reassurance, replaced by a quiet competence, her interactions with others polite and respectful.

She would listen attentively, her gaze fixed on the speaker’s lips, her movements careful and deliberate, her voice soft and gentle, her demeanor almost shy.

She only acts out with me, Lu Yin thought, a smile touching her lips.

Back at the dorm, however, Lin Qianqian’s earlier reserve vanished, her usual demands resurfacing.

“The piercer said I have to keep my ear dry. No water,” she announced.

“And I have to use the disinfectant spray several times a day, or it’ll get infected.”

“And I have to change the earrings every day. I’m not very good at it, so you have to help me.”

The numbing medication was wearing off, and her ear felt sensitive, the slight throbbing a constant reminder of her new piercing.

Lu Yin, after listening to her lengthy list of demands, finally opened her eyes. “Such a hassle,” she muttered.

“But you agreed!” Lin Qianqian said, walking over to Lu Yin, her gaze fixed on her face. “I asked you during class, and you said yes! Now you have to deal with the consequences!”

“Consequences?” Lu Yin asked, her head throbbing. “Of taking care of you?”

“You still owe me a day as my servant. You promised last year for my birthday,” Lin Qianqian reminded her, always quick to bring up Lu Yin’s unfulfilled promises. “Consider this a two-for-one deal. How about it?”

Lu Yin’s life was filled with debts to Lin Qianqian, her childish demands a constant drain on her time, her energy, her resources.

“It’s a bargain. I wouldn’t offer this to just anyone,” Lin Qianqian said, then clutched her stomach dramatically. “Oh! I must have caught a chill! My stomach hurts so much! It’s my period!”

She watched Lu Yin’s expression carefully.

“Put your coat on,” Lu Yin said, handing her the coat.

“What? Are you kicking me out?”

“Let’s go to a hotel. There are no private bathrooms here.”

Lin Qianqian, relieved, quickly put on her coat and followed Lu Yin out of the room.

The weather was damp and chilly, a light rain falling, the streets dark and deserted.

Lu Yin took her hand, their fingers interlacing, Lin Qianqian’s hand sliding into Lu Yin’s coat pocket, seeking warmth.

The nearest hotel was a few blocks away. Lin Qianqian watched as Lu Yin checked in, then commented, “You seem very familiar with this process…”

Seeing Lu Yin’s warning glance, she quickly backtracked. “Just kidding.”

Under Lu Yin’s watchful eye, she undressed and went into the bathroom. “Wash my hair,” she said.

Lu Yin gathered her discarded clothes. “I’ll go buy you some toiletries.”

“You’re just leaving because you don’t want to wash my hair,” Lin Qianqian said, hugging herself dramatically. “I’m so pathetic…no one loves me…left alone in the cold…”

Lu Yin ignored her, leaving the room.

She’s ignoring me again.

Lin Qianqian turned on the shower, her mind racing, plotting her revenge.

She had accompanied Lu Yin to the retreat center, sacrificing her precious vacation days. She wouldn’t let Lu Yin get away with this.

“Little servant, my little servant,” she sang, her voice off-key, listening for Lu Yin’s return.

A few minutes later, the door opened. She couldn’t see who it was from the shower, so she quickly sat down on the floor.

“Are you feeling unwell?” Lu Yin asked, placing a bag of toiletries on the counter and walking over to the shower, turning off the water and examining Lin Qianqian’s ear, her gaze then shifting to Lin Qianqian’s face, her furrowed brow a sign of concern.

“My stomach hurts…” Lin Qianqian said, her body curled up in a protective ball, the blood from her period mixing with the water on the floor.

Lu Yin sighed, wrapping her in a towel and carrying her to the sofa, pouring her a glass of hot water.

Lin Qianqian kept her head down, watching Lu Yin from the corner of her eye, afraid of her seeing through her act.

“Did you catch a chill?” Lu Yin asked, handing her the water.

“I don’t know…but it’s not my fault, is it?” Lin Qianqian said, her voice a playful whine. “I told you I couldn’t shower alone! And now my ear hurts too! Check it! Is it infected?”

Lu Yin ignored her ear, her stomach, her gaze fixed on Lin Qianqian’s face.

Lin Qianqian, feeling a flicker of guilt under Lu Yin’s intense scrutiny, looked down, her head almost touching the glass of water.

“Finish your water. I’ll help you,” Lu Yin said, removing her coat, her black turtleneck sweater a stark contrast to Lin Qianqian’s bare skin. “Hurry up.”

“You’re rushing me…” Lin Qianqian said, deliberately taking small sips, prolonging the process, her childish defiance a familiar tactic.

After twenty minutes, she finally stood up.

She was wearing pajama pants and a bathrobe. Lu Yin led her to the sink, her voice a gentle command. “Bend over.”

The warm water soothed her scalp, and she leaned against the sink, enjoying the feeling of being pampered, of being cared for.

Lu Yin massaged her head, her touch firm but gentle, and Lin Qianqian felt herself drifting off, her eyelids heavy.

If only she could lie down…

After washing her hair, Lu Yin wrapped it in a towel, removed her bathrobe, and then, her expression unchanged, pulled off her pajama pants and tossed them in the trash, leading her into the shower.

“Am I that unattractive now?” Lin Qianqian asked, her voice a playful complaint. “You’re treating me like a piece of meat.”

“I’m tempted to skin you alive,” Lu Yin said, her voice a low murmur, the words barely audible above the sound of the water, and Lin Qianqian, sensing her displeasure, obediently stood still, her arms raised, her legs spread, her body a willing canvas for Lu Yin’s touch.

Lu Yin washed her, her movements efficient, her touch both gentle and demanding, Lin Qianqian’s earlier defiance now replaced by a childlike obedience.

She felt like a child being scolded, then bathed by her mother, her own anger and frustration overshadowed by a deeper need for comfort, for reassurance.

She decided to give Lu Yin the silent treatment, like a child refusing to eat their vegetables after being scolded.

After her shower, her hair wrapped in a towel, Lu Yin answered a phone call.

“I’m not at the dorm. I have something to do,” she said, walking away from Lin Qianqian. “I’ll be back at the classroom tomorrow morning.”

“Where are you going?” Lin Qianqian asked, when she hung up.

“Judging by your expression in the bathroom, I thought you were planning on ignoring me tonight,” Lu Yin said.

Lin Qianqian was speechless.

How did this woman always know what she was thinking?

And how could she forget her own resolutions so easily?

“I would never ignore you. Unlike some people, I don’t resort to the silent treatment when I’m angry,” she said, her voice a playful accusation.

Now wasn’t the time for petty arguments. Lu Yin was used to her teasing anyway.

“We’re going sketching tomorrow, in the countryside. It’s a long bus ride. You don’t have to come if you’re not feeling well,” Lu Yin said. “If the dorm is too noisy, I can extend our hotel reservation.”

“No way! I’m coming! I’ve never been sketching before,” Lin Qianqian said, her earlier sulk forgotten.

She had heard from Zhong Shiwu that Lu Yin used to go sketching, but it had always been a solitary activity, a way to escape, to find solace in her art.

Lin Qianqian had never accompanied her, and she wouldn’t miss this opportunity, even if it was just a student training retreat.

“Then go to bed early. We have to leave early tomorrow morning,” Lu Yin said, removing the towel from Lin Qianqian’s hair and retrieving the hairdryer.

Lin Qianqian looked at her reflection in the mirror, Lu Yin’s gentle touch a familiar comfort, a reminder of their shared past, the years melting away, their roles unchanged, the older sister caring for the younger, their bond unbreakable.

They had always been alone together, their lives intertwined, their days and nights a shared existence.

The only difference was that before, they had been abandoned, discarded, while now, they only had each other.

She had read somewhere that people became more sentimental as they got older, but she was only twenty-four, and her tears flowed freely, the warmth of Lu Yin’s presence, the joy of their reunion, a stark contrast to the loneliness of the past four years.

