Category: Immature Confession Day gl

Chapter 70

To find Lu Yin, Lin Qianqian went to the art institution, cautiously peeking inside before entering.

Lu Yin’s desk wasn’t by the window, so she couldn’t see her from outside. She looked through the office door.

Only one teacher was there.

“Hello, can I help you?” the teacher asked, looking up.

“I…” Lin Qianqian, caught in the act, said, “I’m looking for Teacher Lu Yin. Is she here?”

“She’s on duty today,” the teacher said, smiling. “She was here earlier, but I’m not sure where she is now.”

Lin Qianqian thanked her and went to check the dorm rooms, but Lu Yin’s door was locked.

She wasn’t there either.

Lin Qianqian sat down on the steps outside, wondering if she should call Lu Yin.

But Lu Yin had been cold and distant that morning, a stark contrast to her gentle words the previous night, and Lin Qianqian wasn’t ready to give up the upper hand so easily.

She wouldn’t call, wouldn’t message. If Lu Yin contacted her, she would pretend not to see it, her pride demanding a reciprocal display of indifference.

But the snow hadn’t melted yet, and even at midday, the air was cold.

She shivered, pulling her jacket tighter.

The teacher from the office came outside and, seeing her sitting there alone, invited her in.

Even though she didn’t know the details of their relationship, the gossip mill at the institution was efficient, and everyone knew Lu Yin had a younger sister she cared about deeply.

And Lu Yin wasn’t one for casual acquaintances. It was obvious who this girl was.

Lin Qianqian, unsure when Lu Yin would return, gratefully accepted the offer, the warmth of the office a welcome relief from the cold.

The teacher poured her a glass of hot water and turned up the heater.

“Where did my sister go?” Lin Qianqian asked, then realized her slip-up, but didn’t bother correcting herself. The teacher’s knowing smile indicated she was already aware of their relationship.

“I’m not sure. It’s lunchtime. She’s probably eating,” the teacher said. “You can message her.”

Lin Qianqian nodded, but didn’t reach for her phone, her gaze scanning the office, landing on the wall of teacher photos.

Should she save Zhong Shiwu’s number? She wanted to ask about Ming Yao.

But doing so behind Lu Yin’s back would only cause more trouble.

Why is she so jealous? Lin Qianqian thought, a smile playing on her lips, as she entered the number into her phone.

She stared at the photos, her gaze lingering on Zhong Shiwu’s.

“Saving my number?” Zhong Shiwu asked, standing at the doorway.

Lin Qianqian jumped up, hiding her phone behind her back. “Dr. Zhong.”

“It’s too cold to leave the door open. You’ll catch a cold,” Zhong Shiwu said, closing the door behind her. “Teacher Song, I brought you a coffee.”

“How did you know I was on duty today?” the teacher asked, taking the coffee.

Zhong Shiwu glanced at Lin Qianqian, smiling. “I guessed. Was I right?”

Everyone at the institution was used to her playful banter, her teasing remarks. The teacher simply smiled and returned to her work.

Zhong Shiwu’s attention finally shifted to Lin Qianqian, whom she had deliberately ignored upon entering.

She sat down opposite Lin Qianqian, her gaze assessing. “Why are you saving my number?”

The direct question made Lin Qianqian feel a flicker of guilt, her usual bravado fading.

She had always been intimidated by Zhong Shiwu’s presence, her sharp intellect, her penetrating gaze. And with Lu Yin gone, she had no one to hide behind.

But she had nothing to hide, so she answered honestly. “I wanted to meet with Ming Yao, but I can’t reach her. Her phone is off, and she hasn’t been replying to my messages. I thought you might be able to help.”

“That’s the institution’s number. It won’t do you any good. I’m not involved with the administrative work anymore,” Zhong Shiwu said. “As for my personal number…”

Lin Qianqian looked at her expectantly.

“I can’t give that out either. Why don’t you ask Lu Yin?”

“No way!” Lin Qianqian exclaimed, her voice rising slightly, then she took a sip of water, trying to appear calm.

Asking Lu Yin for another woman’s number was practically asking for trouble.

The memory of her last spanking was still fresh, her embarrassment a painful reminder. She couldn’t push Lu Yin too far, not yet.

“Then I can’t help you,” Zhong Shiwu said, feigning regret. “I was actually here to see Lu Yin, but it seems you’re here instead.”

Lin Qianqian noticed Zhong Shiwu was only carrying a single cup of coffee. Something didn’t add up, but she couldn’t quite figure it out.

Lu Yin was being distant, and she probably wouldn’t be home early anyway, so Lin Qianqian decided to make the most of her time at the institution.

“Dr. Zhong, do you know where Ming Yao is?”

“She’s at the hospital. Working,” Zhong Shiwu said, seeing through her pretense. “Do you want to see her?”

“Is that allowed?” Lin Qianqian asked, holding up her phone. “I’ll tell my sister. She’ll know where I am.”

Zhong Shiwu looked at her for a moment, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. Lin Qianqian was walking right into a trap.

She didn’t want to disappoint her, but the thought of Lu Yin’s reaction made her hesitate.

Then she remembered Lu Yin’s visit that morning, her questions about the Su family, her thinly veiled accusations.

Perhaps she should nudge Lin Qianqian in the right direction, encourage her to be more proactive.

“I’ll take you,” she said, speaking to the teacher and then leading Lin Qianqian out of the office.

Lin Qianqian’s face lit up, and she wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck, following Zhong Shiwu to the car.

Zhong Shiwu opened the back door, and Lin Qianqian hesitated, unsure if she should get in.

She had never been alone with Zhong Shiwu before, and sitting in the back seemed disrespectful, but Zhong Shiwu had opened the rear passenger door.

“Qianqian?”

Lin Qianqian looked up and saw Ming Yao in the front passenger seat. “Ming Yao!” she exclaimed, her earlier hesitation forgotten as she got into the car.

“You came with Dr. Zhong?” she asked, surprised. “It’s been a while!”

“I was helping her with a patient,” Ming Yao said. “We just finished. We’re going back to the hospital for lunch.”

Zhong Shiwu got in the car and looked at Ming Yao. “Do you want to sit in the back?”

“Yes,” Ming Yao said, getting out of the car and joining Lin Qianqian in the back seat.

Ming Yao seemed much more lively than before, her earlier quietness replaced by a more familiar energy.

Lin Qianqian was surprised by the change, but glad to see her friend looking healthier, happier.

They arrived at the hospital, and Zhong Shiwu went to her office, while Lin Qianqian and Ming Yao had lunch in the hospital cafeteria. The food was bland but nutritious.

Ming Yao talked about her new job, her daily routine, carefully avoiding any mention of Zhong Shiwu’s more…unconventional methods, assuring Lin Qianqian that she was happy, that everything was fine.

After lunch, they went to the records room next to Zhong Shiwu’s office.

“Here are some recent patient files. Please organize them,” Zhong Shiwu said, handing Lin Qianqian a stack of folders.

Ming Yao nodded.

Lin Qianqian watched her work, then, when Zhong Shiwu left the room, she lowered her voice. “Don’t you even get a break during the holidays?”

“The holidays aren’t that special,” Ming Yao said, sorting through the files. “And Dr. Zhong didn’t go abroad this year. She’s staying here with me. I would have been alone otherwise. It’s good to be busy.”

“What are your plans?” Lin Qianqian asked.

“I’m not sure yet. Dr. Zhong says I’m not fully recovered yet. I’m hoping to find a job after the New Year,” Ming Yao said, thinking. “Something related to my major, though I’m not sure about the job market here.”

She couldn’t work for the Ming family. Ming Yi, besides providing for her expenses, had made it clear she wasn’t welcome in the family business.

But she still wanted to have a plan, a purpose.

Lin Qianqian, supportive of her friend’s ambition, picked up a file and placed it in a folder, then paused, noticing the name on the form. “Is this my sister’s file?”

She hesitated. “Can I look at this? Isn’t this a breach of patient confidentiality?”

Ming Yao glanced at the security camera, then at Lin Qianqian, her gaze a silent warning, taking the file and placing it in the folder.

She had to be more careful. Zhong Shiwu wouldn’t be pleased.

Lin Qianqian’s curiosity was piqued. She wanted to ask Zhong Shiwu about Lu Yin’s condition.

She had been diligently supervising Lu Yin’s medication intake, but she hadn’t accompanied her to any of her appointments, and she was worried.

She didn’t want to put Ming Yao in a difficult position, so she went to Zhong Shiwu’s office.

Zhong Shiwu was with a patient, but she saw Lin Qianqian pacing outside her door, and she knew Lin Qianqian had seen the file, the one she had deliberately placed there.

A few minutes later, after the patient left, she looked at Lin Qianqian, who was sitting in the waiting area.

“Can I…” Lin Qianqian began, her hand raised, “can I ask about my sister’s condition? When was her last appointment? How many times has she been here? Is she doing okay? I’ve been making sure she takes her medication, every single dose!”

“So many questions. Which one should I answer?” Zhong Shiwu asked, smiling, her voice gentle. “Come in.”

Lin Qianqian sat down in the consultation room, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over her.

A patient file sat on the desk, but the name wasn’t Lu Yin’s.

Probably the previous patient, she thought.

“We don’t disclose patient information, but since you’re family, I can tell you some things,” Zhong Shiwu said, her hands clasped together on the desk, her gaze fixed on Lin Qianqian’s face.

Lin Qianqian looked down, avoiding her eyes.

“You seem nervous,” Zhong Shiwu said. “Would you like some candy?”

“Sure,” Lin Qianqian forced a smile.

Zhong Shiwu offered her a few chocolate liqueur candies. “Ming Yao likes these.”

Lin Qianqian unwrapped one and ate it, her gaze darting around the room. “My sister…she’s doing much better now, right?”

“Do you know what she was like before?”

The question startled Lin Qianqian.

She didn’t know, and Lu Yin would never tell her.

Her only glimpse of Lu Yin’s true state had been that night, in the loft, the painting a stark reminder of Lu Yin’s hidden pain, her suppressed desires.

Perhaps that’s how Lu Yin had spent every night of the past four years, her loneliness a constant torment.

“I don’t know,” Lin Qianqian said quietly, her voice filled with a sudden sadness. She was always quick to admit her mistakes, especially when it came to Lu Yin.

She had wanted to get closer to Lu Yin, to understand her, but after all this time, she still knew so little.

“It’s okay. It’s never too late to make the right decision,” Zhong Shiwu said gently. “But first, tell me, what do you want to know?”

Lin Qianqian had been asked this question before, more than once.

This was the third time.

She didn’t want to hesitate anymore, her gaze meeting Zhong Shiwu’s. “What happened to my sister after she moved out? She must have been suffering, wasn’t she?”

Zhong Shiwu’s smile faded. “Do you think Lu Yin wants you to know?”

“Yes, I think she does,” Lin Qianqian said, her voice firm. “I should know everything about her.”

She would share Lu Yin’s pain, kiss every wound, every scar.

“Have you had any conflicts? I want you to tell me everything,” Zhong Shiwu said, locking the door. “Every detail.”

Lin Qianqian hesitated, the memory of that night, the feeling of suffocation, a visceral reminder of Lu Yin’s darkness.

Zhong Shiwu listened patiently for twenty minutes, then offered her a tissue.

“Drowning…the water fills your lungs, your throat, your nose, you can’t breathe, you struggle, but your body is weak, you can’t move…” she paused, her gaze meeting Lin Qianqian’s. “Have you ever felt that way?”

Lin Qianqian shook her head instinctively. She had never drowned.

Then, a sudden realization. “It’s like that night…the feeling of suffocation…but…”

“Similar, isn’t it? It’s a fitting punishment,” Zhong Shiwu said, her voice cold. “If you hurt someone, you should suffer the same fate.”

Lin Qianqian’s eyes widened, her tears flowing freely. “You mean, Sister…”

“I’ve given her many frames. She doesn’t usually like gifts, but she always used them for that painting,” Zhong Shiwu said, her words a carefully placed seed, a subtle manipulation. “The one I saw…you were wearing a white shirt and blue jeans. You looked so young, so full of life.”

Lu Yin wouldn’t show anyone the altered painting, the one that reflected her own twisted desires. That’s why she hadn’t used the new frames.

After her secret had been exposed, she had hidden it away, her shame a heavy burden.

Everyone had secrets, but Lu Yin’s priority wasn’t hiding her own darkness, but protecting Lin Qianqian’s innocence, her light.

She had unintentionally hurt Lin Qianqian, even though the figure in her dreams was just an illusion, a ghost, and she couldn’t forgive herself, couldn’t make amends, so she had punished herself instead, inflicting the same pain, the same suffering.

“The painting is ruined now…” Lin Qianqian said, wiping her tears with her sleeve, the fabric damp and stained.

“The real person has returned. Her faith can be restored,” Zhong Shiwu said, smiling faintly. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it? Placing all your hope in a lifeless image.”

“She’s not pathetic! Not at all!” Lin Qianqian exclaimed, her voice rising in protest, her loyalty to Lu Yin fierce and unwavering. “She’ll get better! She’s already better! She’s always been strong!”

Zhong Shiwu, accustomed to such outbursts from her younger patients, simply nodded. “It’s just a figure of speech.”

“No, it’s not!” Lin Qianqian insisted.

“Fine,” Zhong Shiwu said, handing her another tissue.

Lin Qianqian sat down, her composure returning, taking the tissue as a sign of truce. “What can I do?” she asked, her voice calmer now.

“I can only diagnose and treat the patient. I can offer guidance, medication,” Zhong Shiwu said, her gaze meeting Lin Qianqian’s. “But your relationship with her…that’s something you have to figure out on your own.”

“But she won’t tell me anything…I don’t know what to do…”

Lin Qianqian’s voice trembled, her eyes filling with tears again.

If things had gone as planned, they would be reheating their New Year’s Eve dinner, enjoying a leisurely afternoon together, perhaps going out for a walk.

Not here, in a hospital, on New Year’s Day, her heart aching with worry, her tears a testament to her helplessness.

“You’re her sister. Shouldn’t you understand her better than anyone?” Zhong Shiwu had brought Lin Qianqian here, not to control Lu Yin’s treatment, but to empower her, to encourage her to take charge.

Every relationship was different, especially theirs, its complexities defying simple definitions.

And sometimes, recovery wasn’t about medical diagnoses, but about the patient’s emotional state, their willingness to embrace life, to find joy, to connect with others.

As a friend, as Lu Sui’s friend, she couldn’t reach Lu Yin, her words of comfort, her expressions of concern, falling on deaf ears.

Only Lin Qianqian had that power, her love a lifeline, her presence a source of strength. Zhong Shiwu’s role, as Lu Yin’s psychiatrist, was limited to medication, to managing the symptoms, not the underlying cause.

“Slow and steady wins the race. Persistence pays off,” she said, her voice soft, the clichés a gentle reminder of the power of love, of hope. “It’s an old saying, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

“I’ll do it,” Lin Qianqian said, her words a promise, not just to Zhong Shiwu, but to herself.

She would find a way to break through Lu Yin’s defenses, to understand her pain, to share her burden.

If Lu Yin refused to listen, she would be relentless, her presence a constant force, her love an unwavering flame.

She still didn’t understand Lu Yin’s sudden coldness, her evasiveness, the secrets she kept hidden.

But she didn’t care. She would be selfish, demanding Lu Yin’s attention, her love, her heart.

“Lu Yin is already home,” Zhong Shiwu said, revealing Lu Yin’s lie. “She wasn’t on duty at the institution.”

Lin Qianqian sniffled, cursing Lu Yin’s effortless deception.

After seeing Lin Qianqian off, Zhong Shiwu received a message with the background check on Su.

She scanned it quickly, a low whistle escaping her lips. “Tax evasion…this is going to be messy.”

