Cross the Boundary GL - Chapter 19.1

“No.” The resolute reply came from the other side.

Li Chu stopped typing, her fingers resting lightly on the keyboard. She stared blankly at the computer screen. Why was the judgment so absolute? How could no one like Qin Song?

“What are you spacing out for? Is something wrong?” Lin Zhiyan came downstairs, wiping her hair, having just taken a shower.

Her apartment lease had recently expired, and she hadn’t found a new place yet, which was why she was staying with Li Chu for a few months.

“Yangxin Customer Service?” The girl bent down to read the title and tilted her head in confusion. “Are you going to work at Yangxin?”

Li Chu waved her hand. “No, I’m just looking.”

“I thought you were changing careers for love.” Lin Zhiyan laughed. “You’re really dedicated to Qin Song!”

Li Chu’s ears felt hot. She snapped her laptop shut. “No, Yangxin is a big company. I’m just doing some research.”

Lin Zhiyan wagged a finger. “What does that have to do with you? You’re a tattoo artist; at most you’re in design.”

Li Chu looked away. “Sister Zhiyan, don’t make fun of me.”

Lin Zhiyan stopped smiling for real, crossing her legs and tapping her foot on the floor. “Alright, alright, I won’t make fun of you. But it’s no use asking customer service. Qin Song isn’t the type to tell people everything.”

Li Chu knew that, of course. “I’m just asking for some basic info.”

“Like what basic info?”

“Her birthday.” Li Chu opened her laptop. The screen lit up and returned to the browser’s homepage. “Her birthday is coming up.”

Lin Zhiyan leaned in a little. “September 13th. That’s a good day. It just so happens to be a weekend,” she said, glancing at the time.

Li Chu’s lips were pressed together as her eyes dropped, her mind racing with thoughts.

“Are you getting a gift?” Lin Zhiyan continued. “But someone with no friends like her probably doesn’t celebrate birthdays.”

Whether Qin Song celebrated her birthday or not, Li Chu felt that no one at Yangxin would genuinely wish her a happy birthday.

She was like a proud eagle, soaring alone in a vast, empty sky.

But what if? Li Chu admitted to a hidden motive, a bit of a gamble. She felt that perhaps Qin Song truly longed for a genuine connection.

So on September 13th, Qin Song, for the first time, received a WeChat message from Li Chu while she was working overtime: “I have something for you. Can you come to the shop tonight? It doesn’t matter how late.”

She pinched a cigarette and pondered Li Chu’s intentions. They hadn’t seen each other for a while. After nearly two months of non-stop work, she was honestly a little tired.

The desk lamp in her office was set to a warm orange, casting a dim light. Her computer was off, and documents were spread out on the desk beside her.

Qin Song felt she was a bit old-fashioned and traditional, preferring to write out some personal documents by hand. Her handwriting was a result of this practice.

Under the dim light, the characters appeared even more strict and sharp, much like her personality. But the neat, organized paragraphs suggested she wasn’t entirely so.

The phone, held in her hand, vibrated silently a second time. Li Chu’s message said, “We’ll be waiting for you.”

Lin Zhiyan was still at kiss.me at this hour? Qin Song didn’t understand how Li Chu defined relationships. At the very least, she shouldn’t have a second business partner.

She put the cigarette back in the pack and stood up to turn off the light and the air conditioning.

When she got out of the taxi, Qin Song walked toward her apartment as she usually did. Moths fluttered around the streetlights. She stood beneath one, watching the small insects vying for the light, a scene of selfless sacrifice.

After a moment, Qin Song put her hands in her pockets and slowly turned, the hem of her jacket tracing an arc in the air.

There was no light at all coming from the entrance of kiss.me, only the silence broken by the wind rustling the string of good luck charms hanging there. Qin Song lowered her head to light a cigarette, then used the hand holding it to push open the door.

The moment she was fully enveloped by the darkness, the space suddenly filled with light. Rose petals rained down from above—Li Chu had thrown them. A few petals were stuck in her own hair.

