Chapter 62
Early that morning, Zhong Shiwu went to the branch hospital.
“How is she?” she asked, holding the security footage from the previous night.
“Ming Xiaojie refused to eat or take her medication. She wouldn’t sleep either, no matter how much we tried to comfort her,” the nurse reported, carefully watching Zhong Shiwu’s expression.
The footage showed Ming Yao banging her head against the wall, her body writhing in pain.
Zhong Shiwu frowned, rewinding the video. “Her forehead has been bandaged. We didn’t administer any medication without your authorization,” the nurse explained quickly.
“Call me immediately if this happens again,” Zhong Shiwu said, her voice sharp.
Even if it was the middle of the night, even if she was asleep.
It seemed Ming Yao was going to disrupt her sleep schedule.
She sighed, then asked, “Did she take her morning medication?”
“No…she’s only had the initial sedative and IV fluids since she was admitted,” the nurse said quietly, afraid of angering Zhong Shiwu.
“Give it to me,” Zhong Shiwu said, taking the medication and walking towards Ming Yao’s room.
The girl was awake, her eyes red and puffy, tears staining her cheeks, her gaze fixed on the ceiling.
Hearing footsteps, she quickly wiped her face and turned away, her back to the door.
Zhong Shiwu rattled the pill bottle, then pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. “Aren’t you going to take your medicine?”
Ming Yao’s body stiffened, but she pulled the covers over her head, her silence a stubborn refusal.
“Lying on your side like that will restrict blood flow,” Zhong Shiwu said, adjusting the IV line and pulling the covers down slightly, but Ming Yao quickly pulled them back up, hiding her face.
“If you don’t want to see me, I’ll leave. It’s almost the Spring Festival, and I’m quite busy,” Zhong Shiwu stood up, the chair scraping against the floor. “Listen to the nurses. Otherwise, you might die here alone, and no one will even know.”
Ming Yao sat up abruptly, the IV line pulling at her arm, blood welling up, but she ignored it.
Zhong Shiwu adjusted the line. “I won’t be able to visit again until after the New Year. Make sure you survive until then.”
Ming Yao grabbed her sleeve, her red-rimmed eyes pleading with her.
“What?” Zhong Shiwu asked, pretending not to understand.
“I need water…to take my medicine…” Ming Yao mumbled, unable to articulate her true feelings, her need for Zhong Shiwu’s presence, her touch.
She had been tricked twice, betrayed, abandoned, but seeing Zhong Shiwu here, in her room, she couldn’t resist reaching out, her heart aching with a desperate longing.
Last night, alone in the bed, the pain had been unbearable, a physical ache that had kept her awake, her heart pounding, her breath shallow, the fear of dying alone, unnoticed, a constant torment.
She had banged her head against the wall, the physical pain a welcome distraction, a confirmation that she was still alive.
Zhong Shiwu had brought her water, her gaze lingering on the bandage on Ming Yao’s forehead. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
“It’s none of your business,” Ming Yao had said, taking the medication and swallowing it, then leaning against the wall, her silence a protective barrier.
She knew she shouldn’t be seeking comfort from Zhong Shiwu, her actions only reinforcing her dependence, her vulnerability, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Zhong Shiwu leaving, her presence a lifeline in this sterile, isolating environment.
“You can tell me anything. Ming Yi asked me to take care of you. I can’t just ignore you,” Zhong Shiwu had said.
Ming Yao’s anger flared.
So, it wasn’t genuine concern, just another obligation, another task assigned by Ming Yi.
Was pleasing Ming Yi that important?
She got out of bed, dragging the IV stand with her.
“Where are you going?” Zhong Shiwu asked, not stopping her.
“To the bathroom,” Ming Yao said, her legs weak, her head dizzy from lying in bed for so long.
“Do you need help with the IV stand?”
The only response was the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut.
A few minutes later, Ming Yao emerged, and Zhong Shiwu, leaning against the wall, watched her, her movements slow and unsteady.
The bed was a few steps away, an insurmountable distance.
“Excuse me,” Ming Yao said, her head down, as she approached Zhong Shiwu.
