Category: Immature Confession Day gl

Chapter 60

At the private hospital’s reception desk:

“Hello, I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Zhong in the psychiatry department.”

“The earliest available appointment is in three days,” the nurse replied, after checking the schedule.

“Do I need my ID to make an appointment?” Ming Yao asked, her face hidden behind her scarf. “I left home in a hurry and forgot it.”

Booking online would require her personal information, and Zhong Shiwu might refuse to see her.

“Just your name and phone number,” the nurse said.

“Ming…Ming Yi. Yi like in ‘appearance.’ And my phone number is…” Ming Yao recited her number, hoping Zhong Shiwu wouldn’t recognize it.

“Okay,” the nurse repeated the information. “We’ll contact you to confirm the appointment. Please bring your ID when you come.”

“Thank you,” Ming Yao said, turning and hurrying away, afraid of running into someone she knew.

She had snuck into the clinic several times before, often encountering Zhong Shiwu in conversation with other doctors and nurses. They had become familiar with her face.

---

Hearing a knock on the door, Zhong Shiwu called out, “Come in.”

She picked up a patient information form, her head down. “Hello.”

“Hello, Dr. Zhong.”

Zhong Shiwu paused, looking up, her gaze falling on the appointment slip. “Ming Yi?”

“Is there a problem?” Ming Yao asked, sitting down.

Zhong Shiwu looked at the form. “You couldn’t even make up a fake name?”

“My sister wouldn’t mind,” Ming Yao thought. Ming Yi wouldn’t care.

“Providing false information is a crime. We’ll have to report you to the police,” Zhong Shiwu said, tapping her phone meaningfully.

“I misspoke. I was nervous that day,” Ming Yao said, her heart pounding as she watched Zhong Shiwu scan her ID.

Zhong Shiwu ignored her excuse. “Tell me what you need.”

“I…I haven’t been feeling well lately. I wanted to talk to a psychiatrist,” Ming Yao said. “Are we talking as…mother and daughter, or…?”

Zhong Shiwu looked at her. “I’m a doctor, and I have a professional obligation to my patients. I don’t mix my personal life with my work.”

She replaced the information form with a questionnaire. “Fill this out.”

She began filling in Ming Yao’s information on the patient form.

Usually, patients filled out the forms themselves, but she already knew everything about Ming Yao.

She handed Ming Yao another form. “Go get an EEG. It’s in the building next door.”

Ming Yao took the form, then paused at the door, looking back at Zhong Shiwu. “Aren’t you going to pat my head? You weren’t this cold with your other patients.”

Zhong Shiwu, surprised by her request, forced a smile. “Ming Xiaojie, are you questioning my professionalism?”

“Just a reminder,” she glanced at the time. “Our session is ninety minutes, and the EEG takes at least thirty minutes, even if there’s no waiting time. You have sixty-five minutes left.”

“I can pay for extra time! I have money!” Ming Yao said, her voice rising in panic.

She had endured three days of agonizing withdrawal symptoms, desperate for Zhong Shiwu’s attention, her touch.

“It’s not about the money. It’s about my schedule. I have other patients this afternoon,” Zhong Shiwu said, checking her phone. “Sixty-three minutes.”

“You said I could report you if you were being unprofessional.”

Zhong Shiwu chuckled, staring at Ming Yao, speechless.

“I can afford it!” Ming Yao said, hurrying out of the room.

Whether she could afford it was irrelevant. Zhong Shiwu’s willingness to see her was the only thing that mattered.

Zhong Shiwu stood up and looked out the window, watching Ming Yao run towards the other building, her head swiveling, afraid of getting lost, of wasting time.

She smiled, sitting back down.

Patients exceeding their allotted time wasn’t unusual.

She didn’t like interrupting sessions, knowing it could be detrimental to a patient’s mental state, so she only scheduled two appointments per day, one in the morning, one in the afternoon.

Ming Yao, now separated from her, seemed to have regained some of her independence, her defiance, her playful banter, a welcome change from her earlier robotic obedience.

Half an hour later, Ming Yao rushed back into the room, forgetting to knock. “How much time do I have left?”

“Twenty minutes,” Zhong Shiwu said, choosing not to point out the obvious lie, opening the EEG results on her computer.

A bowl of chocolate liqueur candies sat on the corner of the desk, and Ming Yao’s eyes lit up. “Can I have one?”

Zhong Shiwu glanced at the candies. “Sure.”

“Why are there so many?” Ming Yao mumbled, popping one into her mouth.

Zhong Shiwu didn’t explain.

She had been planning to throw them away. There weren’t many left anyway.

But since Ming Yao was here, she might as well finish them.

What was the difference between eating them and throwing them away?

They wouldn’t be staying here.

The liquid center oozed out, and Ming Yao savored the taste, then asked, “Can I have another one?”

Zhong Shiwu looked at her. “Did you ever have two at a time before?”

Ming Yao couldn’t tell if it was a genuine question or a subtle rejection. “But I want to try.”

She was deliberately challenging Zhong Shiwu, trying to reclaim some semblance of control, to assert her independence.

They weren’t mother and daughter anymore. They were doctor and patient, a relationship of equals, or perhaps, with Ming Yao paying for the sessions, Ming Yao held the power.

“Go ahead. Eat as many as you want,” Zhong Shiwu said, finally smiling, her expression softening, a rare display of genuine warmth.

If this was the last time, she would indulge Ming Yao.

She unwrapped a candy and offered it to Ming Yao.

Ming Yao ate it, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s.

The gesture, so familiar, so comforting, brought tears to her eyes, a sudden wave of emotion overwhelming her.

Zhong Shiwu glanced at her, then returned her attention to the computer screen. “Fifteen minutes left. You can tell me anything you want. I’m listening.”

She knew Ming Yao didn’t need prompting, only permission.

“Are you my mother or my doctor?” Ming Yao asked, her voice trembling.

Zhong Shiwu paused. “Ming Xiaojie, I’ve already answered that question many times.”

“Okay…okay…Dr. Zhong…” Ming Yao took a deep breath. “My father is dead, and my stepmother doesn’t want me anymore…”

“Even though she has a temper sometimes, I still love her.”

Zhong Shiwu sighed, but let her continue.

“She’s all I have left…” Ming Yao wiped her eyes. “My sister doesn’t like me. I’m a burden to her. I’m useless. I only have my mother. Will she ever…look at me again…?”

Zhong Shiwu’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. She glanced at the time. “Seven minutes.”

Ming Yao’s sobs intensified.

Zhong Shiwu offered her a tissue, but Ming Yao didn’t take it.

“If my mother would just listen to me, I would tell her how much I miss her, how much I need her, how much I love her…I would beg her to come back…”

“I would be a good daughter. I would obey her, do anything she asked, as long as she didn’t leave me…”

A wave of discomfort washed over Zhong Shiwu, and she said coldly, “Finding missing persons is the police’s job, not a doctor’s. Three minutes.”

Ming Yao couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed Zhong Shiwu’s wrist. “Mom, I miss you so much…”

Zhong Shiwu’s hand moved away from the keyboard, but she didn’t pull away, Ming Yao’s fingers leaving red marks on her skin.

Ming Yao knelt beside her, her head bowed. “Please…just touch me…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She didn’t dare take Zhong Shiwu’s hand, her head lowered in supplication.

Zhong Shiwu looked at the diagnostic report, then, her gaze softening with a feigned sympathy, reached out and stroked Ming Yao’s hair. “Ming Yao, you’re sick.”

Ming Yao didn’t care. She was being touched, being comforted, and nothing else mattered.

“Sick people need treatment,” Zhong Shiwu said. “You might have to be hospitalized.”

She had asked a few questions, and Ming Yao had complained of joint pain, especially in her arms and legs, a psychosomatic symptom of her emotional distress.

If she couldn’t find a suitable solution, hospitalization was the only option.

Receiving no response, Zhong Shiwu’s hand moved to Ming Yao’s cheek, her fingers gently tracing the lines of her face. “Can you hear me?”

Ming Yao could hear her, but she didn’t want to think, didn’t want to break the spell, afraid the gentle touch would vanish if she moved, if she spoke.

“Time’s up. Sit down,” Zhong Shiwu said, trying to pull her up, but Ming Yao’s eyes pleaded with her.

“If you’re good, there will be a next time,” Zhong Shiwu said.

Ming Yao hesitated, then sat back down, taking the tissue Zhong Shiwu offered and wiping her tears.

“This is a hospitalization application,” Zhong Shiwu said, showing her the form. “You need your guardian’s signature.”

“Can’t you sign it for me?” Ming Yao asked, ignoring the name of the hospital on the form, a psychiatric institution.

“You should ask your current guardian, Ming Yi,” Zhong Shiwu said, handing her the form, her gaze lingering on the hospital’s name, her expression unreadable. “It’s Little New Year’s Eve tomorrow. You can visit her. She might have time to see you.”

---

The news of Ming Yi’s takeover of the Ming family business made headlines, the media vying for exclusive interviews.

Reporters swarmed Ming Yi’s residence early on Little New Year’s Eve.

Ming Yi stood at the entrance, calmly answering their questions, her demeanor unflappable, even offering assistance to a reporter who had been knocked over by the crowd, her public persona carefully crafted, her true self hidden beneath a mask of composure.

A car arrived, and Ming Yao emerged, walking towards the reporters, a folded piece of paper clutched in her hand, her outstretched arm a silent plea, her gaze fixed on Ming Yi.

“Yaoyao?” Ming Yi asked, recognizing her younger sister, the reporters quickly realizing who she was.

Ming Yi took the paper, unfolded it, then quickly refolded it, her expression unreadable.

A sharp-eyed reporter recognized the document as a hospitalization application for a psychiatric institution, and the questions shifted, their focus now on Ming Yao.

“Ming Zong, can you explain your sister’s condition? Why does she have a hospitalization application for a mental institution?”

“I apologize. My sister is unwell. I haven’t been able to take proper care of her,” Ming Yi said, her voice tinged with a feigned sadness, her words carefully chosen, avoiding any direct mention of Ming Yao’s mental state.

Security guards cleared a path for her, shielding her from the reporters, who swarmed Ming Yao, their microphones thrust in her face.

Ming Yao, overwhelmed by the crowd, their faces a blur of distorted features, their words a barrage of accusations, cowered against a car, her escape blocked.

“Can you explain this hospitalization application, Ming Xiaojie?”

“Is it true that your sister hasn’t contacted you in years?”

“Your sister is now the head of the Ming family, while you’re facing hospitalization for a mental illness. Do you resent her?”

Ming Yao sank to the ground, covering her ears, her mind reeling. “It’s not like that…it’s not like that…”

She had just wanted Ming Yi’s signature so Zhong Shiwu could take care of her.

These reporters were twisting everything, their questions a cruel mockery of her pain.

“Get away from her!” Ming Yi shouted, pushing a reporter aside and lifting Ming Yao into her arms. “Don’t be afraid, Yaoyao. I’m here.”

“Mom…I want my mom…go away! Go away!” Ming Yao struggled in Ming Yi’s embrace, her cries a desperate plea for Zhong Shiwu. “Dr. Zhong…I want Dr. Zhong…”

“Please, stop filming!” Ming Yi said, shielding Ming Yao’s face as the security guards pushed the reporters back.

An ambulance arrived, and Ming Yao, still struggling, was taken away.

Ming Yi, once again the center of attention, her eyes filled with fake tears, apologized for neglecting her sister and then reassured the reporters about the future of the Ming family business.

The cameras flashed, capturing Ming Yi’s performance, the ambulance still parked nearby, Ming Yao banging on the window, her cries for help muffled by the glass, the nurses restraining her.

The crowd dispersed, a few lingering reporters still hoping for a final quote, a dramatic image.

Zhong Shiwu, who had been watching from her car, finally got out.

She walked past the ambulance, hearing Ming Yao’s increasingly frantic cries.

She didn’t turn around, heading towards her house.

But the sound of the ambulance siren made her stop.

She watched as it drove away, Ming Yao’s tear-streaked face visible through the back window, her cries echoing in the cold air. “Mom…save me…”

Zhong Shiwu took a deep breath, composing herself, and entered the house.

“Good morning, Dr. Zhong. Sorry to keep you waiting,” Ming Yi said, pouring her a cup of tea. “Phoenix Dancong. It’s quite good.”

Zhong Shiwu smiled, taking the tea and placing it on the table without drinking it. “Hiring the most influential media outlets must have been expensive.”

“It was a small price to pay,” Ming Yi said. “The Ming family is in the spotlight now. Every media outlet wants an exclusive. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

She looked at Zhong Shiwu, her gaze filled with admiration. “You’re the most capable woman I know, Dr. Zhong. Your strategies are always so effective.”

Zhong Shiwu’s expression remained neutral. After a few minutes, she stood up. “I have patients to see. I should be going.”

“Of course. Please, attend to your work,” Ming Yi said, standing up to see her out.

“There’s no need, Ming Zong,” Zhong Shiwu said, stopping at the door.

“Ming Zong,” she said again.

Ming Yi looked at her.

“I assume I’ll be in charge of Ming Yao’s care from now on?” Zhong Shiwu asked, her expression unreadable.

“Of course. That was our agreement, wasn’t it?” Ming Yi said quickly.

Zhong Shiwu nodded and left.

---

On Little New Year’s Eve, Lin Qianqian and Lu Yin were making dumplings.

“Is the filling a bit bland, Sister? Try it,” Lin Qianqian said, offering Lu Yin a spoonful.

Lu Yin tasted it. “Mix it a bit more.”

Lin Qianqian stirred the filling, then tasted it again. “Perfect! It just needed more mixing.”

Making dumplings was a time-consuming process, from preparing the filling and dough to shaping and boiling them.

While Lu Yin cooked the dumplings, Lin Qianqian watched TV in the living room.

When the dumplings were ready, a commercial break interrupted Lin Qianqian’s show, and she flipped through the channels, pausing on a news report before almost changing it again.

She stared at the screen, recognizing the woman being interviewed. “That looks like Ming Yao’s sister, Ming Yi,” she said.

Lu Yin glanced at the TV. “Come eat.”

“She looks so elegant,” Lin Qianqian said, thinking. “Ming Yao told me her sister is about the same age as Dr. Zhong.”

Lu Yin didn’t look at the TV, eating her dumplings in silence, listening to the news report.

A few minutes later, Lin Qianqian jumped up, her chopsticks clattering to the floor as she rushed to the TV.

“Ming Yao!” she exclaimed. “Sister, it’s Ming Yao!”

Lu Yin looked at the screen, her expression unchanged.

Lin Qianqian crouched down, her heart sinking as she watched the reporters surround Ming Yao, their questions intrusive and accusatory, Ming Yao’s silence adding to their frenzy.

Then, Ming Yi appeared, shielding Ming Yao, pushing the reporters away.

And then, Ming Yao, struggling and screaming, was being carried away in an ambulance.

“How…how could this happen? Just a few days ago, Ming Yao was…”

Ming Yao had said she was making an important decision, that she would tell Lin Qianqian first.

“Sister…” Lin Qianqian looked at Lu Yin, who remained silent, her gaze fixed on the screen.

“Sister…” Lin Qianqian walked back to the table. “If Ming Yao is having mental health issues, she should see Dr. Zhong.”

“Sister, could you ask Dr. Zhong about her? Ming Yao is my best friend. I don’t understand what’s happening…”

She couldn’t process this news, this sudden, unexpected turn of events.

“Eat your dumplings,” Lu Yin said gently, handing her a new pair of chopsticks.

“Sister!” Lin Qianqian exclaimed, her voice filled with anxiety.

“Lin Qian,” Lu Yin said firmly, “eat your dumplings. They’re getting cold.”

Lin Qianqian sat down, but her gaze remained fixed on the TV screen.

The news report ended, and the next story began.

Lu Yin watched, her expression calm.

This was Zhong Shiwu’s promise, her guarantee.