She retrieved Lu Yin’s file from her drawer, the latest results consistent with the previous ones.

Lu Yin’s condition was stable. She was functioning normally.

As long as Lin Qianqian was safe, Lu Yin would be fine.

But if Lin Qianqian were to be harmed, Lu Yin’s darker impulses, her need for revenge, would resurface.

Zhong Shiwu didn’t want to judge. She just wanted everyone to be safe, to be happy.

Lin Qianqian took a taxi home and called Lu Yin, but there was no answer.

She thought about how to handle this, how to make Lu Yin acknowledge her, her feelings, her presence.

Perhaps…

She would disappear. Just for a little while.

Chapter 69

Waking up on New Year’s Day with swollen eyes, Lin Qianqian found Lu Yin already gone.

Last night’s dinner sat untouched on the table, its appearance less than appetizing after sitting out all night.

Lu Yin’s phone wasn’t there, and when Lin Qianqian called her, the ringing came from the bathroom.

“Want me to reheat this?” she asked, as Lu Yin emerged from the bathroom.

“No. I’m going to the institution.”

“But it’s New Year’s Day! Why are you going to work?”

Lin Qianqian blinked, her eyes stinging, the memory of last night, her failure to be there at midnight, a heavy weight in her chest. She had woken up several times during the night, her mind racing with plans to make amends, to spend more time with Lu Yin.

“Are you angry because I lied last night?” she asked, wanting to clear the air. It was the New Year, and she didn’t want to waste time on petty arguments.

“No,” Lu Yin said, her expression giving nothing away.

“If you are, I’ll do anything you want. Anything,” Lin Qianqian said, her voice sincere. This wasn’t a playful tease, not a childish demand. This was about their past, the mistakes she had made, the pain she had caused. She didn’t want to repeat the past, didn’t want to lose Lu Yin again.

But Lu Yin seemed unfazed, her demeanor calm and relaxed, as if it were an insignificant detail, a minor inconvenience.

And that was even more unsettling. Four years ago, during their last argument, Lu Yin had been like this, her outward calm masking a deeper pain, her heart already closed off, her decision to leave irrevocable.

The more Lu Yin downplayed it, the more anxious Lin Qianqian became.

“Someone has to be at the institution during the holidays. It’s my turn,” Lu Yin said. “I was going to tell you last night, but I didn’t have time.”

Lin Qianqian looked at the untouched food on the table, her heart sinking.

She had put so much effort into preparing the meal, Lu Yin’s guidance transforming her clumsy attempts into something edible, something almost delicious.

And now, it was all wasted.

“Can I come with you?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, her disappointment hidden beneath a mask of casual indifference.

New Year’s was about family, and Lu Yin was her only family now.

“Stay home,” Lu Yin said.

Lin Qianqian wanted to argue, to protest, but Lu Yin’s expression silenced her.

She picked up her chopsticks and ate a cold dumpling. “It’s really good…” she mumbled, hoping Lu Yin would understand her unspoken plea.

“Should I reheat it for you?” Lu Yin asked, still not understanding, or perhaps pretending not to.

Lin Qianqian shook her head, defeated. “Come home early,” she whispered.

Lu Yin’s gaze lingered on her face for a moment, then she took her keys and left.

Lin Qianqian listened to the sound of the closing door, a sigh escaping her lips, her voice a low murmur.

“You’re obviously angry about last night, but you won’t tell me…what’s the point…?”

She wanted to tell Lu Yin everything, to confess her fears, her insecurities, her confusion.

She needed guidance, and Lu Yin was the only person she trusted.

If Lu Yin refused to listen, she didn’t know what she would do.

The snow from the previous night had covered the ground in a thick white blanket, the roads icy and treacherous.

Lu Yin started the car and made a phone call.

She didn’t mind being on duty. If Yu Miao had assigned her, she would have accepted, their time together at the institution no different from their time at home.

But now, she needed distance from Lin Qianqian, afraid of her own weakness, her inability to resist Lin Qianqian’s touch, her tears.

She had lost all sense of objectivity, her actions, her decisions, now driven solely by Lin Qianqian’s needs, her desires.

And Lin Qianqian’s mother was a complication she couldn’t ignore, her concern for Lin Qianqian’s feelings overriding her own judgment.

She would deal with Lin Yun first, then return to Lin Qianqian, her heart, her mind, finally at peace.

The holidays were meaningless. Being with Lin Qianqian was all that mattered.

“Zhang Jie, thank you for helping me,” she said, her voice bright and cheerful, as the call connected. “I need you to investigate the transactions on this bank card. I’ve already sent you the cardholder’s information.”

“Yes, she’s my mother. From my father’s second marriage.”

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

She drove to the institution, receiving the document just as she arrived.

She went to the office, greeted the duty staff, and printed the transaction records.

“Teacher Lu, what are you doing here on New Year’s Day?” the staff member asked.

“Keeping you company,” Lu Yin said, smiling. “If anyone asks for me, tell them I’m on duty, but you don’t know where I am.”

The staff member nodded, not asking any questions.

Lu Yin thanked her and went back to her car, her gaze scanning the document.

The initial balance had been several million yuan, with a recent deposit of nearly ten million, the proceeds from the sale of the house.

The expenses were mostly designer clothes, shoes, and bags.

She scrolled through the long list of transactions, noticing several purchases of children’s clothing, boys’ clothing, and a men’s watch worth six figures.

She found the order number and called the store, confirming the purchase, providing Lin Yun’s information, and the sales assistant, assuming she was Lin Yun’s daughter, wished her a happy new year with her family.

A family?

When had Lin Yun acquired a husband and a son?

The man’s name, Su something, sounded familiar. A businessman, perhaps, one of the many wealthy entrepreneurs in the city.

She had met many business owners through the institution, but she couldn’t place the name. She decided not to dwell on it, her mind already racing with another, more pressing concern.

She drove to the private hospital, a sudden realization hitting her as she saw the building. She remembered who Su was.

“Teacher Lu, visiting a hospital on New Year’s Day? Not very festive, is it?” Zhong Shiwu asked, looking up from her desk. “Do you think this is a shelter? Coming here every time you have a fight with Lin Qianqian?”

“I need your help,” Lu Yin said, handing her the transaction records, pointing at the name. “This man has a son who was treated here for ADHD. Do you remember him?”

“I’ve treated many children with ADHD. I can’t possibly remember all of them,” Zhong Shiwu said, her gaze scanning the long list of transactions, surprised by Lu Yin’s sudden interest in Lin Yun’s finances. “Living the high life, isn’t she? Designer clothes, a husband, a son…”

Lu Yin ignored her teasing. “But you don’t blacklist many patients, do you, Doctor Zhong?”

Zhong Shiwu paused, the memory resurfacing, a wry smile on her face. “You have a good memory for such trivial things.”

The boy, young and unruly, had caused chaos in her office, even knocking over one of her prized watches.

Lu Yin had been there for a follow-up appointment, witnessing the scene.

“Why bring him up now? Are you trying to give me a headache?” Zhong Shiwu asked, checking her phone. “His father asked me to continue his son’s treatment, but I refused.”

She scrolled through her messages. “Oh, congratulations are in order. He got engaged a week ago.”

Seeing the woman’s face in the engagement photo, her smile faded.

She looked at Lu Yin, her gaze questioning, finally understanding her purpose.

“The Su family is just a small-time business. They got lucky,” she said.

“Everyone gets unlucky eventually,” Lu Yin said, her gaze falling on the candies on Zhong Shiwu’s desk, all chocolate liqueur.

Zhong Shiwu followed her gaze, adding a handful of other candies to the bowl.

“True. You never know,” she said, meeting Lu Yin’s gaze. “And you came all this way, on New Year’s Day, just for this?”

“Some things are more important than others,” Lu Yin said, her gaze fixed on the table. “And I can’t rest until this is resolved.”

“Dr. Zhong, I’m not unreasonable,” Lu Yin said after a moment. “My sister needs a social life. She can’t stay cooped up at home all the time. She’s been spending time with her friend lately.”

Zhong Shiwu leaned back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers.

Lu Yin was a master manipulator, using everything, everyone, to achieve her goals, from isolating Lin Qianqian to now subtly orchestrating Lin Yun’s downfall.

And Lin Qianqian, oblivious to Lu Yin’s machinations, her trust unwavering, her love a shield against the darkness that surrounded them.

Zhong Shiwu wanted Ming Yao to recover, and encouraging her friendship with Lin Qianqian was the most effective way to do that.

But Lin Qianqian herself was a pawn in Lu Yin’s game, her happiness, her well-being, secondary to Lu Yin’s own desires, her possessive nature a dangerous, destructive force.

And Ming Yao, Lin Qianqian’s true friend, was now an obstacle, a threat to Lu Yin’s control.

“How about we go sketching together sometime?” Zhong Shiwu asked, changing the subject.

“I’ll see. My schedule is quite full after the New Year,” Lu Yin said, her refusal polite but firm.

Zhong Shiwu didn’t press the issue.

“Since you’re here, let’s do a quick check-up,” she said, handing Lu Yin a questionnaire.

Lu Yin hesitated for a moment, then took the pen.

“Have you been taking your medication regularly?” Zhong Shiwu asked, already knowing the answer. “It seems your sister’s supervision is quite effective.”

She didn’t expect Lu Yin to respond, her gaze falling on Lu Yin’s hand, slightly swollen. “Your hand is acting up again? You should get it checked out. The pain isn’t normal.”

“It’s fine,” Lu Yin said, a sharp twinge of pain making her wince, her pen pausing momentarily.

“You can’t ignore it. It could become a chronic problem,” Zhong Shiwu said, picking up her phone. “I’ll contact a hand specialist for you. Get it checked out.”

Lu Yin continued filling out the form in silence, then handed it to Zhong Shiwu.

Zhong Shiwu looked at the form, then at Lu Yin’s face, her gaze searching.

She couldn’t explain possessiveness, perhaps a primal instinct, a remnant of our evolutionary past.

Years of emotional deprivation, of unfulfilled desires, could manifest as a distorted, almost obsessive need for control, for possession.

As a doctor, she knew it was an unhealthy way to express love.

But as a friend, she found herself complicit, her actions enabling Lu Yin’s destructive tendencies.

If she ignored the possessiveness, Lu Yin seemed almost normal, her behavior indistinguishable from that of a typical person in love.

She didn’t want to discuss it with Lu Yin, who would simply dismiss it, her focus solely on Lin Qianqian, her love a blinding force, her reason for living.

“I’ll contact the hand specialist for you. Don’t refuse,” she said, her voice gentle, changing the subject.

“I think the spray and the pain relief capsules are working fine,” Lu Yin said, dismissing Zhong Shiwu’s offer, then looking at her hand, “It was very swollen a few days ago, but it’s better now.”

Zhong Shiwu chuckled. “The power of love, perhaps?”

Chapter 68

Lin Yun didn’t work, but she always lived comfortably. Her daughter and husband weren’t her priorities. Her own well-being was paramount.

When her husband died, she simply found another one, the only condition being that he be wealthy and unattached.

Lin Qianqian was the obvious obstacle.

Eager to remarry before the Spring Festival, she had tried to contact Lin Qianqian, but her messages had gone unanswered.

She knew Lin Qianqian didn’t want to see her, but she needed to talk to her, to finalize their separation, to sever the remaining ties that bound them together.

She had tried everything, even going to the art institution, but Lin Qianqian had remained elusive.

On New Year’s Eve, she had added Lin Qianqian as her emergency contact, then deliberately crashed her car into a guardrail.

As she lost consciousness, she heard the shouts of bystanders, someone calling for an ambulance.

She woke up in a hospital bed. The hospital had contacted Lin Qianqian, who was on her way.

She had a minor head injury, a slight concussion, but the doctor insisted on a family member being present.

Lin Yun smiled inwardly, her plan working perfectly. “Thank you, Doctor. Working so hard on New Year’s Eve. Happy New Year,” she said, then lay back and waited.

Lin Qianqian finally found her mother’s room, after asking a nurse for directions.

She stood at the doorway, not entering, not sitting down, her silence a stark contrast to her usual boisterous energy.

“You can’t even call me ‘Mom’?” Lin Yun asked, her usual arrogance replaced by a weariness, the years etched into the corners of her eyes, her gaze sharp and calculating.

“What do you want?” Lin Qianqian asked, her back against the wall. “Just say it, and then I’ll leave.”

“Why are you in such a hurry? Going back to celebrate New Year’s with your sister?” Lin Yun asked, a hint of mockery in her voice. “You share my blood, yet your loyalty lies elsewhere.”

Lin Qianqian had already seen the medical chart, the injuries minor, and she felt a wave of relief, quickly followed by a surge of annoyance.

“If you don’t have anything important to say, I’m leaving. And don’t contact me again.”

“I sold the house,” Lin Yun said, getting out of bed, retrieving a bank card from her bag. “Come sit down.”

Lin Qianqian didn’t move.

“You know me, Qianqian. If I’m not happy, no one is happy,” Lin Yun said, her voice a threat, her gaze cold and hard.

Lin Qianqian hesitated, then sat down.

“There’s ten thousand yuan left. It’s yours.”

“Where did you get the money?” Lin Qianqian asked, not taking the card. It felt like a bribe, a betrayal.

“I told you, I sold the house.”

“That house was worth millions! And it belonged to Auntie Lu!”

The city had changed, the once-desirable neighborhoods now declining in value.

Even so, the house should have sold for a substantial amount, and Lin Qianqian felt a pang of guilt, knowing the source of the money, its intended purpose.

Lin Yun’s anger flared. “I said there’s only ten thousand left! I don’t care who the house belonged to! The deed was in my name! I could sell it if I wanted to! Ask your father in prison if you don’t believe me!”

“You’re always so reckless with money…” Lin Qianqian’s voice trembled. “Have you ever earned a single penny yourself?”

“I didn’t steal it. Call the police if you want. They’ll just bring me back home,” Lin Yun said coldly. “I know you don’t want to see me, and I don’t want to waste my time with you either.”

She got out of bed, her breathing slightly labored, and stood over Lin Qianqian, looking down at her.

“I carried you for ten months! Your father died when you were young! If it weren’t for me, you would have starved to death in that village!”

“If I were truly heartless, I wouldn’t give you a single cent. I’m only here to make things clear. I have a new family now. You’re an adult. You can take care of yourself. Live your own life. Forget about me. I’ll forget about you.”

Even though their relationship had always been strained, Lin Qianqian felt a pang of sadness, hearing those cold, dismissive words.

The woman who claimed to be her mother was discarding her, offering her a paltry sum of money and then severing all ties.

“I know I didn’t give you much money while you were abroad, so this is to make up for it. Just take the card. I don’t want to feel guilty,” Lin Yun said, patting her chest, then gesturing towards the ceiling, as if seeking absolution.

“You never cared about me. It was always Sister who took care of me. When I almost died from food poisoning abroad, I didn’t even have enough money to go to the hospital,” Lin Qianqian stood up, her height now exceeding Lin Yun’s, her voice rising with each word. “You can be heartless towards me, but Sister…she could have studied abroad, but you ruined her chances! You told the school about her relationship! You destroyed her reputation! You made her life a living hell!”

Lin Yun slapped her, the force of the blow turning Lin Qianqian’s head, a bright red mark appearing on her cheek.

“You don’t even respect your own mother! You should change your last name to Lu!” Lin Yun shouted. “You deserve this! You ungrateful wretch! You’ve betrayed me!”

Lin Qianqian’s eyes filled with tears. She shouldn’t have come.

She should have known better than to expect a rational conversation with Lin Yun. She had wasted her time.

A nurse rushed in. “This is a hospital! Keep your voices down!”

Lin Qianqian wiped her eyes, snapping the bank card in half and tossing it in the trash. “Fine! I don’t need you! I’ll be fine without you!”

