Chapter 75
Lin Qianqian, sensitive to heat, soon found herself unconsciously moving away from Lu Yin’s embrace, her arm draped over the duvet, the cool air a welcome relief.
But Lu Yin’s eyes opened, her gaze distant, unfocused, and she pulled Lin Qianqian back into her arms, her touch firm, almost possessive.
Lin Qianqian tried to move away, but Lu Yin’s lips found hers, silencing her protest.
Their breaths mingled, their bodies pressed together, the mattress sinking beneath their weight. Lin Qianqian tried to push Lu Yin away, but her strength was no match for Lu Yin’s, her own body weakened by her period, her stomach cramping.
She felt a wave of nausea, a desperate need to escape, but Lu Yin’s hand pulled her closer, the duvet a suffocating weight, the darkness closing in.
Their lips still locked, the feeling of being trapped, of being controlled, intensified, and Lin Qianqian’s eyes, wet with tears, stared into the darkness, her hands clutching the duvet.
“You know, sometimes when I kiss you, I want to strangle you,” Lu Yin whispered, her voice cold, her hand moving to Lin Qianqian’s neck, the pressure increasing, a terrifying reminder of her dream, the ghost that haunted her.
Lin Qianqian’s body tensed, then relaxed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, the dim light of the night lamp a stark contrast to the darkness that threatened to consume her.
It wasn’t a nightmare, not really. She had experienced this before, the feeling of being trapped, of being controlled, her body no longer her own.
She carefully climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom, her movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid of waking Lu Yin, or perhaps, of waking the demons that lurked within.
She removed the blood-soaked tampon, the sight of it making her stomach churn, and quickly replaced it with a new one.
The bathroom was cold, the cool air against her bare skin sending shivers down her spine. She pulled her unbuttoned pajama top closer, her gaze meeting her own reflection in the mirror.
She placed her hand on her neck, experimentally applying pressure, the feeling of suffocation, the constriction in her throat, a visceral reminder of Lu Yin’s words, her touch.
She wasn’t afraid, not really. She was trying to understand Lu Yin’s pain, her darkness, her dreams a reflection of her own past trauma, her own guilt.
It was a cycle, Lu Yin’s suffering, her self-inflicted pain, now echoing in Lin Qianqian’s own body, her own mind.
But she also felt a strange, unwelcome thrill, a fascination with the pain, the control, Lu Yin’s hand on her hip, the sting of her slap, a catalyst, a trigger, releasing something within her.
She remembered the discarded tampon, the bloodstains a reminder of her own vulnerability, her own desires.
She didn’t want to label herself, but she couldn’t deny the strange, almost perverse pleasure she had felt.
She heard footsteps outside the bathroom door and looked up, seeing Lu Yin standing there, her gaze cold and distant, a large, fluffy blanket in her hands.
Lu Yin opened the door and wrapped the blanket around her.
“You left,” she said, her voice a soft accusation, her lips pressed together, her expression unreadable.
“I just needed to use the bathroom,” Lin Qianqian said, offering a weak excuse. “I drank too much water.”
No one would believe that.
Lin Qianqian, knowing she was at fault, followed Lu Yin back to the bedroom, snuggling into her arms, then, after a moment’s hesitation, said, “Sister, I had a dream.”
Lu Yin looked down at her, waiting.
“We were kissing.”
Lu Yin’s gaze lingered on her face. “Perhaps it wasn’t a dream,” she said finally.
“…What?” Lin Qianqian asked, confused.
Lu Yin smiled faintly. “Didn’t you want a goodnight kiss?”
“Don’t say such things,” Lin Qianqian mumbled, her mind still hazy from sleep, not wanting to overthink it. “Then what else did we do in my dream?”
Lu Yin closed her eyes, her silence a familiar evasion.
“You’re lying…” Lin Qianqian said, accustomed to Lu Yin’s cryptic responses, her half-truths and omissions a constant source of frustration.
The bathroom had been cold, and the warmth of the bed, of Lu Yin’s body, lulled her back to sleep.
Lu Yin, her dark pajamas now stained with Lin Qianqian’s blood, watched her sleep, the sight of it a strange, unwelcome arousal.
She knew where to find Lin Qianqian, and she would go to her, her own body, her stained pajamas, a silent accusation, a reminder of Lin Qianqian’s transgression, her vulnerability.
Whether Lin Qianqian noticed or not, Lu Yin’s emotions would intensify, her desire a growing flame.
It was a way of reminding Lin Qianqian, of reminding herself, that only she, Lu Yin, could touch her like this, could claim her, could possess her.
And if Lin Qianqian resisted, she would make her yield, her kisses a prelude to something more, something darker.
As the external threats subsided, her internal demons resurfaced, her own mind a battleground, her desires a dangerous, destructive force.
The flight was short, and they took a taxi to the retreat center.
Lin Qianqian browsed online articles about training retreats, her curiosity piqued.
Why were the high school retreats scheduled differently from the art institution’s courses? And why were they so short?
Lu Yin explained that these were winter and summer break programs for younger students, preparing them for entrance exams.
Lin Qianqian didn’t really understand, but it passed the time.
The retreat center offered double occupancy rooms. Lu Yin led her to an empty room, the bedding new and neatly folded.
Lin Qianqian avoided Lu Yin’s gaze, her own eyes darting around the room, not wanting to be assigned the task of making the bed. It seemed like too much effort.
Lu Yin, after a moment, started making one of the beds.
Lin Qianqian sat on a chair, her internal debate lasting all of thirty seconds before she stood up and started making the other bed, her movements slow and deliberate.
“I’ll do it,” Lu Yin said, taking over, her efficiency a stark contrast to Lin Qianqian’s languid pace. “I have to go to the office. We’re short on time.”