She didn’t care about the details, the specifics.

But anyone who got close to Lin Qianqian would suffer the consequences.

Chapter 59

When Lin Qianqian returned from the restroom, Ming Yao was gone. She was about to message her when she saw them through the window: Zhong Shiwu and Ming Yao.

She knew their relationship was more than just stepmother and stepdaughter, the brief, legally binding connection a mere formality.

She deleted the message and waited for Ming Yao to return.

When Ming Yao sat back down, her eyes were red-rimmed.

Lin Qianqian didn’t ask. She knew Ming Yao was hurting.

Years ago, in college, Ming Yao had had a crush on a senior, and when it hadn’t worked out, she had seemed unfazed, her usual cheerful self.

But now, Zhong Shiwu had completely changed her, her mood, her behavior, a reflection of her unspoken desires.

Lin Qianqian sighed. It seemed even Ming Yao had met her match.

“Qianqian, thank you for coming today,” Ming Yao said, struggling to use the chopsticks.

If she hadn’t seen Zhong Shiwu, she would have been able to eat normally. But seeing her had triggered the familiar habits, the ingrained responses.

“I’m the one who invited you. I should be thanking you,” Lin Qianqian said, forcing a smile. “This meal is on me! Order whatever you want.”

Ming Yao scanned the menu and added a few dishes, and Lin Qianqian felt a flicker of hope.

Ming Yao seemed better than their last few meetings.

They ate in silence, a comfortable contrast to their usual boisterous conversations. Ming Yao was quiet and withdrawn, and Lin Qianqian didn’t push her.

Perhaps that’s what true friendship was: comfortable silence, unspoken understanding.

After a while, Ming Yao looked out the window, as if sensing something.

Zhong Shiwu was walking past the restaurant with a young girl, opening the car door for her.

She paused, glancing back towards the restaurant.

Ming Yao quickly looked away, her hand instinctively reaching for her plate, then for the cutlery, then realizing they were eating hot pot, she picked up her chopsticks.

Her heart pounded in her chest. After a tense thirty seconds, she finally picked up a piece of meat and ate it, then glanced out the window again. The car was gone.

She wanted to go after her.

If going to Zhong Shiwu’s house meant rejection, then she would find another way, a legitimate reason to see her.

If it worked, great. If not, she would leave, escape this city, this life, and start over somewhere new, somewhere no one knew her, no one knew her past.

“Qianqian, if we never see each other again…”

Lin Qianqian was startled by her words. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. I’m just…making a decision,” Ming Yao said, licking her lips. “You’ll support me, right?”

“Of course! I’ll support you no matter what!” Lin Qianqian said, then added, “Where are you going? Don’t forget about me.”

With Ming Yao’s family connections, she would never lack for friends, wherever she went.

Their old classmates from college, despite their close friendships, had drifted apart.

Lin Qianqian didn’t want that to happen to them. She would miss Ming Yao terribly.

“I won’t forget you. I’m just thinking about it,” Ming Yao said, smiling. “I’ll let you know when I decide.”

“Okay!” Lin Qianqian said, ordering a few more dishes and several bottles of beer, determined to get drunk.

Words spoken in moments of despair often became self-fulfilling prophecies.

Seeing Ming Yao was a rare occurrence now. She had to treat every meeting as if it were their last.

They raised their glasses, the cold beer a bitter contrast to the warmth of their friendship.

Their eyes met, both red-rimmed.

She had never felt this way about a friend before, this sense of impending loss, this fear of being abandoned.

She didn’t want to lose Ming Yao.

After their meal, Ming Yao’s driver was waiting outside.

Lin Qianqian, slightly drunk, complimented the luxurious car, her words a rambling stream of praise.

Ming Yao, also a bit tipsy, laughed, her earlier sadness momentarily forgotten.

The drive back to Lin Qianqian’s apartment seemed surprisingly short.

The driver opened the door for Lin Qianqian, who thanked her and then stumbled towards the building, her steps unsteady.

She hadn’t had a drink in a long time.

She spent most of her time with Lu Yin now, their meals a shared ritual, and Lu Yin rarely drank, especially when she had to drive.

Her low tolerance for alcohol meant a few beers were enough to make her feel lightheaded, her mind clear, but her body weightless, as if she were floating.

She was going to be scolded.

That thought occupied her mind as she walked home.

Why did alcohol always bring back memories of her most embarrassing moments?

The pavement was icy, and she slipped, almost falling before grabbing onto a tree, the snow from its branches falling down her neck.

She instinctively reached for her scarf, then realized she had left it in Ming Yao’s car.

She shivered, pulling her jacket tighter, and made a mental note to ask Ming Yao for it later.

The warmth of the apartment enveloped her as she stepped inside.

She warmed her hands with her breath and was about to go to the bathroom when she saw Lu Yin emerge from the bedroom, a glass of water in her hand.

“Sister, do you need more water? I’ll get it for you,” she offered, taking the glass and filling it with hot water.

Lu Yin, seeing her flushed cheeks and smelling the alcohol on her breath, knew she had been drinking.

Lin Qianqian held the warm glass in her hands, walking towards Lu Yin, then stumbled, her body swaying slightly. She quickly drank half the water.

Lu Yin frowned.

“I’ll get you some more…” Lin Qianqian said, her voice slightly slurred, turning to go back to the kitchen, but Lu Yin took the glass from her hand.

Lin Qianqian watched as Lu Yin sat down on the sofa, poured herself some water, and drank it without even glancing at her.

She hurried over to Lu Yin, her voice a playful whine. “Sister, I’m sorry! I have three things to apologize for!”

“First, I shouldn’t have had any drinks.”

“Second, I shouldn’t have come home so late.”

“Third…third…” she paused, then, unable to think of a third excuse, said, “Third, I didn’t kiss you goodbye this morning! Here’s your kiss!”

She kissed Lu Yin’s cheek, then waited nervously for her response.

“Are you thirsty?” Lu Yin asked, handing her the glass.

Lin Qianqian took it and quickly finished the water. “Can I have some more? Hot pot always makes me thirsty.”

Lu Yin refilled her glass.

She knew Lu Yin was giving her the silent treatment again, and she braced herself for a scolding.

As Lu Yin stood up and walked towards her room, Lin Qianqian followed, grabbing her hand just as she was about to close the door.

“Sister, just scold me already!” she pleaded. Don’t keep it all bottled up inside!

Lu Yin’s expression softened. “Go take a shower,” she said.

“Don’t lock the door,” Lin Qianqian said, afraid of being shut out again.

She had spent too many nights sitting outside Lu Yin’s door, like a banished concubine, and she had had enough.

“I’ll watch you go to bed,” Lu Yin said, the familiar phrase a strange comfort to Lin Qianqian, a reminder of their shared past.

Saying those words felt good. Powerful.

Lin Qianqian grinned, then, seeing Lu Yin’s expression darken, added, “Hurry up.”

Even better.

“I haven’t showered yet,” Lu Yin said, leaning against the doorframe, her gaze meeting Lin Qianqian’s. “Want to join me?”

Lin Qianqian’s eyes widened, and she took a step back, suspicious. Such a suggestive offer from Lu Yin couldn’t be a good thing.

“That’s…so embarrassing…” she said, forcing a laugh. “But okay!”

She took Lu Yin’s hand and pulled her towards the bathroom, chattering excitedly. “I’ll get your pajamas!” she said, running back and forth between the bedroom and the bathroom.

Before handing Lu Yin the pajamas, she made her promise. “You’re not going to pour cold water on me again, are you? Just because I’m joining you in the shower?”

“Was that my fault?”

“Wasn’t it?” Lin Qianqian asked, then, seeing Lu Yin’s expression, quickly backtracked. “I was partly to blame too. Fifty-fifty.”

The hot water from the shower turned the bathroom into a steamy sauna, the air thick and humid, the mirrors fogged.

Lin Qianqian, her vision blurred, took Lu Yin’s hand and kissed it, then, rising onto her tiptoes, kissed Lu Yin’s lips.

Their bodies pressed together, the heat intensifying, Lin Qianqian’s fingers digging into Lu Yin’s wrist.

The warm water cascaded over her, her eyes closed, the sensation disorienting, the warmth of Lu Yin’s body indistinguishable from the heat of the water.

The floor was slippery, and she couldn’t find her slippers. She stood on one leg, her other leg resting on Lu Yin’s arm for support.

It felt like she was both showering and climbing a mountain, the exertion making her breathless, her mind blank.

She leaned against the cold tile wall, a shiver running through her as the cool surface contrasted with the heat of the water, the warmth of Lu Yin’s body.

Lu Yin turned up the water, her hand moving to Lin Qianqian’s back, the touch gentle, almost hesitant.

“You…” Lin Qianqian opened her eyes, the water stinging, then closed them again, then opened them again, annoyed.

Was Lu Yin doing this on purpose? Teasing her, leading her on, then stopping?

“What?” Lu Yin asked calmly.

“You…” Lin Qianqian spluttered, unable to speak, her mouth full of water. She reached for a towel, but couldn’t find one.

Lu Yin handed her a towel, and Lin Qianqian dried her face, her vision clearing.

She turned off the shower.

“What are you doing?” she asked, pressing her body against Lu Yin’s, her leg rubbing against Lu Yin’s.

“Taking a shower. What do you think I’m doing?”

Lin Qianqian whimpered, her voice a soft plea. “I want…”

Lu Yin didn’t reply, turning the shower back on, the sound of the water filling the silence.

Lin Qianqian poked her, her face crumpled with frustration.

Lu Yin stepped away, wrapped herself in a towel, and left the bathroom, her abrupt departure shattering Lin Qianqian’s hopes.

She had been tricked again.

And this time, it was even more cruel, Lu Yin stopping just as things were getting good.

She quickly finished her shower, her anger simmering, ready to confront Lu Yin.

The bedroom door wasn’t locked, which surprised her.

She saw Lu Yin lying on the bed, her back turned.

Lin Qianqian grabbed the hairdryer and stood beside the bed, turning it on full blast.

She played with her hair, knowing Lu Yin would eventually react to the noise, her annoyance a form of acknowledgement, even if it was just a demand for silence.

But Lu Yin seemed determined to ignore her. Lin Qianqian wasn’t worried. She interpreted Lu Yin’s silence as jealousy, a sign of her possessive nature.

She finished drying her hair, climbed into bed, and snuggled close to Lu Yin, using her usual tactic.

“Sister, be generous. I was just meeting a friend,” she whispered, kissing Lu Yin’s cheek. “Don’t be angry.”

Lu Yin’s eyes were half-closed, her mind elsewhere.

Zhong Shiwu usually left the country during the Spring Festival, finding the holiday too boisterous.

If she didn’t finish what she had started before the New Year, it would have to wait.

The thought of Lin Qianqian alone, with no one else to distract her, made her more willing to indulge Lin Qianqian’s whims.

“You’re so heartless! Your poor little sister is so lonely, and you won’t even say a word!” Lin Qianqian said, her fingers playfully pinching Lu Yin’s side.

Lu Yin knew what she wanted, a continuation of their interrupted encounter in the bathroom.

The ringing of the phone interrupted them. It was Zhong Shiwu.

She wouldn’t call this late unless it was important.

“I need to take this,” Lu Yin said, going to the living room.

So frustrating.

Lin Qianqian waited impatiently, then removed her clothes, wondering what position to strike.

Lu Yin returned a few minutes later, Zhong Shiwu’s assurances having put her in a good mood.

Seeing Lin Qianqian naked on the bed, the duvet pushed aside, she raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

Lin Qianqian smirked. “Guess.”

“I’m asking you.”

Lin Qianqian’s mind raced. She jumped on top of Lu Yin, her lips finding Lu Yin’s, her words a breathless whisper against Lu Yin’s mouth.

“Sister, you have no idea how much I love you,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire.

She lay on the bed, her head on the pillow, her legs bent, grateful for the alcohol-induced courage.

The dizziness hadn’t completely faded, and Lu Yin had only suggested they shower together because she was worried Lin Qianqian would pass out in the bathroom.

But it wasn’t the alcohol that was making her lightheaded now. She felt the soft brush of Lu Yin’s hair against her skin.

Lu Yin’s lips moved lower, her tongue tracing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, and Lin Qianqian’s head tilted back, her eyes closed, her body arching into Lu Yin’s touch.

She had drunk too much, too much water, too much beer, her body heavy, her mind hazy.

Her elbows pressed into the mattress, her face buried in the pillow, her moans muffled by the soft fabric.

She felt like she was drowning, clinging to a floating piece of driftwood, her legs kicking, trying to reach the shore.

But the driftwood was entangled in seaweed, her struggles futile, her movements only tightening the knots.

The waves crashed over her, the world a blur of white, and she gasped for air, her eyes searching for the shore, but she was still adrift, the seaweed clinging to her legs, pulling her down.

“Sister!” she cried out, her voice a desperate plea, needing Lu Yin to save her.

But Lu Yin was also struggling, the waves crashing over her, the water filling her mouth, her nose.

“Sister…” Lin Qianqian whispered again, her body limp, her cries fading into a soft moan, a wave of pleasure washing over her, her release a warm, pulsing sensation against Lu Yin’s skin.

Lu Yin sat up, pulling Lin Qianqian’s legs, dragging her towards the shore.

The bed was dry, the duvet pulled over Lin Qianqian, her body still trembling from the aftershocks.

Lu Yin wiped her face with a tissue, her gaze lingering on Lin Qianqian’s flushed cheeks, her parted lips.

“Can’t you be gentler…?” Lin Qianqian whispered, her voice thick with tears, a mixture of love and resentment.

Lu Yin chuckled. “You deserved it.”

Chapter 58

Lu Yin had been a bit of a neat freak, initially unable to tolerate even a speck of paint on her clothes.

Later, it had evolved into a mild form of OCD, her brushes and paintbox always meticulously cleaned, unlike other art students, who often displayed their messy, paint-splattered tools as a badge of honor, a testament to their hard work and dedication.

She could mix any color she wanted, but she couldn’t stand a messy workspace.

And her closet, filled with identical white shirts, reflected her need for order, her aversion to distractions.

Until Lin Qianqian had moved in.

Lin Qianqian, as a child, had loved colorful dresses, and Lu Yin had indulged her, buying her an endless array of vibrant garments.

She had practically every color of the rainbow, from long flowing gowns to short, playful skirts, her wardrobe a reflection of her ever-changing moods, her desire to stand out, to be seen.

And so, the pristine white of Lu Yin’s world had been invaded by Lin Qianqian’s kaleidoscope of colors, her energy a disruptive force, her chatter a constant background noise.

She would point at Lu Yin’s paints, asking why there were two shades of blue in separate compartments, and Lu Yin would patiently explain the nuances of color, the subtle differences between cerulean, azure, and teal.

She would clap her hands in delight as Lu Yin mixed yellow from red and green, declaring it magic.

Lu Yin, her head throbbing from the constant interruptions, had delegated the task of cleaning the paintbox to Lin Qianqian, a way to secure a few moments of peace.

Lin Qianqian had taken the task seriously, meticulously cleaning the paintbox with her fingers, her fingertips red and raw, then complaining about the effort, proudly displaying the clean paintbox to Lu Yin, the lingering water droplets creating a messy pattern on Lu Yin’s canvas.

The next time, she had carefully dried the paintbox before presenting it.

Some childhood habits, it seemed, never died.

After their snowy adventure, they had dinner, and Lin Qianqian offered to wash the dishes.

Lu Yin watched her, her fingers scrubbing at the greasy plates, her nails scraping at the stubborn residue.

Lu Yin pointed out the steel wool, and Lin Qianqian replied seriously, “I prefer washing dishes by hand.”

After receiving her customary post-dishwashing kiss as a reward, Lin Qianqian took a shower and went to bed early.

The temperature had dropped after the snow, and she felt cold.