Lu Yin turned off the hairdryer, her brow furrowing as she examined Lin Qianqian’s ear. “Did I hurt you? Or is it the hairdryer?”

“Neither…” Lin Qianqian shook her head. “I’m just…touched.”

Lu Yin was surprised by her words, her usual playful banter, her teasing remarks, now replaced by a quiet sincerity.

“I want you to take care of me forever,” Lin Qianqian said, her voice soft, her words a playful demand, a reminder of her own dependence on Lu Yin, her love a constant, unwavering force.

Lu Yin chuckled, her hand gently touching the corner of Lin Qianqian’s eye. “Do I owe you something?”

“You do. Who knows what you did to me in a past life…” Lin Qianqian said, touching her hair, which was almost dry.

She took the hairdryer from Lu Yin. “I’ll do it myself. You go take a shower.”

Lu Yin looked at her, her gaze lingering on Lin Qianqian’s face, her eyes slightly red, her expression a mixture of vulnerability and a quiet strength. “Okay,” she said.

She gently touched Lin Qianqian’s nose. “No more crying alone.”

Chapter 75

Lin Qianqian, sensitive to heat, soon found herself unconsciously moving away from Lu Yin’s embrace, her arm draped over the duvet, the cool air a welcome relief.

But Lu Yin’s eyes opened, her gaze distant, unfocused, and she pulled Lin Qianqian back into her arms, her touch firm, almost possessive.

Lin Qianqian tried to move away, but Lu Yin’s lips found hers, silencing her protest.

Their breaths mingled, their bodies pressed together, the mattress sinking beneath their weight. Lin Qianqian tried to push Lu Yin away, but her strength was no match for Lu Yin’s, her own body weakened by her period, her stomach cramping.

She felt a wave of nausea, a desperate need to escape, but Lu Yin’s hand pulled her closer, the duvet a suffocating weight, the darkness closing in.

Their lips still locked, the feeling of being trapped, of being controlled, intensified, and Lin Qianqian’s eyes, wet with tears, stared into the darkness, her hands clutching the duvet.

“You know, sometimes when I kiss you, I want to strangle you,” Lu Yin whispered, her voice cold, her hand moving to Lin Qianqian’s neck, the pressure increasing, a terrifying reminder of her dream, the ghost that haunted her.

Lin Qianqian’s body tensed, then relaxed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, the dim light of the night lamp a stark contrast to the darkness that threatened to consume her.

It wasn’t a nightmare, not really. She had experienced this before, the feeling of being trapped, of being controlled, her body no longer her own.

She carefully climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom, her movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid of waking Lu Yin, or perhaps, of waking the demons that lurked within.

She removed the blood-soaked tampon, the sight of it making her stomach churn, and quickly replaced it with a new one.

The bathroom was cold, the cool air against her bare skin sending shivers down her spine. She pulled her unbuttoned pajama top closer, her gaze meeting her own reflection in the mirror.

She placed her hand on her neck, experimentally applying pressure, the feeling of suffocation, the constriction in her throat, a visceral reminder of Lu Yin’s words, her touch.

She wasn’t afraid, not really. She was trying to understand Lu Yin’s pain, her darkness, her dreams a reflection of her own past trauma, her own guilt.

It was a cycle, Lu Yin’s suffering, her self-inflicted pain, now echoing in Lin Qianqian’s own body, her own mind.

But she also felt a strange, unwelcome thrill, a fascination with the pain, the control, Lu Yin’s hand on her hip, the sting of her slap, a catalyst, a trigger, releasing something within her.

She remembered the discarded tampon, the bloodstains a reminder of her own vulnerability, her own desires.

She didn’t want to label herself, but she couldn’t deny the strange, almost perverse pleasure she had felt.

She heard footsteps outside the bathroom door and looked up, seeing Lu Yin standing there, her gaze cold and distant, a large, fluffy blanket in her hands.

Lu Yin opened the door and wrapped the blanket around her.

“You left,” she said, her voice a soft accusation, her lips pressed together, her expression unreadable.

“I just needed to use the bathroom,” Lin Qianqian said, offering a weak excuse. “I drank too much water.”

No one would believe that.

Lin Qianqian, knowing she was at fault, followed Lu Yin back to the bedroom, snuggling into her arms, then, after a moment’s hesitation, said, “Sister, I had a dream.”

Lu Yin looked down at her, waiting.

“We were kissing.”

Lu Yin’s gaze lingered on her face. “Perhaps it wasn’t a dream,” she said finally.

“…What?” Lin Qianqian asked, confused.

Lu Yin smiled faintly. “Didn’t you want a goodnight kiss?”

“Don’t say such things,” Lin Qianqian mumbled, her mind still hazy from sleep, not wanting to overthink it. “Then what else did we do in my dream?”

Lu Yin closed her eyes, her silence a familiar evasion.

“You’re lying…” Lin Qianqian said, accustomed to Lu Yin’s cryptic responses, her half-truths and omissions a constant source of frustration.

The bathroom had been cold, and the warmth of the bed, of Lu Yin’s body, lulled her back to sleep.

Lu Yin, her dark pajamas now stained with Lin Qianqian’s blood, watched her sleep, the sight of it a strange, unwelcome arousal.

She knew where to find Lin Qianqian, and she would go to her, her own body, her stained pajamas, a silent accusation, a reminder of Lin Qianqian’s transgression, her vulnerability.

Whether Lin Qianqian noticed or not, Lu Yin’s emotions would intensify, her desire a growing flame.

It was a way of reminding Lin Qianqian, of reminding herself, that only she, Lu Yin, could touch her like this, could claim her, could possess her.

And if Lin Qianqian resisted, she would make her yield, her kisses a prelude to something more, something darker.

As the external threats subsided, her internal demons resurfaced, her own mind a battleground, her desires a dangerous, destructive force.

---

The flight was short, and they took a taxi to the retreat center.

Lin Qianqian browsed online articles about training retreats, her curiosity piqued.

Why were the high school retreats scheduled differently from the art institution’s courses? And why were they so short?

Lu Yin explained that these were winter and summer break programs for younger students, preparing them for entrance exams.

Lin Qianqian didn’t really understand, but it passed the time.

The retreat center offered double occupancy rooms. Lu Yin led her to an empty room, the bedding new and neatly folded.

Lin Qianqian avoided Lu Yin’s gaze, her own eyes darting around the room, not wanting to be assigned the task of making the bed. It seemed like too much effort.

Lu Yin, after a moment, started making one of the beds.

Lin Qianqian sat on a chair, her internal debate lasting all of thirty seconds before she stood up and started making the other bed, her movements slow and deliberate.

“I’ll do it,” Lu Yin said, taking over, her efficiency a stark contrast to Lin Qianqian’s languid pace. “I have to go to the office. We’re short on time.”

“So I’m interrupting your work,” Lin Qianqian said, not surprised by the tight schedule, but glad she had come. She didn’t want to be alone.

“You’re coming with me,” Lu Yin said, quickly finishing making the bed and handing Lin Qianqian a stack of papers. “And no acting out before we go home.”

Lin Qianqian, despite her playful nature, knew when to be serious, her usual antics replaced by a more subdued demeanor.

“It’s an honor to be Teacher Lu’s assistant. I’ll be diligent and efficient, fulfilling all your requests,” she said, her voice filled with mock formality.

“Then start by being quiet,” Lu Yin said, opening the door and heading towards the office.

Lin Qianqian’s seriousness lasted all of five seconds. “I can still talk, can’t I? It won’t interfere with my work! Hey! Lu Yin!”

The office was empty, the teachers all in class, the retreat schedule demanding, the days long and intense, a preparation for the even more rigorous schedule of their final year of high school.

“Do you know how to use a stamp?” Lu Yin asked, handing her a stamp and a stack of papers. “Stamp the institution’s name in the bottom right corner.”

“Of course I do,” Lin Qianqian said, her focus now on the task at hand, her usual chatter replaced by a quiet efficiency.

She carefully stamped each paper, the red ink a bright, clear mark against the white background.

