Chapter 65
Sitting in her usual chair, holding the new cutlery, Ming Yao felt a strange sense of displacement.
The food was the same as always, but Zhong Shiwu wasn’t there, cutting it into bite-sized pieces and feeding it to her. She was simply sitting beside her, watching her struggle with the knife and fork.
Ming Yao’s hands trembled, her mind blank.
She looked for the small bell she usually rang to signal she was finished eating, but it was gone.
A new watercolor painting hung on the wall where the schedule used to be. Ming Yao glanced at it, then quickly looked away, afraid of Zhong Shiwu noticing her discomfort.
But Zhong Shiwu noticed everything. “It took me a while to acquire this. From Teacher Lu. You should recognize her.”
“It’s beautiful,” Ming Yao said, her gaze returning to her plate. “Can I have some chocolate?”
“Not yet,” Zhong Shiwu said, seeing Ming Yao’s gaze shift towards a box in the corner, filled with the familiar bags of chocolate liqueur candies.
“What’s that…?” Ming Yao asked, her voice barely a whisper, the word “reward” a trigger, a reminder of her humiliation.
She didn’t want to be treated like that again.
“It’s dinner time. No snacks,” Zhong Shiwu said, pouring her a glass of fruit wine. “This is quite good. I think you’ll like it.”
Zhong Shiwu was deliberately breaking their established routines, and Ming Yao, struggling to adapt, her body still tense, her mind still clinging to the familiar patterns.
“If you don’t want it, that’s fine,” Zhong Shiwu said, not removing the plate. “I’m not very hungry either.”
Ming Yao watched as Zhong Shiwu retrieved a notebook and a pen from a drawer.
“Let’s do something productive.”
“I don’t want to,” Ming Yao said quickly, knowing the pen would only write things she didn’t want to see, rules she didn’t want to follow.
“As your doctor, I have to create a suitable treatment plan,” Zhong Shiwu said, uncapping the pen. “For example, a new schedule.”
“No!” Ming Yao cried, dropping her cutlery and instinctively kneeling on the floor.
Zhong Shiwu didn’t offer empty reassurances, simply pulling her back into the chair. “Sit down,” she said, her voice firm.
“You write it,” she placed the notebook and pen in front of Ming Yao. “Your daily routine when you were abroad.”
Ming Yao picked up the pen, her gaze questioning. “My routine wasn’t very…consistent…”
She spoke softly, afraid of being judged, her past life a chaotic mix of impulsive decisions and reckless abandon.
Zhong Shiwu turned the notebook to a blank page. “Then write about your hobbies. The things you never get tired of.”
Ming Yao hesitated, then started writing: making crafts, memorizing vocabulary…
“No,” Zhong Shiwu said, unimpressed. “Don’t lie to me, Ming Yao.”
Ming Yao’s hand froze, then she started writing again: bars, skipping class…
“Living the high life, weren’t you?” Zhong Shiwu said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Anything else? Keep writing.”
Feeding stray cats at school…
“That’s not a hobby. It’s just…it’s just…” Ming Yao searched for the right words. “It’s something to do, to make life less boring.”
“There were two identical white stray cats at school, with similar markings. One was friendly, the other was skittish. I fed them for a long time, but they never changed,” she explained.
“Okay,” Zhong Shiwu said, turning to a new page. “Now, think about what you can do here, to make your life less boring.”
Ming Yao considered it.
She and Lin Qianqian had returned around the same time. Lin Qianqian was now a functioning member of society, while she had spent the past six months as Zhong Shiwu’s…pet? Patient? Prisoner?
“I don’t want hobbies. I want a job,” she said, her voice hesitant. “Is that allowed?”
“You’re not ready for a job,” Zhong Shiwu said, her tone professional, her assessment based on Ming Yao’s current mental state.
“Okay…” Ming Yao said, her head down, not surprised by the rejection.
“But I might have something for you,” Zhong Shiwu said, checking a message on her phone. “The intern in the records room next to my office is always taking time off. You could fill in for her.”
“But I don’t have any experience with that kind of work…” Ming Yao said, a flicker of hope in her eyes.
“It’s just filing, organizing documents, that sort of thing. You can try it for a few days, and if it doesn’t work out, we’ll find something else,” Zhong Shiwu said. “And it would be easier for me to keep an eye on you.”
Ming Yao’s lips trembled. She wasn’t used to Zhong Shiwu’s concern, her words now devoid of their usual manipulative undertones.
“When can I start?” she asked.
“After the New Year. It’s almost New Year’s Eve,” Zhong Shiwu said, closing the notebook and glancing at the entries. “Just rest and recover for now.”