Lu Yin joined her later, adjusting the duvet and touching Lin Qianqian’s feet. “Why are they so cold?”

“I don’t know…” Lin Qianqian mumbled, Lu Yin’s hands warming her feet.

She shifted into a more comfortable position, enjoying the pampering, then checked her phone, noticing she hadn’t heard from Ming Yao since she moved.

She called Ming Yao, who answered quickly.

“Ming Yao, how are you?” Lin Qianqian asked, her voice filled with concern.

“I’m fine. I’m living alone now,” Ming Yao replied.

“Let’s meet this weekend. I’ll come visit you,” Lin Qianqian said, wanting to see if Ming Yao’s condition had improved. Her previous encounters had been unsettling.

Lu Yin was massaging Lin Qianqian’s feet, her touch firm and deliberate.

Lin Qianqian winced, pulling her foot away. “Sister, that hurts!”

Lu Yin looked at her, pressing her thumb against a specific point on Lin Qianqian’s foot. “Here?”

Lin Qianqian frowned. “Yes, right there.”

“That means you have an unhealthy lifestyle,” Lu Yin said, releasing her foot and going to the bathroom.

Lin Qianqian quickly ended her call with Ming Yao and followed Lu Yin. “Since when are you a Chinese medicine expert?”

“Since you weren’t looking.”

“But your lifestyle is even worse than mine,” Lin Qianqian retorted.

“Then let’s fix it together. How about the gym this weekend?” Lu Yin suggested.

“No way! I have plans. I’m busy!” Lin Qianqian said, rejecting the idea.

She saw Lu Yin smile, a rare, genuine smile, and then Lu Yin left the bathroom.

Where did that come from?

She followed Lu Yin to the bedroom, jumping onto the bed and playfully pinching Lu Yin’s cheeks.

“When I’m rich, I’ll take care of you,” she said, her fingers poking Lu Yin’s nose, her cheeks, her chin.

Lu Yin’s eyes darkened. “Can you even afford to feed yourself?”

“Of course! I would beg for food if I had to,” Lin Qianqian said, pounding her fist on the bed. “Don’t you believe me? I have many talents!”

She had actually begged for money before, but it had been for a school fundraiser.

The photography club had organized a charity drive, and Lin Qianqian had been the top fundraiser, her persuasive skills earning her the admiration of her classmates.

If it had been daytime, Lu Yin would have indulged her, asking about her “talents,” but she was tired.

The studio rearrangement was proving to be a logistical nightmare.

She had been at the institution since early morning, teaching her last class, then playing in the snow with Lin Qianqian, making her dinner, her day a blur of activity and exhaustion.

And the cold weather made her crave the warmth of her bed.

“Are you cold? Come under the covers.”

Lin Qianqian, her hands and feet icy, snuggled into Lu Yin’s arms, her coldness chasing away Lu Yin’s sleepiness.

Lu Yin turned up the heater and held her close.

The next morning, Lu Yin was woken by Lin Qianqian’s movements.

It was almost noon. Lin Qianqian was getting ready to meet Ming Yao.

Lu Yin rolled over and tried to ignore her.

“Sister?” Lin Qianqian called out, then, seeing no response, left the room.

Lu Yin heard the door close and opened her eyes.

Lin Qianqian was now accustomed to her work schedule, her days long and demanding, her weekends the only time off.

But Lu Yin’s teaching schedule was heaviest on weekends, and she had been rescheduling her classes to free up her weekends for Lin Qianqian.

And Lin Qianqian had been spending her weekends with her friend.

Things were getting out of hand, both with her and with Zhong Shiwu.

Only Lin Qianqian seemed oblivious, attributing Ming Yao’s strange behavior to stress, wanting to comfort her, to help her.

Lu Yin was getting impatient. Zhong Shiwu was usually so efficient, so decisive.

This time, she seemed to be dragging her feet.

---

Ming Yao waited at the entrance of the complex, her driver parked nearby.

It was a different car, a different driver, a woman this time.

Lin Qianqian, after locating the car, got in, wrapping her scarf tighter, the warmth of the car a welcome relief from the cold.

“Living the high life, I see,” she teased.

“Let’s go,” Ming Yao said to the driver, offering no explanation.

“Where are we going?” Lin Qianqian asked.

“Where do you want to go, Qianqian?”

“I’m a little hungry,” Lin Qianqian said, thinking. “Since you’re living alone now, you can eat whatever you want, right? No one to tell you what to do.”

Ming Yao nodded, a flicker of sadness in her eyes.

She couldn’t be alone now. Her thoughts, when unchecked, always returned to Zhong Shiwu, the memories a constant torment. The only way to distract herself was to stay busy, to fill her time with activities, with other people.

Lin Qianqian chose the hot pot restaurant they had visited with Lu Yin, the perfect comfort food for a cold winter day.

They arrived half an hour later.

Ming Yao told the driver to wait, and Lin Qianqian sighed enviously. “Being rich must be nice.”

The restaurant wasn’t crowded, and they were seated by the window.

“How have you been?” Lin Qianqian asked, concerned.

“Same as always,” Ming Yao said, wanting to avoid any discussion of her current state.

Lin Qianqian ordered, then asked what Ming Yao wanted.

“Anything is fine,” Ming Yao said, her gaze fixed on the street outside, the icy pavement making the cars and pedestrians move slowly and cautiously.

She saw someone slip and fall and smiled, then quickly suppressed the expression.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed.

A fast food restaurant next door was bustling with activity, couples and families coming and going.

Ming Yao watched them, wondering about their relationships: sisters, friends, lovers, mothers and daughters.

A car pulled up, and a familiar figure emerged, holding a young girl’s hand.

Ming Yao’s gaze was drawn to Zhong Shiwu, her heart pounding with a mixture of longing and resentment.

They were heading towards the fast food restaurant.

Ming Yao stood up and followed them, watching as Zhong Shiwu ordered food for the girl, who looked about thirteen or fourteen.

“Order whatever you want. Mom isn’t here. I snuck you out,” Zhong Shiwu said, her voice filled with a playful affection.

“But I’m afraid Mom will be angry. She says this is junk food and I’m not allowed to eat it,” the girl said, glancing nervously around. “Can you keep it a secret, Auntie?”

“Of course. It’ll be our little secret,” Zhong Shiwu said, winking at the girl, then discreetly signaling to the girl’s mother, who was sitting nearby.

She was working, Ming Yao realized. It was Zhong Shiwu’s usual tactic, choosing a location based on the patient’s age and interests, creating a more relaxed, less clinical atmosphere.

But Ming Yao didn’t like it. She didn’t like seeing Zhong Shiwu smile at other people, even if it was just part of her job.

Zhong Shiwu and the girl ate and chatted, and after a while, the girl started to cry. “Mom never lets me eat this kind of food. She says it’s unhealthy. And when I didn’t get first place on my test, she yelled at me, said I was useless, but I tried so hard…”

Zhong Shiwu listened patiently, a familiar scenario, a common complaint among teenagers.

She was an expert at dealing with these cases.

An hour later, having successfully comforted the girl, she reached into her pocket for a piece of candy, only to realize it was a chocolate liqueur, not suitable for a child.

Why had she grabbed that one?

She should throw them all away. They were useless now. She didn’t even like sweets.

As the girl went to the restroom, Zhong Shiwu saw Ming Yao standing in the corner.

She turned away, checking the time, her expression unchanged.

Ming Yao, knowing she had been seen, walked over to the table.

Zhong Shiwu heard her footsteps, the hurried rhythm a familiar sound.

But the girl’s mother was still nearby. She couldn’t talk to Ming Yao here.

She excused herself, saying a few words to the mother, and walked outside.

Ming Yao followed, stopping when Zhong Shiwu stopped at the corner.

“Why are you following me?” Zhong Shiwu asked, turning around.

“I wasn’t following you. I’m having lunch here,” Ming Yao lied.

“Leaving your friend to come find me? That’s not very polite,” Zhong Shiwu said, glancing towards the hot pot restaurant, seeing a blurry figure by the window.

These two girls were inseparable, meeting every weekend. Lu Yin would be annoyed.

And Lu Yin, stubborn and proud, was not someone she wanted to provoke.

“I’ll go back soon,” Ming Yao said quickly. “I just…I just…”

“Just what?” Zhong Shiwu asked calmly.

“I saw you, and I wanted to see you,” Ming Yao said. “I wanted to come find you.”

She repeated the words, but the meaning had changed.

She wanted to go back to Zhong Shiwu, every day, every night.

But she didn’t dare.

Ming Yao’s attachment was still strong, and Zhong Shiwu, though ruthless, wasn’t heartless.

She considered it for a moment, then smiled at Ming Yao.

Sometimes, being heartless was the kindest thing to do.

She took the last piece of chocolate liqueur candy from her pocket and offered it to Ming Yao.

Ming Yao unwrapped it and ate it.

“Good?” Zhong Shiwu asked.

Ming Yao hesitated. “…No.”

Zhong Shiwu chuckled. “Then spit it out.”

Ming Yao quickly swallowed it.

Zhong Shiwu watched her, her gaze intense. “That’s the last one.”

“You never used to have two at a time.”

Ming Yao’s defiance, her attempt to argue, was a small victory, a sign that she wasn’t completely broken.

“Can I come see you?” Ming Yao asked, licking the chocolate residue from her lips, the faint taste of alcohol a bittersweet reminder.

“I’m busy. Very busy,” Zhong Shiwu said, glancing at her watch. “I’ll get complaints if I’m away from my clinic for too long.”

Ming Yao didn’t want to interfere with her work, but she didn’t want her to leave either. “Can I come tonight? Please?”

“What for?” Zhong Shiwu asked, her voice light, almost mocking. “To eat off the floor like a dog?”

“Don’t say such things!” Ming Yao cried, her tears flowing freely, Zhong Shiwu’s coldness a painful rejection.

“It’s the truth,” Zhong Shiwu said calmly. “And you can’t deny it.”

Ming Yao was speechless.

“Go back to your friend. Don’t keep her waiting,” Zhong Shiwu said, glancing towards the hot pot restaurant.

If this continued, Lu Yin would intervene.

And then, Ming Yao would pay the price.

Chapter 57

The next morning, Lin Qianqian remembered Ming Yao’s voice message.

She called Ming Yao, who answered immediately.

“Qianqian, I’m moving. I’m not living with Zhong Shiwu anymore. I’ll send you my new address when I get there.”

“So suddenly?” Lin Qianqian asked. “Last night, you…”

“Last night was nothing. I’m busy now. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay,” Lin Qianqian said, hanging up.

Ming Yao hadn’t chosen one of the Ming family properties. She had simply obeyed Ming Yi’s instructions.

She rarely went out, unfamiliar with the city, her only point of reference Zhong Shiwu’s house, the route she had traveled countless times.

Ming Yi’s housekeeper opened the door, and Ming Yi herself carried Ming Yao’s suitcase inside, taking her hand and leading her into the house.

“Do you like it?” Ming Yi asked, smiling.

It had been a while since they had last seen each other, and even though they were sisters, Ming Yao couldn’t bring herself to be affectionate.

“I like it,” she said, her gaze fixed on the floor, not even looking at the house.

It was even larger than Zhong Shiwu’s villa, the rooms empty and echoing.

“Good,” Ming Yi said. “If you need anything, just ask the housekeeper.”

She patted Ming Yao’s hand. “You know I’m busy. I haven’t been able to spend much time with you.”

“I’m an adult now. I can take care of myself,” Ming Yao said, forcing a smile.

That morning, after her run, Zhong Shiwu hadn’t been home.

She had heard the car arrive, assuming it was Zhong Shiwu, and had run to greet her, her smile fading as she saw Ming Yi instead.

On the way here, Ming Yi had told her many things, some true, some not. Ming Yao hadn’t been listening.

She wasn’t close to Ming Yi, and now that Ming Yi was in power, she knew her older sister’s true intentions. Ming Yi’s success abroad had been a calculated move, a strategic maneuver to gain control of the family business.

And until now, Ming Yao had been a pawn in their game, manipulated by both Ming Yi and Zhong Shiwu.

“I’m glad you’re so understanding,” Ming Yi said, releasing her hand, relieved.

She gave the housekeeper a few instructions, then left without a word, not even a glance in Ming Yao’s direction.

Ming Yao’s belongings were few, most of them provided by Zhong Shiwu.

Zhong Shiwu had been generous, buying her clothes, jewelry, even doing her hair and makeup.

Unlike her time abroad, when she had felt like a homeless stray, despite her ample allowance.

Zhong Shiwu had said she was sick, and Ming Yao wondered if her illness was caused by Zhong Shiwu, or if she had simply become dependent on her, her every action, her every thought, dictated by Zhong Shiwu’s will.

She carried her suitcase upstairs, refusing the housekeeper’s offer to help.

She closed the door to her room and locked it, then sat on the floor, her back against the door, her legs curled up, the room dark and silent.

If only Zhong Shiwu had said goodbye.

She hadn’t even seen her that morning. Ming Yi must have arranged everything, even her departure.

She felt like a discarded object, tossed aside without a second thought.

Ming Yao examined her own behavior, wondering what she had done wrong.

She had been a bit rebellious, perhaps, a bit too fond of partying, her only real transgression failing a class after being caught skipping it.

But she hadn’t hurt anyone. She fed stray cats and dogs, paid for her friends’ outings, offered comfort when they were down, her jokes harmless, her intentions always good.

Even the grumpy old lady next door had called her a well-behaved child.

So why…

Was she alone now?

Her sister, after a few brief conversations, had abandoned her, leaving her in this empty house.

Ming Yi was much older, closer in age to Zhong Shiwu than to her.

Her mother had died giving birth to her, and the maternal love she had found in Zhong Shiwu had been a cruel illusion, a carefully constructed trap.

And she couldn’t go back to the Ming family, not with her siblings resenting her, their eyes filled with envy and hatred, blaming her for their diminished inheritance.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She had been so foolish, so easily manipulated.

It was lunchtime. Her phone’s alarm rang, a reminder of her scheduled meal.

She sat on the floor, her mind blank, not wanting to move.

But the growing discomfort in her stomach forced her to stand, her legs numb, her body stiff. She slowly made her way downstairs.

The housekeeper greeted her with a smile, the dining table laden with food, both Chinese and Western dishes, but Ming Yao had no appetite.

The housekeeper pulled out a chair for her and poured her a glass of mulled wine.

“Could I…have some warm milk instead?” Ming Yao asked, pointing at the wine.

The housekeeper immediately complied.

Ming Yao looked at the cutlery, picking up the knife and fork, then putting them down. “Can I…”

The housekeeper stood there, waiting for her instructions.

“Can I eat alone?”

The housekeeper hesitated. “Ming Zong told me to take care of you.”

“Take care of me, or watch me?” Ming Yao asked, her voice sharp. “Why don’t you tell her I’m dying here?”

“I apologize. Please let me know if you need anything, Miss,” the housekeeper said, then quickly left the room.

Alone in the dining room, Ming Yao’s carefully maintained composure crumbled. She sighed, her heart heavy with a sense of despair.

Contacting Lin Qianqian wouldn’t help. This was a family matter. She couldn’t drag her friend into it.

And Lin Qianqian, despite her good intentions, would only worry, her concern adding to Ming Yao’s burden.

She couldn’t eat, the memories of her time with Zhong Shiwu, the strict routines, the rewards and punishments, making her feel nauseous.

She had fought with Zhong Shiwu last night, her eyes red and swollen from crying, sleeping on the living room floor, ignored and uncomforted.

Zhong Shiwu had told her to go to her room, but she had refused, accepting only a thin blanket as a concession.

She should have known better. Zhong Shiwu, a psychiatrist, was a master manipulator, easily preying on her naiveté.

Ming Yi, that morning, hadn’t even asked about her swollen eyes, her obvious distress, simply dropping her off at this empty house and leaving, as if fulfilling a contractual obligation.