She stormed out of the room. It was 11:30 PM. The last subway had already left.

She would have to take a taxi.

But it was New Year’s Eve, and it was snowing heavily. There were no taxis available.

Happy families and couples strolled past, their laughter echoing in the night, their cameras capturing the colorful fireworks, their joy a stark contrast to her own despair.

She increased the fare, offering a premium for a ride, but still no one accepted.

Her frustration turned to panic. She called Lu Yin, but her phone was off.

Lu Yin must have guessed she had lied.

Guilt and regret washed over her, her broken promise a heavy weight in her chest.

Still no taxi. She found a shared electric scooter, wiping the snow from the seat, and started the long ride home.

The roads were icy, the scooter unstable, and she slipped several times, the cold pavement scraping her skin, but she ignored the pain, her only thought to get back to Lu Yin, to keep her promise.

As she reached her apartment complex, she ran, her hands and face numb with cold.

Suddenly, the air erupted in shouts and cheers, the countdown to the new year echoing through the streets.

Fireworks exploded overhead, their brightness momentarily blinding her.

She checked her phone. Past midnight.

She had broken her promise.

The lights were on in the apartment, the dining table laden with food, the cake waiting, the candles ready.

Everything was prepared, but Lu Yin was gone.

Lin Qianqian took off her coat and knocked on Lu Yin’s bedroom door. No answer.

She called Lu Yin’s phone, then noticed it on the table, its screen dark, a bottle of oyster sauce beside it.

The same brand she had been holding at the convenience store.

She was doomed.

She opened Lu Yin’s bedroom door and saw her curled up on the bed, the duvet pulled tightly around her, her body small and vulnerable, her silence a heavy weight in the quiet room.

She didn’t move, her breathing shallow, as if she were asleep.

Lin Qianqian tiptoed towards the bed, her own hands and feet icy, her breath misting in the cold air.

She couldn’t wait any longer. She carefully lifted a corner of the duvet and slipped into bed beside Lu Yin, her body shivering, afraid of waking her.

Lu Yin didn’t open her eyes, her body still and unresponsive.

Lin Qianqian watched her, her gaze tracing the lines of Lu Yin’s face, her brow furrowed, her lips pressed together, her expression troubled, even in sleep.

Tears welled up in Lin Qianqian’s eyes, her own guilt and regret a heavy weight in her chest.

She had disappointed Lu Yin, had failed to keep her promise.

The pain from her fall, the sting of her mother’s slap, resurfaced, and she longed for Lu Yin’s comfort, her touch, but she didn’t dare wake her.

She watched Lu Yin’s face, their shared New Year’s Eve, their first in years, now tainted by her own actions, her broken promise.

A sob escaped her lips, and she quickly covered her mouth, her eyes filling with tears, her hand reaching out to gently caress Lu Yin’s cheek.

Lu Yin’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked at Lin Qianqian, her tear-streaked face, her trembling lips, her silent apology, and a faint smile touched her lips. “Lin Qian,” she whispered, her voice soft, “aren’t you going to wish me a Happy New Year?”

Lin Qianqian’s tears overflowed, and she threw her arms around Lu Yin, her voice choked with sobs. “Happy New Year, Sister…”

She buried her face in Lu Yin’s neck, her tears hot against Lu Yin’s skin.

Lu Yin’s hand moved to her back, gently stroking her hair, her gaze softening, her mind piecing together the events of Lin Qianqian’s night, the encounter with her mother, the missed midnight, the frantic dash home.

Her hand moved to Lin Qianqian’s face, gently touching her swollen cheek.

She didn’t ask if it hurt, her brow furrowed with concern, her eyes filled with a silent question.

Lin Qianqian, mindful of Lu Yin’s injured hand, shook her head. “I’m fine, Sister…”

She didn’t want to explain, even though she knew Lu Yin would guess the truth. She didn’t want to burden her with her own pain, her own struggles.

The lonely deer, curled up in the cold, had finally found comfort in the soft grass, though the grass was now bruised and broken.

They held each other close, their shared warmth a refuge from the outside world, the noise and chaos of the New Year celebrations fading into the quiet intimacy of their embrace.

“Happy New Year, Sister. I’m sorry I’m late…” Lin Qianqian whispered, her voice thick with tears, her hands clutching the duvet, her apology a desperate plea for forgiveness.

If Lu Yin didn’t forgive her, she would accept the consequences, the punishment, her actions deserving of whatever Lu Yin deemed fit.

She had chosen her mother over Lu Yin, her past over their shared present.

It was a second betrayal, and she couldn’t imagine Lu Yin’s pain, her disappointment, only her own desperate need to make amends.

“Why are you apologizing?” Lu Yin asked, her voice soft, her gaze meeting Lin Qianqian’s tear-filled eyes. “Don’t cry. You don’t have to cry.”

She wouldn’t comfort Lin Qianqian’s tears, not for this, not for the pain caused by others. If someone hurt Lin Qianqian, her first instinct wasn’t to comfort, but to protect, to retaliate.

Chapter 67

Lin Qianqian didn’t understand Lu Yin’s apprehension, attributing it to the fact that they hadn’t celebrated New Year’s Eve together in years.

She had often imagined what it would be like, their reunion a chance to rekindle their childhood traditions, their shared memories.

If Lu Yin resisted, she would simply act out, her childish demands a way to make Lu Yin indulge her, to give in to her whims.

No older sister could unconditionally tolerate her younger sister’s antics, but Lin Qianqian always found a way to make Lu Yin do just that.

Except for the occasional loss of control in the bedroom, she believed she had a good grasp of Lu Yin’s emotions, her moods.

But as they shopped for groceries on New Year’s Eve, Lu Yin kept her distance, her hand not reaching for Lin Qianqian’s, her arm not wrapping around her waist.

When Lin Qianqian tried to take the shopping cart from her, Lu Yin subtly moved away, avoiding her touch.

Was she really that afraid of Lin Qianqian leaving her, finding someone else?

But Lin Qianqian’s childhood friends had drifted apart, her friends from abroad were out of reach, and she would never betray Lu Yin like that.

“Can you eat spicy food? Isn’t your period coming soon?” Lu Yin asked, picking up a package of seasoning.

“Not yet. Let’s get some,” Lin Qianqian said, placing the seasoning in the cart and adding a few more. “I want something sweet and spicy. Let’s add some sugar to the stir-fry.”

Lu Yin weighed some rock sugar for sweet soup.

Lin Qianqian watched her, noticing how she favored her left hand, her right hand barely moving.

That was strange. Her earlier suspicion of jealousy faded, replaced by a sudden concern.

She hadn’t even asked about Lu Yin’s hand injury.

And she had returned during the summer. Old injuries often flared up in cold weather.

“Sister, is your hand hurting?” she asked, joining Lu Yin in the checkout line.

Even on New Year’s Eve, the supermarket was crowded, people jostling for space, their carts overflowing with holiday groceries.

“It does ache in the cold,” Lu Yin said, Lin Qianqian taking the bag of sugar from her hand. “But it’s fine. As long as I don’t strain it.”

“And you were moving tables and chairs and easels at the institution?” Lin Qianqian asked, taking Lu Yin’s hand and blowing on it gently.

Seeing Lu Yin’s indifference, she said, “I’ll wait in line. You watch the cart.”

She placed the sugar in the cart. “Just relax and wait for your New Year’s Eve feast. I’ll take care of everything.”

They had done most of their shopping earlier, but there were still a few things they needed.

Lu Yin carried two heavy bags, her pace quick and efficient.

“Wait for me!” Lin Qianqian called out, struggling to keep up, her arms full of snacks. “You never learn!”

As they loaded the groceries into the trunk, Lin Qianqian noticed Lu Yin’s hand, slightly red and swollen.

“Should we buy some medicine?” she asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “What kind? Something for swelling?”

“It’ll be fine. It’s just the cold,” Lu Yin said, starting the car. “It’ll get better when the weather warms up.”

“We’ll stop at the pharmacy when we get back. I’ll ask the pharmacist what to get,” Lin Qianqian insisted.

She bought two cans of pain relief spray and a bottle of pain relief capsules, her expression more concerned than Lu Yin’s.

How could Lu Yin be so careless about her own health?

Lin Qianqian was the only one who seemed worried, Lu Yin’s indifference a frustrating contrast to her own anxiety.

“I don’t care how you managed before, but now that I’m here, I’m not going to let you suffer,” she said, carrying the groceries from the trunk, ordering Lu Yin to stand aside and not lift a finger.

Lu Yin followed her inside, watching her, her breathing slightly labored from the exertion, then Lin Qianqian poured her a glass of water, waiting for her to drink it before collapsing onto the sofa.

“Isn’t it too early to start cooking? Isn’t New Year’s Eve dinner supposed to be eaten closer to midnight?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Lu Yin asked, going to the kitchen to wash the vegetables.

“I saw a bakery open on our way back. Do you want some dessert?”

Lu Yin knew she was just craving sweets. “Just say what you want. I’ll buy it for you.”

Lin Qianqian smiled, satisfied, then remembered the medicine, spraying it on Lu Yin’s hand.

“It’s so swollen! Shouldn’t we go to the hospital?” she asked, her concern growing.

“It’s fine,” Lu Yin said, her tone dismissive, then, seeing Lin Qianqian’s worried expression, added, “If it doesn’t get better in a few days, we’ll go.”

“Okay,” Lin Qianqian said, taking Lu Yin’s other hand and leading her out of the apartment, towards the bakery.

It was New Year’s Eve, and the bakery was almost empty, the selection limited.

Lin Qianqian asked if they could make a small cake, and they sat down to wait.

She fidgeted, her gaze fixed on her feet, then at Lu Yin, who seemed lost in thought. This wasn’t how she had envisioned their New Year’s Eve.

She had imagined a quiet evening together, reminiscing about the past, making plans for the future.

She looked at Lu Yin, her profile elegant, her lips pressed together, her attire simple, a thin shirt beneath her coat, her appearance almost austere.

Lin Qianqian stared at her, thinking that in moments of quiet contemplation, she resembled a strict teacher.

But she had never seen Lu Yin teach. If she hadn’t alienated herself from the staff at the institution, she would have found a way to attend Lu Yin’s classes, a silent observer, her presence a constant reminder of her love, her devotion.

“Are you here to buy a cake too?”

Lu Yin’s attention was drawn to the voice, and she looked at Lin Qianqian, her gaze assessing, trying to decipher her intentions.

“Do you have any recommendations?” she asked.

Lu Yin looked at the cakes in the display case. “I don’t come here often.”

“Are you spending New Year’s Eve alone?” Lin Qianqian asked, her fingers toying with Lu Yin’s coat belt. “Want some company?”

“I’m waiting for someone,” Lu Yin said calmly, not stopping Lin Qianqian’s playful touch.

“Waiting for who? Me?” Lin Qianqian asked, taking Lu Yin’s hand. “Look at me, all alone on New Year’s Eve. So pathetic. Take me in.”

“Lin Qian,” Lu Yin said, her hand withdrawing from Lin Qianqian’s, her voice a warning.

“Huh?” Lin Qianqian pretended not to hear. “Don’t you recognize a flirtation when you see one? With my beauty, I’ve never been rejected.”

Remembering Lu Yin’s jealousy the previous night, she added quickly, “Except by you, of course. You were the first.”

The baker handed them the cake, and Lin Qianqian thanked her, pulling Lu Yin out of the bakery.

“My sister hasn’t come to pick me up yet. Miss, will you take me in for the night?” she asked, holding the cake, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Please?”

“If I take you in, I expect something in return,” Lu Yin said, playing along, her gaze meeting Lin Qianqian’s. “What can you offer me?”

“I’ll tell you when we get home. It wouldn’t be a surprise otherwise,” Lin Qianqian said, grinning.

She loved these silly games with Lu Yin, her playful banter a way to connect, to test the boundaries of their relationship.

“When are we going home, Sister?” she asked, still in character. “I’ve been wandering the streets for days, cold and alone, finally finding someone kind enough to take me in…”

Lu Yin grabbed her by the collar and led her towards their apartment, Lin Qianqian stumbling slightly, then pulling away.

“Okay, okay, I’ll behave!” she said, her earlier playfulness replaced by a more subdued affection.

She differentiated between “Sister” and “jie.” “Jie” was reserved for moments of intimacy, a familial endearment, while “Sister” was a more formal address.

They rode the elevator in silence, their footsteps barely audible in the quiet hallway, the motion sensors not even registering their presence.

Back at the apartment, Lin Qianqian placed the cake on the entryway table and kissed Lu Yin.

“Here’s your reward, Sister,” she whispered, her lips brushing against Lu Yin’s chin, then her lower lip.

Their eyes met, their lips meeting in a more demanding kiss.

Lin Qianqian, never one to back down from a challenge, kissed Lu Yin with a fierce possessiveness, her desire a force to be reckoned with, her goal to make Lu Yin’s legs weak, a playful ambition she had never achieved.

They stumbled towards the window, their bodies pressed together, Lin Qianqian’s head tilted back, her eyes catching the snowflakes falling in the darkness.

“Sister, it’s snowing again…”

Lu Yin deepened the kiss, then pulled away.

She didn’t believe intimacy was the best way to express love. Companionship was more important, the shared moments, the quiet intimacy of everyday life.

They had a New Year’s Eve dinner to prepare, a holiday to celebrate, their first together in years.

Lu Yin steadied her, her arms wrapping around Lin Qianqian’s waist, their gazes fixed on the falling snow, the flakes growing larger, heavier.

Lu Yin’s chin rested on Lin Qianqian’s shoulder, her hand covering Lin Qianqian’s, her gaze distant, unfocused.

As midnight approached, her anxiety intensified.

Fireworks began to explode in the night sky, their colorful bursts a stark contrast to the darkness within.

“We don’t have to eat the cake now. Aren’t you hungry?” Lu Yin asked.

“Let’s eat it with our New Year’s Eve dinner. Let’s start cooking!” Lin Qianqian said, her enthusiasm unwavering, her careful avoidance of Lu Yin’s injured hand a silent expression of her concern.

She had prepared a simplified menu, but she ended up needing Lu Yin’s help with every dish, her culinary skills still lacking.

The dishes, however, looked and smelled delicious.

“Sister, I’ll make a cucumber salad,” she said, shooing Lu Yin out of the kitchen. “I’m good at this. You don’t have to teach me.”

Lu Yin went to the living room, unwrapped the cake, and placed it on the table.

She glanced at the clock. 10:30 PM. The fireworks continued, their colorful bursts illuminating the night sky.

“Sister, are we out of oyster sauce?” Lin Qianqian called out from the kitchen, holding a plate of sliced cucumbers.

“I think so,” Lu Yin said, checking the cupboard. The bottle was almost empty, the remaining sauce too thick to squeeze out.

“I’ll go buy some. I’ve already prepared the cucumbers,” Lin Qianqian said.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Lu Yin asked, retrieving Lin Qianqian’s coat.

“No, it’s fine!” Lin Qianqian said, putting on her coat and heading towards the door. “I’ll just go to the convenience store downstairs. Hopefully, it’s still open.”

The streets were crowded on New Year’s Eve, and Lin Qianqian waited several minutes for the elevator, then hurried to the convenience store, which was also bustling with activity, the owner busy selling fireworks. She grabbed a bottle of oyster sauce and waited in line to pay.

Her phone rang. It was an unfamiliar local number.

Even telemarketers are working on New Year’s Eve?

She declined the call, then, as it rang again, and the store owner was still busy, she stepped aside and answered.

“Hello, is this Lin Qianqian?”

“Yes, this is she. May I ask who’s calling…?” Lin Qianqian’s heart sank.

“This is the City People’s Hospital. Your mother, Lin Yun, has been in a car accident. We need a family member to come to the hospital.”

Lin Qianqian’s mouth fell open. “Is it…serious…?”

