Chapter 40
Silence filled the loft.
Lu Yin knelt down, organizing the boxes.
Lin Qianqian stared at her back, then at the empty wall. “Sister,” she called out.
“Mm?” Lu Yin replied, without turning around.
“Are you just going to leave the frame in the cabinet?”
It looked expensive.
“I don’t have a suitable painting for it,” Lu Yin said. “Bring the box from the living room upstairs.”
“Okay,” Lin Qianqian said, going downstairs to retrieve it.
Once she was gone, Lu Yin opened the cabinet again, the painting staring back at her.
She pushed the frame into a corner, her heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and guilt.
Perhaps it was her attempt to suppress her true self, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease.
She knew she shouldn’t overthink it, but her mind, when idle, always wandered to dark places.
When Lin Qianqian returned with the box, Lu Yin was making an inventory of her art supplies.
“Should I sort these?” Lin Qianqian asked, kneeling down and starting to organize the boxes.
The earlier incident, the hook, the blood, seemed forgotten, the pain in her finger a fleeting sensation, not even worth mentioning to Lu Yin.
Lu Yin went to the cemetery early that morning, before sunrise.
The air was cold and damp, a thick fog shrouding the tombstones, the wind whistling through the trees.
She placed two bouquets of flowers at the base of the tombstone: white chrysanthemums and irises.
The woman in the photograph on the tombstone wore a pale yellow qipao, her smile gentle, her long hair braided, the ends resting on her chest.
Lu Sui, in her youth, had been even more celebrated than Lu Yin, the only daughter of a prominent artistic family, showered with love and admiration.
As an adult, she had dedicated herself to philanthropy, her charitable acts elevating the Lu family’s reputation.
And yet, this kind and gentle woman had died from a gas leak, suffocated in her own home.
Lu Yin had arrived after the police had been called, the air thick with the smell of gas, Lu Sui lying motionless on the floor, her breath stilled.
Her father had returned three days later, weeping and wailing, lamenting the loss of his wife, leaving him and his daughter alone in the world.
Lu Yin had watched him coldly, knowing he had just received a large insurance payout.
She didn’t believe the official cause of death, didn’t believe her father’s grief.
Shortly after, Lin Yun and Lin Qianqian had moved in.
Lin Yun, flush with cash from the insurance settlement, rarely came home.
Lu Yin hadn’t blamed Lin Qianqian, focusing on caring for her instead.
Countless nights, she had considered leaving, but she hadn’t exposed the truth about Lu Sui’s death, and looking at Lin Qianqian’s innocent eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to abandon her.
Those eyes seemed to be pleading with her, Sister, don’t leave me. You’re the only one who cares about me.
And Lin Qianqian had actually said those words to her, years later.
She hadn’t seen sleeping with Lin Qianqian as revenge.
It had been desire, a forbidden longing she couldn’t escape.
Now, standing before Lu Sui’s grave, the memories weighing heavily on her heart, Lu Yin’s eyes filled with tears.
“Mom, I’m not a good daughter,” she whispered.
How could she have fallen in love with Lin Qianqian?
How could she have fallen in love with the daughter of the woman who had destroyed her family?
“Can I…can I do this?”
She looked down, tears dripping onto the irises.
“If only you were still here…you would have patted my head and told me I was a good girl,” she sobbed, kneeling down, her hands clutching the grass beside the tombstone.
“I’m sorry…I want to do what I truly want, but it’s not the art you wanted for me. Are you disappointed?”
“I don’t want to think about the past anymore. It hurts too much…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to…”
She wanted to live now, no longer seeking escape, no longer yearning for oblivion.
Everything she had ever wanted was within reach, offered freely, unconditionally.
“I want to be with her, with Lin Qian, with my sister…” she whispered, her hand caressing the woman’s face in the photograph. “Please, if you can, bless us, bless Lin Qian and me…”
She couldn’t finish the sentence.
She wasn’t a good daughter, never living up to Lu Sui’s expectations, never reaching her heights.
She was a coward, giving up easily, her pride so fragile she had even injured her own hand to avoid facing her fears.
“Please…” she wiped her tears, forcing herself to stop crying. “This is my only wish. I don’t want anything else…”
That evening, Lin Qianqian opened the door to find Zhong Shiwu standing there.
“My sister isn’t home yet. She’s organizing some art supplies at the institution,” she said, not expecting a friendly conversation.
Zhong Shiwu was close to Yu Miao, and both were connected to Lu Sui.
Lin Qianqian dreaded meeting Lu Sui’s friends, their shared past a constant reminder of her own guilt.