“Happy birthday!” Lin Zhiyan pulled a party popper. Streamers flew past Qin Song’s eyes, carrying a faint scent of gunpowder that mixed with the fresh fragrance of roses.

Qin Song stood still, silently watching the petals on her sleeve, not showing any expression or movement. Her silence felt a bit rigid.

Li Chu and Lin Zhiyan awkwardly lowered their hands.

Behind them, two tables were pushed together. On them sat a small strawberry cake, surrounded by an abundance of food and candles.

The smell of cream in the air awakened memories.

The cake in her memory also had that cloyingly sweet smell, but the cake was never hers. She was outside the door, looking in at the colorful balloons and candlelight. She must have felt a pang of envy back then.

Qin Song couldn’t describe her feelings right now, but she instinctively wanted to leave. She gave the two a cold glance and turned to go.

Li Chu hurriedly dropped the remaining petals and grabbed her. “Don’t go! At least… have a bite of cake, okay?”

The corners of her eyes were red again, like a pleading little bunny in an emoji. She looked up, begging. “Please, celebrate your birthday with us?”

Her fingernails were stained with splotches of berry juice.

Qin Song stood motionless, half-turned away. Her long pink hair coiled around Li Chu’s thumb.

The girl’s hand was delicate and held her jacket hem cautiously. Qin Song stared intently at the strand of her hair in the girl’s hand, then lifted her lashes and turned back around.

Li Chu’s eyes trembled, clear as glass beads. “We have a gift for you! I’ll get it now!”

She went to rummage behind the front desk. Lin Zhiyan put down the party popper and joined her, tidying up the various bags and placing them on the floor.

The bags contained Coke and Sprite, and a hint of something alcoholic.

Li Chu used scissors to tear open the packaging and held out her hand to Qin Song. In her palm lay two earrings. They were not finely crafted; the tiny diamonds were crooked, and the English letters were engraved unevenly.

Lin Zhiyan said from the side, “Little Chu spent the whole afternoon making them for you. Even if you don’t like them, just take them.”

Qin Song raised her eyebrows again. This time, she stared directly at Li Chu, her ice-covered eyes devoid of emotion.

Memories and reality clashed in her mind, as did her emotions.

She couldn’t say she was happy, so she didn’t notice that a seed had sprouted in a barren, arid place within her, growing and taking root.

The cake was made with high-quality cream. Qin Song sat woodenly in a chair, the earrings in her palm now warm from her grip.

After Li Chu had been busy for a while, she noticed a silly-looking petal stuck in Qin Song’s hair. She leaned in. “Don’t move.”

The petal was gently removed. Its rich fragrance filled the air between them, like their shared breaths.

Even while seated, Qin Song was tall. In her formal suit, she had a solemn dignity, as if breaking through a sheet of ice.

Li Chu could imagine her at work and could also imagine how everyone at Yangxin both feared and isolated her.

Lin Zhiyan opened a bottle of beer and some snacks. The fried chicken, potato chips, and several plates of fruit looked abundant from a distance.

“What are you two doing?” she said, sitting across from them with a suggestive look. “Are we celebrating or what?”

Li Chu immediately sat up straight, embarrassed, and began taking the candles out of the box, one by one, and sticking them in the cake. After she was done, she fumbled around anxiously. “I forgot to buy a lighter!”

“Huh?” Lin Zhiyan stood up and rummaged on the table. “You really did forget. What a memory. I’ll go to the convenience store.”

Qin Song was silent for a moment, then slowly took a lighter out of her pocket, along with a pack of cigarettes. She tested the flame, then prepared to light the candles herself.

“We’ll do it!” Lin Zhiyan snatched it away. “You’re the birthday girl. You’re the most important. You shouldn’t be doing this kind of work!”

The candles were Li Chu’s choice—childish, light pink like fairy wands. They didn’t specifically say how old she was turning, but they placed eight around the strawberries and one in the middle.

Nine candles in total, which exploded like fireworks under the birthday girl’s gaze. The lights were turned off, and the shadows of the three were cast on the wall by the flickering flames. Li Chu’s eyes, as she sat across from Qin Song, with her hands clasped together, singing the birthday song, held the reflection of the candlelight.