“Not life-threatening, but we need a family member present. Could you come to the hospital?”

The line went dead. The clock on her phone showed 11:00 PM.

She looked at the bottle of oyster sauce, unsure what to do.

She scrolled through the messages from Lin Yun, all generic expressions of concern and holiday greetings, none of which she had answered.

She put the oyster sauce back on the shelf and sat down outside the store, her head in her hands, her heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and resentment.

Why was this happening now? She had tried to distance herself from her past, from her mother, and now, Lin Yun had reappeared, her presence a disruptive force, a reminder of the life she had left behind.

If she went to the hospital, Lu Yin would be upset, but she knew Lu Yin wouldn’t say anything, her displeasure hidden beneath a mask of indifference.

But if she didn’t go, her mother had been in a car accident. It wasn’t something she could ignore.

She always struggled with these choices, her loyalties divided, her heart torn between her past and her present.

She called Lin Yun, but her phone was off.

Less than an hour until midnight. She hesitated.

She would see Lin Yun one last time, at the hospital, say what needed to be said, and then cut ties, finally and completely.

But she had promised Lu Yin she would be there, to celebrate the New Year together.

If she wasn’t there at midnight, how could Lu Yin ever trust her again?

Lu Yin’s defenses were high, her heart a fortress, and Lin Qianqian, having finally scaled the walls, having finally found a way in, couldn’t risk being shut out again.

She would go to the hospital, see Lin Yun, and then return before midnight. She had to be there with Lu Yin.

The subway was running late on New Year’s Eve, and the hospital was only a few stops away. She ran, her heart pounding, her mind racing.

As she exited the subway station, she slipped on the ice, falling hard, her leg numb with pain, but she didn’t stop, her determination fueled by her promise to Lu Yin, her need to be with her.

Back at the apartment, Lu Yin checked the time, uncovering the dishes.

Fifteen minutes passed. No sign of Lin Qianqian. She frowned, walking over to the window, watching the crowds below.

Lin Qianqian’s location, according to the tracking app, was still within the building.

She put her phone away.

Perhaps the convenience store was crowded. It was New Year’s Eve, after all.

Twenty minutes passed. Lu Yin put on her coat and went downstairs. The convenience store wasn’t crowded. She couldn’t find Lin Qianqian. She bought a bottle of oyster sauce and paid.

She watched the people waiting for the elevator, but Lin Qianqian wasn’t there.

Back in the apartment, she received a message from Lin Qianqian.

[Sister, they’re out of oyster sauce at the convenience store downstairs. I’ll check another one.]

Lu Yin looked at the bottle of oyster sauce on the table and didn’t reply.

Lin Qianqian’s location on the map app had changed. She was no longer in the building.

Lu Yin turned off her phone and placed it on the table.

She stared at the clock on the wall, her expression unreadable, the silence in the apartment broken only by the distant sounds of fireworks.

The seconds ticked by, the minutes slowly passing.

She didn’t want to think about where Lin Qianqian was, what she was doing, who she was with.

If Lin Qianqian returned before midnight, she would pretend nothing had happened.

She smiled faintly, her confidence based on Lin Qianqian’s promise.

But as the minute hand approached eleven, her smile faded.

Five minutes left. She looked at the table laden with food, her appetite gone.

When the hands of the clock finally met at midnight, her shoulders slumped, her earlier hope replaced by a familiar emptiness.

It seemed she was destined to spend New Year’s Eve alone, after all.

Chapter 66

A phone call rescued Lin Qianqian. Lu Yin, her teasing only partially serious, let her go to answer it.

“Ming Yao? You’re out of the hospital? When?” Lin Qianqian asked, her attention immediately shifting. “Are you okay? Are you back at Dr. Zhong’s?”

She bombarded Ming Yao with questions, surprised by her sudden release.

The car started, and Lin Qianqian, startled, quickly fastened her seatbelt and adjusted her position, continuing her conversation.

“I’m glad you’re okay. When I saw the news…” she paused, not wanting to upset Ming Yao. “Let’s hang out after the New Year.”

Friendship, it seemed, was about offering companionship and a listening ear. She couldn’t solve Ming Yao’s problems, but she could offer support, encourage her to face her challenges, her fears.

She had repeated the offer to “hang out” countless times, hoping to offer some comfort, some reassurance.

She felt a sense of obligation towards Ming Yao, who had helped her during her difficult times abroad.

She was lucky. It seemed she always had someone to rely on.

Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve, and she could finally enjoy a proper Chinese meal, not the bland, modified versions Lu Yin had been making her eat.

While abroad, she had dreamt of authentic Chinese cuisine, but now, back home, the food seemed less important. Being with Lu Yin was enough.

She would happily eat plain steamed buns with Lu Yin, though Lu Yin would never let her.

“Sister, it’s been a while since we celebrated New Year’s together,” she said, thinking about their plans. “How about I cook the New Year’s Eve dinner?”

“You cook?” Lu Yin asked, her voice laced with skepticism.

“It won’t be that bad if you supervise me,” Lin Qianqian said.

Ambulances aren’t that expensive in China, right? A few days of IV fluids for food poisoning should be manageable.

She didn’t dare voice her thoughts. Lu Yin would scold her.

“Fine. What do you want to make?”

“Everything! I’ll create a masterpiece!” Lin Qianqian declared, searching online for recipes.

What are the easiest dishes to make?

What are the simplest stir-fries?

Related searches:

How to learn to cook in five minutes?

Lu Yin started driving, her mind elsewhere.

Lin Qianqian was still wearing her thin clothes from last night. Lu Yin hadn’t wanted to stay at the institution any longer, and seeing Lin Qianqian sleeping so soundly that morning, she hadn’t wanted to wake her, planning to bring her some warmer clothes.

But in the hallway of the institution, she saw a familiar figure.

A middle-aged woman she hadn’t seen in four years, the woman who had once accused her of corrupting her daughter.

Yu Miao emerged from the office, pulling Lu Yin inside and then confronting the woman, her expression cold and unwelcoming.

“Hello, I’m looking for someone,” Lin Yun said. She didn’t recognize Yu Miao, or perhaps she had simply forgotten her.

“The institution is closed for the holiday. The teachers are all gone,” Yu Miao said curtly. “Come back after the New Year. You can find information about our classes on our official website.”

“Do you have Lu Yin’s contact information? I need to speak with her,” Lin Yun said, smiling politely. “It’s a personal matter.”

Yu Miao looked at her. “A personal matter?”

“Yes,” Lin Yun said. “I haven’t seen her in years. I don’t have her number.”

“Who are you?” Yu Miao asked, her gaze sharp.

“I…” Lin Yun stammered, unable to answer.

“You better have a good reason for being here,” Yu Miao warned. “Otherwise, I’ll call the police.”

“No…I…”

Yu Miao’s anger simmered beneath the surface.

This woman, responsible for Lu Sui’s death, living comfortably on the insurance money, had even dared to insult Lu Yin.

She wanted to see her in prison.

Lu Yin had been watching from the office window, imagining what Lin Yun would look like now.

Perhaps she would be haggard, her relationship with her daughter strained, her life a mess.

But Lin Yun, appearing unexpectedly at her workplace, looked well-dressed, her appearance suggesting a comfortable lifestyle.

Lu Yin didn’t want to analyze her own complex emotions, the mixture of anger, resentment, and a strange, unwelcome pity.

She didn’t care about Lin Yun anymore, as long as she didn’t try to take Lin Qianqian away from her again.

She might be accused of being weak, of repaying evil with kindness, but she didn’t care.

“What do you want?” she asked, stepping out of the office as Yu Miao’s anger threatened to escalate.

“Why are you here?” Yu Miao asked, frowning. “Go back inside!”

“Xiao Lu, I just wanted to see you,” Lin Yun said, her voice surprisingly gentle, her usual mocking tone absent. “It’s almost the New Year, and Qianqian hasn’t contacted me since she came back. I wanted her to come home for the holiday, but she hasn’t been answering my messages. I know you work here, so I thought you could help me reach her.”

“Lin Yun, shouldn’t you be taking care of your own daughter instead of asking other people? Lu Yin has nothing to do with you!” Yu Miao exclaimed.

“I was just asking. If you don’t know, that’s fine. I’m not here to cause trouble,” Lin Yun said, her smile fading. “Why did she even come back? She had a good job abroad. What else could she possibly want besides you?”

“Lin Ayi, I won’t let her contact you,” Lu Yin said, her voice calm, her smile a chilling contrast to her words.

Lin Yun was taken aback by Lu Yin’s demeanor, the quiet, submissive girl she remembered now replaced by a confident, almost threatening presence.

She glanced around, realizing Lu Yin was no longer the vulnerable, isolated girl she had been years ago. She couldn’t afford to offend her.

She swallowed her anger and turned to leave, kicking the door on her way out.

Yu Miao started after her, but Lu Yin stopped her. “Let her go.”

“You should have taught her a lesson! How dare she come here! I should have called the police!” Yu Miao exclaimed, her voice filled with indignation.

Back in the office, she drank a glass of water, trying to calm down.

“Showing up during the holidays, bringing bad luck,” she muttered. “If only I had stayed in touch with Lu Sui. We wouldn’t have to deal with this.”

Lu Yin’s phone buzzed with notifications. She glanced at it, and Yu Miao said, “That mother and daughter are a constant source of trouble. Taking turns tormenting you.”

Lu Yin silenced her phone and put it away.

“Did you receive the student information I sent you a few days ago?” she asked Yu Miao.

“You’ve already asked me several times. That’s not how you change the subject,” Yu Miao said, looking at her. “You’re not on the duty roster. I know you don’t want to be here during the holidays.”

Lu Yin smiled faintly. “Thank you, Yu Jie. I should be going now.”

---

“Sister, can I eat this?” Lin Qianqian asked, showing Lu Yin a picture of boiled shrimp on her phone.

“You’re still thinking about seafood after your allergic reaction?” Lu Yin asked, her voice laced with disapproval.

“We can buy freshwater shrimp! Not saltwater shrimp!” Lin Qianqian said seriously. “I can eat those, right?”

“No,” Lu Yin said, parking the car. “Show me the menu when you’re done.”

Lin Qianqian’s face fell, and she followed Lu Yin inside, grumbling.

Why did she have to be allergic to something she loved?

“Can I at least have some allergy medicine on hand? Or grind it into powder and mix it with my food…?”

Lu Yin ignored her, opening the refrigerator.

“Go change into something warmer.”

“I washed my pants a few days ago. They’re not dry yet.”

Lu Yin closed the refrigerator. “Didn’t you use the dryer?”

“I forgot…” Lin Qianqian said, lying easily, especially when it came to eliciting Lu Yin’s concern, her childish antics a way of testing Lu Yin’s affection, her patience.

Lu Yin looked at her, then turned and went to the balcony.

There was no point in arguing. Lin Qianqian never learned.

“They’re frozen solid. When did you wash them?” she asked, bringing the pants inside and hanging them in the bathroom.

“Yesterday? No, wait, the day before yesterday?” Lin Qianqian said vaguely. “Will they break if I try to bend them?”

“Do you want new pants, or do you want a spanking?” Lu Yin asked.

Lin Qianqian blinked. “Is that a multiple-choice question?”

“You can also choose neither.”

Lu Yin still had many unanswered questions about Lin Qianqian: how had she survived abroad with her complete lack of practical skills? And where had she acquired this masochistic tendency?

Surely someone had encouraged it, nurtured it, and the thought always soured Lu Yin’s mood, her jealousy a sharp, unwelcome pang.

She didn’t trust Lin Qianqian’s reassurances, her declarations of love and loyalty, her words a constant reminder of Lin Qianqian’s other life, a life that didn’t include Lu Yin.

She didn’t want Lin Qianqian to have any other connections, any other attachments.

Under Lu Yin’s watchful gaze, Lin Qianqian reluctantly changed into warmer pants.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she noticed a slight roll of fat around her stomach.

She had a small frame, her body soft even when she was thin.

When she had been struggling financially abroad, she had tried to lose weight, hoping for visible abs, but excessive exercise had only made her dizzy, her muscles stubbornly refusing to grow.

Fat, however, accumulated easily.

She walked into the kitchen, her hand on her stomach. “Sister, I’ve decided on an all-vegetarian menu for New Year’s Eve,” she announced dramatically.

“Weren’t you just craving freshwater shrimp?” Lu Yin asked, her phone still displaying Lin Qianqian’s search history:

Can people with seafood allergies eat freshwater shrimp?

She hadn’t found a definitive answer, so she had mentally dismissed Lin Qianqian’s request.

“I’ve lost my abs!” Lin Qianqian exclaimed, lifting her shirt. “See? All flab.”

Lu Yin pulled her shirt down, though she couldn’t see any difference.

“You have no idea how good it feels to have abs!” Lin Qianqian sighed. “The girls in the photography club had amazing abs.”

Lu Yin wasn’t one to be motivated by such comments.

“What did you just say?” she asked, her voice sharp.

“I said…” Lin Qianqian, seeing the look in Lu Yin’s eyes, quickly backtracked. If she didn’t behave, she might actually get hit.

She reached out and touched Lu Yin’s waist. “Sister, I love your figure,” she said, her voice soft and sincere.

Lu Yin was thin, her bones prominent beneath her skin, and Lin Qianqian always felt a pang of protectiveness when she held her.

“It’s perfect for…” she squeezed Lu Yin’s waist playfully. “Grinding…”

That night, Lin Qianqian regretted her words, her earlier teasing earning her the usual punishment.

Lu Yin, instead of her usual silence, interrogated her about her day, her conversations, her interactions with others.

Who secretly drew you? Did you really touch someone else’s abs?

“Are you deaf or something…?”

She had lost count of how many times she had answered those questions.

Lu Yin had chosen option B for her multiple-choice question, each slap a stinging reminder of her careless words.

In the aftermath, Lin Qianqian had kicked and struggled, but Lu Yin had easily overpowered her, her leg, thrown out in a moment of frustration, now hooked over Lu Yin’s shoulder, her body a willing captive.

Lu Yin held her close, her embrace tight and possessive.

In the past, Lin Qianqian would have snuggled into her arms, seeking comfort, seeking reassurance.

But now, Lu Yin was quiet, her eyes open, her gaze intense, her emotions hidden beneath a mask of indifference.

“Lin Qian, let’s celebrate New Year’s Eve together,” she whispered.

Lin Qianqian tried to turn and look at her, but Lu Yin’s hand held her head still, her touch gentle, but firm.

“Of course we are!” she said, her voice slightly muffled, her mind searching for a way to escape this awkward position.

“This is uncomfortable! I want to cuddle you!” she complained, but Lu Yin didn’t let her move.

What is she doing?

Is she still jealous?

“I was just kidding! I didn’t touch anyone…I swear…” Lin Qianqian pleaded, reaching for Lu Yin’s hand.

Lu Yin’s head rested against hers, their fingers interlaced, her silence a heavy weight in the quiet room.

Lin Qianqian stopped struggling, sensing something was wrong.

“Let’s go to the supermarket tomorrow, okay?” she asked. “I want ice cream. Can I have some?”

“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” she continued, her voice a playful banter, a desperate attempt to lighten the mood. “And how about one shrimp? Just one? Is that allowed?”

“Okay, you’ve agreed to that too.”

She chattered on, feeling Lu Yin’s warm breath against her neck.

“Sister, I promised to be with you. I won’t leave you,” she said, her voice sincere. “I promise.”

She knew Lu Yin’s fears, her insecurities, and she would reassure her, again and again, her words a constant reminder of her love, her loyalty.

Chapter 65

Sitting in her usual chair, holding the new cutlery, Ming Yao felt a strange sense of displacement.

The food was the same as always, but Zhong Shiwu wasn’t there, cutting it into bite-sized pieces and feeding it to her. She was simply sitting beside her, watching her struggle with the knife and fork.