Ming Yi, now in control of the Ming family business, would stop at nothing to maintain her power. If Ming Yao weren’t her sister, she would have been discarded long ago.

Tears dripped onto her plate, and she picked up her phone, turning on the familiar chime.

She leaned down and took a bite of the food with her mouth, the familiar flavors a small comfort, and then she started to cry, the tears flowing freely, her sobs echoing in the empty room.

“Why…why do they think I’m useless?” she sobbed, even though she knew Ming Yi simply wanted everything for herself.

She was foolish, easily manipulated, a pawn in Ming Yi’s game, her presence in China a distraction, a shield, while Ming Yi built her empire abroad.

Abandoned in this luxurious prison, at twenty-three, she could already see her future, her life stretching before her, empty and meaningless.

And no one could hear her cries.

---

Three days passed. Ming Yao’s behavior, her habits, remained unchanged.

Zhong Shiwu had forced her to change, to adapt, and she had obeyed, but now, alone, she reverted to her old ways.

What was the point of changing?

No one cared.

And she missed Zhong Shiwu, her absence a constant ache, a growing void.

The more she adhered to the schedule, the more obedient she felt.

And the more obedient she felt, the more she craved Zhong Shiwu’s approval, her touch.

She just wanted to be petted, her head stroked, her hair brushed. She didn’t dare ask for more.

But Zhong Shiwu had abandoned her, not even returning to say goodbye, her silence a deafening roar in Ming Yao’s ears.

She looked at their chat history, the messages brief and impersonal, Zhong Shiwu’s instructions limited to times and locations, no words of comfort, no expressions of affection.

Only touch, a fleeting moment of pleasure, a reward for her obedience.

She had been so blind, so easily manipulated. How could anyone outsmart a psychiatrist?

She had investigated Zhong Shiwu before their agreement, her family history, her past.

Zhong Shiwu was capable and confident, her life an open book, her information readily available online.

She had mastered the art of manipulation, her years of experience giving her an uncanny ability to read people, to exploit their weaknesses.

And yet, Ming Yao still clung to a sliver of hope.

If Zhong Shiwu could see through everyone, surely she could see Ming Yao’s need for her, her desperate longing?

It wasn’t just physical intimacy anymore. It was something deeper, a twisted, possessive love, a need for absolute obedience, for unwavering loyalty.

The first snow of winter fell that night, two weeks before the Spring Festival.

The house was warm, the heating system on full blast. She sat by the window, wearing only a thin shirt, watching the snow fall, the white flakes against the dark sky a stark contrast to the darkness within.

It felt like a weight on her chest, crushing her, suffocating her.

She longed to be held.

She went to her room, her bare feet cold against the wooden floor, and sat on the floor, her phone clutched in her hand, her fingers hovering over Zhong Shiwu’s contact information.

She wanted to call, but she was afraid.

The desire, the longing, intensified, a burning ache that consumed her.

---

Zhong Shiwu, after her last appointment, rubbed her shoulders, glancing at her watch. The ringing of her phone made her frown.

The number was unfamiliar, unsaved, but she knew who it was.

She answered.

“What…what are you doing?” Ming Yao’s voice trembled, her breathing heavy.

Zhong Shiwu checked her calendar. It had only been three days since Ming Yao had moved out. She had expected a week before Ming Yao contacted her.

She had overestimated Ming Yao’s resilience.

She walked over to the window. It was dark outside. Talking to children always made her lose track of time. She had worked late again.

“Working,” she said, her tone cool, her patience for Ming Yao gone now that her partnership with Ming Yi was finalized. “Is there something you need, Ming Xiaojie?”

“Mom…Dr. Zhong…” Ming Yao started with a polite formality, testing the waters.

“What is it, Ming Xiaojie?” Zhong Shiwu repeated, her tone unchanged.

“Mom…when are you coming to get me…?” Ming Yao’s voice trembled, Zhong Shiwu’s formality a sign of rejection. “I don’t want to be alone here…”

“Didn’t we agree? The contract is over. Our relationship is over,” Zhong Shiwu said, forcing a laugh. “I’m just a psychiatrist. I have no power or influence. If word of this gets out, it would ruin my reputation.”

She wiped the condensation from the windowpane, the coldness of the glass a stark contrast to the heat that was building within her.

“I know I was wrong. Please…take me back…” Ming Yao sobbed. “I need you…I shouldn’t have treated you like that…please…”

“What about Ming Yi?” Zhong Shiwu asked.

“I don’t know…I don’t know where she is…I just want you…to hold me, to feed me, to take care of me…” Ming Yao’s hand moved to her hair, remembering Zhong Shiwu’s touch.

“Ming Xiaojie, this is my work time. You’re interrupting me,” Zhong Shiwu said, her voice laced with annoyance.

She wasn’t a kind person. Her gentle demeanor was a professional courtesy, not a reflection of her true self.

“I can give you money! A lot of money!” Ming Yao pleaded, her voice rising in panic. “Don’t hang up! Can I see you again…?”

“Mom…Mom…please…”

Zhong Shiwu hung up, grabbed her coat, and left the clinic.

She didn’t like carrying a bag, finding it restrictive. She put her phone in her pocket and retrieved a piece of chocolate liqueur candy, the kind she gave Ming Yao as a reward for her obedience.

She had patients of all ages, candies of all flavors, but the liqueur candies were reserved for Ming Yao.

She didn’t like having favorites. It was dangerous.

She tossed the candy in the trash and called a friend, inviting her to dinner.

It was a cold night, the snow falling steadily. Perfect weather for soju.

Her first contact declined, and she felt a flicker of annoyance, quickly moving on to her second choice.

Lu Yin, her first choice, was walking in the snow with Lin Qianqian.

Lin Qianqian had bought a duck-shaped mold and was making a row of duck footprints in the snow, her childish delight infectious. A passing child asked if she could have one of the molds, and Lin Qianqian readily agreed.

Lu Yin watched her, a smile playing on her lips. What was the point of soju when she could be here, with Lin Qianqian, her every action a source of amusement?

Lin Qianqian’s hands were red from the cold, and she ran over to Lu Yin, showing her her palms.

Lu Yin took her hands, her own warmth a comforting contrast to Lin Qianqian’s coldness.

“Which woman were you talking to on the phone? Am I not enough for you?” Lin Qianqian asked, poking Lu Yin playfully. “Two-timing me, are you?”

“It was Dr. Zhong. She invited me to dinner,” Lu Yin said, seeing no reason to lie.

“Are you going?” Lin Qianqian asked, her voice filled with a sudden anxiety. “It’s getting late, and I haven’t finished playing yet! You didn’t even compliment my rabbit army!”

She offered a series of excuses, hoping to keep Lu Yin with her.

If it had been anyone else, Lu Yin would have ignored the invitation.

But with Zhong Shiwu, she wasn’t sure. That woman was capable of anything, and their relationship was complicated.

“I’m not going. I’ll stay here with you,” Lu Yin said, walking over to the row of duck footprints in the snow. “Very impressive,” she added, her voice dry.

“But you’re standing up Dr. Zhong. She’ll be sad, won’t she?” Lin Qianqian asked, feigning concern.

“She can have dinner with Yu…” Lu Yin stopped herself, knowing Lin Qianqian didn’t like hearing that name. “Then let her be sad.”

“You’ve been saying all the right things lately,” Lin Qianqian said, rising onto her tiptoes. “Let me taste your lips.”

Lu Yin frowned, glancing at the passing pedestrians.

But Lin Qianqian, ignoring the onlookers, threw her arms around Lu Yin, her cold hands touching the back of Lu Yin’s neck.

Lu Yin didn’t pull away, letting her, her body still and unresponsive.

Lin Qianqian kissed her, her lips soft and playful, then grinned. “They are sweet!”

Chapter 56

A few minutes later, Lu Yin opened the door.

Lin Qianqian was sitting on the floor, her hand clutching the pill bottle, the label damp with tears.

“Can you please stop locking me out?” she asked, her voice thick with unshed tears, looking up at Lu Yin. “I’ve told you, so many times, I just want you to be okay, but you won’t listen…”

She leaned against the wall, her shoulders slumped. “I’m worried about you. I read online that people with your condition sometimes lock themselves in their rooms and hurt themselves. I’m afraid you’ll do that too…”

“Are you still hungry?” Lu Yin asked.

“The food’s cold! How can I eat it?” Lin Qianqian exclaimed, her earlier concern overshadowed by Lu Yin’s apparent indifference. “You’re driving me crazy! Why are you so stubborn?!”

“Should I reheat it?” Lu Yin asked.

“No, I don’t want it,” Lin Qianqian said, her anger returning. Lu Yin hadn’t even acknowledged her heartfelt confession, her worries dismissed with a mundane question about food.

“Come to bed.”

Lin Qianqian didn’t move, her silence a form of protest.

She wouldn’t always obey Lu Yin. She had her own will, her own desires.

Lu Yin reached out a hand, and Lin Qianqian swatted it away.

She wasn’t that easy to appease.

Lu Yin’s hand reached out again, this time not to pull her up, but to gently tilt her chin up, wiping away her tears.

Lu Yin knelt down, her gaze meeting Lin Qianqian’s, her voice soft and gentle. “Come to bed. It’s late.”

“Then carry me,” Lin Qianqian said, holding out her arms.

Lu Yin lifted her and carried her to the bedroom.

As she lay on the bed, tears welled up in Lin Qianqian’s eyes again.

She wasn’t crying for Lu Yin, but for herself, her own pathetic weakness, so easily swayed by Lu Yin’s affection.

She rubbed her face against Lu Yin’s pillow, her tears staining the fabric, Lu Yin watching her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

Lu Yin’s gentle tone reminded her of their childhood, and a new tactic emerged, a way to manipulate Lu Yin, to regain control.

“You evil woman! You’re so mean!” she said, her voice a playful whine, poking Lu Yin’s side. “I’m really angry!”

“Why are you angry? Let me see,” Lu Yin said, her voice laced with amusement, her hand gently stroking Lin Qianqian’s back.

Lin Qianqian looked up and kissed her, her teeth sinking into Lu Yin’s lower lip, refusing to let go.

Tonight, she would be the dominant one!

She had repeated this mantra countless times, her self-deception a source of both amusement and frustration. Surely, one day, it would come true.

“Have you considered buying me another wolf hair brush?” Lu Yin asked, her voice breathless, as they parted for air.

Lin Qianqian’s bravado vanished, the memory of the brush, of its unintended use, a sobering reminder of Lu Yin’s darker side.

“In your dreams. I’m broke,” she mumbled, unsure what had happened to the brush. Lu Yin had probably cleaned it and put it back in its box. She didn’t care.

It was a memento, a reminder of their shared past.

“Then I’ll buy you one,” Lu Yin offered.

“No! I don’t need one!”

“Why not?” Lu Yin asked, her voice teasing. “You’re the one who misused it.”

“You’re the one who misused it! How can you accuse me?!” Lin Qianqian exclaimed, indignant. “I gave it to you for calligraphy! Why would you give me one?”

“For calligraphy, of course,” Lu Yin said, her eyes twinkling. “What were you thinking?”

Lin Qianqian, frustrated, decided to play along, her fake tears turning into real ones.

Lu Yin, seeing through her act, still tried to comfort her. “Okay, okay, don’t cry.”

Lin Qianqian cried louder, her sobs exaggerated, her performance worthy of an Oscar.

“Alright, it’s my fault. I apologize,” Lu Yin said, her own laughter a mixture of amusement and exasperation, tucking Lin Qianqian into the bed and wiping away her tears.

“Just a verbal apology? I don’t accept it,” Lin Qianqian said, trying to wriggle out of Lu Yin’s embrace.

“What do you want?” Lu Yin asked, her voice serious.

“I want you to listen to me.”

“Okay.”

“You always say that, but you never do,” Lin Qianqian said, directing her. “Go pour me a glass of water.”

Lu Yin hesitated, then went to the living room.

Lin Qianqian retrieved the pill bottle from her pocket.

She took the water from Lu Yin, blew on it, took a sip, then handed the glass and the pill bottle back to Lu Yin. “Now take your medicine.”

Lu Yin looked at her, her gaze intense.

Lin Qianqian, despite her tough words, her childish demands, still cared enough to make sure she took her medication.

Lu Yin took the pills without a word.

“And drink all the water!”

Lu Yin finished the water.

Lin Qianqian smiled, kissing Lu Yin’s cheek. “That’s more like it. Now, cuddle me.”

She snuggled into Lu Yin’s arms, a sigh of relief escaping her lips.

Nothing mattered more than Lu Yin’s well-being.

She had always been forgetful. Lu Yin had taken her to the bank to open her first account, years ago.

Lu Yin had told her not to use her birthday as her PIN, but Lin Qianqian had insisted, afraid she would forget it, then promptly forgotten it anyway, forcing Lu Yin to take her back to the bank to change it, finally settling on Lu Yin’s birthday.

It was the only number she could remember, and she used it for all her passwords.

She might be forgetful, but she never forgot anything about Lu Yin, the good or the bad.

“Sister…” she whispered, her eyes shining, her face close to Lu Yin’s. “One last thing before we go to sleep. You have to listen to me.”

“What?” Lu Yin asked, opening her eyes.

“Kiss me again,” Lin Qianqian said, pointing at her lips. “A proper kiss this time.”

Their eyes met, the air between them charged with unspoken desires.

Lu Yin’s fingertip traced Lin Qianqian’s lips, the light touch sending shivers down her spine.

Lin Qianqian licked her lips, her tongue brushing against Lu Yin’s finger.

She looked into Lu Yin’s eyes, remembering everything Lu Yin had taught her: how to fold clothes, how to cook, how to navigate the complexities of social interactions.

Not a guardian, but more than a guardian.

Lin Qianqian hadn’t been a good student, her ability to survive on her own questionable, but as long as she had Lu Yin, she didn’t need those skills.

She took Lu Yin’s hand, her fingers tracing the lines on Lu Yin’s palm, feeling the steady rhythm of her pulse, a comforting counterpoint to the frantic beating of her own heart.

She was impatient with Lu Yin’s deliberate slowness, her teasing touch a source of both pleasure and frustration.

Since Lu Yin had agreed to obey her, she wouldn’t beg, wouldn’t plead.

But Lu Yin, as if sensing her thoughts, continued her slow, torturous exploration, her warm hands caressing every inch of her body, avoiding the one place she craved her touch the most.

“I know what you’re doing! You’re teasing me!” Lin Qianqian said, her body moving against Lu Yin’s hand, her lips finding Lu Yin’s.

She wasn’t the same naive girl she had been before. She kissed Lu Yin back, her own kiss demanding, insistent, her hands moving to Lu Yin’s neck, her touch possessive.

She nibbled on Lu Yin’s lower lip, remembering Lu Yin’s tolerance of her rebellious streak.

From skipping homework assignments, to getting her ears pierced, to her teenage experiments with sex toys in Lu Yin’s bed, Lu Yin had never judged her, only guided her, her discipline tempered with affection.

It was Lu Yin’s unique blend of firmness and gentleness that had allowed Lin Qianqian to thrive, her carefree spirit untamed, her only fear the loss of Lu Yin’s love.

She continued kissing Lu Yin, wanting to hear her moan, her own breath coming in short gasps, her lips starting to ache.

Lu Yin, unable to prolong the torment, took Lin Qianqian’s hands and pinned them above her head, her gaze meeting Lin Qianqian’s, a soft kiss on her eyelid a silent acknowledgement of her desire.

Lin Qianqian, the ghost that haunted her dreams, was now here, a tangible presence, her soft whimpers replacing the silent accusations of her nightmares.

“Don’t tremble,” Lu Yin said, kissing her forehead, her fingers gently tracing the lines of Lin Qianqian’s face. “We have time.”

“Then kiss me. You didn’t listen to me,” Lin Qianqian whispered, her voice thick with tears. “You promised…you always break your promises…”

Lu Yin, unable to resist her pleas, her vulnerability, kissed her again, a soft, lingering kiss on her lips.