Lu Yin examined the stamped papers, her voice approving. “Good job.”

“Of course!” Lin Qianqian beamed, her pace quickening, the rhythmic thud of the stamp echoing in the quiet office.

Lu Yin, her head throbbing from the noise, glanced at her, then, seeing she was almost finished, didn’t interrupt.

She checked the messages in the work chat group, organized the materials, and then, pulling Lin Qianqian out of her chair, led her towards the classrooms.

“You can sit in the back. I’ll give you a sketchbook and some pencils. Entertain yourself,” she said, seeing Lin Qianqian’s eager nod, a smile touching her lips as she ruffled Lin Qianqian’s hair and opened the classroom door.

Lin Qianqian sat beside her at a small table, their presence unnoticed by the students, their focus on the teacher, the lesson.

Lu Yin took notes, while Lin Qianqian, after a quick scan of the classroom, poured some paint into her palette.

She propped her head on her hand, ready for the lesson.

The student next to her was sketching, her hand steady, her lines confident, and Lin Qianqian mimicked her, her own drawing a clumsy imitation.

Within ten minutes, a large, yellow sun appeared in the corner of her sketchbook.

Lu Yin glanced at it, unsurprised by Lin Qianqian’s persistent habit, her artistic skills unchanged after all these years.

Lin Qianqian, noticing her gaze, quickly covered her drawing with her hands, mouthing the words, “Don’t look!”

Lu Yin smiled and returned to her notes.

The bell rang, and the students passed their artwork to the front of the room.

“Are you submitting yours?” Lu Yin asked.

“I…” Lin Qianqian knew her drawing was terrible. “Maybe not. What if the teacher gives me the highest score? I don’t want to show off.”

“Just submit it,” Lu Yin said, one of the students approaching them during the break, her gaze fixed on Lu Yin.

Lu Yin folded Lin Qianqian’s drawing and handed it to the student. “Please submit this too.”

Lin Qianqian didn’t have time to protest, watching in horror as her drawing was placed among the other students’ work.

“Is there a chance…” she asked hesitantly, “that the teacher will be…impressed by my unique style?”

“You can dream,” Lu Yin said, closing her notebook, earning a withering look from Lin Qianqian.

She smiled. “What?”

Lin Qianqian sighed. “How long does it take the teacher to grade the assignments?”

“If you go to lunch now, the results should be out by the time you’re finished.”

“Is it too late to retrieve my drawing…?” Lin Qianqian muttered, her earlier excitement about the retreat now replaced by a growing sense of dread, her artistic ineptitude exposed, her status as the class dunce solidified.

Lu Yin brought her lunch, then went to a meeting.

Lin Qianqian ate, then lay on the bed, listening to music, her earlier anxieties forgotten.

The door opened, and she glanced at Lu Yin, then continued humming, her demeanor relaxed and carefree.

“You seem to be enjoying your vacation,” Lu Yin said, handing her a piece of paper. “Your graded assignment.”

Lin Qianqian’s cheerful mood vanished. She sat up and unfolded the paper.

A big, red zero in the corner.

She had expected it, but it still stung.

“Did you eat?” Lu Yin asked. “The food options here are limited.”

“I’m full,” Lin Qianqian said, staring at her drawing, her artistic failure a harsh reality.

Lu Yin had never been so critical of her drawings before, and she felt a pang of disappointment, a childish need for praise, for approval.

“The sun is quite round,” Lu Yin said, trying to comfort her.

“That’s not helping,” Lin Qianqian said, Lu Yin’s attempt at consolation only adding to her misery.

“I can give you ten points for the sun,” Lu Yin offered.

“Ten points out of a hundred? That’s still a failing grade,” Lin Qianqian said, then, noticing Lu Yin’s gaze, looked up at her.

Lu Yin’s eyes were twinkling with amusement.

Lin Qianqian thought for a moment. “Ten points…a zero and a one…”

“That’s one hundred!” she exclaimed, her earlier disappointment forgotten as she jumped up and hugged Lu Yin, sitting on her lap. “Sister, you’re so good with words.”

She grinned, her happiness bubbling over. “Next time, just say it directly. No need for riddles.”

“Okay, if it were up to me…” Lu Yin paused. “I would give your sun one hundred points.”

“Of course you would…”

Lin Qianqian thought, My sun shines only for you.

Chapter 74

After resolving their conflict, Lin Qianqian had envisioned a passionate New Year’s Day celebration with Lu Yin.

But as she sat on the toilet, staring at the bloodstains on her underwear, it wasn’t her stomach that ached, but her head.

Her precious vacation days, now reduced to five, would be consumed by her period.

She called out to Lu Yin for tampons and clean underwear, then crawled back into bed, her earlier enthusiasm dampened.

“Does your stomach hurt?” Lu Yin asked, pouring her a glass of hot water and searching for brown sugar.

“Not my stomach. My head,” Lin Qianqian mumbled, her face buried in the pillow.

“You’ve been crying too much. Get some rest,” Lu Yin said, handing her the water. “Don’t stay up too late.”

Lin Qianqian didn’t respond, her silence a childish sulk.

Lu Yin’s hand found her stomach beneath the covers, gently massaging it.

“We could have been massaging a different area…” Lin Qianqian sighed, her hand covering Lu Yin’s, her fingers tracing the circular motions.

Lu Yin, seeing her discomfort, ignored the suggestive comment and, after a few minutes, helped her sit up and fed her the brown sugar water.

Lin Qianqian opened her mouth obediently, swallowing the warm liquid, her mood still gloomy.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you,” Lu Yin said.

“What?” Lin Qianqian asked, Lu Yin’s serious tone making her sit up, her earlier lethargy momentarily forgotten.

“But if I tell you, your head will probably hurt even more.”

Was there anything worse than her current predicament?

Lin Qianqian couldn’t imagine it.

She looked at Lu Yin, her gaze questioning. “Tell me.”

“The training course is over, but I have to go back for a few days.”

“What?!” Lin Qianqian exclaimed, clutching her stomach and falling back onto the bed dramatically. “I’m dying! I’ll die if I’m left alone! Waaaah…”

Lu Yin didn’t call her out on her fake tears, but she couldn’t offer any comfort either.

She was the lead instructor for the course, and she couldn’t just abandon her responsibilities, leaving before the program ended.

Lin Qianqian, her hand still dramatically clutching her perfectly fine stomach, couldn’t understand why Lu Yin was adding to her misery, her period woes now compounded by the prospect of Lu Yin’s departure.

Her emotional capacity had already been reached, and now, she was being forced to confront another potential separation, her insecurities resurfacing.

But it was Lu Yin’s job, and she couldn’t forbid her from going.

After a few minutes of quiet sulking, she sat up, took Lu Yin’s hand, and looked at her, her eyes pleading. “When will you be back?”

“The sixth, maybe.”

“But I have to go back to work on the sixth.”

“The students start school on the seventh,” Lu Yin explained.

“That’s longer than your last trip.”

Lu Yin looked at her, not wanting to explain that her presence at the beginning and end of the training course was already an exception.

As the lead instructor, she was expected to be there throughout the program.

But the training courses were always scheduled during holidays, to avoid conflicts with the regular school schedule, and a full week off was a rare luxury.

“What time are you leaving tomorrow?” Lin Qianqian asked.

“In the morning.”

“So I might wake up and you’ll be gone…”

Lu Yin massaged her stomach gently. “Is it still hurting?”

“That’s not the point,” Lin Qianqian said, her voice a mournful whine, like a puppy abandoned by its owner. “Can I stay up all night?”

She wanted to keep Lu Yin in her sight, afraid of waking up alone.

“No,” Lu Yin said, looking at her, seeing her genuine distress.

She finally relented. “If you go to bed early, I’ll consider taking you with me.”

Lin Qianqian’s eyes widened, her earlier sadness replaced by a sudden surge of hope.

She vaguely remembered considering this before, but she hadn’t known anyone at the institution, and Lu Yin had been busy with work. It would have been boring.