Ming Yao’s hands trembled, her mind blank.

She looked for the small bell she usually rang to signal she was finished eating, but it was gone.

A new watercolor painting hung on the wall where the schedule used to be. Ming Yao glanced at it, then quickly looked away, afraid of Zhong Shiwu noticing her discomfort.

But Zhong Shiwu noticed everything. “It took me a while to acquire this. From Teacher Lu. You should recognize her.”

“It’s beautiful,” Ming Yao said, her gaze returning to her plate. “Can I have some chocolate?”

“Not yet,” Zhong Shiwu said, seeing Ming Yao’s gaze shift towards a box in the corner, filled with the familiar bags of chocolate liqueur candies.

“What’s that…?” Ming Yao asked, her voice barely a whisper, the word “reward” a trigger, a reminder of her humiliation.

She didn’t want to be treated like that again.

“It’s dinner time. No snacks,” Zhong Shiwu said, pouring her a glass of fruit wine. “This is quite good. I think you’ll like it.”

Zhong Shiwu was deliberately breaking their established routines, and Ming Yao, struggling to adapt, her body still tense, her mind still clinging to the familiar patterns.

“If you don’t want it, that’s fine,” Zhong Shiwu said, not removing the plate. “I’m not very hungry either.”

Ming Yao watched as Zhong Shiwu retrieved a notebook and a pen from a drawer.

“Let’s do something productive.”

“I don’t want to,” Ming Yao said quickly, knowing the pen would only write things she didn’t want to see, rules she didn’t want to follow.

“As your doctor, I have to create a suitable treatment plan,” Zhong Shiwu said, uncapping the pen. “For example, a new schedule.”

“No!” Ming Yao cried, dropping her cutlery and instinctively kneeling on the floor.

Zhong Shiwu didn’t offer empty reassurances, simply pulling her back into the chair. “Sit down,” she said, her voice firm.

“You write it,” she placed the notebook and pen in front of Ming Yao. “Your daily routine when you were abroad.”

Ming Yao picked up the pen, her gaze questioning. “My routine wasn’t very…consistent…”

She spoke softly, afraid of being judged, her past life a chaotic mix of impulsive decisions and reckless abandon.

Zhong Shiwu turned the notebook to a blank page. “Then write about your hobbies. The things you never get tired of.”

Ming Yao hesitated, then started writing: making crafts, memorizing vocabulary…

“No,” Zhong Shiwu said, unimpressed. “Don’t lie to me, Ming Yao.”

Ming Yao’s hand froze, then she started writing again: bars, skipping class…

“Living the high life, weren’t you?” Zhong Shiwu said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Anything else? Keep writing.”

Feeding stray cats at school…

“That’s not a hobby. It’s just…it’s just…” Ming Yao searched for the right words. “It’s something to do, to make life less boring.”

“There were two identical white stray cats at school, with similar markings. One was friendly, the other was skittish. I fed them for a long time, but they never changed,” she explained.

“Okay,” Zhong Shiwu said, turning to a new page. “Now, think about what you can do here, to make your life less boring.”

Ming Yao considered it.

She and Lin Qianqian had returned around the same time. Lin Qianqian was now a functioning member of society, while she had spent the past six months as Zhong Shiwu’s…pet? Patient? Prisoner?

“I don’t want hobbies. I want a job,” she said, her voice hesitant. “Is that allowed?”

“You’re not ready for a job,” Zhong Shiwu said, her tone professional, her assessment based on Ming Yao’s current mental state.

“Okay…” Ming Yao said, her head down, not surprised by the rejection.

“But I might have something for you,” Zhong Shiwu said, checking a message on her phone. “The intern in the records room next to my office is always taking time off. You could fill in for her.”

“But I don’t have any experience with that kind of work…” Ming Yao said, a flicker of hope in her eyes.

“It’s just filing, organizing documents, that sort of thing. You can try it for a few days, and if it doesn’t work out, we’ll find something else,” Zhong Shiwu said. “And it would be easier for me to keep an eye on you.”

Ming Yao’s lips trembled. She wasn’t used to Zhong Shiwu’s concern, her words now devoid of their usual manipulative undertones.

“When can I start?” she asked.

“After the New Year. It’s almost New Year’s Eve,” Zhong Shiwu said, closing the notebook and glancing at the entries. “Just rest and recover for now.”

She handed Ming Yao a few pill bottles. “Don’t follow the instructions on the labels. I’ve written the dosage and timing on each bottle. Tell me if you have any pain.”

“Where am I sleeping tonight…?” Ming Yao asked, surprised by Zhong Shiwu’s kindness, her demeanor so different from before.

Perhaps it was the absence of their previous power dynamic, the forced obedience, that made Zhong Shiwu seem more approachable now.

“The guest room next to mine. I’ve already prepared it for you,” Zhong Shiwu said. “I’ve contacted Ming Yi. Someone will bring your clothes from the villa tomorrow.”

Ming Yao nodded, unable to speak.

“And I don’t want to see you hurting yourself again,” Zhong Shiwu said, her voice firm, her gaze meeting Ming Yao’s. “You can do whatever you want, but not that. I won’t tolerate it.”

“I…I won’t…” Ming Yao stammered. “I promise…”

“Go take a shower. Get some rest,” Zhong Shiwu said, standing up and gently stroking Ming Yao’s hair.

The gesture, so unexpected, so gentle, brought tears to Ming Yao’s eyes.

She went upstairs, her heart pounding with a mixture of hope and fear, her mind racing, the sudden change in Zhong Shiwu’s behavior a confusing, almost surreal experience.

She showered quickly, eager to lie down, to process everything that had happened.

Half an hour later, she emerged from the bathroom, seeing Zhong Shiwu coming upstairs.

“All done?” Zhong Shiwu asked. “Go to bed early.”

She opened the door to the guest room, and Ming Yao, just as she was about to enter, stopped her.

“Zhong…Dr. Zhong…” she said, unsure how to address her now. “Is it okay if I call you that?”

Zhong Shiwu chuckled. “I forgot about that. We’ll figure out a more suitable title tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Ming Yao said. “Goodnight, Dr. Zhong.”

“Goodnight, Ming Yao.”

---

Lin Qianqian woke up and went to the bathroom, using a disposable toothbrush. Lu Yin had already left for the institution.

The studio’s administrative offices were closed for the holiday, but someone had to be there to handle inquiries and pre-registrations for the next term.

Lu Yin was probably taking care of those tasks, Lin Qianqian thought.

If she hadn’t returned, Lu Yin would have buried herself in work, her days and nights a blur of activity, a way to avoid the painful memories, the loneliness.

Lin Qianqian was wearing only a pair of shorts and Lu Yin’s shirt, too cold to get fully dressed. She would wait for Lu Yin to come home.

A new garbage bag lined the trash can, and a few paint-stained sketches lay on the corner of the desk, the colors blurred, the paper warped, clearly damaged by water.

Curious, she picked them up.

They were simple sketches, similar to the ones she had seen in the loft.

Why hadn’t Lu Yin thrown them away? Was this a deliberate reminder of last night’s encounter, their passionate lovemaking a stain on the pristine white of Lu Yin’s world?

She folded the sketches, intending to throw them away, then hesitated, not wanting to discard Lu Yin’s belongings, however insignificant. She opened a drawer, intending to put them away.

The drawer wasn’t locked, and it was filled with sketches, images she recognized instantly.

Herself, as a child, her face painted like a cat’s, trying to scare Lu Yin, Lu Yin’s smile a warm, comforting presence.

Herself, wearing overalls and a wide-brimmed hat, eating a popsicle.

Herself, sitting on the bed, a failing grade on her report card, her face crumpled with a childish frustration.

So many memories, some she had almost forgotten, captured by Lu Yin’s brush, preserved on paper.

Each sketch was dated, all from the four years they had been apart.

She noticed the difference. These sketches were from before, from their childhood, their shared innocence.

While the locked cabinet in the loft contained Lu Yin’s deepest secrets, her darkest desires.

Here, in plain sight, even in the institution, a place where she kept her distance from everyone, Lu Yin had displayed these sketches, a silent declaration of her love for Lin Qianqian, her sister.

“Always doing these things that make me cry…and refusing to tell me…” Lin Qianqian whispered, her own tears a testament to Lu Yin’s unspoken affection, her hidden pain.

She carefully placed the sketches back in the drawer, then the water-damaged ones on the desk. “Fine, I’ll forgive you, just this once,” she muttered.

She went back to bed, her mind still on Lu Yin, her need for connection, for reassurance, a constant ache.

She knew Lu Yin wouldn’t check her phone while she was working, so she sent a barrage of messages, her playful banter a way to bridge the distance, to remind Lu Yin of her presence.

[What are you doing?!]

[I’m hungry!]

[When are you coming home? Can you make cold noodles, even in the winter? I haven’t had any in ages!]

[This bed is too small! I can’t even take a nap!]

[How about cold noodles for New Year’s Eve? Is that too simple?]

[…]

She rarely sent such frivolous messages to her friends. She only did this with Lu Yin, knowing Lu Yin wouldn’t be annoyed, her replies always patient, her indulgence a familiar comfort.

Almost an hour passed before Lu Yin responded, not with a message, but with her presence, returning to the dorm room.

She saw Lin Qianqian wearing only a shirt and underwear and touched her bare ankles. “Aren’t you cold?”

The shirt was unbuttoned, as if she had just thrown it on.

“Freezing,” Lin Qianqian said, enjoying their little game. “Why didn’t you reply to my messages?”

“I had my phone on silent. It was too noisy,” Lu Yin said, not wanting to explain the awkwardness of her phone constantly buzzing with notifications while she was working, everyone aware of the sender, their curious glances a silent interrogation.

“You think I’m annoying. We’re not even together yet, and you already think I’m annoying,” Lin Qianqian said, sitting up and leaning against the wall, then shivering and moving closer to Lu Yin.

Lu Yin’s heart ached at her words, the casual mention of their undefined relationship, the implication that they weren’t together, a painful reminder of their uncertain future.

She couldn’t define their relationship, the word “single” too cold, too distant, even though they didn’t need labels to validate their feelings.

She looked at Lin Qianqian, noticing the redness in her eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Lin Qianqian asked, blinking rapidly. “I’m so tired. I can’t stop yawning.”

She didn’t want Lu Yin to see her sadness, so she wrapped her arms around Lu Yin’s neck, her voice a playful whine. “I told you the bed was too small! I couldn’t even take a nap!”

Lu Yin took her wrist. “Then let’s go home.”

She glanced at the sketches on the desk, the crease marks a clear indication that Lin Qianqian had been looking at them.

She picked them up and tossed them in the trash.

“You’re just throwing them away…?” Lin Qianqian asked, surprised.

“I was going to this morning, but I forgot,” Lu Yin said casually, as if it were an insignificant detail.

“So you weren’t doing it on purpose…”

“Purposely what?”

Lin Qianqian couldn’t bring herself to explain. She got out of bed, put on her coat, and said, “Let’s go home.”

As she put on her shoes, she saw the amusement in Lu Yin’s eyes and realized, “You were doing it on purpose!”

Lu Yin took her hand, her voice teasing. “Actions speak louder than words, don’t they?”

Lin Qianqian sulked, refusing to answer.

Lu Yin glanced at her, her smile widening.

Lin Qianqian was still wearing her thin shirt, and Lu Yin quickened her pace, pulling her along. Once they were in the car, Lin Qianqian finally relaxed, her body warming in the enclosed space.

Lu Yin asked what she wanted for breakfast, but she didn’t reply.

She asked about her plans for the day, but Lin Qianqian remained silent.

She asked if she was still angry about the sketches, but Lin Qianqian didn’t respond.

Lin Qianqian was plotting her revenge.

Lu Yin started the car, glancing at Lin Qianqian, whose silence was never a good sign. She was clearly scheming.

“Sister…”

Lin Qianqian finally spoke.

Lu Yin braced herself for another round of suggestive banter.

“How could someone secretly draw me like that?” Lin Qianqian asked, her voice light and playful. “Are they secretly in love with me? I’m not that easy to win over, you know.”

“Really?” Lu Yin asked, knowing she had seen the sketches in the drawer.

She had drawn them while she was at the institution, during her breaks, her mind filled with images of Lin Qianqian, her memories a source of both comfort and torment.

“If this person admits their mistake, I might forgive them,” Lin Qianqian continued.

“And if they don’t?”

“They wouldn’t dare!” Lin Qianqian exclaimed, then, correcting herself, said, “Would they? They wouldn’t.”

This was her chance to gain leverage over Lu Yin, to make her squirm, a rare opportunity she wouldn’t waste.

Making Lu Yin uncomfortable was one of her favorite pastimes, though she had never truly succeeded.

“If they don’t apologize properly, there will be consequences.”

Lu Yin pulled over.

Lin Qianqian’s bravado vanished as she found herself face to face with Lu Yin, her earlier threats now a source of embarrassment.

It was like gossiping about someone, only to discover the subject of the gossip was right there, listening.

Except gossiping only caused momentary awkwardness, while teasing Lu Yin…well, that could have more…physical consequences.

Lu Yin adjusted her seat, pulling Lin Qianqian closer, her hand on Lin Qianqian’s hip, her gaze meeting Lin Qianqian’s. “What kind of consequences?” she asked, her voice a low murmur.

Chapter 64

Lu Yin could easily distinguish right from wrong, her actions usually controlled and deliberate.

But when it came to Lin Qianqian, she abandoned all reason, her desires a powerful, intoxicating force.

No one could stop her, not even Lin Qianqian herself.

Lin Qianqian’s tearful accusations, her body curled up in a protective ball, only intensified Lu Yin’s feelings, her words a catalyst, igniting a fire that burned within.

The accusations were meaningless.

Lin Qianqian’s gaze, red-rimmed and accusatory, her hand still clinging to Lu Yin’s, the dampness of their intertwined fingers a reminder of their shared intimacy, finally made her look away, a blush creeping up her neck.

Lu Yin retrieved a wet wipe and gently cleaned Lin Qianqian’s hand, then went to wash her own hands.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, returning to the room and tidying up the scattered clothes and discarded tissues.

“Yes,” Lin Qianqian said.

“Then it doesn’t hurt,” Lu Yin replied, her tone matter-of-fact.

“Why are you so cruel?” Lin Qianqian asked, looking at her paint-stained clothes. “They’re ruined…”

Lu Yin gathered the clothes and put them in a bag. “I’ll wash them tomorrow.”

“Then what am I going to wear tomorrow?” Lin Qianqian asked, glancing at the small closet in the corner. “Do you have any clothes here?”

Lu Yin opened the closet. “A couple of shirts, but no pants.”

“Then I won’t wear anything underneath. It’s not like I’ll freeze in the car,” Lin Qianqian said, realizing Lu Yin wasn’t as drunk as she had pretended to be.

So, even Lu Yin resorted to manipulation, playing the victim, knowing Lin Qianqian would believe her.

She glanced at Lu Yin’s pants, thinner than her own fleece-lined ones.

“Hurry up and cuddle me,” she said, not wanting Lu Yin to continue cleaning, knowing she wouldn’t rest until the room was spotless, her need for order a compulsion even in her drunken state.

“In a minute,” Lu Yin said, going back to the bathroom.

Lin Qianqian lay on the bed, listening to the sounds of running water, Lu Yin’s footsteps echoing in the small room.

The bed was smaller than the one at home. She could be close to Lu Yin tonight, their bodies touching.

Lu Yin spent a long time cleaning, several of the sketches ruined, the damp paper useless.

The discarded sketches were a testament to the intensity of their earlier encounter, the lingering scent of arousal a reminder of Lin Qianqian’s pleasure.

She gathered the paintbrushes, placing them in the holder, the alcohol finally hitting her, her head feeling heavy.

