Cross the Boundary GL - Chapter 22

Seven days later, Qin Zhen’s funeral was held beside the Galaxy Cemetery.

Because he was both a business tycoon and a prominent figure in the circle, many people came. Unfortunately, it coincided with a rare typhoon in Nancheng. Cars piled up at the gate, rainwater pooled, and the scene was chaotic.

Inside the hall, Ye Wanqing, dressed in a plain yet solemn black gown, knelt before the portrait. She looked so haggard that she seemed about to topple at the slightest breeze.

After bowing and knocking her head to the floor, she placed three incense sticks into the burner and remained kneeling before the photo, silently weeping.

Her eyes had grown swollen and painful from days of crying, so inflamed she could hardly open them.

Outside, thunder and rain raged. The gale tossed the funeral wreaths at the door into disarray. Qin Song stood silently in the corner, smoothing out the paper decorations battered almost beyond recognition.

Although Qin Zhen was a businessman, he had always been kind and loyal. Those who came to pay their respects were truly sorrowful, crying with heartfelt grief.

But to Qin Song, their wails sounded unbearably noisy.

“Lele,” Ye Wanqing turned and called softly, “come light incense for your father. He would be so glad.”

In the black-and-white portrait, Qin Zhen looked spirited and full of vigor. The photo was taken when he was just starting his business, his bright eyes nothing like the sickly man he had been in recent months. The contrast only deepened the lament of how things had changed.

How fleeting things were.

With a pale face, Qin Song slowly bent down. Her knees pressed into the soft mat, her fragile waist collapsing inward.

“Lele is far too thin…”

The speaker was Qin An’s wife from the Qin family’s main branch. Her hair was meticulously combed, and her handkerchief was still damp with tears.

She tried to help Qin Song up. “Good child, come, don’t kneel anymore.”

But Qin Song didn’t move. Her kowtows were firm and resolute. When she raised her head again, everyone saw a dark bruise imprinted across her forehead.

“This child, ah…” Qin An patted his wife, signaling her to hush. The Qin family knew a little of Qin Song’s condition. She was somewhat extreme, her emotions unstable.

Qin Zhen had reminded them of this many times while alive.

“Lele, don’t keep bowing.” Qin An lit incense and handed it to her. “There are many more people waiting. Offer the incense properly.”

He leaned closer, speaking in a low voice only she could hear: “Your mother will be here soon. Don’t let your father be shamed even in death, alright?”

Qin Song said nothing. She understood what he meant. But the pain was unbearable—it was like being shot through the chest, the bullet lodged deep in her flesh, leaving a wound that would never stop aching.

This was no self-pity. It was real, searing pain, carved into her very bones, echoing in emptiness.

She steadied herself against the table and rose. Beside her, monks began to chant sutras, their voices soft and soothing, as if death itself were nothing to fear.

“How are you doing at Yangxin? Your father worked hard to keep your whereabouts secret. Luckily Chen Ran still had a conscience.” Qin An lightly supported her arm, worry etched on his face. “He didn’t betray you. But your mother…”

Just then, a black minivan stopped outside. From it stepped a woman so well maintained her age was impossible to guess, carrying a designer bag elegantly as she entered. She locked eyes with those near the door.

Qin Song turned her gaze away indifferently, landing instead on the figure behind her.

Only when the taxi pulled away was Li Chu’s tired face revealed. She hadn’t had proper clothes for the occasion; the loose outfit she wore seemed borrowed, and her ill-fitting shoes had rubbed blisters on her heels, making her limp slightly as she walked.

She dared not pass the woman at the door, hesitating to follow behind.

Qin Song watched silently for a few seconds, then moved straight toward the entrance.

Qian Fang thought her daughter was coming to greet her. Delighted, she spread her arms wide: “Lele, are you here to welcome Mama?”

But Qin Song brushed past her, ignoring her outstretched hands.

Instead, a pale-haired woman’s warm fingers wrapped around Li Chu’s wrist, chilled from the storm. “Come in,” Qin Song said.

Without room to refuse, Li Chu was pulled into the hall. The Qin family gathered around, guiding her toward the portrait. “Didn’t expect Lele to have made a friend.”

Qin An gave Li Chu a gentle push. “Go on. Thank you for coming to pay your respects. Your Uncle Qin will rest easier in heaven.”

The hall was stiflingly hot and humid, thick with incense smoke. Only Qian Fang stood awkward and out of place. Soon, though, she recomposed herself with practiced elegance, set down her bag, and prepared to kneel at the altar.

Before her knees could bend, Qin Song’s cold voice cut through: “You don’t need to kneel.”

Qian Fang froze, confused.

“No need for hypocrisy.” Qin Song’s pale lips formed sharp, cutting words. She looked at the woman not as a mother, but as an enemy.

“Lele!” Qian Fang’s heart broke. “How can you see me this way?”

She had truly come to mourn, yet her own daughter no longer believed her.

“Don’t make me throw you out.”

“Miss Fang, perhaps you should leave,” a man beside Li Chu interjected. “Uncle Zhen doesn’t need your incense alone.”

Arms folded across her chest, Qin Song’s expression was blank, but her eyes burned with unmistakable emotions—coldness, disgust, and rejection.

Li Chu had seen her confrontational, ruthless, and entrancing sides, but never this: heartless to the extreme, tinged with hatred.

She couldn’t understand where this hatred came from, but instinct told her Qian Fang bore much of the blame for Qin Song’s past wounds.