She handed Ming Yao a few pill bottles. “Don’t follow the instructions on the labels. I’ve written the dosage and timing on each bottle. Tell me if you have any pain.”
“Where am I sleeping tonight…?” Ming Yao asked, surprised by Zhong Shiwu’s kindness, her demeanor so different from before.
Perhaps it was the absence of their previous power dynamic, the forced obedience, that made Zhong Shiwu seem more approachable now.
“The guest room next to mine. I’ve already prepared it for you,” Zhong Shiwu said. “I’ve contacted Ming Yi. Someone will bring your clothes from the villa tomorrow.”
Ming Yao nodded, unable to speak.
“And I don’t want to see you hurting yourself again,” Zhong Shiwu said, her voice firm, her gaze meeting Ming Yao’s. “You can do whatever you want, but not that. I won’t tolerate it.”
“I…I won’t…” Ming Yao stammered. “I promise…”
“Go take a shower. Get some rest,” Zhong Shiwu said, standing up and gently stroking Ming Yao’s hair.
The gesture, so unexpected, so gentle, brought tears to Ming Yao’s eyes.
She went upstairs, her heart pounding with a mixture of hope and fear, her mind racing, the sudden change in Zhong Shiwu’s behavior a confusing, almost surreal experience.
She showered quickly, eager to lie down, to process everything that had happened.
Half an hour later, she emerged from the bathroom, seeing Zhong Shiwu coming upstairs.
“All done?” Zhong Shiwu asked. “Go to bed early.”
She opened the door to the guest room, and Ming Yao, just as she was about to enter, stopped her.
“Zhong…Dr. Zhong…” she said, unsure how to address her now. “Is it okay if I call you that?”
Zhong Shiwu chuckled. “I forgot about that. We’ll figure out a more suitable title tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Ming Yao said. “Goodnight, Dr. Zhong.”
“Goodnight, Ming Yao.”
Lin Qianqian woke up and went to the bathroom, using a disposable toothbrush. Lu Yin had already left for the institution.
The studio’s administrative offices were closed for the holiday, but someone had to be there to handle inquiries and pre-registrations for the next term.
Lu Yin was probably taking care of those tasks, Lin Qianqian thought.
If she hadn’t returned, Lu Yin would have buried herself in work, her days and nights a blur of activity, a way to avoid the painful memories, the loneliness.
Lin Qianqian was wearing only a pair of shorts and Lu Yin’s shirt, too cold to get fully dressed. She would wait for Lu Yin to come home.
A new garbage bag lined the trash can, and a few paint-stained sketches lay on the corner of the desk, the colors blurred, the paper warped, clearly damaged by water.
Curious, she picked them up.
They were simple sketches, similar to the ones she had seen in the loft.
Why hadn’t Lu Yin thrown them away? Was this a deliberate reminder of last night’s encounter, their passionate lovemaking a stain on the pristine white of Lu Yin’s world?
She folded the sketches, intending to throw them away, then hesitated, not wanting to discard Lu Yin’s belongings, however insignificant. She opened a drawer, intending to put them away.
The drawer wasn’t locked, and it was filled with sketches, images she recognized instantly.
Herself, as a child, her face painted like a cat’s, trying to scare Lu Yin, Lu Yin’s smile a warm, comforting presence.
Herself, wearing overalls and a wide-brimmed hat, eating a popsicle.
Herself, sitting on the bed, a failing grade on her report card, her face crumpled with a childish frustration.
So many memories, some she had almost forgotten, captured by Lu Yin’s brush, preserved on paper.
Each sketch was dated, all from the four years they had been apart.
She noticed the difference. These sketches were from before, from their childhood, their shared innocence.
While the locked cabinet in the loft contained Lu Yin’s deepest secrets, her darkest desires.
Here, in plain sight, even in the institution, a place where she kept her distance from everyone, Lu Yin had displayed these sketches, a silent declaration of her love for Lin Qianqian, her sister.
“Always doing these things that make me cry…and refusing to tell me…” Lin Qianqian whispered, her own tears a testament to Lu Yin’s unspoken affection, her hidden pain.
She carefully placed the sketches back in the drawer, then the water-damaged ones on the desk. “Fine, I’ll forgive you, just this once,” she muttered.
She went back to bed, her mind still on Lu Yin, her need for connection, for reassurance, a constant ache.
She knew Lu Yin wouldn’t check her phone while she was working, so she sent a barrage of messages, her playful banter a way to bridge the distance, to remind Lu Yin of her presence.
[What are you doing?!]
[I’m hungry!]
[When are you coming home? Can you make cold noodles, even in the winter? I haven’t had any in ages!]