Lin Qianqian’s hand found Lu Yin’s, their fingers intertwining, the pressure of their grip a source of both comfort and pain.

After a long moment, Lu Yin’s hand moved to Lin Qianqian’s stomach, stilling her restless movements, a silent promise of more.

She kissed her again, a deeper kiss, the familiar taste of Lu Yin’s lipstick a comforting reminder of their shared intimacy.

Lin Qianqian’s nose tingled, her eyes filled with tears, but as Lu Yin pulled away, she said, her voice a husky whisper, “I want more…”

Lu Yin swallowed, the taste of Lin Qianqian’s blood still lingering on her tongue. “So greedy,” she murmured.

“You have to listen to me,” Lin Qianqian reminded her.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” Lu Yin said, going to the bathroom.

Lin Qianqian lay back against the pillows, touching her forehead, her neck, her skin damp with sweat.

She had wanted more, again and again, losing count, Lu Yin’s touch leaving her breathless, her mind a blank canvas.

“Sister…” she whispered, her fingers twining Lu Yin’s hair with her own, a playful, intimate gesture.

Lu Yin looked down at her, her hand caressing Lin Qianqian’s back.

Lin Qianqian’s lips trembled, her throat tightening with unspoken emotions.

She had always thought sentimental words were foolish, but now, she couldn’t stop them, the words pouring out of her, a torrent of love and regret.

If she could go back, to the day of Lu Yin’s trial, she would have run to her, shielded her from the crowd, from their cruel whispers and accusations.

“What’s wrong?” Lu Yin asked, seeing her silence. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“No,” Lin Qianqian sniffled. “I wish I were taller.”

Lu Yin chuckled. “Why?”

“So I could protect you.”

“Protection has nothing to do with height.”

“I guess so…” Lin Qianqian hugged her tighter, tears streaming down her face.

Lu Yin wiped away her tears, her voice filled with concern. “Why are you crying?”

“I just…I feel bad…for you.”

Lin Qianqian’s voice broke, her sobs muffled against Lu Yin’s chest.

If it weren’t for her, Lu Yin’s life would have been different, better. She would have been a successful artist, her talent celebrated, her kindness admired.

The old Lu Yin, so gentle and compassionate, would have had many friends, many admirers.

She had accused Lu Yin of being cruel, but she was the one who had been cruel, selfish, her actions destroying Lu Yin’s life, her spirit.

Lu Yin had treated her like a sister, but she had seduced her, confessed her love, then abandoned her, leaving Lu Yin to bear the burden of their forbidden love, the weight of public shame.

Lin Qianqian couldn’t forgive herself, the memory of that day a constant source of guilt and regret.

She knew Lu Yin had suffered, and she wished she had been braver, stronger.

Lu Yin, understanding her unspoken words, her silent apology, smiled sadly. “Perhaps I owed you something in a past life,” she said. “And now, I’m repaying the debt.”

Chapter 55

Lin Qianqian still hadn’t figured out how to make Lu Yin take her pants off.

She stared at the bathroom light, her humming off-key, and decided to ask Lu Yin about installing a speaker in the bathroom for her impromptu concerts.

After her shower, she went to Lu Yin, hairdryer in hand, and simply stared.

Lu Yin, seeing the hairdryer and Lin Qianqian’s damp hair, knew what she wanted.

“Sit down,” she said, turning on the hairdryer and adjusting the temperature.

Lin Qianqian, enjoying the pampering, checked her phone and saw several missed calls from Ming Yao. She frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Lu Yin asked, turning off the hairdryer.

“The calls…” Lin Qianqian had been about to ask if Lu Yin had heard them, but then noticed the phone was on silent. “When did I put this on silent…?”

Lu Yin resumed drying her hair.

Lin Qianqian called Ming Yao back, but there was no answer.

---

In her bedroom, Zhong Shiwu was getting annoyed. She rarely stayed up late, her frequent travels disrupting her sleep schedule, and she rarely slept past midnight, even in China.

Ming Yao sat on the bed, wearing only a thin silk robe, her shoulders bare, her hair a tangled mess.

She clutched her phone, her body trembling, her teeth chattering, her gaze fixed on Zhong Shiwu.

The fear of pain was a primal instinct.

Zhong Shiwu looked at her, knowing Ming Yao’s carefully constructed routine had been disrupted, her actions now driven by instinct, not by logic.

She took a step towards Ming Yao, and Ming Yao instinctively stepped back, her body pressed against the wall, her feet shuffling nervously.

Seeing the incoming call, Ming Yao opened the door and ran downstairs, grabbing a steak knife from the dining table.

She was trying to reclaim her old habits, her old self, but the knife in her hand felt like a weapon, not a tool.

But she had taken too long. The call went to voicemail.

Zhong Shiwu followed, her own appearance impeccable, her pajamas elegant and pristine.

She didn’t go downstairs, her hands resting on the banister, her gaze fixed on Ming Yao.

Ming Yao held the knife aloft, her fingers fumbling as she typed a message to Lin Qianqian.

“Qianqian, are you there? I really need you…”

“Zhong Shiwu is crazy. She’s controlling me, my thoughts, my actions. I feel like I’m going insane…”

“How can anyone sleep with their own mother? It’s incest! It’s wrong!”

“Qianqian, I don’t know when I’ll see you again…”

“Qianqian, please reply! Save me…call the police…”

Her words were slurred, her voice thick with tears, her message a jumbled mix of fear and confusion.

Zhong Shiwu watched her, her patience wearing thin, her arms crossed, her body leaning against the banister, a yawn escaping her lips.

She didn’t want to be woken up again. It had happened once before, and it wasn’t pleasant.

---

Staying up late was a regular occurrence for Lin Qianqian and Lu Yin.

And midnight snacks were always the most delicious.

After enjoying Lu Yin’s hair-drying service, Lin Qianqian declared she was hungry.

Lu Yin, her head throbbing, looked at the half-finished student applications, then asked what Lin Qianqian wanted.

“We’re out of noodles,” she said, checking the kitchen. “I’ll buy some tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll have instant noodles,” Lin Qianqian said, rummaging through her snack box. “I have a lot of different flavors.”

She had begged Lu Yin to allow her to keep the snack box in the living room. Eating snacks while watching TV was one of life’s greatest pleasures.

The contents of the box, however, were a secret. Lu Yin would confiscate most of it.

“Don’t eat too much junk food,” Lu Yin said, opening the grocery delivery app. “I’ll order some vegetables.”

“Then I’ll wash the vegetables and prepare the sauce,” Lin Qianqian said cheerfully.

Being with Lu Yin made even mundane tasks enjoyable.

Lu Yin returned to her work, noticing the notifications flashing on Lin Qianqian’s phone.

She couldn’t read the messages, but the sender’s name was clearly visible.

Ming Yao again.

Lin Qianqian was so careless, her phone a treasure trove of personal information, her notifications displaying the sender’s name, her apps unlocked, her lock screen password Lu Yin’s birthday, 0828, a blatant declaration of her affection.

Lu Yin opened the voice messages, listening to Ming Yao’s rambling, her words a jumbled mix of fear and confusion.

A particular phrase caught her attention, a sharp, painful reminder of her own past.

She knew she was still insecure, still haunted by the fear of abandonment. The old Lin Qianqian would have run away. And the present Lin Qianqian? She couldn’t be sure.

But she wasn’t the same person she had been four years ago. She wouldn’t push Lin Qianqian away, wouldn’t let her go. She would keep her close, protect her, even if it meant resorting to drastic measures.

And that meant eliminating anyone who might influence Lin Qianqian, anyone who might trigger her emotions, positive or negative.

She deleted the messages, her expression unchanged as Lin Qianqian approached.

“What are you doing?” Lin Qianqian asked, looking at her phone. “Trying to steal my phone and send that picture of us to yourself?”

She snatched the phone away. “I told you, you can’t have it, not unless you beg!”

She puffed out her chest, mimicking a begging gesture, her voice a playful whine. “Please, please, pretty please, can I have the picture?”

Lu Yin flicked her forehead.

She went to the kitchen, Lin Qianqian following close behind.

“Did I wash them properly?” Lin Qianqian asked, seeking praise, gesturing towards the vegetables.

Lu Yin filled a pot with water, then heard the doorbell and asked Lin Qianqian to retrieve the delivery.

“Cold noodles take too long. Let’s have soup noodles tonight,” she said.

“Okay, okay!” Lin Qianqian said cheerfully. “I want two eggs! Poached, not fried!”

Lu Yin prepared the noodles, her own appetite gone.

Lin Qianqian sat at the table, watching her. “Why aren’t you eating? You can’t skip meals just because you’re working.”

“You eat. I’m not hungry,” Lu Yin said, organizing the documents and putting them in her bag.

Lin Qianqian opened her phone, the screen still on Ming Yao’s contact page.

A single voice message, marked as read.

She glanced at Lu Yin, then clicked on the message.

—”How can anyone sleep with their own mother? It’s incest! It’s wrong!”

Lin Qianqian quickly lowered the volume, then, realizing she had pressed the wrong button, making it louder, she locked the screen.

She looked at Lu Yin, who seemed oblivious to the message, assuming Lu Yin didn’t know about Zhong Shiwu and Ming Yao.

But Lu Yin and Zhong Shiwu were close. She couldn’t be sure.

But Zhong Shiwu didn’t seem like the type to gossip…

Lin Qianqian’s mind was a mess. Since their reunion, she had avoided mentioning the past, her apologies vague and nonspecific.

“Why are you staring at me? Eat your noodles,” Lu Yin said, leaving the room.

Lin Qianqian’s appetite vanished, Lu Yin’s subtle shift in mood, the tension in her silence, a familiar signal.

She had always been attuned to Lu Yin’s emotions, even when Lu Yin tried to hide them.

Like that day, years ago, when she had hidden behind Lin Yun, afraid to face Lu Yin.

While others had assumed Lu Yin was speechless from shame, Lin Qianqian had known Lu Yin was waiting for her, her gaze seeking her out, the opinions of others irrelevant.

After that, she had become acutely aware of Lu Yin’s moods, even when Lu Yin tried to appear indifferent.

But this sensitivity, this unique connection, no longer brought her joy. It filled her with anxiety, a fear of being unable to comfort Lu Yin, to bring her back from the darkness that threatened to consume her.

“Sister…” she said, reaching for Lu Yin’s hand. “She wasn’t talking about…”

She trailed off, unsure how to explain, her words only making things worse.

Lu Yin walked towards her bedroom, and Lin Qianqian followed.

“You haven’t taken your medicine yet,” she said, retrieving the pill bottle from Lu Yin’s drawer.

She had been monitoring Lu Yin’s medication intake, but she couldn’t tell if it was helping. Lu Yin seemed no different from before.

“Wait!” she called out, as Lu Yin continued towards her room, but the door closed, the lock clicking shut.

She knocked on the door, frustrated.

Lu Yin stood on the other side, silent. She was no longer easily triggered by words, the painful memories a fleeting discomfort, quickly forgotten.

She was simply delaying Lin Qianqian, hoping she would forget about the message, the desperate plea for help.

The knocking annoyed her, but she didn’t respond.

Since abandoning her suicidal thoughts, since choosing to live, clinging to the image of Lin Qianqian, there was nothing else that mattered.

The painting was ruined, but Lin Qianqian, the real Lin Qianqian, was the only thing worth saving.

And she would save her, even if it meant keeping her captive, hidden away from the world, from anyone who might try to take her away.

She was selfish. She knew it.

She was also crazy. She knew that too.

And this was her only way to survive, to keep Lin Qianqian safe, even if it meant sacrificing everything else.

Chapter 54 

On Saturday afternoon, Lin Qianqian met Ming Yao again.

Ming Yao’s attire was similar to their last meeting, and they sat facing each other in silence, neither initiating conversation.

Ming Yao didn’t know why she had agreed to meet, only that Zhong Shiwu had told her to spend her day off with her friend.

She was now accustomed to obeying Zhong Shiwu’s instructions, her own thoughts and desires irrelevant.

“Ming Yao?” Lin Qianqian asked, concerned by her friend’s continued quietness.

Ming Yao’s mind was blank. Hearing her name, she looked up, her expression unfocused.

“Do you…see your stepmother often?” Lin Qianqian asked tentatively.

“Almost every day.”

“Oh,” Lin Qianqian hadn’t expected that. “Is she…good to you?”

“She’s good to me.”

The same answer as before.

“Didn’t you say your sister was coming back before the New Year?” Lin Qianqian asked, remembering their previous conversation.

“In a few days. She contacted me. We might be moving,” Ming Yao said, her brow furrowing as she tried to recall the details. “My relationship with my mother…”

The divorce had been finalized. Living with Zhong Shiwu seemed illogical now, as if she had been deliberately placed there, her actions controlled by an unseen force.

“Ming Yao?”

“Let’s eat,” Ming Yao said, her mind unable to process these thoughts, the effort too exhausting.

She knew she would be meeting Ming Yi soon, leaving Zhong Shiwu’s house, but the sense of urgency, the desperate need to escape, had faded.

And it had only been a few months since she had moved in with Zhong Shiwu.

She couldn’t let Ming Yi see how much she had changed. Zhong Shiwu had been teaching her how to use Western cutlery again.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know how, she just didn’t want to. Old habits died hard.

She held the knife and fork, slowly cutting the food on her plate, her brow furrowed, the taste seemingly irrelevant.

“Qianqian, what if…I mean, what would you think if…I slept with her?”

“Who?” Lin Qianqian asked, startled, the knife in her hand flashing.

Lin Qianqian knew it wasn’t a hypothetical question. “Isn’t she your…”

“No,” Lin Qianqian corrected herself. “She’s not legally your mother anymore.”

“Would you think it’s…incest?”

Lin Qianqian cringed at the word, the thought of it bringing back uncomfortable memories of her own relationship with Lu Yin, not the happy, carefree moments they had shared, but the painful aftermath of their separation, the accusations and judgment.

“I initiated it. I was the one who climbed into her bed,” Ming Yao said.

And she no longer wanted to leave, even though she knew Zhong Shiwu was controlling her, manipulating her, her every action dictated by an unseen force.

Her old habits, her old self, were resurfacing, and she was forced to confront the reality of her situation, the strange, undefined relationship she had with Zhong Shiwu.

Only by obeying Zhong Shiwu could she silence the questions, the doubts, the growing unease.

“Ming Yao, don’t think about it. Just wait for your sister to come back, then move out. We’ll hang out every day. I’ll show you around. I’ve been working here for months. I know all the best places,” Lin Qianqian said, trying to reassure her.

“Okay…” Ming Yao said, a flicker of hope in her eyes.

If she wanted to escape Zhong Shiwu’s control, she had to remember her old life, her old self, the joy and freedom she had once taken for granted.

“Qianqian, I have to go home soon,” Ming Yao said, glancing at the time.

“It’s fine. We used to stay out all night at bars,” Lin Qianqian said.

“That’s what my schedule says,” Ming Yao said, her actions dictated by the routine Zhong Shiwu had imposed on her. “The rules…the rules say I have to go home now.”

“You used to say rules were meant to be broken,” Lin Qianqian said, remembering their rebellious escapades, sneaking out of school to go to bars, deliberately choosing the areas with the most security guards.

“Did I?” Ming Yao asked, her mind a blank, her thoughts echoing Zhong Shiwu’s words: Be good. Obey.

“Why are you like this, Ming Yao?” Lin Qianqian asked, wanting to help her friend, but unsure how.

Ming Yao seemed possessed, her personality replaced by something hollow, something empty.

“Isn’t it good to be obedient? You get praise, hugs, comfort, kisses, and pleasure.”

At first, she had resisted the schedule, and Zhong Shiwu hadn’t punished her, simply repeating the same instructions the next day.

The turning point had been the first time she obeyed. Zhong Shiwu had praised her.