“So I’m interrupting your work,” Lin Qianqian said, not surprised by the tight schedule, but glad she had come. She didn’t want to be alone.
“You’re coming with me,” Lu Yin said, quickly finishing making the bed and handing Lin Qianqian a stack of papers. “And no acting out before we go home.”
Lin Qianqian, despite her playful nature, knew when to be serious, her usual antics replaced by a more subdued demeanor.
“It’s an honor to be Teacher Lu’s assistant. I’ll be diligent and efficient, fulfilling all your requests,” she said, her voice filled with mock formality.
“Then start by being quiet,” Lu Yin said, opening the door and heading towards the office.
Lin Qianqian’s seriousness lasted all of five seconds. “I can still talk, can’t I? It won’t interfere with my work! Hey! Lu Yin!”
The office was empty, the teachers all in class, the retreat schedule demanding, the days long and intense, a preparation for the even more rigorous schedule of their final year of high school.
“Do you know how to use a stamp?” Lu Yin asked, handing her a stamp and a stack of papers. “Stamp the institution’s name in the bottom right corner.”
“Of course I do,” Lin Qianqian said, her focus now on the task at hand, her usual chatter replaced by a quiet efficiency.
She carefully stamped each paper, the red ink a bright, clear mark against the white background.
Lu Yin examined the stamped papers, her voice approving. “Good job.”
“Of course!” Lin Qianqian beamed, her pace quickening, the rhythmic thud of the stamp echoing in the quiet office.
Lu Yin, her head throbbing from the noise, glanced at her, then, seeing she was almost finished, didn’t interrupt.
She checked the messages in the work chat group, organized the materials, and then, pulling Lin Qianqian out of her chair, led her towards the classrooms.
“You can sit in the back. I’ll give you a sketchbook and some pencils. Entertain yourself,” she said, seeing Lin Qianqian’s eager nod, a smile touching her lips as she ruffled Lin Qianqian’s hair and opened the classroom door.
Lin Qianqian sat beside her at a small table, their presence unnoticed by the students, their focus on the teacher, the lesson.
Lu Yin took notes, while Lin Qianqian, after a quick scan of the classroom, poured some paint into her palette.
She propped her head on her hand, ready for the lesson.
The student next to her was sketching, her hand steady, her lines confident, and Lin Qianqian mimicked her, her own drawing a clumsy imitation.
Within ten minutes, a large, yellow sun appeared in the corner of her sketchbook.
Lu Yin glanced at it, unsurprised by Lin Qianqian’s persistent habit, her artistic skills unchanged after all these years.
Lin Qianqian, noticing her gaze, quickly covered her drawing with her hands, mouthing the words, “Don’t look!”
Lu Yin smiled and returned to her notes.
The bell rang, and the students passed their artwork to the front of the room.
“Are you submitting yours?” Lu Yin asked.
“I…” Lin Qianqian knew her drawing was terrible. “Maybe not. What if the teacher gives me the highest score? I don’t want to show off.”
“Just submit it,” Lu Yin said, one of the students approaching them during the break, her gaze fixed on Lu Yin.
Lu Yin folded Lin Qianqian’s drawing and handed it to the student. “Please submit this too.”
Lin Qianqian didn’t have time to protest, watching in horror as her drawing was placed among the other students’ work.
“Is there a chance…” she asked hesitantly, “that the teacher will be…impressed by my unique style?”
“You can dream,” Lu Yin said, closing her notebook, earning a withering look from Lin Qianqian.
She smiled. “What?”
Lin Qianqian sighed. “How long does it take the teacher to grade the assignments?”
“If you go to lunch now, the results should be out by the time you’re finished.”
“Is it too late to retrieve my drawing…?” Lin Qianqian muttered, her earlier excitement about the retreat now replaced by a growing sense of dread, her artistic ineptitude exposed, her status as the class dunce solidified.
Lu Yin brought her lunch, then went to a meeting.
Lin Qianqian ate, then lay on the bed, listening to music, her earlier anxieties forgotten.
The door opened, and she glanced at Lu Yin, then continued humming, her demeanor relaxed and carefree.
“You seem to be enjoying your vacation,” Lu Yin said, handing her a piece of paper. “Your graded assignment.”
Lin Qianqian’s cheerful mood vanished. She sat up and unfolded the paper.
A big, red zero in the corner.
She had expected it, but it still stung.
“Did you eat?” Lu Yin asked. “The food options here are limited.”
“I’m full,” Lin Qianqian said, staring at her drawing, her artistic failure a harsh reality.
Lu Yin had never been so critical of her drawings before, and she felt a pang of disappointment, a childish need for praise, for approval.
“The sun is quite round,” Lu Yin said, trying to comfort her.
“That’s not helping,” Lin Qianqian said, Lu Yin’s attempt at consolation only adding to her misery.
“I can give you ten points for the sun,” Lu Yin offered.
“Ten points out of a hundred? That’s still a failing grade,” Lin Qianqian said, then, noticing Lu Yin’s gaze, looked up at her.
Lu Yin’s eyes were twinkling with amusement.
Lin Qianqian thought for a moment. “Ten points…a zero and a one…”
“That’s one hundred!” she exclaimed, her earlier disappointment forgotten as she jumped up and hugged Lu Yin, sitting on her lap. “Sister, you’re so good with words.”
She grinned, her happiness bubbling over. “Next time, just say it directly. No need for riddles.”
“Okay, if it were up to me…” Lu Yin paused. “I would give your sun one hundred points.”
“Of course you would…”
Lin Qianqian thought, My sun shines only for you.
Leave a Reply