At the center of the hall, the woman could no longer maintain her poise. Her face grew darker.

“Well, what’s this? A funeral?”

The voice was slick, grating. At once, Qin Song’s face changed. She locked her gaze on the source.

Li Chu followed her eyes. A tall man stood at the entrance.

At Qin Zhen’s funeral, he wore casual clothes—and slippers. He looked less like a mourner than someone here to celebrate.

Everyone frowned. Qin An immediately blocked Qin Song. “What are you doing here? Leave.”

Hands in pockets, the man only smiled. “Not welcome, am I? Still, Brother Zhen was my buddy. I should pay respects.”

He cast a pointed glance inside.

His lazy gaze carried an invisible pressure.

Memories jolted through Qin Song like electric shocks. Her head throbbed, her body instinctively leaning back. With sheer willpower she caught herself against the wooden fish on the table.

Li Chu sharply sensed her turmoil. It was like a dam bursting, collapse only an instant away—held back only by years of hardened resolve.

She almost instantly guessed the man’s identity.

Zheng Chengfeng. Qin Song’s so-called stepfather.

His presence rattled her in a way no illness could. This wasn’t phobia; it was fear and shadow that stripped armor with ease.

Behind her back, Qin Song’s hands clenched until the tendons twisted unnaturally. Candle wax dripped hot as blood down her pale arms.

The hall was full of people, reporters yet to arrive. Li Chu feared Qin Song might lose control. With her condition, she would never care what outsiders thought.

But Li Chu couldn’t bear to see her humiliated in public.

Perhaps selfishly, she wanted Qin Song’s pain shown only before her. But more than that, it was out of heartbreak—for someone so untouchable brought down to this.

So, as Qin Song fought her terror, her hand was once more held.

Unlike before, the warmth now carried strength. Gentle and soft, yet unyielding.

A breath fell against her nape. In heels, Li Chu’s height matched Qin Song’s shoulder. “Don’t be afraid. Everyone’s here with you.”

Qin Song wanted to retort proudly that she wasn’t afraid, but when she turned, those rain-clear eyes were right before her. Black and white, pure and luminous, with irises so large they tugged at the soul. That rabbit sticker face flashed through her mind again.

But this time, the rabbit wasn’t pitifully pleading.

“Shall I light incense for Brother Zhen?” Zheng Chengfeng slid beside Qian Fang, draping an arm around her shoulders with mocking levity. “What’s this? Is my wife’s status not enough? You should’ve told me earlier—I would’ve driven her myself.”

He leaned in closer, nearly nose to nose with Qin An.

Over the years, Zheng Chengfeng had risen ruthlessly. Though not among the earliest moguls, his brutal methods eliminated countless small companies. If not for the Qin family’s background, they too would have been crushed.

It was during those relentless pressures that Qin Zhen fell ill.

Zheng Chengfeng was like a storm, leaving nothing alive in his wake.

The Qin family’s wary stance said it all. Qin An stood his ground, jaw tight. “Leave.”

“Still so inhospitable?” Zheng Chengfeng pulled a red envelope from his pocket, tossing it on the mat. “Shame—I even brought Brother Zhen a gift.”

He squeezed Qian Fang’s shoulder. “At least let the mother of his child pay respects, eh?” Patting Qin An, he added with a smirk: “Is this really your decision to make?”

At those words, everyone’s faces darkened.

But Zheng Chengfeng only smiled wider. “Is it up to you? Shouldn’t the child decide? What do you say, Lele?”

Li Chu had once heard Qin Zhen call her that nickname, always with tender affection. But from Zheng Chengfeng’s lips, “Lele” was grotesque, crawling, repulsive. Goosebumps prickled over her arms.

She turned and saw Qin Song’s eyes dark with anguish—not domineering, but truly suffering.

The thought shocked Li Chu. Was she going mad, becoming as obsessed as Qin Song? Why could she feel her pain so vividly?

“Lele.”

Zheng Chengfeng’s voice threaded through the crowd, falsely kind. “It’s been so many years. Won’t you let Daddy take a look at you? After all, Daddy raised you for eighteen years.”

Qin Song’s breath came fast. More than once she nearly tugged open her collar, but forced herself to stop, torn between reason and raw nerves.

Li Chu quietly clenched her palm. The sweat there proved the hand she held was suffering immensely.

This was why Qin Song unraveled. This was the true root of her illness. Shadows that could never be outrun.

Finally, Zheng Chengfeng grew impatient. Masking cunning beneath a gentleman’s smile, he shoved past Qin An and summoned the bodyguards waiting outside.

In moments, the Qin family was forced aside. Only Qin Song and Li Chu stood facing him. Her pale-pink hair tucked beneath her coat, she looked frail and defenseless.

“You’ll die a horrible death, Zheng Chengfeng!” a younger Qin relative shouted before being pinned to the corner.

With the hall cleared, Li Chu realized—Qian Fang had done nothing the whole time, frozen like wood, allowing her husband to approach her daughter.

Zheng Chengfeng stepped closer, waving casually for Li Chu to move aside.

His nonchalance made Qin Song’s icy façade seem almost pitiful.

“Lele.”

The way he said it made Li Chu’s scalp crawl, as if some monster had spoken. Her stomach turned with revulsion.

That nickname belonged only on the lips of a loving father like Qin Zhen, never this man who had tormented them for years.

So Li Chu released her bleeding lip, stepped slowly forward, and edged her shoulder past Qin Song’s, shielding most of her figure.

“Please leave.” Her voice was low, steady.

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