She had bathed her, like a mother tending to her child, washing away the sweat from her morning run, drying her hair, her body, reading her a bedtime story.

Zhong Shiwu had called it a reward for her obedience. Ming Yao hadn’t understood, but she had liked it, the feeling of being cared for, of being loved.

After a week of obedience, she had wanted more, more than just cuddles at night. She had wanted a goodnight kiss, a sign of affection.

Like in the stories, where mothers showered their daughters with love and affection, their bedtime rituals ending with a kiss.

Zhong Shiwu hadn’t given her that, and Ming Yao, always one for dramatic gestures, had decided to take matters into her own hands.

She had climbed into Zhong Shiwu’s bed, naked, and then realized, too late, that she had made a terrible mistake.

Her idealized mother figure had used her own vulnerability against her, her touch no longer comforting, but invasive, her kisses a violation, not an expression of love.

And after that, there had been no escape.

Zhong Shiwu’s gentle kindness had vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating control, and Ming Yao, lost and confused, had simply obeyed, her every action dictated by the schedule, her own desires irrelevant.

Even when, in a fit of frustration, she had torn up the schedule, she had rewritten it the next day, her actions automatic, her mind numb.

She would watch Zhong Shiwu making notes in a notebook after her morning runs, the meaning of the entries unknown, only the promise of a reward, of a fleeting moment of pleasure, keeping her going.

That evening, Ming Yao returned home early, as always.

“I’m back,” she said, taking off her shoes and coat, seeing Zhong Shiwu on the sofa. “I’m three hours early.”

She forced a smile. Last time she had come home early, Zhong Shiwu had praised her.

This time, she was even earlier. Perhaps the reward would be even greater.

Zhong Shiwu glanced at her, her mind already planning Ming Yao’s departure.

To break a programmed person, you had to disrupt their programming.

Punish them when they expected a reward, reward them when they expected punishment.

And now, Ming Yao clearly expected a reward.

Zhong Shiwu had the data she needed. She didn’t care about the consequences for Ming Yao.

Helping her recover would take too long, perhaps forever.

But disrupting her programming, breaking her conditioning, might yield a different result.

And Zhong Shiwu was short on time.

She stood up and walked towards her room, but Ming Yao grabbed her arm.

In Ming Yao’s programmed mind, obedience equaled reward, but Zhong Shiwu didn’t offer any.

This was wrong. Ming Yao’s eyes pleaded with her, but Zhong Shiwu brushed her hand away.

“Mom…” Ming Yao whispered, her voice filled with a desperate longing, taking Zhong Shiwu’s hand again and giving it a gentle tug.

“Let go,” Zhong Shiwu said coldly.

“No…” Ming Yao stood up, seemingly oblivious to Zhong Shiwu’s displeasure, leaning against her, her head nuzzling Zhong Shiwu’s shoulder, seeking affection.

It was her right, not a privilege to be granted or withheld.

Zhong Shiwu pushed her away and started up the stairs. When Ming Yao grabbed her arm again, she stopped, her hand striking Ming Yao’s face, the sound sharp and loud.

Ming Yao’s hand flew to her cheek, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Why…?” she whispered, her voice choked with pain. “You can’t…you’re not supposed to do this…”

“Ming Yao, I’m not responsible for you anymore,” Zhong Shiwu said, her voice cold and distant, then, correcting herself, added, “Or rather, I never was. I’m not your mother. I’m just a business partner, nothing more.”

“Mom…” Ming Yao whispered, shaking her head, wanting Zhong Shiwu to stop, to take back her words, but she couldn’t bring herself to disobey.

Zhong Shiwu was her mother. She had to obey.

“Think clearly. If you continue like this, I’ll ask Ming Yi to take you away.”

“No!” Ming Yao cried, grabbing Zhong Shiwu’s arm, her fear overriding the pain in her cheek.

Zhong Shiwu went to her room, closing the door behind her. Ming Yao, knowing she wouldn’t get her reward, followed, her heart pounding with a mixture of confusion and despair.

Why did this hurt so much? Why was she so desperate for Zhong Shiwu’s approval, her affection?

She stood outside the door, watching Zhong Shiwu pace back and forth.

“Aren’t you going to bed?” Zhong Shiwu asked, glancing at her coldly, unbuttoning her shirt.

“No…no…” Ming Yao stared at her hands, her gaze fixated on the movements.

As Zhong Shiwu removed her shirt, Ming Yao rushed forward, her arms wrapping around Zhong Shiwu, her lips finding the soft skin of her neck, her shoulders, her chest.

Zhong Shiwu pushed her away, her hand connecting with Ming Yao’s back, sending her crashing against the wall, her head spinning.

Tears blurred her vision. She just wanted her reward. Zhong Shiwu had promised. They had been doing this for months. Why stop now?

“Ming Yao, you’re sick,” Zhong Shiwu said.

Ming Yao reached out, her fingers tracing the strap of Zhong Shiwu’s slip.

“This is something lovers do, not mothers and daughters. It’s not a reward. It’s not something I owe you,” Zhong Shiwu said, her gaze meeting Ming Yao’s tear-filled eyes. “Now, go to bed. This is your last warning.”

Ming Yao, her mind a jumble of confused emotions, pulled at the strap, the thin fabric stretching, snapping against Zhong Shiwu’s skin.

Zhong Shiwu slapped her, the sound sharp and loud, trying to bring her back to reality.

Ming Yao sank to the floor, her hand covering her cheek, the pain a welcome distraction from the turmoil within.

She slowly stood up, reaching for Zhong Shiwu’s leg, but Zhong Shiwu kicked her away.

“Mom…” she whispered, her body slumping against the wall, her mind a blank slate, her actions driven by instinct, by the ingrained need for reward, for approval.

Zhong Shiwu was wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

She crawled towards Zhong Shiwu, ignoring the pain that shot through her body.

Zhong Shiwu stepped on her, her gaze cold and calculating, her voice a threat. “You better behave until Ming Yi comes back. Otherwise, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“Why…like this…?” Ming Yao whispered, her eyes closed. “I…I was good…”

Zhong Shiwu walked away, tossing a blanket at her.

She lay on the bed, her back to Ming Yao, her own conscience a nagging presence.

Perhaps she had been a doctor for too long. Her compassion, her empathy, were getting in the way.

She didn’t like being kind. It always backfired.

Later that night, she woke up to Ming Yao’s touch, her hand licking her palm.

She pushed her away. “Ming Yao, who am I to you?”

Ming Yao knelt on the bed. “Mom…”

“Is this something mothers and daughters should do?”

“No…not allowed?” Ming Yao frowned. “But Mom…you’re divorced now, aren’t you?”

She crawled towards Zhong Shiwu, seeking her touch, her approval.

She took Zhong Shiwu’s hand and pressed it against her cheek. “Mom…you hurt me today…it hurt so much…”

Zhong Shiwu’s fingers slid into Ming Yao’s mouth, pulling at her cheek. “Ming Yao, don’t do things that displease me.”

“Now, go back to your room,” she said, her voice a low growl. “I don’t want to repeat myself.”

Ming Yao hesitated, then lunged forward, trying to straddle Zhong Shiwu.

Zhong Shiwu pinned her down, her hand tightening around Ming Yao’s throat, her knee pressing against her stomach, making her gag.

“You want a reward, don’t you?” she snarled, ripping at Ming Yao’s clothes, her anger giving way to a cold, calculating rage.

Their hair tangled together, their bodies a blur of motion.

Ming Yao’s upper body slid off the bed, her hands flailing, her fingers grasping at the edge, but finding no purchase.

She was like a fish on a chopping block, at Zhong Shiwu’s mercy.

A sharp pain shot through her, her throat constricted by the pressure on her neck, her body arching, her scream a strangled gasp.

A wave of dizziness washed over her, her body floating, weightless, then falling, the impact a jarring reminder of her helplessness.

She struggled against Zhong Shiwu, pushing and kicking, her mind clearing, the pain a catalyst, a desperate need for escape.

She needed help.

But her social circle in China was small, her days spent indoors, her only friend Lin Qianqian.

She pushed Zhong Shiwu away, scrambled off the bed, and grabbed her phone, her fingers fumbling as she dialed Lin Qianqian’s number.

Lin Qianqian was in the bathtub, humming happily.

Her seduction tactics were becoming increasingly sophisticated. She was even considering buying some lingerie, no longer satisfied with the “missing bottom” strategy.

It hadn’t worked on Lu Yin. Perhaps it would be more effective if Lu Yin was the one missing a bottom.

The thought made her pause, her hand, covered in soap suds, hovering over her leg.

How could she make Lu Yin take her pants off?

That was a good question.

Lu Yin was in the living room, working on student applications, her focus unwavering.

Her phone rang, and she assumed it was a student or a parent, then realized, seeing the blank screen, it was Lin Qianqian’s phone.

She saw the caller ID: “Ming Yao.” She remembered her conversation with Zhong Shiwu at the clinic.

It seemed they were on the same side.

Lu Yin didn’t want Lin Qianqian interacting with anyone else, and Zhong Shiwu didn’t want anyone disrupting her carefully constructed routine.

She hesitated, then let the phone ring, the sound echoing through the apartment, before finally declining the call.

It rang again, and again.

The incessant ringing was distracting, and she silenced Lin Qianqian’s phone, her own work resuming, her expression calm and unbothered.

In the bedroom, Ming Yao’s panic escalated. Lin Qianqian was her only hope.

She called again, and again, but there was no answer.

Zhong Shiwu stood before the mirror, adjusting her hair, her clothes, her appearance always impeccable, her vulnerabilities hidden beneath a carefully constructed facade.

She watched Ming Yao, a cold smile playing on her lips.

When the pack turned on you, there was no escape. No one would save you.

Chapter 53

“Will you do it with me under the shower, like in the video…?”

Lu Yin’s hand clamped over Lin Qianqian’s mouth, stopping the rest of the sentence. Lin Qianqian retaliated by playfully biting Lu Yin’s fingers.

“Let go,” Lu Yin said calmly.

“No,” Lin Qianqian said, determined to make up for being locked out of the bathroom.

Lu Yin’s fingers moved, teasing the tip of Lin Qianqian’s tongue.

Lin Qianqian’s mouth flooded with saliva, and she instinctively released Lu Yin’s hand.

She rubbed her face against Lu Yin’s towel, taking the opportunity to press her body closer.

Lu Yin stepped back, her back against the wall.

Lin Qianqian grinned, placing her hand on the wall beside Lu Yin’s head, trapping her in a perfect kabedon.

Lu Yin reached out and turned on the shower, the cold water spraying Lin Qianqian.

Lin Qianqian spluttered, shielding her eyes with her hand, then grabbing a towel to dry her face.

“Get undressed and wash yourself,” Lu Yin said, leaving the bathroom before Lin Qianqian could respond.

Lin Qianqian couldn’t understand Lu Yin’s reluctance.

Wasn’t it more fun to be spontaneous?

She quickly finished her shower and ran to Lu Yin’s bedroom, hoping to surprise her, but the room was empty.

She found Lu Yin in the living room, sitting at the counter, making tea.

She wrapped her arms around Lu Yin’s waist, resting her chin on her shoulder, her hands exploring the soft skin beneath Lu Yin’s pajamas.

There had to be a hidden switch somewhere on Lu Yin’s body! A secret trigger!

Why wasn’t she responding?

It had to be Lu Yin’s fault!

“Have some chrysanthemum tea,” Lu Yin said calmly, removing Lin Qianqian’s hand from her pajamas. “It’ll cool you down.”

Lin Qianqian’s phone rang, interrupting her exploration. It was Ming Yao, inviting her out the next day.

The living room was quiet, and Lu Yin overheard the conversation.

Lin Qianqian sat down, wincing as she took a sip of the hot tea. “She’s giving you another day off already?”

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Ming Yao said.

“Okay,” Lin Qianqian hung up, a sense of unease lingering. Something was wrong with Ming Yao, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, right?” Lu Yin asked casually, turning on the electric kettle.

“Yes, I’m off,” Lin Qianqian said, blowing on her tea. “This is good.”

“I added a rock sugar,” Lu Yin said. “I was planning on taking you out, but it seems you have other plans.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!” Lin Qianqian exclaimed, frustrated. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

“It’s fine. You have plenty of friends. It’s normal to want to see them,” Lu Yin said, a playful smile on her face. “Right?”

Right? Wrong!

But she had already agreed to meet Ming Yao, and seeing Ming Yao these days was a rare occurrence, so she had to go.

---

Zhong Shiwu received Lu Yin’s message during lunch.

She expertly sliced the steak, rang the small bell beside her plate, and placed the plate on the floor.

Ming Yao sat on the floor, her gaze fixed on Zhong Shiwu’s movements.

Hearing the bell, she crawled towards the plate, her movements mechanical, her mind blank.

Zhong Shiwu, after reading Lu Yin’s message, tossed a fork onto the floor.

Ming Yao flinched, looking up at Zhong Shiwu with a questioning gaze.

“Learn how to use it,” Zhong Shiwu said, flipping through her calendar. “Ming Yi will be back soon.”

Ming Yao picked up the fork and ate a piece of steak. “When is my sister coming back?” she asked, her voice flat.

She didn’t seem as excited about Ming Yi’s return as she had been before.

Her mind was focused on her schedule, her present a series of prescribed actions, her past a blank slate, her future irrelevant.

She frowned, a soft whimper escaping her lips.

“Don’t look so pathetic. Do you think I’m starving you?” Zhong Shiwu said, tilting Ming Yao’s chin up. “I don’t want your sister thinking I’m mistreating you.”

Ming Yao’s head remained tilted upwards, her hand reaching for the plate, picking up another piece of steak and eating it under Zhong Shiwu’s watchful gaze.

“Is it good?” Zhong Shiwu asked.

Ming Yao nodded.

“Use your words.”

“It’s good…delicious…”

“Good girl,” Zhong Shiwu smiled, patting her head, then stood up and left.

Once she was gone, Ming Yao spat out the steak.

She tossed the fork aside, leaned down, and sniffed the remaining pieces of meat, then ate them with her hands, licking the plate clean.

Zhong Shiwu stood on the balcony, looking at the sun hidden behind the clouds, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders.

Ming Yi had returned a few days ago. They were meeting today.

She glanced at her watch. Time to go.

As she was leaving, she saw Ming Yao lying on the floor, curled up in a ball.

She knelt down and patted her gently. “Go upstairs and take a nap.”

Ming Yao’s eyes fluttered open, then closed again.

She knew it was her scheduled nap time, but she was too tired to move.

It was just a nap. She hadn’t been told where to sleep.

Zhong Shiwu had collected enough data from her experiment. She no longer needed Ming Yao.

Once Ming Yi returned, she would find a new “home” for Ming Yao, but after several conversations, she realized Ming Yi wasn’t interested in taking her younger sister in.

Which meant Ming Yao might have to stay with her.

Zhong Shiwu didn’t want a child clinging to her, disrupting her life. She didn’t have the time or energy.

A sudden disruption to Ming Yao’s routine might be counterproductive, so she decided to gradually relax the restrictions, starting with more flexible weekends.

She led Ming Yao upstairs, watching her lie down on the bed before leaving for her appointment.

She met Ming Yi at a cafe.

“Dr. Zhong, it’s been a while,” Ming Yi said, sitting down opposite her. “I know you enjoy coffee, so I had them clear the cafe for us.”

“Such a thoughtful gesture, Ming Zong. But I believe I’ve earned a bit of special treatment, haven’t I?”

Ming Yi chuckled. “Of course. I’ll try my best to accommodate your requests.”

Zhong Shiwu was never one for false modesty, her personality direct and unapologetic. People either liked her or they didn’t.

And she admired Ming Yi.

The Zhong family, generations of doctors, had always prioritized healing, but they lacked power and influence, their good intentions easily exploited.