“I’m here to see you,” Zhong Shiwu said.
“Me?” Lin Qianqian asked, surprised, seeing a hint of warmth in Zhong Shiwu’s eyes. She invited her in.
Zhong Shiwu walked over to the tea cabinet. “Do you mind if I make some tea?”
“That’s what my sister usually drinks. For her throat. I don’t really like it,” Lin Qianqian said, still hesitant. “But you can have some.”
“I heard you’re good friends with Yaoyao,” Zhong Shiwu said. “I have some questions for you.”
“Ming Yao is my friend from college. We were classmates,” Lin Qianqian said, wondering, “Does she know you’re here?”
“Of course not,” Zhong Shiwu said, studying her expression. “Will you keep this visit a secret? Just between us?”
“Sure,” Lin Qianqian said, avoiding Zhong Shiwu’s gaze, feeling like she was being scrutinized.
She felt uncomfortable in her own home, her posture stiff and formal.
Zhong Shiwu, however, seemed perfectly at ease, making tea and sipping it as if she were the host, not the guest.
She must have been here many times before, Lin Qianqian thought.
“I don’t know Yaoyao very well. Can you tell me what you think of her?” Zhong Shiwu asked. “In exchange, I can tell you something you want to know.”
Lin Qianqian paused. “Something I want to know?”
Zhong Shiwu nodded. “But you have to satisfy my curiosity first.”
“Ming Yao is kind, beautiful, and generous,” Lin Qianqian said, unable to offer her true assessment: a naive, spoiled rich girl.
“That sounds a bit generic,” Zhong Shiwu said. “Does she have any weaknesses or secrets that only you know?”
Lin Qianqian thought for a moment. “Skipping class and going to bars, does that count…?”
Zhong Shiwu considered it. “I suppose so. Anything else?”
“But she always got good grades. It didn’t affect her studies. It was just harmless fun,” Lin Qianqian added quickly. “And…failing to win someone’s affection? Does that count?”
“I suppose so.”
“He was a player. Ming Yao was the victim. She was so heartbroken,” Lin Qianqian said, determined to portray Ming Yao in a positive light.
Zhong Shiwu took a sip of tea, adding some dried flowers to the cup. The flavor was too bland. She nodded, as if taking mental notes.
She had already investigated Ming Yao thoroughly after their agreement, Lin Qianqian’s information irrelevant.
Her true purpose was to subtly reveal some things about Lu Yin to Lin Qianqian.
She was on Lu Sui’s side. Lu Sui’s daughter had suffered enough. She couldn’t directly punish the culprits, but she could at least make them care about Lu Yin, even if it was just a flicker of concern.
Because no one could influence Lu Yin, except Lin Qianqian.
“Alright, I understand. Thank you for telling me all this,” Zhong Shiwu said, finally satisfied with the tea. “Now, you can ask me anything you want.”
“How has my sister been these past four years?” Lin Qianqian asked without hesitation. “I mean, has anything happened to her…?”
“As you can see, she’s doing well. Financially secure, a partner at the art institution,” Zhong Shiwu said, her fingers miming a sip of tea. “But she hasn’t been creating much lately. Her focus seems to be on her career.”
“Speaking of which, have you seen the picture frame I sent?” she asked.
“The dark brown one?” Lin Qianqian asked. “Yes, it’s beautiful.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing it used,” Zhong Shiwu said.
“My sister said she doesn’t have a suitable painting for it yet.”
“Really?” Zhong Shiwu seemed surprised. “What about that vibrant painting…”
Lin Qianqian looked at her, her expression questioning.
“Nothing,” Zhong Shiwu said, seeing her suspicion. “Anything else you want to ask?”
Lin Qianqian’s shoulders slumped. Besides the four years she knew nothing about, she couldn’t think of anything else.
“Then I’ll be going. I have work to do at the hospital,” Zhong Shiwu said, glancing at her watch. “Being a doctor is hard work. Those night shifts are brutal.”
Lin Qianqian, unsure how to respond, simply smiled and saw her out.
Lu Yin wasn’t home yet. Lin Qianqian sat on the sofa, lost in thought, replaying her conversation with Zhong Shiwu.
She went back to the loft. The cabinet was still locked.
Lu Yin’s strange behavior the previous night resurfaced. It felt like there was a secret she hadn’t uncovered yet.
Her mind raced, but she couldn’t connect the dots.
She went to Lu Yin’s room. The notebook was gone, and so was the key.
Strange.
Her curiosity about the cabinet’s contents intensified.
Even though she had already seen what was inside.
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