Zhong Shiwu stepped aside, her gaze following Ming Yao as she climbed back into bed.
“Contact me if you need anything. I’ll come visit when I have time,” she said.
“Would you still visit if Ming Yi hadn’t asked you to?” Ming Yao asked, her voice filled with a quiet desperation, still fixated on this question. “Am I just a tool to appease Ming Yi, or do you actually…enjoy treating me like this?”
“Why do you care?” Zhong Shiwu asked, her gaze fixed on the window. “It’s irrelevant.”
Ming Yao followed her gaze. “I don’t like the blue curtains. Change them to orange.”
“How long do you plan on staying here?” Zhong Shiwu asked, looking at her. “You’re already redecorating?”
“Until I die,” Ming Yao said.
“Don’t say such things,” Zhong Shiwu chuckled. “Orange curtains, like the ones at your house?”
Ming Yao paused. “What do you mean…?”
“Nothing. I just remembered something you asked me before,” Zhong Shiwu said vaguely. “Don’t you want to enjoy the Spring Festival?”
Ming Yao didn’t understand.
“I have to go. I’m busy,” Zhong Shiwu said, heading towards the door. “Listen to the nurses, and don’t cause any trouble.”
Ming Yao still didn’t understand, her mind already drifting, the medication making her feel sleepy.
She closed her eyes, the memories of her time with Zhong Shiwu, both good and bad, a constant companion in her sleepless nights.
—”Can I come see you?”
The words echoed in her mind, her earlier question to Zhong Shiwu at the fast food restaurant, and her sleepiness vanished.
Zhong Shiwu had asked her, “Don’t you want to enjoy the Spring Festival?”
Would visiting Zhong Shiwu make it a happy New Year?
And had Zhong Shiwu meant it? Had it been a genuine invitation?
Zhong Shiwu usually spent the holidays abroad, away from the noise and crowds.
Ming Yao wanted to try again, one last time. If Zhong Shiwu rejected her again, she would leave, disappear, start over somewhere new.
Lu Yin hadn’t had a nightmare in a long time.
She hadn’t stared at the painting in a long time either.
Now, she stood on the shore, the torn canvas clutched in her arms, the waves crashing against her legs, the cold water a welcome relief from the burning sensation within.
If they died together, no one could separate them, no one could take Lin Qianqian away from her.
But as the water engulfed her, the painting slipped from her grasp, floating towards the surface.
Seagulls circled overhead, their sharp beaks pecking at her face, their cries a mocking chorus as they tore at the canvas, carrying it away, towards the freedom of the open sky, leaving her alone in the darkness, the depths of the ocean consuming her.
She opened her eyes, the darkness of her bedroom a stark contrast to the vivid imagery of her dream, her body heavy with exhaustion.
She had never had a dream like that before, the nightmares replaced by this unsettling vision, the painting, her creation, her obsession, escaping her grasp, leaving her alone in the darkness.
She knew her reluctance to control Lin Qianqian’s social life wasn’t rational, but Lin Qianqian’s happiness was paramount. She wouldn’t stifle her spirit, her need for connection.
And the consequences, the pain, the loneliness, she would endure alone.
She carefully disentangled herself from Lin Qianqian’s sleeping embrace, trying to leave the bed without waking her.
“Sister…” Lin Qianqian mumbled, her arms tightening around Lu Yin, her eyes fluttering open. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to the loft for a while. Go back to sleep,” Lu Yin said, gently patting her back.
“More work?” Lin Qianqian asked, her voice thick with sleep, her hand still clinging to Lu Yin’s.
“No,” Lu Yin said, squeezing her hand, then, after a moment’s hesitation, added, “Here’s a pillow. Cuddle this.”
She placed the pillow in Lin Qianqian’s arms, watching her until she fell back asleep, then quietly went to the loft.
She rarely went there now, only to retrieve her art supplies, unlike before, when she had spent countless hours there, seeking solace in her work, her solitude.
She stood before the blank wall, removing the print, her gaze fixed on the empty hook.
She should remove it, she thought.