The scandal surrounding her mother’s death had taught her a valuable lesson: money wasn’t enough. She needed power. She couldn’t afford to be kind.

Lu Sui had helped her clear her mother’s name, but the Lu family’s influence was limited.

Ming Yi had approached her, offering her resources, helping her silence the media, even investing in her clinic, but always maintaining control.

Zhong Shiwu knew she had ulterior motives, but she had seized the opportunity, a chance to climb the social ladder.

“I have a younger sister named Ming Yao,” Ming Yi had said, providing her with a detailed profile. “She’s somewhat favored in the family, but she’s naive, sheltered, sent abroad to keep her out of the power struggles, content with her comfortable life, oblivious to the dangers lurking beneath the surface.”

Ming Yi, cunning and ambitious, knew the true power lay in China, within the intricate network of family connections. She had built her own empire abroad, preparing to return and dismantle the Ming family business, absorbing its resources, its power.

“Why are you telling me this?” Zhong Shiwu had asked, unable to decipher Ming Yi’s intentions.

“She’s too foolish. I don’t need a sister like that. I’ll take the reins of the Ming family myself,” Ming Yi had said, her voice cold and decisive. “I want you to use her as a shield, to spread rumors about me, to make the family believe I’m a threat.”

“Will that work?” Zhong Shiwu had asked, skeptical. “The Ming family is powerful…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the older generation. And as for my siblings, they’re even more foolish than Ming Yao. They’re useless.”

And so, just days after Zhong Shiwu’s wedding, her new husband, whom she had barely met, had been admitted to the ICU.

Zhong Shiwu’s trust in Ming Yi had solidified.

Now, sitting in a cafe in China, their conversation light and casual, she felt a sense of relief.

Ming Yi had successfully taken control of the Ming family business, her own clinic thriving, her wealth and influence growing.

They would announce their partnership after the Spring Festival, sending shockwaves through the business world.

Who said you couldn’t have it all?

“How is Ming Yao?” Ming Yi asked casually, after a while.

“Not well,” Zhong Shiwu said, her expression serious. “I don’t think she’ll ever be the same again.”

“It doesn’t matter. Our contract is clear. Ming Yao is your daughter. You can take care of her however you see fit,” Ming Yi said, glancing at the ring on her finger. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with my plans.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her,” Zhong Shiwu said, meeting Ming Yi’s gaze, a subtle smile playing on her lips. “But Ming Zong, we have to maintain appearances. When you take over the family business, you’ll have to find a place for Ming Yao. She’s still expecting you to take her in.”

“Mm,” Ming Yi said dismissively. “Do whatever you think is best.”

She handed Zhong Shiwu a beautifully wrapped box. “I know you like watches. I acquired this from a private collector. Consider it a gift.”

“Thank you,” Zhong Shiwu said, accepting the gift without opening it.

“I have to go. Contact me if you need anything.”

Zhong Shiwu nodded, smiling as she watched Ming Yi leave, then sipped her coffee, her gaze sweeping over the empty cafe.

It felt lifeless without the usual chatter and bustle.

Since her “daughter” had become a burden, she would have to find a suitable solution, a new “home” for her.

She opened Lu Yin’s message and replied, scheduling a follow-up appointment for the weekend. Lu Yin’s frequent visits were clearly a pretext for discussing something else.

The next day, she went to the hospital.

“Teacher Lu, your commitment to recovery is admirable. Your appointments are becoming increasingly punctual, even half an hour early this time,” Zhong Shiwu said, staring at her freshly brewed coffee. “I hope you don’t mind if I use those thirty minutes to enjoy my coffee. Let’s postpone the diagnostic discussion for a bit.”

“I just came straight from class,” Lu Yin said, handing her a box of pastries. “I bought you your favorite peach blossom cakes.”

“You’re the only one who remembers my preferences,” Zhong Shiwu said, accepting the gift. “I thought you would have gone home to see your sister, since it’s the weekend.”

“She’s out with a friend,” Lu Yin said, her face impassive, her gaze meeting Zhong Shiwu’s. “Someone you know, actually. Quite well, in fact.”

Zhong Shiwu’s smile faltered. She set down her coffee cup and looked at Lu Yin. “Ming Yao?”

Lu Yin didn’t confirm or deny it. “Is she…in any condition to be going out?”

“Who are you talking about?” Zhong Shiwu asked, flipping through Lu Yin’s file, the diagnostic reports all normal, indicating a stable mental state.

Another waste of paperwork.

Lu Yin was hiding her true feelings again.

Zhong Shiwu thought back to her recent interactions with Lu Yin, her subtle probes and provocations.

First, Lin Qianqian’s classmate. Then, deliberately allowing Ming Yao to meet with Lin Qianqian.

Her suspicions had been correct.

Lu Yin was still possessive of Lin Qianqian, her outward calm demeanor masking a deeper obsession. She had rejected Xu Si’s niece’s application, eliminating the possibility of future encounters, and now, she was using Ming Yao’s situation to manipulate Zhong Shiwu into taking care of Ming Yao, removing her from Lin Qianqian’s life.

“Ming Yao,” Zhong Shiwu said, answering her own question. “They’ve known each other for years. They’re adults. They can take care of each other.”

“You must have diagnosed her,” Lu Yin said, her voice firm. “What did you say before? That you had a diagnosis of delusional disorder ready for me?”

“As a doctor, I have to be concerned about my daughter’s mental health,” Zhong Shiwu said, wanting to end this conversation. They were both stubborn, their wills clashing, neither willing to yield.

“Is that the only relationship we have? Doctor and patient?” Lu Yin pressed. “Didn’t you say I was a difficult patient? Then why haven’t you given up on me yet? Why not let me self-destruct?”

Zhong Shiwu’s expression shifted.

So, even Lu Yin resorted to emotional manipulation, using their shared connection to Lu Sui as leverage.

“The reports are normal, aren’t they?” Lu Yin said, her smile cold, her gaze fixed on the diagnostic reports in Zhong Shiwu’s hand. “If someone is mentally unstable, they should be hospitalized, not running around unsupervised.”

“Fine, fine. It’s just a girl,” Zhong Shiwu said dismissively, taking a sip of her cold coffee. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Anything involving Ming Yao has to be handled carefully. It could affect the Ming family.”

“Didn’t I just say that?” Lu Yin smiled, repeating her earlier words. “Patients should be hospitalized, not running around unsupervised.”

Zhong Shiwu considered the possibilities, a slow smile spreading across her face. “As a doctor, I wholeheartedly agree.”

Lu Yin’s eyes finally crinkled with amusement. “I visited my mother’s grave recently. I told her you’ve been taking good care of me. I’m very grateful.”

Zhong Shiwu sighed, placing a new questionnaire in front of Lu Yin. “Let’s start over.”

Lu Yin was no longer suicidal, but she seemed to have gone to the other extreme.

Zhong Shiwu couldn’t determine the impact on her emotional state, her relationship with Lin Qianqian. She would have to reassess.

If it weren’t for Lu Sui, she would have cut ties with Lu Yin long ago.

“A difficult patient can be very traumatizing for a psychiatrist,” she muttered.

Lu Yin, unfazed, said calmly, “I’ll follow your instructions, Doctor Zhong.”

Zhong Shiwu sighed. Such a formal tone, such a dismissive response.

Chapter 52

Lin Qianqian stared at the ruined wolf hair brush on the nightstand, its tip frayed and stained with paint.

She had lost count of how many times Lu Yin had written her name on her back, the fine brushstrokes a torturous reminder of Lu Yin’s possessiveness.

She had never imagined her gift being used like this.

Later that night, wrapped in a blanket, she sat on a chair, watching Lu Yin change the sheets.

In the past, they would have simply moved to the dry side of the bed, but tonight, Lu Yin had been relentless, her passion fueled by something darker, something Lin Qianqian couldn’t understand.

Her usual tactic of feigning pain hadn’t worked. Lu Yin hadn’t stopped, hadn’t asked if she was okay. Her cries had been silenced by Lu Yin’s hand over her mouth, her tears a mixture of pain and frustration.

She had tried to escape, to hide in the corners of the bed, but Lu Yin had pulled her back, her touch insistent, demanding.

“Sister…” Lin Qianqian whispered, her eyes red and swollen, watching Lu Yin gather the soiled sheets.

“I’ll pick you up from the airport next time, I promise. I forgot…” she said, hoping for forgiveness, a return to their earlier easy intimacy.

But Lu Yin didn’t respond, her silence a stark contrast to her usual quick forgiveness.

“What’s wrong? Did you lose your memory after putting your pants back on?” Lin Qianqian asked, tugging at Lu Yin’s shirt as she walked past.

Her patience was wearing thin. She was tired of apologizing.

Lu Yin released her grip. “Go to bed. I’m going to the institution.”

“It’s only six o’clock,” Lin Qianqian said. “Why are you going so early? Are you avoiding me?”

“They’re rearranging the studios after the New Year. I’m helping them clear out some classrooms. They have classes during the day. It would be too noisy.”

“I’ll come with you. I can help.”

“Go to bed,” Lu Yin said, her gaze firm. “Now.”

Lin Qianqian met her gaze, then, defeated, lay down on the clean sheets.

“These new sheets don’t smell like you. I can’t sleep,” she grumbled. “If you’re angry, you should tell me. How am I supposed to know if you’re still mad?”

“We just…did that, and now you’re acting like nothing happened. It’s not fair!” she said, her frustration growing. “Should I just pour a bucket of cold water over myself?”

This wasn’t how it usually went. A bit of playful teasing, a few apologies, and everything would be back to normal.

Now, Lu Yin was giving her the silent treatment, as if she had committed some unforgivable sin.

“Have you been taking your medication?” Lin Qianqian asked, wondering if Lu Yin was suppressing her emotions, her usual calm demeanor a carefully constructed facade.

The only response was the sound of the closing door.

“Lu Yin! You’re crazy!” she shouted, then, as the door opened and she saw Lu Yin’s face, she quickly closed her eyes, feigning sleep. “Oops, I was talking in my sleep again…”

After a long silence, she opened her eyes, stifling a scream as she saw Lu Yin standing beside her bed.

“I called in sick for you. Stay home and don’t go anywhere,” Lu Yin said, then left.

“It’s only the second day of the year, and I’ve already lost my perfect attendance bonus,” Lin Qianqian muttered. “That’s a few hundred yuan…”

Lu Yin seemed more adept at calling in sick for her than she was.

But she wouldn’t argue. She rolled over and went back to sleep.

Lu Yin took her medication and drove to the institution.

The stack of student applications, including Xu Si’s niece’s, was waiting for her.

The institution’s reputation was growing, the number of applicants increasing with each term. To maintain a balanced student-teacher ratio, they had to be selective.

Lu Yin set the first application aside. The rest were rejections.

As she worked, exhaustion set in.

She hadn’t slept much on the plane, or the previous night, and she was running on empty.

Her eyes met her own smiling face in the photo on the wall.

She had heard Xu Si had recognized her from that photo, a chance encounter that had reconnected her with Lin Qianqian.

It was a strange coincidence, considering they no longer lived in the same city.

But Lu Yin didn’t like coincidences. She didn’t want Lin Qianqian reconnecting with people from her past, or forming new relationships.

Protecting Lin Qianqian from these outside influences was her duty as a sister.

She closed her eyes, her mind racing, trying to remember who else was in Lin Qianqian’s life.

---

Seeing Xu Si’s name on her phone, Lin Qianqian assumed it was a social call, but Xu Si was calling about the art classes.

The next term was full, and Xu Si’s niece hadn’t been accepted. She asked Lin Qianqian to speak to Lu Yin, hoping for an exception.

Lin Qianqian, unable to refuse outright, agreed to ask, promising to get back to her.

Lu Yin had always been in charge of selecting students for the smaller classes.

And Lu Yin wasn’t one to compromise her principles for personal favors. This wasn’t going to be easy.

That evening, Lu Yin came home with two takeout containers of beef noodle soup.

“Eat while it’s hot,” she said, placing the food on the table, then setting down her bag and hanging up her jacket.

“Did you get any rest today?” Lin Qianqian asked, still puzzled by Lu Yin’s seemingly endless energy.

They had both been up all night, but while Lin Qianqian had felt like a zombie that morning, Lu Yin had gone to work, her energy levels seemingly unaffected.

“I took a nap this afternoon,” Lu Yin said, her voice tinged with fatigue.

Lin Qianqian hesitated.

Did she really want to ask Lu Yin for a favor, especially for an old friend?

“The next term starts after the New Year, right?” she asked, seeing Lu Yin nod. “Is it full?”

“Why? Do you want to enroll?” Lu Yin asked, a hint of amusement in her voice, pouring herself a glass of water and sitting down at the table.

“Would you save a spot for me?” Lin Qianqian hinted. “You’ve seen my artistic skills.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Lu Yin said, without looking up. “I wouldn’t want to be associated with such…mediocrity.”

“I could use a pseudonym,” Lin Qianqian said, covering her face with her hand, only to have Lu Yin pull it away. “So, no spots left?”

Lu Yin’s gaze was intense, and Lin Qianqian looked away, feeling a flicker of guilt.

“Just…forget I asked,” she said, forcing a smile. “No spots, no problem.”

Lu Yin finished her noodles, and Lin Qianqian, eating quickly, glanced at her. “You should eat more.”

“I was just asking for my friend.”

She couldn’t stand the silence, Lu Yin’s quiet disapproval a familiar tactic, waiting for her to confess, to reveal her true intentions.

“You want me to make an exception?” Lu Yin asked.

“It’s my friend, Xu Si. You remember her, right?”

“No.”

Lin Qianqian sensed Lu Yin’s displeasure. “I’ll just tell her the class is full. It’s just…we haven’t seen each other in a while, and I didn’t want to refuse her directly.”

“Mm,” Lu Yin said, standing up and leaving the room.

Just ‘mm’ and then you leave?

Lin Qianqian looked at her barely touched bowl of noodles, sensing Lu Yin’s lingering displeasure.

“Don’t waste food,” she said, transferring the beef slices to her own bowl and finishing both servings before retrieving her pajamas and heading towards the bathroom.

She had heard Lu Yin showering earlier, but she didn’t want to wait. She knocked on the door.

The water stopped running. “Can I come in?” she asked cheerfully.

The door opened. Lu Yin was wearing a bathrobe, her hair damp, a few droplets clinging to the towel wrapped around her chest.

Lin Qianqian’s gaze lingered on her exposed neck and shoulders. “Are you done? Want to shower together?”

“Were you jealous just now? Of my classmate?”

“And now you’re only wearing a bathrobe, accusing me of seducing you? It seems like you’re the one seducing me.”

Lu Yin’s lips tightened, Lin Qianqian’s teasing words a familiar challenge. She never learned.

“I saw a video the other day while you were gone. Want to role-play?” Lin Qianqian asked.

“What kind of video?” Lu Yin asked, her brow furrowing.

Lin Qianqian coughed, tugging at her collar, feigning a shiver. “Sister, the water’s out at my place. Can I borrow your shower?”

“No,” Lu Yin said, starting to close the door, but Lin Qianqian stuck her foot in the way.

“Wrong! You’re supposed to say, ‘I’m using it now, but you can join me if you want,’” Lin Qianqian corrected her, her voice serious. “And you’re supposed to loosen your bathrobe, so it’s easier for me to take it off later.”

“Move your foot,” Lu Yin said.

Lin Qianqian withdrew her foot, trying again. “Are you using the shower? Do you mind if I join you?”

“I do.”

The door slammed shut.

Lin Qianqian scoffed at Lu Yin’s lack of cooperation, but she was secretly pleased.

She knocked on the door a few more times, but Lu Yin didn’t relent.

Lu Yin, of course, heard her frustrated sighs.

She enjoyed Lin Qianqian’s playful antics, her childish attempts at seduction, knowing Lin Qianqian would never behave like this with anyone else.