She shouldn’t have drunk so much, but she had been trying to escape Yu Miao’s words, her probing questions about Lin Yun, a constant threat, a ticking time bomb.

As she lay down beside Lin Qianqian, the thought returned.

Lin Yun was a constant source of anxiety, her reappearance always a possibility.

She didn’t feel any guilt about her actions towards Lin Yun, her sense of propriety, her carefully cultivated politeness, long gone.

She only cared about herself, and about Lin Qianqian.

As long as Lin Yun remained absent, their fragile peace would hold.

But she couldn’t decipher Lin Qianqian’s true feelings.

Her words were sweet, reassuring, but Lu Yin was still uncertain, her trust a fragile thing, easily broken.

She couldn’t afford any mistakes, not with Lin Qianqian.

“Sister…what are you thinking about?” Lin Qianqian asked, seeing her eyes still open. “Go to sleep.”

“Just some things,” Lu Yin said, her lips pressed together. “I have a headache. I can’t sleep.”

“What things?” Lin Qianqian asked, sitting up and looking at her.

“What do you want to eat for New Year’s Eve?”

“That’s what you’re thinking about?!” Lin Qianqian asked, incredulous. That wasn’t even a real problem.

“Yes, it’s quite a dilemma.”

Lin Qianqian poked her collarbone. “Am I that difficult to please?”

“What do you think?”

“Not really. Where else are you going to find a sister as beautiful, kind, and understanding as me?”

Lu Yin smiled. “Go to sleep.”

“Don’t think about unhappy things, even if you don’t want to tell me what they are,” Lin Qianqian said, sensing Lu Yin’s evasion.

Direct questions only made Lu Yin withdraw further, so she hugged her tightly. “Did you hear me? Say something!”

“I heard you,” Lu Yin said, holding her close, her hand gently patting Lin Qianqian’s back. “Aren’t you on vacation now?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can sleep in tomorrow.”

“So?” Lin Qianqian had expected a more elaborate plan, not this dismissive response.

She watched as Lu Yin closed her eyes, her furrowed brow relaxing, and then she closed her own eyes, a sense of peace settling over her.

The bed was small, their bodies pressed together, but the warmth of Lu Yin’s embrace was enough.

---

Zhong Shiwu watched the security footage from Ming Yao’s room, fast-forwarding through the mundane details of her daily routine.

Her meals were regular, her medication taken as prescribed, no arguments with the nurses, her behavior a model of obedience.

It seemed she had finally learned her lesson.

Zhong Shiwu called the nurse in charge of Ming Yao’s care and instructed her to allow Ming Yao some supervised outdoor activities.

She then checked the refrigerator, noticing a few new additions: sweet snacks, several packages of unopened chocolate liqueur candies, and a new set of orange cutlery.

The tablecloth was also orange. She looked around the room, realizing she had acquired quite a few orange items recently.

“Too much trouble to put them away,” she muttered, not wanting to change the tablecloth.

She hadn’t used such bright, youthful colors in years.

Perhaps Ming Yao’s presence was having an unexpected effect, a splash of color in her otherwise monochromatic world.

That evening, she declined Yu Miao’s invitation to dinner at the institution and drove to the hospital.

Ming Yao was asleep, her cheeks flushed, her breathing regular.

Zhong Shiwu sat beside her bed, watching her, her gaze a mixture of calculation and something else, something she couldn’t quite name.

A living, breathing burden. But not entirely unwelcome.

As long as she obeyed, she wasn’t a problem.

Ming Yao was surprisingly easy to control.

Ming Yao’s eyes fluttered open, and she saw Zhong Shiwu sitting there, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and a strange, unwelcome excitement.

She moved away, her body pressed against the far side of the bed, her gaze wary.

“How have you been?” Zhong Shiwu asked, her voice calm and even, her expression neutral.

“I’m fine. You already know, don’t you?” Ming Yao mumbled, watching her carefully.

“How would I know?” Zhong Shiwu smiled faintly. “I had to come see for myself. What if they were lying?”

“You’ve seen me now. You can leave,” Ming Yao said, turning her back to Zhong Shiwu, hoping she would disappear.

“I thought you would be happy to see me. I even canceled a date for this,” Zhong Shiwu said.

“A date?” Ming Yao asked, her voice sharp, her body tensing. “With who?”

“Curious, are we?” Zhong Shiwu asked, not elaborating, the question enough to distract Ming Yao.

“She’ll be angry,” Ming Yao said.

“Would you be angry if I went on a date instead of visiting you?”

Ming Yao didn’t answer, confused by the question, a familiar tactic from their time together, Zhong Shiwu’s words a playful tease, a subtle manipulation.

Back then, she had believed she belonged to Zhong Shiwu, that Zhong Shiwu’s affection, her attention, should be solely hers, and she had been angered by such questions, her frustration often escalating into self-harm, banging her head against the wall, the physical pain a release from the emotional turmoil within.

Zhong Shiwu, seeing her distress, would apologize, her words a soothing balm, her touch a comforting reassurance, the earlier cruelty a forgotten dream.

But now, Ming Yao knew better than to interpret these words as genuine affection.

It wasn’t flirting, not anymore.

This woman, her words so sweet, so manipulative, her apologies so easily offered, her smile so condescending, her every action a calculated move, her power absolute.

Ming Yao knew she was completely under Zhong Shiwu’s control, her mind, her body, a willing captive.

Zhong Shiwu’s every word, every action, was for her own benefit, her own amusement. No one else mattered.

So why was she here, after abandoning Ming Yao, discarding her like a broken toy?

Her words weren’t meant to control, but they weren’t meant to comfort either.

“I won’t be fooled again,” Ming Yao said, her voice low, her gaze fixed on the floor.

“But you’re still struggling with the chopsticks,” Zhong Shiwu said, sitting on the edge of the bed, close to Ming Yao. “Or am I mistaken?”

Ming Yao’s gaze immediately shifted to the security camera above her bed, a constant reminder of Zhong Shiwu’s surveillance, her control.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” she asked, her voice trembling, her body shaking with a familiar fear. “We’re not related anymore! You said it yourself! You’re the one who didn’t want me!”

“I’m seeing a doctor! I’m taking my medication! I don’t need you!” she said, pushing at Zhong Shiwu, wanting her to leave, her presence a suffocating weight in the sterile room.

Zhong Shiwu, seeing her distress, opened the window, the cold night air a welcome relief.

“As your doctor, I have to monitor your progress,” she said, ignoring Ming Yao’s outburst, shifting back to her professional persona. “I can’t afford to offend you, not with your family connections.”

She deliberately placed herself in a position of subservience, hoping to gain Ming Yao’s trust, or at least, her defiance, a way to engage her, to draw her out.

“I want orange curtains!” Ming Yao said, her demand a test, her fear of angering Zhong Shiwu still a powerful force, the memories of their shared nights, Zhong Shiwu’s touch no longer comforting, but invasive, her anger a terrifying presence, the feeling of suffocation a visceral reminder.

“They’ve already been changed. And the tablecloth, the cutlery…even the spoons have little orange cat ears. Don’t you want to see?”

“Really…?” Ming Yao looked at her, her hands clutching the sheets, her voice barely a whisper. “I…I don’t believe you…”

“It doesn’t matter what you believe,” Zhong Shiwu shrugged. “It’s getting late. I should be going.”

She poured a glass of water and placed it on the table. “You’re recovering well. We’ll see how you’re doing after the New Year. You might be able to go home then.”

“Who wants to spend the New Year in a hospital…?”

“You can ask Ming Yi to take you home.”

It was an empty suggestion, a cruel reminder of Ming Yi’s indifference.

Zhong Shiwu reached out a hand, as if to touch Ming Yao’s face, then stopped herself.

“Goodbye, Ming Yao,” she said, smiling, then left the room.

Ming Yao glanced at the time. 9:30 PM.

She had been here for days, hadn’t even left the room.

The open window let in a stream of fresh air, a welcome change from the sterile, suffocating atmosphere of the hospital.

She looked out the window and saw Zhong Shiwu walking towards the parking garage, her white coat replaced by a black overcoat, her figure tall and elegant, her movements graceful, her hand holding her car keys.

It was too late to call out to her, to ask to go home with her.

She pressed the call button, asking the nurse for a change of clothes.

She showered and dressed, her appearance carefully curated, a mask for the turmoil within, and then, just before eleven, she left the hospital.

Her heart pounded in her chest as the car drove through the familiar streets, her hands clasped together in a silent prayer, her palms damp with sweat.

As the car pulled up to the familiar villa, her carefully constructed composure crumbled, tears streaming down her face.

She felt strangely detached, her emotions numb, yet the tears kept coming, a physical manifestation of her anxiety, her fear.

She placed her hand on the fingerprint lock, took a deep breath, and then pressed her finger against the cool metal.

A beep. The lock disengaged.

She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, wondering if she should go inside.

She would trust Zhong Shiwu one last time. This was her last chance.

She opened the door and stepped inside.

Zhong Shiwu was sitting on the sofa, facing the door, as if expecting her.

“Good evening, Ming Yao. We meet again,” she said, standing up and walking towards Ming Yao, stopping a few feet away.

The curtains were orange, the tablecloth, the rug, everything bathed in the warm, inviting glow of her favorite color.

Ming Yao’s throat tightened, and she looked at Zhong Shiwu, her smile a beacon in the darkness, her presence a comforting warmth, and she couldn’t stop herself.

She took a few hesitant steps, then rushed forward, her arms wrapping around Zhong Shiwu, her embrace tight and desperate.

Chapter 63

Lin Qianqian didn’t know how to comfort Lu Yin.

Kisses weren’t enough. She held Lu Yin close, wanting her to see only Lin Qianqian, not the ghost that haunted her dreams.

She drifted off to sleep, waking up alone in the loft, Lu Yin gone.

She couldn’t imagine how Lu Yin, after such a night, could go to work the next morning, her message a casual mention of her whereabouts, her tone betraying no hint of their shared vulnerability.

It was almost the Spring Festival, and many students were already on winter break, using the time to catch up on their studies, the holiday itself an afterthought.

A few teachers were still conducting intensive training courses, and Lu Yin, her schedule now free, had gone to the institution to help with the remaining students.

She had stayed with Lu Yin in the loft last night, unsure if Lu Yin had been fully present, her mind still trapped in her own world. She had prepared Lu Yin’s medication and water, then they had curled up together and fallen asleep.

If the memories of the loft were painful, then she would create new ones, memories of shared comfort, of quiet companionship.

Her message to Lu Yin had gone unanswered, and she had gone to work, her heart heavy with worry.

Three days until New Year’s Eve. The art classes had ended, and the teachers were cleaning the classrooms and offices, preparing for the holiday.

That evening, they had a casual dinner together in one of the empty classrooms.

Lu Yin glanced at the time. It was still early.

Yu Miao arrived, carrying a few bottles of wine.

“Am I late? I’ve been busy with classes. Finally have some free time,” she said.

“Perfect timing, Teacher Yu! We just finished cleaning,” one of the teachers joked.

Yu Miao laughed. “I’ll send a red envelope to the group chat and have three drinks as an apology.”

They sat down, Yu Miao beside Lu Yin. “Did you ask Shiwu if she’s coming?”

“She’s probably busy,” Lu Yin said, pouring herself a glass of hot water, which Yu Miao immediately took from her.

“Everyone’s drinking tonight. We won’t be able to get you to come out during the Spring Festival, so let’s enjoy ourselves tonight,” Yu Miao said, pouring her a glass of wine. “I’ll ask her. She might be going abroad again soon.”

Lu Yin knew Zhong Shiwu wasn’t going anywhere, but it wasn’t her business, so she didn’t say anything.

Yu Miao poured a round of drinks, then checked her phone. “She replied quickly. Said she has something to do and can’t make it.”

She remembered the recent news report. “Is she okay?”

Lu Yin’s lips tightened. “Isn’t the answer obvious?”

“Right. She’s too clever for her own good,” Yu Miao said dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like we ever get everyone together anyway.”

The conversation drifted from students to teachers, to difficult clients, the usual office gossip.

Lu Yin listened quietly, avoiding eye contact, her responses brief and noncommittal.

“How are things with your sister?” Yu Miao asked, wanting to know more, but hesitant to pry.

“We’re fine,” Lu Yin said, not wanting to elaborate.

Her colleagues at the institution weren’t fond of Lin Qianqian, and she knew why. She didn’t want to mediate, to smooth things over.

Lin Qianqian’s world revolving around Lu Yin was ideal.

“Hasn’t her mother contacted her? She’s her daughter, after all. She abandoned her and left you to raise her, and now she’s expecting you to take care of her again?” Yu Miao said, her voice filled with indignation. “You always get stuck with the messy situations.”

“Why bring that up?” Lu Yin asked, taking a sip of wine, then setting the glass down, the alcohol too strong for her liking.

“I’m just worried about you,” Yu Miao sighed. “Lu Sui and I were classmates for years. If you hadn’t been so independent as a child, so reluctant to get close to anyone, I would have adopted you long ago.”

“I lost touch with Lu Sui after she got married. If it weren’t for the news, I wouldn’t have known…” she stopped herself, seeing Lu Yin’s expression darken. “I know you keep things bottled up. I’m glad Shiwu was there for you. That mother and daughter…”

Lu Yin didn’t want to assign blame, to dwell on the past. She didn’t want to think about the future either.

The present, with Lin Qianqian, was enough.

Yu Miao, despite her bluntness, had good intentions. Lu Yin wasn’t one for close friendships, but she appreciated Yu Miao’s concern.

“Fine, don’t talk about it. But as a mother, you have to care about your daughter,” Yu Miao said, looking at a picture of her own daughter on her phone. “My daughter is at boarding school, and I miss her terribly, even though she comes home every week. And some people abandon their daughters for years, without a word, leaving others to raise them.”

Lu Yin finished her wine, still silent.

Yu Miao glared at her, exasperated.

“Yu Jie, to you,” Lu Yin said, raising her glass.

Yu Miao, seeing her attempt to appease her, drained her glass. “Fine, I know you think I’m nagging.”

“I do it willingly,” Lu Yin murmured, more to herself than to Yu Miao.

She was usually so cautious, so controlled, but when it came to Lin Qianqian, she abandoned all reason, her actions driven by a desperate need to protect her, to keep her safe, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness, her own sanity.

She didn’t want to face the consequences of failure, so she kept pushing, kept gambling, her heart a burning inferno, her love a destructive force.

That night, after a few more drinks, she saw Lin Qianqian’s message and frowned, telling her to go to bed early, that she wouldn’t be coming home tonight.

Lin Qianqian immediately called her.

“Checking up on me? Where are you?” she demanded, as soon as Lu Yin answered. “Didn’t you say you didn’t have any more classes before the New Year? You’ve been gone all day, you didn’t pick me up from work, and now you’re not even coming home! My company gave us early leave for the Spring Festival. Everyone’s afraid of not being able to get tickets.”

“I have some things to do at the institution. I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” Lu Yin said.

She had been drinking and couldn’t drive. She would stay at the institution tonight.

“A single woman, staying out all night alone? I’m worried about you!” Lin Qianqian said, her voice filled with a feigned concern. “And as your older sister, I’m sure you’re worried about leaving your poor little sister all alone at home!”

“Lin Qian, I’ve been drinking.”

Silence.

Lin Qianqian assumed she was having dinner with her colleagues.

Lu Yin rarely socialized with them, and she couldn’t very well ask her to leave early.

“Can I…come to the institution?” she asked, then quickly added, “Actually, no. Enjoy your dinner. I’ll let you off the hook this time.”

Lu Yin saw through her feigned indifference.

“Come here. I want you to come.”

Lin Qianqian froze, those words, so simple, yet so powerful, more meaningful than “I love you,” a confirmation of their connection, their shared need for each other.

