Cross the Boundary GL - Chapter 23

Zheng Chengfeng hadn’t expected the first one to speak would be the girl in front of him—she looked harmless, petite, but not fragile.

“Who’s this little one?” He smiled, glancing around. “Haven’t seen you at the Qin family before, whose daughter are you?”

Li Chu didn’t want to engage. Her tone was polite enough: “Please leave.”

She wasn’t tall, and her face was sweet and soft, yet the look in her eyes radiated contempt and disdain.

Zheng Chengfeng let out a short laugh, then his expression hardened. A tall shadow loomed, and he slapped Li Chu across the face, hard.

The blow left her dizzy, her cheek throbbing so much she couldn’t open her mouth. She staggered back, thinking she would fall—her only prayer being that she wouldn’t knock over Qin Zhen’s urn. That would surely devastate Qin Song.

But no—the expected pain never came, and the urn was untouched. Qin Song had caught her. Just as quickly, though, the hand with three rings loosened its grip, lifted again—

—and in front of everyone, Qin Song swung that same ringed hand and slapped Zheng Chengfeng square across the face. The hall, which had been silent, dropped into absolute stillness.

Zheng Chengfeng hadn’t expected that. He thought… Qin Song was still the “Lele” from childhood.

“Not bad,” he said in a tone unreadable for anger. Tilting his head, he added, “You’ve grown up these years. Learned how to fight back.”

Qin Song’s face was sharp and merciless, eyes dead as the deep sea, void of any spark of life.

“Shall I tell everyone what you were really like back then?” Zheng Chengfeng smirked, brushing his waist with one hand. “What a cursed little thing.”

At those words, Li Chu straightened herself despite the pain. She could feel Qin Song trembling, breathing fast, and radiating a chilling coldness.

Qin Song only twisted her ring, silent.

Li Chu realized she was still afraid of this man—trauma made it impossible for her to truly bare her fangs.

She pressed her tongue against her split lip, tasting blood.

“Our little Lele got full marks back then, didn’t she? But still didn’t get dinner. How many nights in the cage hurt like hell?”

Monster! Li Chu’s chest ached as she turned quickly toward Qin Song, only to find her face expressionless, lips pressed tight.

“So many tattoos—think they hide the scars?” Zheng Chengfeng lit a cigarette, smoke smothering the scent of incense in the mourning hall.

“You look so much like Zhenge. If you’d looked like Afang, I wouldn’t have treated you this way.”

The monks in the corner droned on with their chants, as if what unfolded here were just a TV drama unrelated to them.

What irony.

Guards lined the walls. Qin An was held down by four bodyguards, thrashing, shouting: “You betrayed A-Zhen! Sold him out for money and fame! Think dressing up in suits hides your filth? You locked Lele in a cage, treated her like a dog, silencing everyone…”

His voice broke with grief. “My poor brother actually believed you’d treat her well. And you—”

His gaze shot like arrows toward Qian Fang in the back. Maddened with rage, he laughed bitterly to the ceiling. “Did our family ever mistreat you? A-Zhen was good to you—gentle, considerate—and you ran off with this scum! You used the child to threaten the Qin family, even snatched Lele’s custody. Did you ever treat her well all these years?”

Qian Fang said nothing, shrinking into a shadowed corner, her features swallowed by dim light.

These things were never meant to be said before outsiders. This funeral was never meant to have Qian Fang and Zheng Chengfeng in attendance. But since they came, there would be no peace, only torn masks.

To Li Chu, an outsider, it was a “spectacular performance.”

A performance that explained Qin Song’s obsession with pain, her cold and selfish nature, her distrust of human bonds—binding relationships with contracts instead.

Li Chu’s fury burned. Zheng Chengfeng was the real ticking bomb—able to tear open wounds at will.

And Qin An was already in tears: “Thank heaven Yangyang went abroad early, or else he’d have been ruined too. If Lele hadn’t gotten into university and escaped you, who knows what she’d have become! Qian Fang, can your conscience take it? Conspiring with this man, torturing your own child!”

But Qin Song was broken—her body and spirit pushed to the brink, her nerves so tightly wound she’d developed reverse psychology.

That’s why she craved pain—because it was the thing she least wanted to face.

Over a decade of beatings, abuse, humiliation. Nights curled up in a warehouse cage, eating like an animal.

Meanwhile, Qin Zhen struggled in the business world, deceived into believing his daughter was well cared for.

To sell the lie, Zheng Chengfeng sent Qin Song to school. In front of reporters’ cameras, he played the doting stepfather, spewing honeyed lies with a serpent’s heart.

Li Chu recalled those newspaper photos, that smug face—and bile rose in her throat. Beast in human skin.

Outside, the typhoon raged, rattling hair and clothes. At its center, Zheng Chengfeng stood, cold and cruel: “Zhen-ge really was outstanding. But so what? His wife ended up mine, his daughter too. The great Qin family, crushed under my heel.”

He fingered his belt, sneering: “Lele, was going to Nanda your way of escaping me? Be honest—don’t lie to Daddy.”

The sickly sing-song, like coaxing a child, pricked like needles.

Qin Song stared back calmly. Even as he flaunted her past, she realized she wasn’t as afraid as before. She didn’t flinch at the hand that once whipped her.

Maybe… she really had grown up.

The broken shards of memory had finally pieced together, forming a whole picture. They could never be erased, but now they could be sealed away—because Li Chu held her hand, giving her inexplicable strength.

She told herself it was an illusion. Yet at this moment, only this girl held her, and only then did she not fear—she even stood in front of her.