They both showed their worst sides to each other, their vulnerabilities exposed, their insecurities laid bare.

During their four years apart, Lu Yin had hated her own insatiable desire for Lin Qianqian, a forbidden longing that made her feel ashamed, her words silenced by her own internal censor.

But it had also fueled her art, her pain transformed into something beautiful, something dark and disturbing, a reflection of her own twisted desires.

And now, it had brought Lin Qianqian back to her, her every action, every word, a source of both frustration and fascination, her frustrated groan a sweet melody to Lu Yin’s ears.

Lu Yin opened the door again, and Lin Qianqian, caught off guard, stumbled forward, Lu Yin catching her before she fell.

Lu Yin smirked. “In that video you watched, does the younger one always play hard to get?”

Chapter 51

Despite her annoyance, Lin Qianqian decided to pick Lu Yin up from the airport.

It was a matter of principle. Lu Yin had picked her up. Now it was her turn.

If Lu Yin gave her the silent treatment, she would use this as leverage.

An hour before her scheduled departure for the airport, she received a call from Zhong Shiwu. She didn’t know how Zhong Shiwu had gotten her number, but she agreed to Zhong Shiwu’s request.

Zhong Shiwu said she had an acquaintance at the art institution and asked Lin Qianqian to meet with her.

It was another difficult choice, but she couldn’t refuse Zhong Shiwu.

Between offending Lu Yin and offending Zhong Shiwu, it was better to be polite to a stranger.

When she arrived at the institution, she was surprised to see her old classmate, Xu Si.

They had been classmates since elementary school, their friendship a constant throughout their childhood, often visiting each other’s homes.

Xu Si had never slept over at Lin Qianqian’s, but Lin Qianqian had often spent the night at Xu Si’s, earning her a scolding from Lu Yin upon her return.

In elementary and middle school, Lu Yin’s concern had been her safety. In high school, it had shifted to her studies, accusing her of prioritizing fun over academics.

Lu Yin, in that respect, was like any other parent, but Lin Qianqian wasn’t like other teenagers.

Whenever Lu Yin scolded her, she would think—

Oh, she’s scolding me. She must care about me.

She’s worried I’m spending too much time with my friends. Is she afraid I’ll fall in love with someone else and forget about her?

After several rounds of self-deception, she had come to interpret Lu Yin’s scoldings as a sign of affection, her anger a measure of her concern.

Then, after spending three days and nights at Xu Si’s, she had returned home to find Lu Yin exhausted, her messages and calls unanswered. She had panicked.

Back then, she had only dared to drink a little beer, but it always went straight to her head. She had returned home, her face flushed, reeking of alcohol, and Lu Yin had locked her in her room.

Lin Qianqian had begged and pleaded, but to no avail. Finally, she had called Lu Yin and apologized profusely, earning her release.

Seeing Xu Si at the art institution, they hugged excitedly, catching up on lost time.

Xu Si explained that she had been touring the institution with her niece, considering enrolling her in art classes, when she saw Lu Yin’s picture on the wall, recognizing her from their childhood visits to Lin Qianqian’s home.

Zhong Shiwu, overhearing their conversation, had asked a few questions and then summoned Lin Qianqian.

As they were chatting, Zhong Shiwu walked past, smiling. “You two catch up. I’ll leave you to it.”

Xu Si’s gaze returned to the wall of teacher photos. “How are things with your sister now…?”

The scandal surrounding Lin Qianqian’s family had been a major event, forcing her to leave the country just months before the college entrance exams.

She had confidently declared she would attend the same university as Lu Yin, becoming her junior, but she hadn’t even had the chance to take the exams.

“We’re good. I came back this summer and I’m staying at her place,” Lin Qianqian said casually, her expression betraying no hint of their complicated history.

She was increasingly determined to be open about their relationship.

“And your mother…?” Xu Si asked hesitantly, afraid of upsetting her.

“I haven’t spoken to her in a while. The last time…” Lin Qianqian thought back to their last conversation, before her return, when Lin Yun had told her she had sold the house and had no money, leaving Lin Qianqian to fend for herself.

Desperate, she had contacted Lu Yin. If it hadn’t been for that desperate situation, she wouldn’t have had the courage to add Lu Yin back on WeChat.

“It doesn’t matter. We don’t have much to talk about anyway.”

Lin Yun had sent her abroad like a disposable object, a burden to be discarded.

She had been generous at first, providing for her expenses, but then the allowance had dwindled, forcing Lin Qianqian to work part-time jobs, even teaching Chinese to the elderly woman next door, learning the true meaning of “second parents.”

Her cooking skills were atrocious, and after several food poisoning incidents, she had given up on seeking medical treatment, relying on over-the-counter medication and the kindness of her elderly neighbor, who, despite her sharp tongue, had a soft heart.

“I know about your family situation. I’m glad things are going well with your sister. As your friend, I just want you to be happy,” Xu Si said, lowering her voice. “I always thought your sister was a good person. She was always so kind to me when I visited your home. But after you left, the rumors…they were awful.”

Lin Qianqian looked down, unable to respond.

She knew how awful the rumors were. Lu Yin had been insulted and accused to her face, the whispers behind her back even more cruel.

“Sister, are we leaving?” a teenage girl called out from the hallway.

“Coming! Did you finish talking to the teacher, Auntie?” Xu Si stood up.

“Yes, but the next class starts after the Spring Festival. We can pre-register now.”

Xu Si nodded, turning back to Lin Qianqian. “See? We’re destined to be together. Inseparable abroad, and now, I run into you while enrolling my niece in art classes. If I hadn’t seen your sister’s picture, we wouldn’t have met.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here either. This place is so different from before,” Lin Qianqian said, following her out of the office.

“I’m attending A University now,” Xu Si said.

Lin Qianqian’s eyes widened. “That’s a great school!”

“You would have gotten in too, if you had taken the exams,” Xu Si said, getting into her car and waving goodbye. “Let’s get together soon! I’ll call you!”

“Sounds good!” Lin Qianqian replied, waving back.

As the car drove away, she glanced at her watch, a sudden realization hitting her.

She had dressed up, spent two hours on her makeup, not for a casual reunion with an old classmate.

She froze.

She had forgotten about Lu Yin.

A message from Lu Yin arrived, saying her flight had arrived early and Lin Qianqian didn’t need to come to the airport.

Lin Qianqian felt a wave of relief. If Lu Yin had found out she had forgotten to pick her up, prioritizing a casual reunion instead, she would have been in serious trouble.

She had offered to pick Lu Yin up, but now, she didn’t have to.

[Lin Qian: I’ll be waiting at home.]

She was about to call a taxi when she saw Lu Yin walking towards her. She hesitated for a second, then turned and ran back towards the institution.

Lu Yin caught her arm. “Why are you running?”

“I…I came to drop off the scanned documents…” she stammered. “I…I came because I saw your message about your flight arriving early.”

“Really?” Lu Yin asked, releasing her arm.

“Yes, really…” Lin Qianqian said, her voice lacking conviction.

“Of course,” she said, trying to appear confident, walking towards the office.

A teacher approached them. “Teacher Lu, you’re back early!”

Lu Yin nodded in greeting.

“We just had a prospective student touring the institution, and she said she was a classmate of your sister’s.”

Lin Qianqian’s smile froze.

Seriously? We’ve never even spoken. Don’t drag me into your attempt to befriend Lu Yin.

“Is that so?” Lu Yin asked, glancing at Lin Qianqian, then continuing her conversation with the teacher.

They sat down in the office, Lu Yin’s gaze fixed on Lin Qianqian as she rummaged through the drawers, pretending to search for the non-existent documents.

“Did you find them?” Lu Yin asked, even though she knew the truth. “Do you want me to help you?”

The question reminded Lin Qianqian of Lu Yin’s words years ago, before she had been banished to her room: “Are you drunk? Do you want me to make you some sobering soup?”

“I can’t find them…” Lin Qianqian gave up, her voice a pathetic whine. “You said your flight arrived early and I didn’t need to come, so I didn’t. I listened to you.”

Lu Yin didn’t reply, and Lin Qianqian looked up at her, then quickly looked down again.

“Fine,” Lu Yin stood up. “Let’s go home.”

Lu Yin seemed to believe her, and Lin Qianqian, after surreptitiously assessing Lu Yin’s mood, looped her arm through Lu Yin’s, her voice bright and cheerful. “Sister, I missed you so much!”

She kissed Lu Yin’s cheek repeatedly. “Let me smell you! Make sure you haven’t been with any other women!”

Lu Yin didn’t respond, driving home in silence.

“You drove here?” Lin Qianqian asked, calculating the time. “Your flight arrived that early?”

Early enough to drive back home and then to the institution.

“Mm,” Lu Yin confirmed.

Her response was brief, her tone indicating fatigue.

“I should get my driver’s license. Then I can drive you around,” Lin Qianqian said, trying to please her, but Lu Yin’s expression remained neutral.

She decided to be quiet and let Lu Yin rest when they got home.

She bought some snacks at the convenience store near their apartment complex.

She had planned to have dinner with Lu Yin after picking her up from the airport, but now, she had to settle for a quick snack.

Lu Yin, usually attentive to her needs, didn’t ask if she was hungry, her silence a familiar form of disapproval.

Lin Qianqian made instant noodles and ate them in the living room, along with a selection of snacks Lu Yin disliked.

Lu Yin went to her room, retrieved her pajamas, and went to the bathroom without even glancing at her.

She didn’t seem tired at all. Lin Qianqian could tell.

About an hour later, Lu Yin emerged from the bathroom, went to the loft, retrieved a box, and then went to her bedroom.

Lin Qianqian, wanting to greet her, but finding no opportunity, remained silent, her frustration simmering.

She finished her noodles, removed her makeup, and went to bed, still waiting for Lu Yin.

This was strange.

She got out of bed, went to Lu Yin’s room, and opened the door without knocking, her gaze fixed on Lu Yin, who was sitting at her desk. “Are you angry because I didn’t pick you up from the airport?” she asked.

It seemed like a plausible explanation.

Lu Yin valued honesty and always kept her promises. Lin Qianqian had vowed to pick her up.

She should have interpreted Lu Yin’s message about the early arrival as a subtle rejection, a polite way of saying she didn’t want to see her, but she had used it as an excuse, blaming her forgetfulness on her reunion with Xu Si.

“Didn’t you go to the institution to drop off the documents?” Lu Yin asked, her gaze fixed on a box on her desk, not meeting Lin Qianqian’s eyes.

“Just tell me if you’re angry,” Lin Qianqian pressed. “Yes or no?”

If yes, she would apologize.

If no, she would still apologize.

But Lu Yin couldn’t ignore her.

Lu Yin turned slightly, studying Lin Qianqian’s defiant expression. She hadn’t changed at all.

Lin Qianqian walked over and kissed Lu Yin’s lips softly. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Her earlier desperation, her tearful pleas for Lu Yin to return, seemed forgotten.

Lu Yin opened the box, revealing the wolf hair brush.

“I can buy you a better one now. And I know more about art now. I won’t make the same mistake,” Lin Qianqian said, stepping closer, then noticing Lu Yin pulling the brush away. “Hey! What are you doing?”

Petty woman!

It was her gift! Now Lu Yin wouldn’t even let her touch it!

“Is that how you apologize?” Lu Yin finally looked at her.

“If you don’t accept my apology, I’ll offer myself as a sacrifice,” Lin Qianqian said dramatically, reaching for the buttons of her shirt.

A chair, kicked over accidentally, lay on the floor, unnoticed.

Lin Qianqian’s dramatic gesture was interrupted by Lu Yin’s sudden kiss.

Their lips met, Lin Qianqian’s hands instinctively moving to Lu Yin’s chest, her mind racing.

How had they gotten here?

Was she really going to have to rely on seduction to appease Lu Yin?

But if it worked, she would use this tactic repeatedly.

Lu Yin’s fingers traced her spine, the touch sending shivers down her spine, and she pressed closer, seeking warmth, seeking comfort in Lu Yin’s embrace.

Her bare feet found a discarded shirt on the floor, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the cold tile.

She longed for spring, for the warmth, for the endless nights tangled in Lu Yin’s arms.

Lu Yin’s tongue traced her jawline, her collarbone, her skin tingling with pleasure.

Lin Qianqian lay back against the bed, her gaze fixed on the familiar chandelier, the gentle breeze from the slightly open window a welcome caress.

Lu Yin’s teeth grazed her skin, and Lin Qianqian reached for her hand, wanting to hold it, but her fingers only found Lu Yin’s shoulder.

She let go, her hand falling to the bed, brushing against the serrated edge of a small plastic bag, the rough texture a strange counterpoint to the smoothness of Lu Yin’s skin.

They were both lost in the moment, their bodies moving together, their breaths mingling. Lin Qianqian turned over, her head resting on the pillow, the memories of the previous night flooding back.

The fantasy had become reality, the pleasure intense, but the romantic touch she had imagined hadn’t followed the warmth of Lu Yin’s lips.

Lu Yin stood beside the bed, the wolf hair brush in her hand.

Lin Qianqian looked at her, her eyes half-closed. “Sister…” she whispered, her voice husky, the unanswered desire a lingering ache.

“The wolf hair brush,” Lu Yin said, showing it to her. “Your gift.”

“Mm…yes,” Lin Qianqian mumbled, unsure what Lu Yin was planning.

“Do you remember what I told you it was for?”

Lu Yin’s gaze was intense, her eyes tracing the lines of Lin Qianqian’s body.

“For writing…for…” Lin Qianqian couldn’t remember if it was for cursive, calligraphy, or something else entirely. Her mind was clouded with desire, a desperate need for release. “For writing…”

“Good. Then let me show you how to use it,” Lu Yin said, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand on Lin Qianqian’s lower back. “We just need some ink.”

As Lu Yin’s fingertip touched her, Lin Qianqian bit her lip, her face burning with embarrassment.

Lu Yin’s touch wasn’t gentle, her mind replaying the message from Zhong Shiwu that afternoon.

Lin Qianqian hadn’t gone to the airport. She had gone to the art institution, meeting with an old friend.

Lu Yin had believed she was Lin Qianqian’s priority, but it seemed she had been wrong.

Even knowing Zhong Shiwu’s message was a deliberate provocation, she had still gone to the institution, her heart heavy with a mixture of anger and insecurity.

She had seen Lin Qianqian say goodbye to her friend, their smiles a painful reminder of Lin Qianqian’s other life, a life that didn’t include Lu Yin.

Every outing, every interaction with someone else, was time stolen from their shared existence.

And Lu Yin, her desires insatiable, wanted it all, every moment, every touch, every thought.

She dipped the brush in the clear, watery fluid, her hand moving to Lin Qianqian’s back, the brush tip tracing the lines of her spine.

“What should I write?” she asked, her gaze fixed on Lin Qianqian’s pale skin, imagining the words appearing, a milky white against the smooth, unblemished surface.

The brush moved, and Lin Qianqian gasped, her body tensing.

“Mm…” she wanted to say she didn’t know, but Lu Yin’s tone, playful yet demanding, made her offer a suggestion, her voice husky with desire. “My name…?”

Perhaps that would please Lu Yin.

She didn’t understand Lu Yin, couldn’t tell if she was angry or lost in her own world, her actions driven by something deeper, something darker.

“Sister…” she whispered, hoping the familiar endearment would bring her back.

“Okay,” Lu Yin chuckled, her hand moving, the brush tracing the letters on Lin Qianqian’s back.

The sensation was cold, and sticky.

Lin Qianqian’s fingers gripped the sheets, her body tensing against the ticklish feeling, each stroke a visceral reminder of Lu Yin’s presence, her control.

She shivered, trying to decipher the words, the letters forming a familiar shape.

It wasn’t her name, Lin Qian. It was Lu Yin’s.

Lu Yin. Written on her body, a possessive mark, a silent declaration.

Lin Qianqian belongs to Lu Yin, and Lu Yin alone.