But now, she didn’t want to be alone, not during the holidays.

If she stayed home, she wouldn’t see Lu Yin. If she went with her, they could at least be together, sleep in the same bed.

Lu Yin knew she would agree.

She wanted Lin Qianqian to get out of the house, to have some fun, to distract herself from her recent emotional turmoil.

She had been crying too much lately, and it worried Lu Yin.

Lin Qianqian’s relief was quickly followed by a surge of indignation.

She didn’t like this manipulative tactic, the carrot and stick approach.

“You’ll consider it?” she scoffed. “I’ll consider it! I’m not sure I want to go with you!”

“Then take your time and think about it,” Lu Yin said, lying down on the bed. “Let me know before I start packing.”

“Hey!” Lin Qianqian exclaimed, leaning over Lu Yin. “Your flight is tomorrow morning! When are you packing? Aren’t you packing now? I can’t wake up early!”

Lu Yin ignored her, closing her eyes, feigning sleep.

Lin Qianqian pulled her up.

“Pack now,” she said, her voice a playful whine, then went to retrieve her suitcase, only to realize she had left it at the hotel.

As she headed towards the door, Lu Yin pulled her back.

“Lie down,” she said, frowning.

She knew Lin Qianqian liked sleeping naked, but even with the heater on, it wasn’t appropriate to wander around the apartment like that.

Lin Qianqian sat on the bed, hugging herself dramatically, then Lu Yin tucked her in, pulling the duvet up to her chin.

“You were just complaining about your stomach hurting, and now you’re acting up again,” Lu Yin said, retrieving the suitcase and turning on the light.

“I just can’t wake up early,” Lin Qianqian said, deflecting the blame. “And if you pack early in the morning, you’ll wake me up!”

Lu Yin ignored her, her focus on packing.

“Then hand me my pajamas. I’m getting dressed.”

The pajamas were within easy reach, but Lin Qianqian, leaning against the pillows, simply looked at Lu Yin, her gaze a silent demand.

Lu Yin tossed the pajamas at her, and Lin Qianqian quickly got dressed, then went to her own room to retrieve the clothes she wanted to take with her.

Seeing the empty space in Lu Yin’s suitcase, she asked, “Is that all you’re taking?”

“There’s a dryer at the retreat center. No need to pack too much,” Lu Yin said.

“Can I put my clothes in your suitcase too?” Lin Qianqian asked, her laziness resurfacing.

She rarely traveled, and she hated carrying heavy luggage. Having someone else do it for her would be ideal.

And Lu Yin was the perfect candidate.

“I have to pack a lot of materials and artwork,” Lu Yin said, removing the clothes Lin Qianqian had thrown into her suitcase.

It was the last training course before the Spring Festival, and she had to distribute the students’ artwork and progress reports.

The new students would start after the holidays, and the current students wouldn’t be returning to the institution after the retreat.

It was easier to bring the materials to the retreat center than to have the students come back to the institution to collect them individually.

“But I can carry two suitcases, if you want,” Lu Yin offered.

Lin Qianqian grinned, kissing Lu Yin’s cheek. “That would be perfect!”

She watched as Lu Yin neatly folded her clothes and placed them in a separate suitcase, her mind already imagining their time at the retreat center.

She had heard that training retreats were intense, the workload heavy, even more demanding than finals week.

She heard the sound of the suitcase closing.

Lu Yin placed the two suitcases by the wall, and Lin Qianqian immediately clung to her, refusing to let go.

Lu Yin let her, assuming she wouldn’t try anything during her period.

But as Lin Qianqian’s hand moved to her collarbone, her fingers tracing the delicate skin, Lu Yin sighed and carried her to the bed.

“Lie down,” she said, her voice a warning.

Lin Qianqian’s arms remained around Lu Yin’s neck, and Lu Yin, careful not to crush her, supported her weight with her arms.

“Sister, give me a goodnight kiss,” Lin Qianqian whispered.

Lu Yin, too tired for games, kissed her cheek and pulled away.

Lin Qianqian, her plan working perfectly, turned her head and kissed Lu Yin’s lips, her embrace tightening.

“Behave,” Lu Yin said, exasperated by Lin Qianqian’s relentless pursuit of her affection, her complete disregard for boundaries, for propriety.

“I just arrived! We haven’t even had any time together!” Lin Qianqian protested. “What if you’re too busy at the retreat? What if I spend the entire week alone in the hotel room? That would be even more boring than staying home!”

“And we haven’t…you know…in days…”

She should have taken advantage of their time at the hotel, instead of wasting time and money on an empty room.

And it had been expensive. She hadn’t even asked Lu Yin for reimbursement yet.

“Be quiet,” Lu Yin said, her voice a warning.

Lin Qianqian, seeing her expression darken, relented, releasing her hold and moving to the far side of the bed, her body pressed against the cold wall.

Lu Yin, seeing her retreat, her usual bravado replaced by a childish sulk, knew she couldn’t resist her, her need for attention, for reassurance, a powerful force.

Lin Qianqian turned over, facing the wall.

Lu Yin pulled her back and kissed her, her kiss demanding, possessive, a punishment for her earlier teasing.

Lin Qianqian’s eyes opened, her gaze meeting Lu Yin’s, a silent challenge, a refusal to yield.

But Lu Yin broke the kiss, lying down beside her, her body still, her touch withdrawn.

Lin Qianqian had experienced this before, Lu Yin’s sudden coldness after a passionate encounter, her withdrawal a frustrating, almost cruel, form of control.

It always worked, her own desire for Lu Yin’s touch, her affection, making her vulnerable, her only recourse to appease Lu Yin, to earn her forgiveness, her love.

She crawled back towards Lu Yin, poking her gently. “Sister…”

Lu Yin didn’t respond, her eyes closed.

Lin Qianqian poked her again, but still no reaction.

She sighed, defeated, and lay down, staring at the ceiling, the dim light casting long shadows, her mood as gloomy as the winter sky outside.

Everything felt heavy, her body, her heart, even the tampon between her legs, a constant reminder of her own physical limitations, her vulnerability.

If she could go back, she wouldn’t have wasted her money on that expensive hotel room, her plans unfulfilled, her desires unmet.

She closed her eyes, her frustration turning to a quiet resentment. This had been the worst New Year ever.

Chapter 73

Lu Yin answered the phone. It was Yu Miao.

“Your sister’s mother came to the institution again. I sent her away, just wanted to let you know,” Yu Miao said. “It’s the New Year’s holiday, and I can’t even come to the office without running into someone I don’t want to see.”

“Isn’t your shift almost over?” Lu Yin asked, glancing at the time. It was past seven.

The institution was closed for the holidays, and the teachers’ duty shifts ended at 8:30 PM.

“It doesn’t matter. She keeps coming back. What if she comes back tomorrow?” Yu Miao complained. “It’s the holiday season, and there are a lot of people around. If they recognize her and start spreading rumors, it’ll damage the institution’s reputation.”

“She even tried to give me a bank card with ten thousand yuan,” Yu Miao continued. “Ten thousand yuan? Is that supposed to be some kind of bribe? An insult?”

“Not to mention, you raised her daughter for years, taking care of her like she was your own, even when you were still a child yourself. And now she’s flaunting that money, as if we don’t know where it came from!”

“I’ll handle it,” Lu Yin said calmly, after Yu Miao finished her rant, not mentioning her own investigation.

Yu Miao, hearing her indifferent tone, sighed. “Fine, fine, I know you think I’m nagging. I’ll take care of it myself.”

She hung up, and Lu Yin, unfazed, put her phone down and continued eating.

Lin Qianqian’s pace had slowed considerably.

“Are you full?” Lu Yin asked, glancing at her.

“Not yet…” Lin Qianqian mumbled, her head down, her mind replaying Yu Miao’s words.

The living room was quiet, and she had heard everything, the mention of her mother’s repeated visits to the institution, Lu Yin’s silence, her apparent indifference.

So, that’s why Lu Yin had been cold and distant that morning.

