Cross the Boundary GL - Chapter 27

Once the window was shut, the car fell into an unusual silence.

Still groggy with sleep, Li Chu hadn’t yet grasped the situation. Qin Song, reeking of smoke, loomed above her, shadowing the last faint light inside the car.

“Something you need to deal with?” Li Chu lifted her head slightly. Qin Song lowered her chin just then, her tobacco-tainted tongue prying her way in, stirring the already delicate atmosphere into complete chaos.

Li Chu understood instantly what she meant.

Out here on the city outskirts, in a deserted place, inside a car.

Even though the night wasn’t cold, Li Chu felt a chill—the hand Qin Song had left dangling out the window had been brushed by the wind, and now it skimmed over the damp seat.

Glancing at the leather upholstery, Qin Song hesitated before finally pulling out two tissues and spreading them on the seat. The action took no time at all, so by the moment Li Chu’s ankle was caught, she had no chance to resist.

She watched helplessly as her ankle was lifted against the car window, her body slack with exhaustion. The bone knocked against the glass, leaving the skin flushed crimson—matching the red of her earlobes and her eyes.

Nervous as she was, the tissue beneath her still gave her away, dyed through and through.

Qin Song hadn’t even unfastened Li Chu’s seatbelt. She pressed her against the seatback instead. In the push of motion, the girl opened her lips to gasp for air, her neck arched back, slender and fragile, like a fish gasping on dry land.

It stirred a cruel desire. Qin Song was startled to find that giving someone else what she herself craved could also bring an uncontrollable surge of pleasure—so strong it rivaled her own hunger.

So Li Chu, eyes glazed, reached up to her neck. She wore a collar of fine material, cinched too tightly against her skin. Struggling to undo it, she didn’t realize the other end was clasped in Qin Song’s hand.

A tug—and Li Chu lurched forward, the bony hand gripping the chain pulling it taut. Soon, the iron was wrapped around her wrists as well.

Both felt the sting, but Li Chu bore the greater pain. Moments earlier she could still move, but now her wrists were bound above her head, her palms clutching at air before falling uselessly.

Sweat dampened her dark hair, smearing across the seat. She tried in vain to break free, but Qin Song’s grip was ironclad. Bruises began to bloom around her wrists and neck.

Qin Song pressed her lips against Li Chu’s paling mouth with ease. Their breaths tangled with strands of black and pale hair, strands that she chewed absently before deepening the kiss again.

The cramped car seemed to choke with airlessness. Whether from lack of oxygen or the strange edge of pain, Li Chu’s every strand of hair quivered. She clutched the seatbelt with white knuckles, nails digging deep.

She thought herself cruel by nature—because her pleas would drown in those dark eyes, swallowed up by an unrelenting rhythm.

The tiny space bore too much forbidden desire. Li Chu thought she must be sick—sick to feel pleasure in the collar biting her skin, sick to find warmth in thawing Qin Song’s icy fingertips.

On the ride home, Li Chu was utterly drained, her hair falling forward to veil the deep marks on her neck. She glanced at Qin Song’s hands on the wheel. They bore the same wounds as hers.

And because her skin was unnaturally pale, those injuries looked like red stains on silk, disturbingly beautiful in their ruin.

She didn’t notice that their relationship had unknowingly shifted into balance—desire weighed on both sides.

On Saturday night, Lin Zhiyan called to say they could visit Director Hu. Li Chu closed the shop and went straight to the hospital.

Qin Song had just begun her leave after finishing a stretch of work. The tattoo on her leg still needed touch-ups, so around dinnertime she showed up at the door of kiss.me.

The iron shutter was cold and unyielding, reflecting the red sway of lantern light.

After finishing a cigarette, the door remained shut. Qin Song pulled out her phone and texted Li Chu, but even after waiting an hour, there was no reply.

Her first thought was the hospital. Her chest sank heavy. The last time this happened was the day Qin Zhen died. A nameless panic spread through her.

Losing all composure, she quickly hailed a taxi.

The stench of disinfectant in the hospital was still nauseating. Qin Song hated hospitals—they showed too much of human joy and grief. Stay too long in such a place, and your weakness was bound to show.

In the dark corners of memory, she recalled Qian Fang rushing her here late at night. That day, Zheng Chengfeng had deliberately moved the iron cage under the window. It was the first time she had felt the warmth of moonlight—she even thought the moon was gentle.

Then came a torrential downpour. Her body, covered in wounds, couldn’t withstand the soaking rain. By midnight, fever gripped her, and she could only beat on the cage with her shackled hands, desperate for anyone to notice.

Of course Zheng Chengfeng heard. He just pretended not to.

By the time Qian Fang returned, Qin Song was already half-conscious. She remembered how unreal her mother’s panicked, bloodless face looked in the car.

She had never seen that before.

That night, she sobbed into her mother’s arms—not from fever or pain, but from the suffocating loneliness of endless years. She couldn’t understand.

She couldn’t understand why Qian Fang, as her mother, could stand by and watch like a stranger, unmoved by her cries.

To this day, Qin Song still couldn’t figure out how Qian Fang truly saw her. She had enabled Zheng Chengfeng’s cruelty, yet feared her daughter’s death.