“Please leave,” Li Chu said, face swollen on one side, eyes still fierce. “Breaking away from people like you is the natural choice of any sane person. Aren’t you afraid the truth will destroy you?”

Zheng Chengfeng’s gaze turned icy before he burst into laughter. “And where did this foolish little brat come from? Even the Qin family can’t touch me. You think you can? If anyone dares report me, the sun they see tomorrow will be black.”

So no one could stop him?

Li Chu swallowed, her throat bobbing. “Careful—things can snap back.”

Before he could retort, she opened her palm. “Heard of lawyer Hu Muwan? You really think no one can deal with you?”

Of course he had. Hu Muwan had once single-handedly saved countless women from despair, a legendary lawyer in Nancheng. Even after retiring a decade ago, her name still carried weight.

In Li Chu’s palm lay the golden pin of Hu Muwan’s law firm.

Legends don’t fade easily. Hu had toppled aristocratic families and revived forgotten cases. Everyone in the circle knew the rumors were true.

But Zheng Chengfeng scoffed. “The lawyer’s retired. And you think I’ll back down just because of a trinket?”

Childish. He puffed on his cigarette. “Run along, little girl. I’ve no time to play house with kids.”

He had once been from a scholarly family. When his household fell, it was Qin Zhen who helped them. But he’d grown into an ungrateful wolf.

Despised in business circles, he took perverse delight in humiliating others when he gained power.

“You’re welcome to test me,” Li Chu said, hair falling like ink in a painting. “Perhaps you know the Hongfu Orphanage.”

That made him falter. He peered at the pin, suspicion flickering.

It was real—personally entrusted to Li Chu by the director, now a frail elder clinging to life.

Li Chu’s voice shook with grief: “She treated me like a mother. Go on, if you dare.”

A pause. “If you still refuse to leave.”

The mourning hall lay still. Behind them, Qin Zhen’s portrait showed a proud face. Qin Song glanced at her father’s image and thought she saw him smiling—tearfully, gratefully, as if saying: Lele, I can rest easy now.

Rest easy? Of what?

The wounds remained—not only on her body, but etched into her heart, scars no walls could hide.

She had hated Qin Zhen, Qin Zhao, the Qin family’s weakness that left her trapped in darkness, counting drops of water.

She had been forced into excellence—into Nanda, into hiding in the city.

Chen Ran wasn’t a good person, but at least he honored contracts. The Qin family’s investment in Yangxin was bound in ink, protecting her.

That contract was the start of her obsession with agreements. Even someone like Chen Ran kept secrets—only contracts could be trusted.

Each time Zheng Chengfeng closed in, Chen Ran warned her, and she moved. Seventy-five times. Sheng’an Apartments was the seventy-sixth.

Qin Song tiredly twisted her ring, casting Li Chu a sidelong glance.

So often she didn’t understand this girl—like now. An outsider, meddling, daring to invoke Hu’s name. Didn’t she know she was courting disaster?

What had felt like empty closeness now took root, because Li Chu always answered, always stood firm.

Nearness breeds likeness. Lin Zhiyan had been the same.

Her emotions had already crossed lines, germinating in secret.

Like that day in Li Chu’s attic—she had really wanted to do the unspeakable things in those videos.

She tugged at her collar, undoing two buttons, restless and feverish at the memory of Li Chu’s neck under chains.

Li Chu’s bare back, damp with water, the haze of heat around her…

She wanted—

“Finally…”

The clamor of voices broke her thoughts. Qin Song blinked. Zheng Chengfeng and Qian Fang were getting into a car, their bodyguards withdrawing.

Fear of Hu Muwan had chased them off. After all, others had tried to silence her before, and all had failed. Invisible forces had always shielded her.

Once they were gone, Qin An rushed over, checking Qin Song anxiously before ordering someone: “Get medicine—for Miss Li.”

Half of Li Chu’s face was puffed like a hamster’s, yet she still clutched the pin, stealing a timid glance at Qin Song. She shook her head quickly: “I’m fine. Don’t trouble yourselves. I’ll take care of it at home.”

The servant hesitated, caught between orders. Qin An had no authority, and Ye Wanqing was too frail.

The funeral still had to proceed. Guests were returning to their seats, chanting about to resume.

The farce had ended. None here could oppose Zheng Chengfeng’s power. They could only chant harder, praying for Qin Zhen’s soul.

Except Li Chu. Surprisingly, Li Chu.

Until today, Qin Song had thought her naïve, troublesome—that her useless curiosity only created chaos.

She had thought their tie was limited to the contract. That any feelings bleeding through came only from that bond.

Yes. Contract spirit.

Qin Song folded her arms again, her collar falling into shadow, her sharp features unreadable.

As when she stepped out of the elevator, she could plunge from the heavens or soar back in an instant.

Had she really ever fallen?

“Bring the medicine.” Qin Song didn’t look at anyone, but someone obeyed, fetching a fresh bottle of safflower oil from behind the curtain.

Li Chu had no choice but to take it, hugging it against her chest, intending to apply it at home.

Qin Song, meanwhile, slowly removed her rings—one by one, as though preparing for something monumental. Li Chu stared, puzzled.

Once she was done, Qin Song glanced at her with disdain. “Give it.”

Li Chu blinked, lips parting in confusion. What did she mean?

The next moment, Qin Song leaned in and snatched the bottle from her arms.

Too public here, so she strode toward a corner, heels clicking. Only when she noticed Li Chu hadn’t followed did she stop and turn.

Her bright-dyed hair clashed with the solemn hall. Her words, too, stood out:

“Come here. I’ll put it on.”

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