After Letting Go, Her Regret Remains - Chapter 2

It was almost midnight by the time they got home.

Meng Yuan used her fingerprint to unlock the door and walked straight in, taking off her dress as she went.

Shang Li quickly closed the door behind them. Watching Meng Yuan’s retreating back, she suddenly asked, “Meng Yuan, are you really sober? Are you okay?”

“I already told you, I’m not drunk,” Meng Yuan replied without turning around. Soon, she had stripped down to her underwear and entered the bathroom.

The door closed softly, muffling Shang Li’s quiet, wounded “Oh.”

Not drunk? Then why couldn’t she see how drenched Shang Li was?

Rainwater had trickled from her sleeves to her fingertips, forming tiny streams that dripped wetly onto the floor.

Why even care about that? It wasn’t like she was bleeding or sweating, what more did she expect from Meng Yuan?

Shang Li mocked herself inwardly for being so melodramatic.

Yet, a stabbing pain suddenly pierced her heart without warning. She clenched her fists abruptly, standing rigidly in the middle of the living room. The chandelier’s bright light stung her eyes, making her dizzy.

She didn’t move an inch until Meng Yuan came out, as if she had been frozen in place by a spell.

“Why are you standing there? Isn’t there another bathroom upstairs?”

Meng Yuan’s voice broke the spell. Shang Li flexed her stiff fingers but said nothing and didn’t look at her. She headed upstairs, her low spirits growing even more palpable as she passed Meng Yuan.

It was as if she believed that if she made her distress obvious enough, Meng Yuan would notice something was wrong.

And then what?

Did she expect Meng Yuan to tease and coax her playfully like before, making her laugh?

No, she didn’t want Meng Yuan to coax her. She just wanted to hear a single word of concern from her. That alone would be enough enough to make her believe Meng Yuan still cared.

But even as she reached the top step, she didn’t hear a single sound.

The spacious apartment felt vast and deathly silent.

She turned and stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at Meng Yuan from above.

As if sensing her gaze, Meng Yuan, who had been lying sideways against the sofa, suddenly turned over, leaving only a silent back facing her.

The bitterness and frustration that had built up all evening erupted in an instant. Fighting back tears, Shang Li hurried into the bathroom.

Under the warm stream of water, she mechanically scrubbed one spot on her skin, not even noticing when it broke. Her mind replayed images of Meng Yuan’s impatient, indifferent, annoyed, or resistant expressions.

Interspersed among them were warmer scenes Meng Yuan grinning mischievously at her, acting coy, or scolding her playfully.

The contrast was painfully stark.

How did they end up like this?

Unconsciously, her thoughts drifted back to a comment she had seen online earlier that evening. Shang Li took a deep breath, and a sharp ache spread through her entire body.

She didn’t want to go on like this anymore!

Quickly drying off and slipping into a bathrobe, Shang Li resolved to have a serious talk with Meng Yuan that night.

Pushing open the bedroom door, she found Meng Yuan leaning against the headboard with a face mask on, her expression unreadable. Meng Yuan showed no reaction to her entrance.

The words Shang Li had been rehearsing died in her throat. She pursed her lips and silently sat down at their shared dressing table.

Skincare products lay scattered across the surface, lids separated from their containers. A few strands of black, slightly wavy hair were tangled in the cushion brush. Shang Li picked them off but didn’t immediately toss them into the trash instead, she held them between her fingers, gently rubbing them.

In the large mirror, spacious enough for two people to groom themselves, Meng Yuan’s reflection stared back at her.

The silk nightgown barely covered her thighs, her long, straight legs casually crossed. Ten toenails painted crimson made her skin appear as pale as porcelain.

Gazing at her own reflection, she noted that while her complexion could still be considered fair, her lips were pallid, casting an overall grayish, weary aura over her face. Upon closer inspection, a few fine lines had appeared under her eyes, adding to her tired demeanor.

She was only a year older than Meng Yuan.

The atmosphere remained heavy and stifling, making it hard to breathe.

At some point, if she didn’t initiate conversation, Meng Yuan no longer bothered to speak to her.

The person who used to flutter around her like a little bird, chattering nonstop, was long gone.

Moisture welled up in her eyes. She didn’t want Meng Yuan to see her cry, nor did she want to hear those seemingly caring yet impatient, dismissive remarks meant to brush her off quickly.

She tilted her head back, rolling her eyes upward, using the warm air from the hairdryer to evaporate the tears threatening to fall. Then, turning around, she mustered her courage and said, “Meng Yuan, I have something to tell you.”

The air froze the moment Meng Yuan glanced at her. Meng Yuan’s brows furrowed almost imperceptibly as she peeled off her face mask and tossed it aside, looking weary. “I’m a bit tired today. Let’s talk another time.”

With that, Meng Yuan set down her phone, lay back, and pulled the thin blanket over herself, clearly signaling her unwillingness to engage further.

The words caught in Shang Li’s throat. She heard her own voice, strained and trembling despite her efforts to control it, say, “Alright, rest well then.”

The room fell into silence once more.

Shang Li stared fixedly at the figure on the bed for a long, long time, until her eyes grew dry and sore.

Suddenly, her mind grew hazy. Who was she? Who was this person before her? Why was she here?

No one would answer her.

Quietly, she climbed into bed and turned off the light.

The deep darkness felt like an abyss, gnawing at and consuming her disappointment and fear. Soon, a hollow ache formed in her chest, desperate to be filled.