Lin Yun’s constant intrusions were disrupting their lives, their fragile peace.

She knew Lu Yin wouldn’t tell her, so she would have to take matters into her own hands.

“Sister, let’s go to the institution,” she said, putting down her chopsticks. “I’m full.”

Lu Yin looked at her, knowing she had overheard the conversation.

“It’s late,” she said calmly. “Aren’t you tired?”

Lin Qianqian met her gaze.

She was tired, physically and emotionally exhausted from the day’s events, the rollercoaster of emotions, the fight with Lu Yin, the reconciliation.

“I want to go,” she said, her voice firm, her gaze unwavering. She wanted to resolve this, to show Lu Yin her loyalty, her determination.

She didn’t want to hear Lu Yin’s refusal, didn’t want to give her the chance to say no. She stood up and pulled Lu Yin towards the door.

“That ten thousand yuan is yours. Take it or leave it. It’s your decision,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. “I can’t make that choice for you.”

In the car, they drove in silence, Lin Qianqian’s anxiety growing with each passing minute.

She had acted impulsively, and now, she had to face her mother, to confront her past.

She didn’t know if Lin Yun was still there, but she needed to do this, for Lu Yin, for herself.

The drive to the institution seemed to take forever.

And it had taken her four years to return, to face her own past, her own mistakes. The memories flooded back, a torrent of guilt and regret, the pain a visceral reminder of her own cowardice.

She felt sick, her body remembering the humiliation, the fear, but she wouldn’t turn away, wouldn’t hide.

She had to face this, to atone for her past, to earn her place in Lu Yin’s present, their future.

She couldn’t change the past, but she could choose her future.

She didn’t want to be Lu Yin’s stepsister anymore. She wanted to be her lover.

The former filled her with anxiety, the latter with a sense of peace, of belonging.

Lu Yin didn’t offer any comfort, her silence a familiar weight in the quiet car, her focus on the road ahead, her mind seemingly elsewhere.

She didn’t expect a confrontation with Lin Yun, didn’t want to imagine the scene, the potential for chaos, for more pain.

She had already made too many concessions.

If things went as planned, this would be their last encounter.

She couldn’t be any more generous.

The car stopped in front of the institution, the street bustling with activity, fireworks exploding in the night sky, their colorful bursts a stark contrast to the darkness within.

Lin Qianqian scanned the street, but couldn’t see her mother.

Lu Yin walked towards the building, and Yu Miao emerged from the entrance.

“What are you doing here so late?” Yu Miao asked, ignoring Lin Qianqian.

“Just checking in,” Lu Yin said casually.

“Then let me fill you in. Come inside,” Yu Miao said.

Lu Yin’s hand tightened around Lin Qianqian’s, and she saw Lin Qianqian’s reluctance to enter.

“Can I wait outside?” Lin Qianqian asked, trying to pull her hand away, but Lu Yin’s grip was firm.

“It’s cold. Come inside with me.”

Lin Qianqian shook her head. “I’ll wait here. If you’re worried about me being cold, then hurry up.”

“Then we’re not going inside,” Lu Yin said, her voice firm, her refusal absolute.

“I don’t want to go inside. I don’t want to see those people,” Lin Qianqian said, equally stubborn. “You know they don’t like me. Are you trying to embarrass me?”

Lu Yin sighed, releasing her hand and wrapping the scarf around Lin Qianqian’s neck. “I’ll be quick.”

She entered the institution, and Lin Qianqian watched her, her gaze lingering on the closed office door, her heart heavy with a mixture of love and resentment.

If Lu Yin had been more forceful, more insistent, she would have been happy to stay outside, but she knew her own desire for Lu Yin’s approval, her need to be near her, was unhealthy, a dangerous dependence.

She leaned against the wall, watching the fireworks, the crowds, her mind drifting back to the previous night, her solitary vigil outside the convenience store, the agonizing choice she had made, the consequences of her decision still reverberating through her life.

The wind picked up, and she shivered, pulling her jacket tighter, her gaze falling on a figure standing beneath a bare tree.

She recognized her mother instantly.

Her eyes widened, and she ran towards Lin Yun, who, seeing her approach, turned and ran in the opposite direction.

But Lin Yun was no match for Lin Qianqian’s youthful energy.

“What are you doing here?” Lin Qianqian demanded, grabbing her arm.

“I came to give you money. It’s the New Year. Elders are supposed to give red envelopes to their juniors,” Lin Yun said, pulling her arm away, her gaze avoiding Lin Qianqian’s. “You didn’t want the ten thousand. Maybe your sister does.”

“She doesn’t want to see you! Don’t come here again!” Lin Qianqian said, stepping in front of her, blocking her path. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble already?”

“I just wanted to settle things, but you two are so difficult to reach,” Lin Yun scoffed. “Do you think I’m some kind of bad luck charm? A curse?”

“We settled things last night! We’re done! You have nothing to do with us anymore! And you especially have nothing to do with my sister!” Lin Qianqian shouted.

“Fine, fine, I know you two are a family now,” Lin Yun said coldly. “Blood is thicker than water, right?”

Lu Yin emerged from the institution, and not seeing Lin Qianqian, noticed the two figures arguing in the distance. She walked towards them, her pace quickening.

Lin Qianqian, hearing her footsteps, called out, “Sister!” then stepped back, blocking Lu Yin’s path.

“I can handle this myself!” she said, not wanting Lu Yin to get involved.

“Good. Now that you’re both here, let’s make things clear,” Lin Yun said, holding up the bank card. “This is the money from the sale of the house. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I have left. Consider it a final settlement. We’re done. You can live your lives however you want.”

Lu Yin frowned, Lin Qianqian’s hand gripping her arm tightly.

“Fine! But don’t ever come here again!” Lin Qianqian said, her body pressed against Lu Yin’s, her words a protective shield, her presence a silent declaration of loyalty.

This time, she didn’t need Lu Yin to call her. She was here, standing before her, ready to defend her, to protect her.

Lin Yun’s anger flared, seeing Lin Qianqian shielding Lu Yin, her own daughter’s loyalty now directed at the daughter of the woman she hated most.

She was jealous of Lu Sui, her privileged life, her beauty, her talent, her carefully cultivated image of philanthropy and kindness.

She wanted to destroy her, to destroy everything she had built, her daughter included.

But seeing Lin Qianqian’s rejection, her coldness, she felt a pang of regret, a sudden understanding of the consequences of her own actions, the irrevocable choices she had made.

Her mind raced, her anger giving way to a sudden panic, a scream escaping her lips, the sound sharp and piercing, echoing in the quiet street.

Lu Yin’s arms wrapped around Lin Qianqian, holding her close, her touch a silent reassurance, Lin Qianqian’s body trembling against hers, her tears a silent apology.

The noise attracted the attention of passersby, their curious gazes adding to Lin Yun’s humiliation.

She turned and fled, disappearing into the darkness.

Lu Yin wiped away Lin Qianqian’s tears, her expression unchanged, her gaze distant, and led her to the car.

The warmth of the car enveloped them as Lu Yin closed the door, the outside world, the noise and chaos of the holiday, fading into the quiet intimacy of their shared space.

Lu Yin looked at Lin Qianqian, her face pale, her eyes red and swollen, her silence a heavy weight in the quiet car.

“Sister, I was so afraid she would hurt you…I was so scared…” Lin Qianqian whispered, her voice trembling, the memory of her mother’s words, her anger, a painful reminder of their shared past.

She hadn’t been able to respond, her own words caught in her throat, her fear of saying the wrong thing, of angering Lin Yun further, paralyzing her.

And what would Lu Yin think of her, if she had lashed out at her own mother?

“She wouldn’t,” Lu Yin said softly, her words a gentle reassurance, a lie she knew Lin Qianqian needed to hear.

“She would! She’s capable of anything…” Lin Qianqian took Lu Yin’s hand and kissed it, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m afraid I can’t protect you.”

“But you did,” Lu Yin said, smiling at her. “I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who sent her away.”