Human nature was too complicated, Qin Song thought as she stepped into the elevator.

The rickety lift groaned. She stepped out, took a few steps, then stopped in surprise.

She realized… the fear wasn’t so strong anymore.

Her dread of confined spaces came from old shadows—but now?

Ahead stood Li Chu, bathed in the faint warmth of a hallway lamp. Like a child of the sun, she carried light wherever she went.

Moonlight, sunlight—it was all the same. This light broke through her inner walls, filling the cracks.

Why was that? Qin Song wondered as she walked.

The first time they met, Li Chu’s delicate features had caught her eye, her gentle gaze like spring water. But back then, she hadn’t cared.

She only needed a vessel to pour her hunger into. Yet after years of searching, only Li Chu could satisfy.

Her skill was unmatched, gifted. Because she was meticulous, she could etch every detail.

The finer the detail, the more pain it demanded.

So perhaps, from the very start, they had been a match.

Halfway down the hall, Qin Song slowed her pace. A thought struck—maybe losing control wasn’t such a bad thing.

At least warmth rose in moments of tenderness, softness lingered in kisses. Even here, they were forced to align.

Lin Zhiyan noticed Qin Song and tapped Li Chu.

Li Chu turned, blinking those damp eyes, dazed before murmuring, “…Why are you here again?”

She still remembered what had happened in the car. These past days she couldn’t shake it, lying awake at night, memories too unspeakable. When they returned, she could only bury herself in her quilt, aching with nowhere to release it.

Lin Zhiyan gave her a suspicious glance. The atmosphere between them was nothing like before—so much had changed in just a few months.

Qin Song strode up, hands in her pockets, lips tilted coldly. “I can’t come?”

“N-no…” Li Chu ducked her head, fingers twisting nervously. “You can… I didn’t say that.”

Lin Zhiyan’s face twisted with disdain. Spineless girl. Blushing, really?

“Director Hu just fell asleep,” she shrugged. “You’re late.”

Qin Song said flatly, “Dinner.”

Lin Zhiyan looked at Li Chu. Li Chu could only glance up again, only to find Qin Song’s unblinking gaze fixed on her. Her look was so intense it felt like a command—dinner wasn’t a suggestion but an order.

After sitting at the hospital all afternoon, she was hungry. So Li Chu asked softly, “What should we eat?”

Without answering, Qin Song turned toward the elevator. Her steps weren’t fast. Li Chu understood: she wanted them to follow.

Li Chu thought Qin Song hadn’t driven—but then she saw her pull out the repaired black car, the one from the accident. Fixed, it looked fine, but Li Chu still felt a chill.

Sweat trickled down her temples. Lin Zhiyan touched her. “Hot? Why’re you sweating like this?”

She pointed. “The AC’s right there, you know.”

But Li Chu didn’t dare touch Qin Song’s things. She was terrified she might snap suddenly—and how could she explain it to Lin Zhiyan?

Yet in that moment, Qin Song’s hand left the steering wheel. Her long fingers flicked on the air conditioner, adjusted the temperature, then calmly returned to the wheel.

Lin Zhiyan glanced between them, smirking knowingly.

After two hours of driving, the car pulled up near Hongfu, in the same tight alley as last time, barely fitting.

Watching Qin Song climb out through the sunroof, Lin Zhiyan commented, “Her parking is impressive, but I swear she’s not all there.”

Li Chu’s breath caught. “She’s perfectly normal.”

The instinctive defense stunned Lin Zhiyan even more. “Li Xiaochu, fess up. Did you confess to her?”

“No!” Li Chu protested.

“Then what’s going on? What did you two do?”

“Nothing!” Li Chu insisted.

“Nothing?” Lin Zhiyan raised her voice. “Then what are you hiding from me?”

Seeing Qin Song approach, Li Chu scrambled: “I’ll tell you later! Zhiyan-jie, aren’t you hungry? She’s coming…”

Hands on hips, Lin Zhiyan turned. Qin Song stood not far away, lighting a cigarette. In profile, her beauty was sharpened by the glow, her tattoo exposed under her short sleeve, her presence drawing glances from passersby.

Some looked for her face, others for the ink, still others for the dangling earring that swung beneath her windswept hair.

Some people were born to draw eyes. Qin Song’s cold detachment fit perfectly with her inked skin—like a flower blooming on a high cliff, beautiful but perilous to touch.

A group of trendy girls nudged one another until finally, one with a sweet face stepped forward.

Tall and long-legged, her pleated skirt swaying, her pale legs stung Li Chu’s eyes.

“Jiejie, can I get your contact?” The girl waved her phone.

Just then Qin Song exhaled smoke, her features shifting into clarity through the haze. Her gaze landed on the girl, unreadable.

The girl was bold. “I’m Tang Tang—like candy. These are my friends. You here for spicy fish? We’ve got coupons!”

Qin Song’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly. And then—she actually pulled out her phone.

In the dimming of Li Chu’s eyes and Lin Zhiyan’s gaping shock—

Beep.

She scanned the girl’s QR code.

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