“Then wait for me…” she said, her voice soft. “Don’t drink too much…”

Lu Yin hung up and set down her wine glass.

She had had more than usual tonight, and her tolerance was low. She didn’t usually drink.

She poured herself a glass of water, her throat dry.

“Not drinking anymore?” Yu Miao asked.

“No,” Lu Yin said. “I’ll be leaving soon.”

Yu Miao, knowing who had called, didn’t say anything.

Everyone knew Lu Yin was hopelessly devoted to Lin Qianqian, but they couldn’t understand why.

Lu Yin couldn’t understand it either. What was it about this girl, so loud and demanding, yet so easily appeased, her academic and professional achievements mediocre, that had captivated her so completely?

She had never had a specific image of her ideal partner, her youth consumed by her passion for art.

But others would have assumed she would choose someone equally accomplished, someone who shared her artistic sensibilities.

She opened the map app on her phone, her gaze fixed on the red dot that represented Lin Qianqian, watching as it moved closer, fifteen kilometers, ten, five, one…

Then it stopped at an intersection, moving slowly towards the institution.

She must have taken a taxi. Lu Yin wondered if she was dressed warmly and grabbed her coat, even though she was already wearing a thick sweater.

Lin Qianqian entered the building, saw Lu Yin waiting in the hallway, and ran towards her.

“Why aren’t you wearing a coat? Aren’t you cold?” she asked, taking the coat from Lu Yin and helping her put it on.

“The heater’s on inside. I’m not cold.”

“But we’re outside!” Lin Qianqian retorted, zipping up the coat. “If you don’t care about yourself, I care about you.”

She smelled the alcohol on Lu Yin’s breath. “Is the dinner over?”

“Not yet, but I can leave now,” Lu Yin said honestly. She felt a wave of dizziness and leaned against the wall for a moment.

Lin Qianqian held her arm, wondering how much she had drunk.

“Lin Qian, I had a bit too much to drink tonight,” Lu Yin said, her arm resting on Lin Qianqian’s shoulder.

“Are you okay? Do you need some water?” Lin Qianqian asked, looking around. “Where’s the convenience store?”

She didn’t want to go inside the classroom. She didn’t know anyone there.

“I’m fine,” Lu Yin said, closing her eyes, her hand finding Lin Qianqian’s, their fingers interlacing.

“Sister, are you okay?” Lin Qianqian asked, her face close to Lu Yin’s, her gaze searching.

Lu Yin opened her eyes, her gaze meeting Lin Qianqian’s, then quickly looking away. “Just a little dizzy. I wish you hadn’t come.”

“What?!” Lin Qianqian tugged at her sleeve. “Don’t say that!”

“I mean…I’m probably drunk. Seeing you just makes me want to kiss you.”

Lin Qianqian was startled. She hadn’t expected such a direct confession from Lu Yin, especially when she was drunk.

She had rarely seen this side of Lu Yin, her words and actions since last night unsettling, her emotions a mystery.

She needed to learn more about this woman, her moods, her desires.

But she liked this Lu Yin, the one who said exactly what she wanted to hear.

“Kissing here…isn’t that a bit inappropriate…?” Lin Qianqian asked, her hands on Lu Yin’s collar, her body pressing against Lu Yin’s, her words a coy pretense, her actions bold and unrestrained.

“It is,” Lu Yin said, straightening up and pulling Lin Qianqian away from the wall. “Let’s go.”

“You’re really…” Lin Qianqian sighed, feigning disappointment. “I was just being coy!”

“Hurry up,” Lu Yin said, quickening her pace.

Lin Qianqian wondered if Lu Yin had been faking her dizziness. She was practically running now.

“No!” Lin Qianqian protested. “Legs aren’t just for walking.”

“What else are they for?” Lu Yin asked, calling a taxi.

“For wrapping around you,” Lin Qianqian whispered in her ear. “Tonight?”

Lu Yin glanced at her. “Sure.”

“Are you really drunk?” Lin Qianqian asked, unable to decipher Lu Yin’s behavior.

This was so unlike her.

Perhaps she should buy some stronger alcohol and get Lu Yin drunk more often. It was much more fun.

A drunk Lu Yin was more compliant, more affectionate, her usual inhibitions gone.

“Are you drunk or not?” she asked again, leaning closer.

Under the dim streetlights, her voice was soft and sweet, her eyes shining with a playful innocence.

Lu Yin stared at her for a moment, then pulled her along, her pace quickening.

“Where are we going?” Lin Qianqian asked, struggling to keep up.

They bypassed the offices and studios, Lu Yin leading her upstairs to a small room.

She unlocked the door, pulled Lin Qianqian inside, locked the door again, and kissed her, her movements swift and decisive.

Lin Qianqian, caught off guard, her mind still trying to process what was happening, felt Lu Yin’s lips on hers, her tongue teasing, her teeth gently nibbling.

She was pressed against the door, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of Lu Yin’s body, the intimacy of their embrace.

This was Lu Yin’s room at the institution, a place she had never been before.

She had imagined a small, cramped space, a single bed, the sounds of their lovemaking easily overheard.

But the room was spacious, the silence amplifying the sounds of their kisses, the only indication of their location the faint echoes of their movements.

“Open your mouth,” Lu Yin murmured against her lips.

Lin Qianqian obeyed, her mind, usually racing with thoughts and plans, now quiet, her focus solely on the sensations, the pleasure of Lu Yin’s touch, her taste.

Her eyes scanned the room, the walls covered in paintings, a familiar sight, a reminder of Lu Yin’s old bedroom in their childhood home, the canvases and art supplies neatly arranged.

Back then, she had often messed up Lu Yin’s carefully organized space, the habit persisting even now.

Lu Yin lifted her onto the desk, the scattered paintbrushes clattering to the floor, the sound amplified by the quietness of the room.

Lin Qianqian, always one to follow through on her promises, especially to Lu Yin, wrapped her legs around Lu Yin’s waist, her earlier suggestion no longer a playful tease, but a demand.

The room was silent, their only audience the paintings on the wall, silent witnesses to their forbidden desires.

Lin Qianqian tasted the lingering sweetness of wine on Lu Yin’s tongue, the flavor intoxicating.

“Sister, you’re so sweet…” she murmured, her words a playful challenge, a teasing reminder of their shared intimacy.

Lu Yin looked at her, the expression in Lin Qianqian’s eyes unchanged, the same playful innocence, the same unwavering devotion.

Before they had left their old home, Lu Yin had believed she had a responsibility to protect Lin Qianqian, to guide her, her actions tempered by a sense of duty, of sisterly love.

But now, looking into Lin Qianqian’s eyes, she felt something else, a deeper connection, a forbidden longing.

She had been unwilling to shatter the delicate balance of their relationship, but Lin Qianqian had always been the one to push, to break through the barriers, her boldness a disruptive force, her love a consuming fire.

Lu Yin smiled, her hand moving to Lin Qianqian’s most sensitive places, her touch expertly eliciting moans and gasps, silencing her playful banter.

She wiped the moisture from the desk, watching Lin Qianqian’s flushed face, her eyes closed, her body trembling, and chuckled.

She wasn’t a good sister, not really. She couldn’t let Lin Qianqian go, couldn’t bear the thought of her with anyone else. She would pull her back, keep her close, even if it meant hurting her.

The desk was slippery, and Lin Qianqian slid forward, her arms tightening around Lu Yin’s waist, afraid of falling.

Lu Yin lifted her and carried her to the bed.

Lin Qianqian finally caught her breath.

“Sister, I can’t breathe…” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“Why?” Lu Yin asked, not offering any assistance, her gaze lingering on Lin Qianqian’s flushed face, her parted lips, her rapid breathing.

She could control her emotions, but not her desire for Lin Qianqian, the primal urge to touch her, to taste her, to possess her.

Lin Qianqian’s hands gripped the sheets.

She shouldn’t have provoked Lu Yin, not when she was drunk, not here, in the institution, the risk of discovery, however small, a terrifying prospect.

Lu Yin’s teeth would find her skin again, the pressure increasing, a slow, torturous exploration.

“You know…” Lin Qianqian whispered, taking Lu Yin’s hand. “If you kiss me, I won’t be able to…”

“Really…” she whimpered, her tears a mixture of pleasure and fear. “I can’t control myself…”

Chapter 62

Early that morning, Zhong Shiwu went to the branch hospital.

“How is she?” she asked, holding the security footage from the previous night.

“Ming Xiaojie refused to eat or take her medication. She wouldn’t sleep either, no matter how much we tried to comfort her,” the nurse reported, carefully watching Zhong Shiwu’s expression.

The footage showed Ming Yao banging her head against the wall, her body writhing in pain.

Zhong Shiwu frowned, rewinding the video. “Her forehead has been bandaged. We didn’t administer any medication without your authorization,” the nurse explained quickly.

“Call me immediately if this happens again,” Zhong Shiwu said, her voice sharp.

Even if it was the middle of the night, even if she was asleep.

It seemed Ming Yao was going to disrupt her sleep schedule.

She sighed, then asked, “Did she take her morning medication?”

“No…she’s only had the initial sedative and IV fluids since she was admitted,” the nurse said quietly, afraid of angering Zhong Shiwu.

“Give it to me,” Zhong Shiwu said, taking the medication and walking towards Ming Yao’s room.

The girl was awake, her eyes red and puffy, tears staining her cheeks, her gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Hearing footsteps, she quickly wiped her face and turned away, her back to the door.

Zhong Shiwu rattled the pill bottle, then pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. “Aren’t you going to take your medicine?”

Ming Yao’s body stiffened, but she pulled the covers over her head, her silence a stubborn refusal.

“Lying on your side like that will restrict blood flow,” Zhong Shiwu said, adjusting the IV line and pulling the covers down slightly, but Ming Yao quickly pulled them back up, hiding her face.

“If you don’t want to see me, I’ll leave. It’s almost the Spring Festival, and I’m quite busy,” Zhong Shiwu stood up, the chair scraping against the floor. “Listen to the nurses. Otherwise, you might die here alone, and no one will even know.”

Ming Yao sat up abruptly, the IV line pulling at her arm, blood welling up, but she ignored it.

Zhong Shiwu adjusted the line. “I won’t be able to visit again until after the New Year. Make sure you survive until then.”

Ming Yao grabbed her sleeve, her red-rimmed eyes pleading with her.

“What?” Zhong Shiwu asked, pretending not to understand.

“I need water…to take my medicine…” Ming Yao mumbled, unable to articulate her true feelings, her need for Zhong Shiwu’s presence, her touch.

She had been tricked twice, betrayed, abandoned, but seeing Zhong Shiwu here, in her room, she couldn’t resist reaching out, her heart aching with a desperate longing.

Last night, alone in the bed, the pain had been unbearable, a physical ache that had kept her awake, her heart pounding, her breath shallow, the fear of dying alone, unnoticed, a constant torment.

She had banged her head against the wall, the physical pain a welcome distraction, a confirmation that she was still alive.

Zhong Shiwu had brought her water, her gaze lingering on the bandage on Ming Yao’s forehead. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

“It’s none of your business,” Ming Yao had said, taking the medication and swallowing it, then leaning against the wall, her silence a protective barrier.

She knew she shouldn’t be seeking comfort from Zhong Shiwu, her actions only reinforcing her dependence, her vulnerability, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Zhong Shiwu leaving, her presence a lifeline in this sterile, isolating environment.

“You can tell me anything. Ming Yi asked me to take care of you. I can’t just ignore you,” Zhong Shiwu had said.

Ming Yao’s anger flared.

So, it wasn’t genuine concern, just another obligation, another task assigned by Ming Yi.

Was pleasing Ming Yi that important?

She got out of bed, dragging the IV stand with her.

“Where are you going?” Zhong Shiwu asked, not stopping her.

“To the bathroom,” Ming Yao said, her legs weak, her head dizzy from lying in bed for so long.

“Do you need help with the IV stand?”

The only response was the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut.

A few minutes later, Ming Yao emerged, and Zhong Shiwu, leaning against the wall, watched her, her movements slow and unsteady.

The bed was a few steps away, an insurmountable distance.

“Excuse me,” Ming Yao said, her head down, as she approached Zhong Shiwu.

Zhong Shiwu stepped aside, her gaze following Ming Yao as she climbed back into bed.

“Contact me if you need anything. I’ll come visit when I have time,” she said.

“Would you still visit if Ming Yi hadn’t asked you to?” Ming Yao asked, her voice filled with a quiet desperation, still fixated on this question. “Am I just a tool to appease Ming Yi, or do you actually…enjoy treating me like this?”

“Why do you care?” Zhong Shiwu asked, her gaze fixed on the window. “It’s irrelevant.”

Ming Yao followed her gaze. “I don’t like the blue curtains. Change them to orange.”

“How long do you plan on staying here?” Zhong Shiwu asked, looking at her. “You’re already redecorating?”

“Until I die,” Ming Yao said.

“Don’t say such things,” Zhong Shiwu chuckled. “Orange curtains, like the ones at your house?”

Ming Yao paused. “What do you mean…?”

“Nothing. I just remembered something you asked me before,” Zhong Shiwu said vaguely. “Don’t you want to enjoy the Spring Festival?”

Ming Yao didn’t understand.

“I have to go. I’m busy,” Zhong Shiwu said, heading towards the door. “Listen to the nurses, and don’t cause any trouble.”

Ming Yao still didn’t understand, her mind already drifting, the medication making her feel sleepy.

She closed her eyes, the memories of her time with Zhong Shiwu, both good and bad, a constant companion in her sleepless nights.

—”Can I come see you?”

The words echoed in her mind, her earlier question to Zhong Shiwu at the fast food restaurant, and her sleepiness vanished.

Zhong Shiwu had asked her, “Don’t you want to enjoy the Spring Festival?”

Would visiting Zhong Shiwu make it a happy New Year?

And had Zhong Shiwu meant it? Had it been a genuine invitation?

Zhong Shiwu usually spent the holidays abroad, away from the noise and crowds.

Ming Yao wanted to try again, one last time. If Zhong Shiwu rejected her again, she would leave, disappear, start over somewhere new.

---

Lu Yin hadn’t had a nightmare in a long time.

She hadn’t stared at the painting in a long time either.

Now, she stood on the shore, the torn canvas clutched in her arms, the waves crashing against her legs, the cold water a welcome relief from the burning sensation within.

If they died together, no one could separate them, no one could take Lin Qianqian away from her.

But as the water engulfed her, the painting slipped from her grasp, floating towards the surface.

Seagulls circled overhead, their sharp beaks pecking at her face, their cries a mocking chorus as they tore at the canvas, carrying it away, towards the freedom of the open sky, leaving her alone in the darkness, the depths of the ocean consuming her.

She opened her eyes, the darkness of her bedroom a stark contrast to the vivid imagery of her dream, her body heavy with exhaustion.

She had never had a dream like that before, the nightmares replaced by this unsettling vision, the painting, her creation, her obsession, escaping her grasp, leaving her alone in the darkness.

She knew her reluctance to control Lin Qianqian’s social life wasn’t rational, but Lin Qianqian’s happiness was paramount. She wouldn’t stifle her spirit, her need for connection.

And the consequences, the pain, the loneliness, she would endure alone.

She carefully disentangled herself from Lin Qianqian’s sleeping embrace, trying to leave the bed without waking her.

“Sister…” Lin Qianqian mumbled, her arms tightening around Lu Yin, her eyes fluttering open. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to the loft for a while. Go back to sleep,” Lu Yin said, gently patting her back.

“More work?” Lin Qianqian asked, her voice thick with sleep, her hand still clinging to Lu Yin’s.

“No,” Lu Yin said, squeezing her hand, then, after a moment’s hesitation, added, “Here’s a pillow. Cuddle this.”

She placed the pillow in Lin Qianqian’s arms, watching her until she fell back asleep, then quietly went to the loft.