“Really…? Was I brave?” Lin Qianqian asked, knowing Lu Yin was trying to comfort her, her words a balm for her wounded pride, her bruised heart.

She knew the truth, but she still wanted to hear it from Lu Yin, her reassurance a validation of her own courage, her own love.

“Very brave,” Lu Yin said, her hand gently stroking Lin Qianqian’s hair. “Truly.”

Lin Qianqian forced a smile, her voice thick with tears. “I just want to protect you, to make up for my mistakes…”

Lu Yin’s gaze softened, her fingers interlacing with Lin Qianqian’s.

She had never blamed Lin Qianqian for what had happened four years ago.

Lin Qianqian had been young, naive, her understanding of the world limited.

People with low self-esteem often followed the crowd, their fear of judgment, of rejection, a powerful force.

And the “punishment” for defying her mother, for standing with Lu Yin, had been the public humiliation, the whispers and accusations, a terrifying prospect for someone so young, so sheltered.

But Lin Qianqian had returned, defying her mother, her past, her fears, her love for Lu Yin a stronger force.

Lu Yin was grateful she had survived those four years, her own struggles, her own pain, a small price to pay for this second chance.

If Lin Qianqian had returned to find her gone, she would have been devastated, her guilt a constant torment.

Lin Qianqian’s sobs subsided, her tears leaving streaks on her cheeks, her eyes puffy and sore. She blinked rapidly. “Sister, I’ve been crying too much lately, haven’t I…?”

“Have you?” Lu Yin asked, stopping her from rubbing her eyes, wiping her face with a wet wipe.

“Yes! I’ve lost count! I’m not usually a crybaby, but I can’t help it,” she sniffled. “And crying makes you ugly, right? I don’t want to be ugly.”

“Then stop crying,” Lu Yin said, wiping her hands.

“So you do think I’m ugly?”

Lu Yin paused, surprised by her conclusion. “I didn’t say that.”

Lin Qianqian shifted in her seat, her voice a soft complaint. “My back hurts…”

“I’ll give you a massage later. Did you catch a chill? You should have dressed more warmly,” Lu Yin said, her voice filled with concern. “You’re always so stubborn.”

“It’s okay. How’s your hand? Is it still hurting?” Lin Qianqian asked, taking Lu Yin’s hand and tracing the lines on her palm.

She hadn’t even asked about Lu Yin’s injury when she had seen her bandaged hand, demanding answers, her anger blinding her to Lu Yin’s pain.

And after their argument, she hadn’t had the chance to ask, her guilt a heavy burden.

She kissed Lu Yin’s palm softly, her own touch a silent apology, a promise to never leave her again. “Does it still hurt? Why aren’t you answering me?”

“It stopped hurting a while ago. Didn’t I tell you? It only hurts for a few days,” Lu Yin said casually. “As for how many days…that depends on luck.”

“You’re still joking! I’m being serious!” Lin Qianqian said, wanting to playfully slap Lu Yin’s hand, then stopping herself, remembering her injury.

Her mood had lifted after her emotional outburst, her tears a release, a catharsis.

Perhaps it was the resolution of her long-held guilt, the knowledge that she had finally found a way to protect Lu Yin, to make amends for her past mistakes.

Even though she hadn’t been there at midnight, this New Year felt different, better, than any she had spent abroad, alone and lonely.

“Sister…” she started to say, then stopped herself.

“What is it?” Lu Yin asked, looking down at her, kissing her forehead softly.

Lin Qianqian shook her head. She had been about to say that from now on, it would be just the two of them, their lives intertwined, their love a shared secret.

But it was already true, unspoken, understood, and saying it aloud seemed unnecessary, even a bit melodramatic, a reminder of the people, the past, she wanted to forget.

Lu Yin moved closer, and Lin Qianqian snuggled into her arms, their hands clasped together, their gazes fixed on the night sky, the fireworks fading, the snow falling steadily.

“Let’s set off some fireworks too, sometime,” Lin Qianqian said, her eyes shining with a childlike wonder. “I saw so many different kinds at the convenience store last night.”

“Okay,” Lu Yin said, her own heart finally calming, the turmoil within subsiding.

But she knew her outward calm had been a facade, her control a fragile thing, easily shattered.

If Lin Yun had hurt Lin Qianqian, she wouldn’t have hesitated to retaliate.

Chapter 72

Lin Qianqian, true to her word, packed a nearly empty suitcase and checked into a nearby hotel.

Lu Yin followed her, watching as she checked in, her movements slow and deliberate, as if daring Lu Yin to leave, to abandon her.

They rode the elevator in silence, the tension between them a palpable force, Lin Qianqian’s playful provocation now a serious test of Lu Yin’s patience, her love.

Lu Yin stood at the doorway, the door slightly ajar, a silent invitation, a challenge.

She closed the door and knocked.

Lin Qianqian, lying on the bed, her heart pounding, heard the knock and relaxed.

She had thought Lu Yin was leaving.

She jumped out of bed, opened the door, and feigned surprise. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, her voice flat.

“Who else would it be?” Lu Yin asked, her gaze fixed on Lin Qianqian’s face. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“You can come in, but you have to hide in the closet,” Lin Qianqian said, lying back down on the bed, yawning dramatically. “I’m expecting a visitor. It wouldn’t be appropriate for you to be here.”

Lu Yin watched her, her hand lifting the hem of her shirt, her waist exposed, then covered, then exposed again, a playful tease, a subtle invitation.

“We have a hotel room. It would be a waste not to…enjoy it, don’t you think? And it wasn’t cheap,” Lin Qianqian said, checking her phone. “Where is she? She’s late.”

“Lin Qian, don’t push me,” Lu Yin said, her voice low, her gaze unwavering.

Lin Qianqian jumped out of bed, her bare feet cold against the floor, and stood before Lu Yin, her gaze meeting Lu Yin’s, her voice a demanding whisper. “Then do it with me.”

Her hand moved to Lu Yin’s waist, sliding upwards, her fingers tracing the lines of Lu Yin’s arm, her neck, her touch a silent plea.

She leaned closer, her breath warm against Lu Yin’s collarbone.

Lu Yin swatted her hand away, her expression unchanged.

Lin Qianqian’s hand retreated, and she sat back down on the bed, her voice filled with a childish petulance. “Then tell me! What did I do wrong? And why did you lie about being on duty at the institution?”

Lu Yin had to give her something, an answer, or a release, a fulfillment of her desires.

“Fine, I know I shouldn’t have snuck out on New Year’s Eve, but…” she paused, unable to offer a valid excuse.

If Lu Yin were truly angry, she wouldn’t be so calm, her words so gentle. She would be cold and distant, her touch withdrawn, her silence a punishment.

She just wanted Lu Yin to be honest with her, but her attempts at manipulation always led back to their last encounter, the unresolved tension, the unspoken desires.

And the guilt, the regret, always silenced her, her bravado fading, her questions replaced by apologies.

The silence stretched between them, the air thick with unspoken emotions.

Lu Yin wasn’t going to tell her, and Lin Qianqian knew it.

She had tried everything: asking directly, visiting the institution, even talking to Zhong Shiwu.

Knowing Lu Yin’s past, her pain, only intensified her need to protect her, to help her heal.

But her efforts had backfired, their relationship now a tangled mess of unanswered questions and unfulfilled desires.

“Let’s do it,” she said, her voice a husky whisper, walking over to Lu Yin, her gaze meeting Lu Yin’s. “Do you want to?”

She wanted to lose herself in the pleasure, the physical sensations a way to escape the awkwardness, the tension, the unanswered questions.

“Not everything can be solved in bed,” Lu Yin said, her brow furrowing as she looked at Lin Qianqian’s tear-filled eyes.

“But you won’t talk to me!” Lin Qianqian cried, her voice rising in frustration. “Since I moved in, have you ever told me how you feel? I have to guess! You don’t tell me what’s bothering you, you don’t tell me when you’re sick, you treat me like a sister, but do you even see me as a lover?”