[This bed is too small! I can’t even take a nap!]
[How about cold noodles for New Year’s Eve? Is that too simple?]
[…]
She rarely sent such frivolous messages to her friends. She only did this with Lu Yin, knowing Lu Yin wouldn’t be annoyed, her replies always patient, her indulgence a familiar comfort.
Almost an hour passed before Lu Yin responded, not with a message, but with her presence, returning to the dorm room.
She saw Lin Qianqian wearing only a shirt and underwear and touched her bare ankles. “Aren’t you cold?”
The shirt was unbuttoned, as if she had just thrown it on.
“Freezing,” Lin Qianqian said, enjoying their little game. “Why didn’t you reply to my messages?”
“I had my phone on silent. It was too noisy,” Lu Yin said, not wanting to explain the awkwardness of her phone constantly buzzing with notifications while she was working, everyone aware of the sender, their curious glances a silent interrogation.
“You think I’m annoying. We’re not even together yet, and you already think I’m annoying,” Lin Qianqian said, sitting up and leaning against the wall, then shivering and moving closer to Lu Yin.
Lu Yin’s heart ached at her words, the casual mention of their undefined relationship, the implication that they weren’t together, a painful reminder of their uncertain future.
She couldn’t define their relationship, the word “single” too cold, too distant, even though they didn’t need labels to validate their feelings.
She looked at Lin Qianqian, noticing the redness in her eyes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Lin Qianqian asked, blinking rapidly. “I’m so tired. I can’t stop yawning.”
She didn’t want Lu Yin to see her sadness, so she wrapped her arms around Lu Yin’s neck, her voice a playful whine. “I told you the bed was too small! I couldn’t even take a nap!”
Lu Yin took her wrist. “Then let’s go home.”
She glanced at the sketches on the desk, the crease marks a clear indication that Lin Qianqian had been looking at them.
She picked them up and tossed them in the trash.
“You’re just throwing them away…?” Lin Qianqian asked, surprised.
“I was going to this morning, but I forgot,” Lu Yin said casually, as if it were an insignificant detail.
“So you weren’t doing it on purpose…”
“Purposely what?”
Lin Qianqian couldn’t bring herself to explain. She got out of bed, put on her coat, and said, “Let’s go home.”
As she put on her shoes, she saw the amusement in Lu Yin’s eyes and realized, “You were doing it on purpose!”
Lu Yin took her hand, her voice teasing. “Actions speak louder than words, don’t they?”
Lin Qianqian sulked, refusing to answer.
Lu Yin glanced at her, her smile widening.
Lin Qianqian was still wearing her thin shirt, and Lu Yin quickened her pace, pulling her along. Once they were in the car, Lin Qianqian finally relaxed, her body warming in the enclosed space.
Lu Yin asked what she wanted for breakfast, but she didn’t reply.
She asked about her plans for the day, but Lin Qianqian remained silent.
She asked if she was still angry about the sketches, but Lin Qianqian didn’t respond.
Lin Qianqian was plotting her revenge.
Lu Yin started the car, glancing at Lin Qianqian, whose silence was never a good sign. She was clearly scheming.
“Sister…”
Lin Qianqian finally spoke.
Lu Yin braced herself for another round of suggestive banter.
“How could someone secretly draw me like that?” Lin Qianqian asked, her voice light and playful. “Are they secretly in love with me? I’m not that easy to win over, you know.”
“Really?” Lu Yin asked, knowing she had seen the sketches in the drawer.
She had drawn them while she was at the institution, during her breaks, her mind filled with images of Lin Qianqian, her memories a source of both comfort and torment.
“If this person admits their mistake, I might forgive them,” Lin Qianqian continued.
“And if they don’t?”
“They wouldn’t dare!” Lin Qianqian exclaimed, then, correcting herself, said, “Would they? They wouldn’t.”
This was her chance to gain leverage over Lu Yin, to make her squirm, a rare opportunity she wouldn’t waste.
Making Lu Yin uncomfortable was one of her favorite pastimes, though she had never truly succeeded.
“If they don’t apologize properly, there will be consequences.”
Lu Yin pulled over.
Lin Qianqian’s bravado vanished as she found herself face to face with Lu Yin, her earlier threats now a source of embarrassment.
It was like gossiping about someone, only to discover the subject of the gossip was right there, listening.
Except gossiping only caused momentary awkwardness, while teasing Lu Yin…well, that could have more…physical consequences.
Lu Yin adjusted her seat, pulling Lin Qianqian closer, her hand on Lin Qianqian’s hip, her gaze meeting Lin Qianqian’s. “What kind of consequences?” she asked, her voice a low murmur.
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