She rarely went there now, only to retrieve her art supplies, unlike before, when she had spent countless hours there, seeking solace in her work, her solitude.

She stood before the blank wall, removing the print, her gaze fixed on the empty hook.

She should remove it, she thought.

It was like a weed, its roots deep, its tendrils reaching out, threatening to engulf her again.

But Lin Qianqian was so attuned to her moods now, her every action, every word, scrutinized, her concern a constant presence, her tears a constant reminder of Lu Yin’s own fragility.

If she removed the hook, Lin Qianqian would ask questions, her curiosity insatiable.

She rehung the print, the deer grazing peacefully in the forest, and sat down on the floor by the window, wrapping a blanket around her, her body curled up in a protective ball.

If imprisoning someone wasn’t a crime, she would have done it long ago.

But now, her own thoughts, her own desires, were secondary to Lin Qianqian’s.

She was, at least, capable of empathy, of putting Lin Qianqian’s needs before her own, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness, her own sanity.

If Lin Qianqian ever told her she had fallen in love with someone else, Lu Yin wasn’t sure if she would be able to watch her go, to let her be happy, or if she would lash out, her jealousy a destructive force.

Being with Lin Qianqian had amplified her darker impulses, her possessive nature, but she kept them hidden, her outward calm a carefully constructed facade.

As long as Lin Qianqian was happy, that was enough.

Lin Qianqian’s happiness was her own.

Her sister was her priority.

She closed her eyes, unwilling to return to the bedroom, to the haunting image of her dream, the painting escaping her grasp, the seagulls mocking her, their cries a reminder of her own loneliness.

Footsteps echoed on the stairs, a long shadow falling across her, the figure moving quickly, then kneeling before her.

“Sister, why are you sleeping here? And with just a pillow?” Lin Qianqian asked, taking her arm, trying to pull her up. “You’ll catch a cold.”

Lu Yin’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze unfocused, the figure before her blurring, shifting, merging with the image in her dream, the ghost that haunted her.

Lin Qianqian, seeing her unresponsive, shook her shoulder gently. “Sister…Sister…”

Her voice, laced with concern, her warm breath against Lu Yin’s cheek, pulled her deeper into the hallucination. She looked at Lin Qianqian, her gaze shifting to the corner of the loft, where another Lin Qianqian sat, tied to a chair, her muffled sobs echoing in the silence.

Two voices, two images, one real, one imagined, their boundaries blurring, indistinguishable.

Lu Yin closed her eyes, her mind unable to separate the real from the unreal.

Lin Qianqian took her hand and placed it on her chest, her lips finding Lu Yin’s closed eyelids, her kisses soft and gentle.

“Sister…I’m here…” she whispered, her body pressed against Lu Yin’s, her warmth a comforting contrast to the coldness of the floor.

She had never seen Lu Yin like this, lost in her own world, her usual composure shattered, her emotions a turbulent sea.

She didn’t want Lu Yin to suffer, even if her pain was ugly, her madness terrifying.

But despite her efforts, her love, Lu Yin’s recovery was slow, her pain a constant presence.

She felt so useless.

“Lin Qian, every night you weren’t here, this is how I spent them…” Lu Yin whispered, her eyes open now, but her gaze distant, unfocused.

Curled up in a small space, her body submerged in an imaginary ocean, the waves crashing over her, the coldness a constant torment.

“Sister, I’m sorry…” Lin Qianqian’s heart ached, her own guilt a heavy weight in her chest.

“When that…that person who looks like you appears, do you know what I do?” Lu Yin asked, a sad smile on her face. “I still kiss her…”

Lin Qianqian kissed her, her lips finding the tears that welled up in Lu Yin’s eyes, her own tears falling onto Lu Yin’s cheeks, tracing a path down her skin.

“But then I can’t stop myself…I hurt her…until she stops breathing…” Lu Yin whispered, her laughter a hollow, broken sound.

She deserved to die.

Even if the figure in her dreams was just a figment of her imagination, a cruel, mocking voice that tormented her with accusations and insults.

But it wore Lin Qianqian’s face, and she couldn’t bring herself to hurt it, not at first.

But once the intimacy began, she lost control, the suppressed desires, the years of loneliness and pain, erupting, consuming her, her actions driven by a force she couldn’t control.

She had killed Lin Qianqian countless times in her dreams.

Chapter 61

Early in the morning, Zhong Shiwu went to the branch hospital.

“How is she?” she asked, looking at the sleeping girl in the bed.

“Ming Xiaojie was screaming all night. The nurses couldn’t calm her down. We had to sedate her. She finally fell asleep just before dawn,” the nurse reported, watching Zhong Shiwu’s expression carefully.

“Keep a close eye on her. Notify me immediately if anything happens,” Zhong Shiwu said, her hand in her pocket, then added, feeling a pang of guilt, “She’s a Ming, after all. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

“Of course, Doctor Zhong.”

“Her somatic symptoms are quite pronounced. Give her some mild painkillers,” Zhong Shiwu said, picking up the chart. “Keep a detailed record of her medication, the dosage, the timing, and any unusual behavior.”

The nurse nodded, though it wasn’t the first time she had heard these instructions.

Zhong Shiwu seemed unusually concerned about this patient, perhaps because of her connection to the Ming family.

The nurse didn’t pry, following Zhong Shiwu’s instructions, then reviewed the security footage from the previous night.

Zhong Shiwu was alone in the room, watching Ming Yao sleep, her brow furrowed.

The footage showed Ming Yao in a state of frenzy, her usual cheerfulness and quietness replaced by a violent, almost animalistic rage, her body thrashing against the restraints, her hands and feet flailing, her screams echoing in the sterile room.

Zhong Shiwu touched Ming Yao’s face gently. “If the medication doesn’t work, we’ll have to consider other options,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

She didn’t have the time or energy for this, not anymore.

---

That evening, after dinner, Zhong Shiwu received an unexpected invitation from Lu Yin.

She readily accepted, putting on her coat and heading out, her surprise turning to understanding as she saw Lin Qianqian waiting with Lu Yin.

So, it was Lin Qianqian’s idea, not Lu Yin’s.

They were at a casual cafe, one of Lin Qianqian’s usual haunts.

“My treat! I’ll order for everyone!” Lin Qianqian said cheerfully, heading towards the counter.

Lu Yin and Zhong Shiwu sat facing each other in silence.

“It must be nice to have such a lively companion,” Zhong Shiwu said, watching Lin Qianqian, a subtle smile playing on her lips. “A bit of chaos can be quite entertaining, don’t you think?”

Lu Yin looked at her, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words.

“Most of my teenage patients are struggling with parental pressure or unrequited love,” Zhong Shiwu said, her gaze fixed on the table. “Perhaps it’s because I’ve been a doctor for so long, but I always feel a pang of sympathy for them. They seem so lost, so unsure of themselves, their lives defined by others.”

“Do you think I should save her?” she asked, her gaze shifting to Lin Qianqian. “She’s so young, her life full of possibilities.”

She remembered Lu Yin years ago, similarly withdrawn, her emotions suppressed, her world a self-imposed isolation.

She had helped Lu Yin then, out of loyalty to Lu Sui.

But now, her motivations were different.

Lu Yin remained silent, her expression unreadable.

Zhong Shiwu wasn’t expecting a response, her words more of a soliloquy than a conversation.

She knew Lu Yin was like this, her focus always on her own needs, her own desires.

Lin Qianqian returned with their drinks, and Lu Yin stood up to help her.

“I heard you like coffee, Dr. Zhong, so I ordered the house special. The owner said it’s very popular,” Lin Qianqian said, placing the coffee in front of Zhong Shiwu.

Zhong Shiwu thanked her, studying Lin Qianqian’s expression. She could tell Lin Qianqian had something to ask, otherwise Lu Yin wouldn’t have agreed to this meeting.

They both knew about Ming Yao’s situation, but Lin Qianqian didn’t.

If this was Lin Qianqian’s doing, then Lu Yin might compromise again, her carefully constructed defenses crumbling under Lin Qianqian’s influence.

Every patient she had ever treated had found something, someone, to cling to, their hope, their reason for living.

And they would do anything to protect that hope, that fragile connection to life.

“It’s almost the Spring Festival. You must be busy with work,” Zhong Shiwu said, starting the conversation.

“Not really. We don’t do overtime at my company,” Lin Qianqian said, smiling. “My boss is very good to us.”

She was still a bit intimidated by Zhong Shiwu, despite her skepticism about mind-reading. Sitting in front of a psychiatrist always made her feel exposed, her thoughts transparent.

“No wonder I can never get Lu Yin to meet on weekends. You two are enjoying your little world, aren’t you?”

“Lately…” Lin Qianqian glanced at Lu Yin. “My sister’s sleep schedule has been a mess. She usually spends her weekends resting, trying to catch up on sleep.”

Lu Yin didn’t react to the obvious lie, taking a sip of her warm milk.

She wasn’t a fan of cafes, so she had ordered the same drink as Lin Qianqian.

“And you?” Zhong Shiwu asked, sensing Lin Qianqian’s hesitation, prompting her to ask the question she had been avoiding.

“I’ve been trying to get Ming Yao to come out,” Lin Qianqian said, her voice trailing off, then she asked tentatively, “Have you heard from her recently?”

She knew Ming Yao had moved out, had cut ties with Zhong Shiwu, but she didn’t know what had happened after that.

Zhong Shiwu decided not to beat around the bush. “She’s sick. Didn’t you know? You’re her friend.”

Lu Yin glanced at Zhong Shiwu, her expression disapproving. Her words had been too blunt.

Zhong Shiwu, sensing Lu Yin’s displeasure, softened her tone. “Her condition isn’t good. She needs to be hospitalized.”

“Can I visit her? Which hospital is she at? I can’t reach her. Her phone is off,” Lin Qianqian asked, her voice filled with a sudden anxiety.

“The Ming family is keeping a close watch on her. No visitors allowed,” Zhong Shiwu said.

“Dr. Zhong, please, you have to help her!” Lin Qianqian pleaded, remembering the news report, the image of Ming Yao’s breakdown, a stark contrast to her usual vibrant self. “When I saw her last, she said she needed you, that she loved you…You’re the only one who can help her.”

Lin Qianqian knew Ming Yao wasn’t close to Ming Yi.

Ming Yao had said Zhong Shiwu was the only person she trusted.

Lin Qianqian didn’t question it, her loyalty to her friend unwavering.

“If I could just see her…” she said, her voice trembling, her eyes filling with tears. “She used to be so cheerful, so kind. I told you before, she’s a good person!”

Zhong Shiwu looked at Lu Yin, who remained silent, her expression unreadable.

Perhaps her assumption was correct. This meeting, this three-way conversation, was orchestrated by Lu Yin.

Lu Yin would do anything to isolate Lin Qianqian, to keep her away from outside influences, but she would also yield to Lin Qianqian’s wishes, even if it meant compromising her own plans, her own desires.

She had barely spoken since they arrived, her true intentions hidden beneath a mask of indifference.

But Zhong Shiwu knew she was making a concession, a sacrifice, for Lin Qianqian.

Lin Qianqian’s tears overflowed, Zhong Shiwu’s silence a confirmation of her fears.

“I know you’re a very experienced doctor, Dr. Zhong. Please, help her,” she pleaded, reaching out a hand, then stopping herself. “I don’t want to lose my friend.”

Lu Yin’s grip tightened on her glass, her knuckles white.

“I’ll do what I can,” Zhong Shiwu said, raising her coffee cup. “Consider this a promise.”

“Should I drink it all in one gulp?” Lin Qianqian asked, holding her cup with both hands, her voice childlike, her question a desperate attempt to regain some control, some semblance of normalcy.

“Of course,” Zhong Shiwu said, smiling.

“Don’t be silly,” Lu Yin said, taking the cup from Lin Qianqian’s hand before she could drink it.

She finally reached out, wiping away Lin Qianqian’s tears, her touch gentle, almost hesitant.

“It’s getting late,” she said.

“Leaving already?” Zhong Shiwu asked, her gaze fixed on Lu Yin.

Lu Yin was always like this, eager to escape, unwilling to linger, her discomfort palpable.

“Why don’t you stay a little longer? Sister, haven’t you seen Dr. Zhong in a while?” Lin Qianqian asked, her voice solicitous.

“Yes, your sister is a busy woman. Impossible to get ahold of,” Zhong Shiwu said, glancing at the calendar. “It’s almost the Spring Festival. Are you celebrating with Yu Miao this year?”

“We’ll see,” Lu Yin said.

“That means no,” Zhong Shiwu said, easily deciphering Lu Yin’s evasiveness.

“I haven’t finished organizing the student applications for the next term. I have to go back to work,” Lu Yin said, her intention to leave clear.

“Didn’t you finish that a few days ago?” Lin Qianqian asked, confused.

Lu Yin ignored her, standing up and pulling Lin Qianqian along.

Lin Qianqian turned around and waved at Zhong Shiwu. “Bye, Dr. Zhong!”

Zhong Shiwu waved back, smiling, then, alone in the cafe, her thoughts returned to Ming Yao.

She felt a pang of sympathy for the girl, a strange, unfamiliar emotion.

She wasn’t sure what to do with it, whether to suppress it or acknowledge it. It was the first time she had hesitated.

Back at her apartment, she signed for a few packages, noticing a bag of chocolate liqueur candies.

She had just thrown away the rest a few days ago. She had forgotten about these.

She had been buying them regularly for Ming Yao, a habit she hadn’t broken yet.

There was no point in returning them. It was just candy. She opened the bag and poured the candies onto the table.

She took one, tasted it, and then spat it out, her face contorted in disgust.

They tasted awful.

She made some tea, trying to cleanse her palate, then sat on the sofa and turned on the TV, her mind still on Ming Yao, the taste of the candy a lingering reminder.

She couldn’t focus on the show, the sweetness of the chocolate, the bitterness of the liqueur, a strange, unsettling combination.

Was it the candy, or her own guilt?

She closed her eyes, the image of Ming Yao clinging to her legs, her tearful pleas echoing in her mind.

She tried to dismiss it as professional concern, a doctor’s empathy for her patient.

But she couldn’t.

She was always able to separate her work life from her personal life, her off-duty hours a sanctuary from the emotional burdens of her profession.

But Ming Yao was different, an exception she had recognized long ago, a connection she couldn’t deny.

The TV was replaying the news report, and she opened her eyes, hearing Ming Yao’s voice.

The reporters, after she had left, had focused on Ming Yao, their cameras capturing her distress, her breakdown.

Ming Yao’s face, pale and contorted, her screams silenced by the news broadcast, but her anguish clearly visible.

Zhong Shiwu could read her lips.

She was looking in Zhong Shiwu’s direction, her words a desperate plea.

“Mom, save me…”

“Please…”

“Help me…”

The memory of that day, Ming Yao’s frantic cries, her hands banging against the ambulance window, made Zhong Shiwu feel a surge of inexplicable anger.

She reached for the remote, wanting to turn off the TV, but it slipped from her hand, falling to the floor.

She stood up, picked it up, and pressed the power button, Ming Yao’s face, her tear-streaked eyes, meeting Zhong Shiwu’s gaze through the camera lens.

The intensity of her gaze, her unspoken accusation, was almost unbearable.

She remembered looking away that day, unable to meet Ming Yao’s eyes.

Ming Yi had said she would take care of Ming Yao.

And Lu Yin, because of Lin Qianqian, had allowed it.

Zhong Shiwu’s own emotional instability, her guilt, her growing unease, made her feel a pang of self-loathing. She took a deep breath, then swept the candies off the table, her movements clumsy, her body trembling slightly.

She sank onto the sofa, her hands clenched into fists.

The New Year was just a few days away.

She would be forty years old soon, and she was letting a twenty-something-year-old girl control her emotions, her actions.

Was this her punishment for being too ruthless?