She felt helpless, Lu Yin’s unspoken feelings a constant source of both hope and despair.

The problem, she knew, was her own. She couldn’t escape the guilt, the need to make amends for her past actions, her abandonment of Lu Yin.

She could only offer her love, her support, but Lu Yin refused to be vulnerable, her heart a fortress, her emotions hidden behind a mask of indifference.

“I don’t know what to do anymore…” Lin Qianqian sank to the floor, her sobs muffled by her hands, her tears blurring her vision. “I can’t understand you…”

“I didn’t know if you hated me because of who I was…and I still don’t know what you’re thinking…” she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

She didn’t like being so demanding, so childish, her insecurities a constant burden, but only with Lu Yin did she allow herself to be vulnerable, her tears a plea for reassurance, for love.

And Lu Yin, so adept at hiding her emotions, her true self a mystery, only revealed her affection through her actions, her patience, her forgiveness.

Lin Qianqian believed she was the closest person to Lu Yin, yet she couldn’t decipher her thoughts, her motivations.

Even on Christmas Eve, Lu Yin had only offered her an escape, a way out, her words a cold reminder of their complicated history.

She knew Lu Yin’s past, her pain, and she understood now that if she had hesitated that night, if she hadn’t embraced Lu Yin, hadn’t kissed her, Lu Yin might have retreated further into the darkness, her self-destructive tendencies a constant threat.

Lu Yin lifted her from the floor, her touch gentle, her voice soft. “Tell me,” she whispered, “what are you afraid of?”

Lin Qianqian looked at her, her eyes searching Lu Yin’s face, her own fears finally surfacing, the words pouring out of her, a torrent of emotions she could no longer contain.

“No one wants me. Do you want me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, the question a vulnerable plea, the answer both known and unknown.

She couldn’t change her past, her connection to Lin Yun, a biological imperative, but she could choose her present, her future.

Lin Yun was a stranger, their relationship devoid of warmth, of love, but the finality of their separation, the realization that she had been abandoned, discarded, was still a painful blow, her pride wounded, her insecurities amplified.

If it had been anything else, she would have lashed out at Lu Yin, her anger a shield against her own vulnerability, but she couldn’t, not with this, not with the risk of triggering Lu Yin’s darker impulses, her self-destructive tendencies.

And so, she had kept her pain hidden, her silence a burden, Lu Yin’s every subtle shift in mood, her every withdrawn touch, a source of anxiety, a fear of losing her, of being alone again.

“My mother…she doesn’t want me anymore…when I left the hospital that night, I saw her get into a car with another man, and a little boy called her ‘Mom’…” Lin Qianqian sobbed, her voice breaking. “She never spoke to me like that, with such kindness…I barely even saw her…why? Why…?”

Was it because she wasn’t rich? Because she couldn’t offer a life of luxury and privilege?

Or had she always been a burden, an obstacle to Lin Yun’s social ambitions?

“Sister…” she clung to Lu Yin, her tears hot against Lu Yin’s skin. “She sold the house, gave me ten thousand yuan like it was some kind of charity, but I didn’t take it. It was yours. I threw the card away…”

“She wants to cut ties with me. I don’t want to see her again…” Lin Qianqian’s voice was barely a whisper, her tears a torrent of pain and regret. “I really…I only have you…”

Before Lu Yin, she had been alone, living in a dilapidated apartment, too young to know how to cook, surviving on instant noodles and cheap steamed buns, her hunger a constant companion.

Lu Yin had shown her a different world, a world of warmth and affection, of shared meals and playful banter, a world where she was loved, cherished, her childish antics indulged, her laughter a welcome sound.

And now, that world, that love, felt uncertain, precarious, and the thought of losing it, of being alone again, was unbearable.

“Do you still want me…?” she asked, her voice trembling, needing reassurance, needing Lu Yin’s love, her acceptance, more than anything else in the world.

“What are you talking about?” Lu Yin asked, her voice soft, her fingers gently wiping away Lin Qianqian’s tears. “Of course I want you.”

“Really…?” Lin Qianqian asked, her voice barely audible, her need for reassurance, for validation, a constant ache.

“Of course,” Lu Yin chuckled. “How many times do you need to ask?”

“I’ll ask as many times as I want!” Lin Qianqian said, her eyes still red, her gaze meeting Lu Yin’s. “And you’re not allowed to say anything I don’t want to hear!”

Lu Yin’s voice softened, her patience unwavering. “Okay, ask as many times as you want.”

She retrieved a damp towel and gently wiped Lin Qianqian’s face, then offered to order food, but most restaurants were closed for the holiday.

She knelt down and took Lin Qianqian’s hand. “Let’s go home, okay? I’ll make you something to eat.”

Lin Qianqian nodded, her voice too hoarse to speak.

“No more running away,” Lu Yin said, her fingers gently tracing the lines of Lin Qianqian’s hand. “If you disappear, where will I find you?”

Lin Qianqian smiled through her tears. “I wasn’t really going to leave…you were the one ignoring me…”

“Okay, it was my fault,” Lu Yin said, taking her hand, her other hand grabbing the suitcase.

“Is your hand okay? I can carry the suitcase,” Lin Qianqian said, taking it from Lu Yin. “I can manage.”

“I was worried you couldn’t.”

Lin Qianqian stamped her foot playfully, her eyes still slightly red. “Do you think I’m that easy to appease?”

Lu Yin chuckled, amused by her childish antics, and they left the hotel.

It wasn’t far from their apartment, and Lu Yin reheated the leftover New Year’s Eve dinner, adding some rice.

They ate in silence, Lin Qianqian too hungry to talk, her focus solely on the food.

Lu Yin, however, was thinking about Lin Qianqian’s words, her revelation about Lin Yun.

It seemed Lin Yun had indeed remarried. The details matched her investigation.

They would be receiving a court summons soon.

She looked at Lin Qianqian, her face illuminated by the soft light, her expression peaceful as she ate, and decided not to tell her.

She wanted Lin Qianqian to live in a world free from worry, from pain, her days filled with joy, her heart light and carefree.

Chapter 71

When Lu Yin returned home, she was organizing a box of art supplies.

Lin Qianqian, ignoring her, tried to get her attention, walking back and forth, performing various small tasks, hoping to be noticed.

But Lu Yin remained focused on her work.

Lin Qianqian was annoyed, but her earlier anger had been replaced by a wave of guilt, remembering Lu Yin’s struggles, her pain.

“Back from work? Are you going back this afternoon?” she asked, walking over to Lu Yin and picking up a paintbrush, examining it before putting it down.

“No,” Lu Yin said, glancing at Lin Qianqian’s red-rimmed eyes, then quickly looking away, resuming her task.

“You didn’t even kiss me goodbye this morning,” Lin Qianqian said, her voice a soft complaint.

“Did we have such an agreement?” Lu Yin asked, carrying the box upstairs to the loft.

“New year, new rules. I just thought of it. I bet you’d love to try it,” Lin Qianqian followed her, deliberately blocking her way, her playful antics a familiar attempt to get Lu Yin’s attention.

They went back downstairs, the conversation unresolved.

Lin Qianqian stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching Lu Yin, who seemed unfazed by her words, her earlier attempt at playful banter ignored.

Lin Qianqian wasn’t sure if it was because she had overdone it, her constant teasing now a predictable pattern, easily dismissed.

She decided to try a different tactic, her ultimate weapon.

One of them had to break today.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be her.

“I’m moving out,” she said, her voice carefully neutral, reminding Lu Yin of her earlier promise. “I have a stable job now, so I’m going to find a place near the office. It’ll be easier for my commute. And I’ve saved some money. I can afford a decent place.”

She glanced around the living room. “Not as nice as yours, of course, but it’s just me. Small and simple is fine.”

Lu Yin watched her, knowing she had gone to the institution and the hospital, but unsure what Zhong Shiwu had said to her, her sudden declaration of independence unexpected.