Qin Song was twenty-nine years old, an age that was neither particularly young nor old. She had forgotten her birthday for more than twenty years, but today, it all came back.

What also came back were the scenes inside the glass windows, and the sharp, stinging pain of a wound scraped by the winter wind.

Suddenly, she was struck with a splitting headache.

Memories were too destructive to the mind, rooted in every nerve.

The other two were still immersed in clapping and singing. Qin Song frowned slightly and said in a low, heavy voice, “Stop singing.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to celebrate her birthday, but that all this colorful celebration felt so ironic, constantly bringing up the pain.

True pain wasn’t physical.

Li Chu’s eyes glistened with candlelight. “Then make a wish,” she said softly, her voice flowing like a warm spring. “We won’t make a sound.”

The fragrant smell of cream filled the air. Qin Song stared at the strawberries and gently, decisively, blew out the candles.

The room plunged into darkness and silence. For a long time, there was no movement until someone’s phone rang in the quiet.

Lin Zhiyan turned on the lights. Qin Song was calmly answering the call, but her face quickly turned a shocking shade of pale, even her beautiful lips losing their color.

“I’m coming now.” Qin Song grabbed the cigarette box and lighter and left without another word. She walked very fast, her legs moving quickly beneath her narrow skirt. Li Chu chased after her, but all she saw was the back of her getting into a taxi.

She had a sense of unease. Something must have happened.

Qin Song was in such a hurry, even forgetting to care about her image. In Li Chu’s memory, she was always unhurried and composed; she had never been this agitated.

Lin Zhiyan patted her on the shoulder, saying regretfully, “Should we eat it?”

Li Chu bit her lip and reluctantly returned to the shop.

In the dead of night, there weren’t many cars on the main road, and the taxi quickly took Qin Song to the hospital. Downstairs, reporters were gathered, and when they saw her arrive, they exchanged glances, unable to recognize the woman.

Qin Song was unperturbed. She put on a mask as she walked.

It was only after she had gone inside that the reporters realized she was Qin Zhen’s daughter and Zheng Chengfeng’s adopted daughter.

She rarely appeared in public, but this time she was here to visit her birth father, braving thousands of cameras.

The media speculated that Qin Zhen’s condition was likely very bad.

Inside the hospital lobby, Qin Song got a card from the front desk and entered the elevator. The VIP ward was on the seventh floor. Her pink hair and tattoos were too noticeable. The people in front of the room spotted her in an instant. “She’s here.”

Qin Song walked over, and Ye Wanqing opened the door for her. “Your dad just took his medicine and is sleeping. He probably won’t wake up until tomorrow.”

Only a small toilet light was on inside. You had to get very close to see the person lying in the hospital bed. His face was terribly pale, his head shaved and bald, resting on the pillow. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t sleeping peacefully; his eyeballs were constantly moving under his eyelids.

Ye Wanqing pulled up a chair for Qin Song and leaned in to whisper softly, “We’ll just have to take it one step at a time.”

By the light of the moon, Qin Song could see the weariness on Ye Wanqing’s face—it was rough and haggard, not at all what you would expect from the wife of a business magnate.

The woman met her gaze and smiled bitterly, stroking her face. “With him like this, I don’t have the heart to dress up.”

Qin Song silently looked back at the hospital bed, watching the IV drip slowly. “What did the doctor say?”

“His time is limited.” Ye Wanqing said only four words before her voice caught. She then choked up. “He’s sick from overwork. The illness has taken over.”

The woman’s pupils, murky and yellow in the dim light, said, “He’s left you an inheritance. When the paperwork is done, it will be sent over. Your dad has done all he can. Don’t blame him. He had no choice.”

Qin Song seemingly nodded. “Okay.”

Ye Wanqing was Qin Zhen’s second wife. She had been with him for more than twenty years through thick and thin and had genuine affection for him, not just for money or status.

“You should go get some rest,” Qin Song said, turning back. “I’ll stay here.”