She cautiously shifted closer to Meng Yuan, hesitating before reaching out to wrap her arms around her waist.

In the next moment, a rustling sound came from the other side as Meng Yuan moved to the edge of the bed. Mumbling sleepily, she said, “It’s a bit hot. Let’s not hug.”

Instantly, Shang Li’s hand froze mid-air, left with nothing to hold onto. Her heart plummeted, sinking even deeper into that abyss.

At the same time, a surge of bitterness rushed upward.

The bedroom air conditioner was set to 21 degrees Celsius. Wrapped in a thin blanket, she couldn’t feel any warmth.

Were there other couples like them?

Not quite family, not quite lovers.

When had things started to change?

It had been so long that Shang Li couldn’t pinpoint the exact year, only recalling it was roughly two or three years ago.

At first, it was just a decrease in the frequency of their conversations. Meng Yuan no longer shared every little detail of her day with her like she used to.

Back then, Meng Yuan was in the midst of a career upswing. Shang Li assumed she was busy and never blamed her or thought too much of it.

Gradually, their chat history dwindled to occasional, brief check-ins. Meng Yuan stopped saying “I love you” and rarely initiated kisses.

Later, even when they were face to face with plenty of time to spend together, silence prevailed. Shang Li would rack her brains for topics that might interest Meng Yuan, but within minutes, the conversation would die down again.

She couldn’t pinpoint exactly where things had gone wrong.

During this time, it wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to communicate with Meng Yuan, they had argued, fought, and confronted each other.

But most of the time, all she received in return was Meng Yuan’s dismissive remark: “All couples go through this after being together for a while.”

Perhaps she was tired, or perhaps she had grown accustomed to it, but she began to believe Meng Yuan’s claim that “this is how it is for everyone.”

She stopped arguing and making a fuss, quietly waiting for a turning point like a long-awaited rain shower that could revive their withering love.

Yet, to this day, that rain never came.

Her initial unwavering faith began to waver.

“If only life could be as it was when we first met.”

She was Meng Yuan’s direct senior, one year ahead of her. Their first meeting was at the freshman orientation, where she was responsible for guiding Meng Yuan through registration, dormitory check-in, and other procedures.

In the end, Meng Yuan refused to let her leave, insisting on getting her contact information to repay the favor someday.

Back then, she was aloof and unapproachable, a wildflower hidden among thorns in that glamorous film academy teeming with blooming talents.

On one hand, she kept to the shadows, disliking the spotlight. On the other, her striking appearance made it impossible for others to overlook her.

From the moment she enrolled, many had tried to approach her, but without exception, her cold or sharp demeanor drove them away.

After numerous attempts, though most of the academy knew there was an icy, untouchable beauty in the acting department, no one dared to get close to her again.

She was more than content with this arrangement, avoiding almost all social activities except for mandatory ones.

If it weren’t for her roommate and only college friend, Shi Jing, who had forcibly signed her up, she would never have attended the freshman orientation at all.

So, when Meng Yuan mentioned repayment, she politely and distantly declined without a second thought. As for sharing her contact information that was out of the question.

She disliked forming deep connections with others, whether positive or negative.

She assumed it was a one-time encounter and that the two of them would have little to do with each other afterward.

Unexpectedly, after that day, Meng Yuan kept finding excuses to cross paths with her, popping up now and then, calling out “senior” in a bright, cheerful voice.

Soon enough, Meng Yuan got her wish and added her as a contact.

From then on, Meng Yuan grew even bolder, chatting with her day and night about everything from the weather and food to favorite movies and celebrities.

She occasionally responded with a few polite words, which only fueled Meng Yuan’s enthusiasm.

After a while, unable to bear the constant attention, she finally made things clear: “Junior, I have no plans now or in the future to make friends. You should try with someone else.”

“What a coincidence, I don’t want to be friends with you either, senior.” Meng Yuan was taken aback at first, then broke into a smile, her eyes sparkling like winter stars, her expression blooming like a thousand flowers in an instant. “Could it be that you really haven’t noticed? I like you.”

“Wh-what?”

“Alright then, starting tomorrow, I’ll officially pursue you, senior. If you don’t say anything, I’ll take it as your agreement.”

Perhaps afraid of rejection, the girl ran off before waiting for an answer, her flushed cheeks reflecting the last glow of the sunset as she retreated, yet somehow drawing closer.

In an arts college, same-sex attraction was never anything unusual. But no girl had ever confessed to her so boldly and directly and certainly not one as strikingly beautiful as this.

I still remember the expression on her face when she heard those words stunned as if struck by lightning, a crack visibly splitting her usually aloof and indifferent countenance.

Perhaps it was from this moment that Meng Yuan began to seep through that crack, penetrating deep into her bones, merging with her flesh and blood, until it became impossible to sever.

Yet Meng Yuan’s seemingly questioning words never truly gave her any choice.

For nearly ten years, from beginning to end, she had been led, step by step, into the forbidden territory named Meng Yuan, a place where passion and desolation were both bestowed by one person alone.

It was laughable that she initially believed Meng Yuan had willingly flown into her domain, thinking all she had to do was wait quietly in place.

But she forgot Meng Yuan, Meng Yuan, a drifting bird, how could it ever be content to be confined within her narrow world?

Yet, Shang Li had never intended to cling tightly to Meng Yuan.

She simply did not want to give up on their feelings.

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