“I’ve been staying here for months. I don’t want to impose on you any longer,” Lin Qianqian said, dusting off her clothes, even though they were clean, her hands in her pockets, her posture casual, her demeanor nonchalant. “I’ll pack my things in the next few days. I’ll look online first, and then I’ll contact a real estate agent. They should be back in the office after the holidays.”

She took a few steps towards Lu Yin, who instinctively stepped back, her back against the wall.

Lin Qianqian gently tugged at the collar of Lu Yin’s shirt, her voice a soft, playful whine. “Sister, when I’m rich, I’ll repay your kindness!”

Lu Yin chuckled, her hand grabbing Lin Qianqian’s wrist and twisting it gently.

It wasn’t meant to hurt, just to make her let go, but Lin Qianqian immediately cried out, pulling her hand back and rubbing her wrist.

“Look! It’s all red!” she said, showing Lu Yin her wrist, then, seeing no mark, quickly retracted her hand, her voice regaining its usual playful tone. “I heal quickly.”

Seeing no reaction from Lu Yin, she leaned closer, her fingers tracing Lu Yin’s collarbone, her gaze searching for the familiar mole.

Lu Yin took her wrist and kissed her, her lips soft and warm, the touch a sweet surrender, silencing Lin Qianqian’s playful banter.

She wanted to say something serious, something meaningful, but the kiss had muddled her thoughts, her mind a pleasant haze.

She kissed Lu Yin back, her hands moving to Lu Yin’s shoulders, her touch more insistent, her desire a growing flame.

Lin Qianqian, still young, still reckless, believed she could do anything, say anything, her pursuit of Lu Yin’s heart a relentless, often painful, journey.

She felt a surge of frustration, Lu Yin’s evasiveness, her silence, a constant reminder of the distance between them, the unanswered questions, the unspoken desires.

Lu Yin was in control, her touch both gentle and demanding, and Lin Qianqian felt a sense of unfairness, a need to assert herself.

She bit Lu Yin’s lip, hard, wanting to draw blood, a small act of rebellion.

But Lu Yin didn’t pull away, the kiss deepening, the taste of blood mingling with their saliva, the sensation both shocking and strangely arousing.

Lin Qianqian gasped for air, trying to push Lu Yin away, but Lu Yin’s body was a solid, unyielding force, her embrace a cage.

She remembered Zhong Shiwu’s words, the similarity between drowning and suffocation, the feeling of helplessness, of being trapped, her body no longer under her control.

Her vision blurred, her body weakening, her hands falling to Lu Yin’s shoulders, and Lu Yin, sensing her surrender, lifted her onto the desk, their bodies pressed together, their breaths mingling.

Lin Qianqian’s slippers fell to the floor, their noses touching, the scent of each other’s arousal filling the air.

When Lu Yin finally released her, Lin Qianqian slumped against the desk, gasping for air, her body trembling.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

She couldn’t keep it to herself any longer, the encounter with her mother, the weight of their shared past, a burden she couldn’t bear alone. She needed Lu Yin’s help, her guidance.

But telling Lu Yin the truth meant reopening old wounds, reminding her of the pain Lin Yun had caused, the accusations, the public humiliation.

“Tell me later, okay?” Lu Yin said, her voice soft, her answer a gentle evasion.

She had known, since Lin Qianqian’s late return on New Year’s Eve, who she had gone to see.

She didn’t want to hear it, not yet, not before she had dealt with Lin Yun, her revenge a carefully planned, meticulously executed strategy.

She knew Lin Qianqian’s tendency to cry, her tears a torrent of emotion she couldn’t control, and she couldn’t bear to see her like that, her heart aching with a mixture of love and a fierce, protective anger.

She needed time, time to prepare, time to harden her heart, to protect herself from Lin Qianqian’s pain.

Showing weakness would only lead to more pain. She believed that, her trust in others, in the world, a fragile thing, easily broken.

She didn’t need anyone’s sympathy, their pity. She only needed Lin Qianqian.

Lin Qianqian, frustrated by Lu Yin’s evasiveness, her sudden coldness after their passionate encounter, punched her lightly on the shoulder and stormed off to her room.

“I’m moving out this afternoon!” she declared, slamming the door shut and locking it, throwing herself onto the bed.

She needed to give Lu Yin a wake-up call.

She browsed nearby hotels, choosing the most expensive, the most luxurious.

Lu Yin sat on the sofa, licking her lips, the faint taste of blood a familiar sensation. She touched the small wound, another bite mark from Lin Qianqian, her lips a canvas for Lin Qianqian’s teeth, the marks a testament to their passionate encounters.

Wounds healed slowly in the winter, the old ones barely scabbed over before new ones appeared.

Lin Qianqian was like a puppy, her love expressed through playful nips and bites.

She received a message from Zhong Shiwu, the evidence she had requested, the final piece of her plan falling into place.

She stared at Lin Qianqian’s closed door, then messaged Zhong Shiwu, asking what she had said to Lin Qianqian.

Lin Qianqian’s red-rimmed eyes, her tear-stained cheeks, were a clear indication of her distress, and Lu Yin’s heart ached with a fierce, protective tenderness.

As soon as she sent the message, Zhong Shiwu called.

“Why are you accusing me? I just had a casual chat with her,” Zhong Shiwu said, her voice laced with amusement. “If you’re so worried, go comfort her. The matter has been resolved.”

“When?” Lu Yin asked.

She didn’t like uncertainty, and until everything was finalized, she would maintain her current course, her strategy unchanged.

Lin Qianqian’s antics were easily managed, her childish threats a familiar pattern.

“People celebrate the New Year, you know. It’ll have to wait until after the holidays,” Zhong Shiwu said. “I’ve already submitted the documents. You can celebrate now.”

“Thanks,” Lu Yin said, hanging up. She wasn’t in a celebratory mood.

It was New Year’s Day. She still had two days to wait.

After a few minutes, she went to Lin Qianqian’s room and knocked on the door, knowing prolonged silence would only make things worse.

No response. She opened the door.

“I thought you would have locked it,” she said, closing the door behind her, her back against it, watching Lin Qianqian, who was lying motionless on the bed, her face buried in the pillow.

Lin Qianqian had locked the door, but she had also unlocked it, hoping Lu Yin would come in, would comfort her, her pride battling her desire for affection, for reassurance.

She wouldn’t be so easily swayed by Lu Yin’s words, her touch. She wouldn’t throw herself at Lu Yin, begging for forgiveness, for love.

She would pack her things, a silent protest, a dramatic display of her independence.

She sat up, retrieved her suitcase, and started throwing clothes into it, her movements haphazard, her anger fueling her actions.

“If you’ve made up your mind, I won’t stop you,” Lu Yin said, watching her, her arms crossed. “But there are a few things you should consider. Can you afford rent and utilities on your own? I won’t be supporting you anymore.”

“You’ll have to do your own laundry. Clothes don’t magically fly into the washing machine. You’ll have to learn how to put on a duvet cover. Sleeping with just the insert isn’t acceptable.”

“And you’ll have to fill the bathtub yourself. I’m not sure if you can even afford an apartment with a bathtub, but I’m just giving you a heads-up.”

“And if you get food poisoning, you’ll have to call an ambulance, not your emergency contact.”

“Stop it!” Lin Qianqian exclaimed, her hands covering her ears.

Lu Yin’s words, though delivered in a mocking tone, were all true, a painful reminder of her own lack of practical skills.

Did Lu Yin really think she was that incompetent?

“I can learn! I’m a fast learner! Very fast!”

Lu Yin chuckled, her disbelief evident.

Lin Qianqian glared at her, her hands clenching into fists as she continued packing, not caring what she was putting in the suitcase, her only thought to escape, to punish Lu Yin for her indifference, her mockery.

“Excuse me, I’m moving out,” she said, dragging the suitcase towards the door.

Lu Yin stepped aside, watching her.

“Where are you going?” she asked, following her to the door, her voice casual, her expression amused.

“I’m running away!” Lin Qianqian declared.