Seeing that she wasn’t moving, Qin Song didn’t insist. She rested her hands on her knees and pressed her thumb and forefinger against her forehead, looking exhausted.

Ye Wanqing took out a blanket and placed it over her shoulders. “It gets cold at night. I heard you’ve been working overtime for a few months. You should go home and rest early.”

This time, it was Qin Song who didn’t move. Ye Wanqing stood for a moment, sighed, and said like she was coaxing a child, “It’s your birthday today, isn’t it? Why don’t you go celebrate with your friends instead of rushing over here in the middle of the night?”

Qin Song kept her hand on her forehead. “I’m not interested.”

Ye Wanqing smoothed the wrinkles on the bedsheets. “You’re always like this. Your dad is very worried, and… he blames himself a lot.”

A nurse walked by in the hallway, and the light flickered in the room.

A thin black mist covered Qin Song’s eyes. The flicker deepened the mist. “There’s no need for him to blame himself.”

She paused, then added, “It’s not his fault.”

“You can’t be ruined by… a scoundrel.” Ye Wanqing had no children of her own. Her only family was Qin Zhao, who wasn’t her biological son. Though blood was thicker than water, she liked Qin Song more than Qin Zhao.

“Why punish yourself for someone else’s evil? It’s because of your state all these years that your dad has always been regretful. He always says he should have forced you to come home with him, especially after your mother won the lawsuit. He’s lived with guilt for years.”

Ye Wanqing said softly, “I’m not in a position to tell you to let go of the past, but your condition is getting worse, and he’s very worried.”

Parents on their deathbeds are always concerned about their children’s future. Qin Zhen, even from his sickbed, never forgot to plan for Qin Song.

“He hasn’t been willing to rest for days. No matter what the doctors say, it’s no use. When he wakes up, try not to show too much sadness.”

Qin Song lowered her gaze, her lashes casting a dark shadow on the bruises under her eyes. Ye Wanqing felt a pang of heartache. “Your brother has already bought a plane ticket and will be here tonight. You two haven’t seen each other in years; have a good talk.”

Qin Zhao had been studying and working abroad since he was twenty. He only found two days to return when Qin Zhen’s illness became so severe.

He got off the plane at noon the next day, a scruffy beard on his face and a denim travel bag on his back. When he saw Qin Song, his brows immediately furrowed. “Why are you so skinny? Has Zheng Chengfeng been mistreating you again?”

The mention of the familiar name made Qin Song’s eyes look vacant. After a long pause, she simply lifted her lips and said, “No.”

Qin Zhao was taller and more solidly built than Qin Song. He shifted his backpack to his other shoulder, wanting to reach out and touch her face with his free hand.

Qin Song turned her head to avoid him, but she quickly froze, and the large hand gently touched her pale cheek.

“It’s my fault,” Qin Zhao said with a heavy expression. “I’m preparing to move back soon. Things must be a mess here with me gone for so many years, right?”

Cars honked loudly in front of the hospital, the sound piercing. Qin Song said nothing, her head bowed, revealing a stark white patch on her neck. Qin Zhao felt a growing discomfort. “Let’s go in. Go see Dad.”

“You go first. You can’t smoke in the hospital.” Qin Song lit a cigarette in front of him. The flame licked the paper, flaring high.

Qin Zhao’s heart jumped. “When did you start smoking? And all these tattoos? Didn’t it hurt?”

Qin Song didn’t answer. She tilted her head slightly and exhaled a white cloud of smoke. Hurt? It was a morbid form of pleasure.

In that moment, she was almost missing Li Chu.

Qin Zhao pinched the bridge of his nose, and in the end, went in alone. After he left, Qin Song looked back at him, the cigarette smoke rising slowly from her mouth.

Due to her studies, Qin Zhao had to rush back to Australia after only two days. Before he left, he called Qin Song to talk, and they took a taxi to the airport together.

Before boarding, Qin Song walked behind Qin Zhao, her hands in her pockets. The roots of her hair, which hadn’t been cared for in a long time, had grown out black, a stark contrast to the pink layer beneath.

Qin Zhao stood at the large check-in counter. He had come in a hurry, with only the bag on his shoulder as luggage, looking very empty.