It was like a weed, its roots deep, its tendrils reaching out, threatening to engulf her again.
But Lin Qianqian was so attuned to her moods now, her every action, every word, scrutinized, her concern a constant presence, her tears a constant reminder of Lu Yin’s own fragility.
If she removed the hook, Lin Qianqian would ask questions, her curiosity insatiable.
She rehung the print, the deer grazing peacefully in the forest, and sat down on the floor by the window, wrapping a blanket around her, her body curled up in a protective ball.
If imprisoning someone wasn’t a crime, she would have done it long ago.
But now, her own thoughts, her own desires, were secondary to Lin Qianqian’s.
She was, at least, capable of empathy, of putting Lin Qianqian’s needs before her own, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness, her own sanity.
If Lin Qianqian ever told her she had fallen in love with someone else, Lu Yin wasn’t sure if she would be able to watch her go, to let her be happy, or if she would lash out, her jealousy a destructive force.
Being with Lin Qianqian had amplified her darker impulses, her possessive nature, but she kept them hidden, her outward calm a carefully constructed facade.
As long as Lin Qianqian was happy, that was enough.
Lin Qianqian’s happiness was her own.
Her sister was her priority.
She closed her eyes, unwilling to return to the bedroom, to the haunting image of her dream, the painting escaping her grasp, the seagulls mocking her, their cries a reminder of her own loneliness.
Footsteps echoed on the stairs, a long shadow falling across her, the figure moving quickly, then kneeling before her.
“Sister, why are you sleeping here? And with just a pillow?” Lin Qianqian asked, taking her arm, trying to pull her up. “You’ll catch a cold.”
Lu Yin’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze unfocused, the figure before her blurring, shifting, merging with the image in her dream, the ghost that haunted her.
Lin Qianqian, seeing her unresponsive, shook her shoulder gently. “Sister…Sister…”
Her voice, laced with concern, her warm breath against Lu Yin’s cheek, pulled her deeper into the hallucination. She looked at Lin Qianqian, her gaze shifting to the corner of the loft, where another Lin Qianqian sat, tied to a chair, her muffled sobs echoing in the silence.
Two voices, two images, one real, one imagined, their boundaries blurring, indistinguishable.
Lu Yin closed her eyes, her mind unable to separate the real from the unreal.
Lin Qianqian took her hand and placed it on her chest, her lips finding Lu Yin’s closed eyelids, her kisses soft and gentle.
“Sister…I’m here…” she whispered, her body pressed against Lu Yin’s, her warmth a comforting contrast to the coldness of the floor.
She had never seen Lu Yin like this, lost in her own world, her usual composure shattered, her emotions a turbulent sea.
She didn’t want Lu Yin to suffer, even if her pain was ugly, her madness terrifying.
But despite her efforts, her love, Lu Yin’s recovery was slow, her pain a constant presence.
She felt so useless.
“Lin Qian, every night you weren’t here, this is how I spent them…” Lu Yin whispered, her eyes open now, but her gaze distant, unfocused.
Curled up in a small space, her body submerged in an imaginary ocean, the waves crashing over her, the coldness a constant torment.
“Sister, I’m sorry…” Lin Qianqian’s heart ached, her own guilt a heavy weight in her chest.
“When that…that person who looks like you appears, do you know what I do?” Lu Yin asked, a sad smile on her face. “I still kiss her…”
Lin Qianqian kissed her, her lips finding the tears that welled up in Lu Yin’s eyes, her own tears falling onto Lu Yin’s cheeks, tracing a path down her skin.
“But then I can’t stop myself…I hurt her…until she stops breathing…” Lu Yin whispered, her laughter a hollow, broken sound.
She deserved to die.
Even if the figure in her dreams was just a figment of her imagination, a cruel, mocking voice that tormented her with accusations and insults.
But it wore Lin Qianqian’s face, and she couldn’t bring herself to hurt it, not at first.
But once the intimacy began, she lost control, the suppressed desires, the years of loneliness and pain, erupting, consuming her, her actions driven by a force she couldn’t control.
She had killed Lin Qianqian countless times in her dreams.
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