“I’ll be back and I’ll protect you,” he said.

Qin Song gave a rare, faint smile. “You don’t have to.”

Qin Zhao’s eyes were bloodshot. He forced a smile and touched the top of her head. “Wait for me early next year.”

The broadcast announced boarding, and he looked at the time, unwilling to leave.

“I’m going back to the hospital.” It was drizzling outside. Qin Song pulled the hood over her head and turned to leave the airport.

Qin Zhao’s throat was tight with a bitter taste. All the things he hadn’t said were swallowed by the sight of her cold, indifferent back.

He regretted running away from reality back then, abandoning his family and leaving them to fight for survival on their own.

Qin Song took a taxi back to the hospital.

Because it had just rained, the floor in front of the hospital was slippery. It was obvious when someone was walking carefully with a food box.

She saw the girl with the food box look up, revealing a pair of familiar, round eyes, red at the corners.

The hospital was a place where all of life’s joys and sorrows were on display. Qin Song felt this, and Li Chu was no exception.

Perhaps it was empathy at work again. Qin Song put her cigarette box back in her pocket and silently asked the person in front of her what was wrong.

Li Chu’s pale lips were pressed together tightly. She replied with a choked-up voice, “Director Hu’s time is limited.”

This was the phrase Qin Song had heard most often in the last two days. “Time is limited”—four words that summed up a person’s long, brief life.

“And you?” Li Chu held the food box, looking like she was struggling.

Qin Song took off her hood with one hand, her hair pressed down and messy. “Which floor?”

Li Chu was stunned, then caught up with her. “Seventh floor.”

The sound of the card being swiped made Li Chu’s heart tremble. The seventh floor was for VIP wards, where the most critically ill patients were concentrated. She looked at Qin Song and noticed that the other’s hand, hanging by her side, was shaking slightly.

She must be so sad.

Director Hu was in room 703, and Qin Zhen was in 704. The rooms weren’t next door but across the hall.

The two parted ways under the long hallway lights. Li Chu was holding the food box, which was a few inches taller than her head. Qin Song glanced at her and felt her back looked a little lonely.

It was a rare kind of loneliness, because Li Chu was always so cheerful, and you could never really see her sadness.

That day, Li Chu cried and said Director Hu had fallen ill. She was probably looking for comfort, but Qin Song was lost in shattered memories. With her wounds exposed, she was like a savage beast, unable to bear even the slightest hint of blood.

That’s why she said, “What does that have to do with me?”

Thinking about it now, it was really because she felt powerless. She couldn’t save anyone, including herself, who was trapped in the same spot.

Qin Song closed the door behind her. A sliver of warm light seeped in through the gap, a stark contrast to the sterile smell of disinfectant in the room.

“You’re back?” Qin Zhen could barely manage a few simple sentences. His voice was old, not at all like that of the real estate mogul he once was.

Qin Song sat in front of him and nodded slightly.

“Yangyang is back to… Australia. Why don’t you go home?”

“I took time off,” Qin Song said, moistening her chapped lips. She added a patch-like sentence. “Don’t worry.”

Qin Zhen gave a strained smile. “You… should live a good life.”

The hand with the IV drip was covered in needle marks. The tape holding the needle was peeling, and a small area was smudged with dirt.

She’d have to ask the nurse to change it later, Qin Song thought.

“Lele…” Qin Zhen called softly.

Qin Song’s eyes, a rare focus.

She was the only girl in the Qin family. Qin Zhen, overjoyed, named her “Le” (joy). Later, the elders felt the character was too simple and unappealing, so they used the character “Song,” meaning a hymn of praise.

“Le” became her nickname. Only Qin Zhen called her that now.

“Lele… you have to learn to miss people… to love people… you… are a living… person,” Qin Zhen still couldn’t say much at once. After a few sentences, he began to gasp for breath and cough intermittently.

Ye Wanqing gently rubbed his chest. “It’s okay. Lele is right here. Take your time.”

Qin Song curled her fingertips.

Support Cross the Boundary GL