Cross the Boundary GL - Chapter 28

Qin Song walked in front, with Li Chu and Lin Zhiyan behind her. Between them were Tang Tang and her friend. The group entered the restaurant in such a strange, awkward formation, marching in like some kind of procession.

The more Lin Zhiyan looked at Qin Song, the more uncomfortable she felt. She bent down and whispered to Li Chu:
“She can’t possibly like that sweet girl, right?”

Li Chu’s eyes never left the figure walking ahead. Uneasy, she replied:
“Would she even like anyone?”

Lin Zhiyan fell silent.

It was true—Qin Song didn’t seem like the type who could fall for anyone… or was she?

She glanced more carefully at Li Chu, thinking it might not be so absolute. At the very least, Qin Song’s attitude toward Li Chu was relaxed, even a little indulgent.

Lin Zhiyan felt there were subtle traces lingering between the two of them—faint, but undeniable. Everything hinged on Qin Song.

As for Qin Song, Lin Zhiyan never truly believed she was heartless. She was just reserved and secretive, so unless one paid very close attention, it was impossible to see what lay beneath.

With years of experience in reading people, Lin Zhiyan trusted her intuition and her eye for detail. She had no idea then just how important this particular thought would become in the future.

Inside the restaurant, the smell of boiled fish filled the air. Tang Tang used three vouchers to order three big bowls of fish along with a few side dishes. The group sat around a large table.

Qin Song stayed silent the entire time, though she knew Li Chu kept sneaking glances at her.

Perhaps, to many people, Qin Song was a cold, unfeeling person, and in truth, she was. So when Lin Zhiyan’s suspicious gaze fell on her again and again, Qin Song didn’t bother explaining.

She couldn’t understand emotions, but she could read the situation clearly. Tang Tang had eyes identical to Tang Tiantian’s. The moment they made eye contact, Qin Song had a sick, almost violent urge to press a lit cigarette into her eye.

Reason always prevailed at the crucial moment. She restrained herself.

After all, Tang Tiantian had an older sister who had always been studying abroad. Tang Tiantian was the daughter of Tang’s father’s current wife, while Tang Tang, as the child of his ex-wife, had always been the overlooked one.

The Tang family wasn’t particularly influential in the business world, so Tang Tang’s return from overseas hadn’t stirred up much attention—certainly not compared to the scene Qin Song caused by appearing at Qin Zhen’s funeral.

Tang Tang didn’t recognize Qin Song as the “hidden” daughter of the Qin family. Though they had actually met as children, back then Qin Song was far less flamboyant, and Qin Zhen and Qian Fang hadn’t yet divorced.

Originally, Qin Song hadn’t intended to do anything. But when Tang Tiantian tried to return to her role as a pampered young miss after a fling with a street punk, people never stopped criticizing her disabled, burned hands.

So she took advantage of the Tang family’s limited influence, slipping in through a crack. A thousand-mile dike collapses from an ant hole—like a loose screw, that tiny weakness disrupted the Qin family’s entire industrial chain. Qin Zhen was forced to run himself ragged, and at the same time, Zheng Chengfeng rose to power.

His rise was like a storm sweeping through the market. Ruthless and unrestrained, he left no one able to compete.

Qin Song, in turn, was forced to keep changing jobs and addresses. She refused to accept financial help from Qin Zhen, so all her money came from scholarships and part-time work.

She had no choice but to excel in her studies. No choice but to live alone. It was the only way to escape the nightmare.

Her flight lasted over a decade—until Qin Zhen quietly arranged for her to work at Yangxin, with its high salary and flexible hours. After signing the agreement with Chen Ran, she moved into the Cheng’an Apartments, not too far from the company.

Qin Zhen, who had built everything from scratch, still had some clout. Chen Ran never revealed the truth, nor did he let Zheng Chengfeng find her.

But how could Qin Song not strike back first?

She had only felt her heart race twice in her life, both times at night—once when Qin Zhen died, and once when she first lay with Li Chu.

She admitted that Qin Zhen’s death shattered what little strength she had left. When she once asked Li Chu what to do when unhappy, Li Chu said: Cry.

But Qin Song could no longer cry. Qin Zhen had been right to worry. She could no longer love, miss, or like anything. She was like a walking corpse, her body moving mechanically.

So how could she possibly forgive the person responsible?

As long as Zheng Chengfeng held power, neither the Qin family nor the entire business world could breathe. Qin Song had no desire to re-enter that circle, but anyone could stand at the top—anyone except him.

So she set her eyes on Tang Tang. Though Tang Tang’s gaze carried the same hated resemblance to her sister’s, hers wasn’t foolish. It was calmer, shrewder.

Tang Tang herself wasn’t in a great position. Her mother, Li Chunyi, came from a scholarly family and was gentle to a fault. That gentleness became her undoing when Tang Tiantian’s mother inserted herself into the marriage and grew overbearing. Li Chunyi fell ill from the stress.

The year Tang Tang went abroad was only four days after her mother’s death.

Without her mother’s protection, she would surely suffer if she stayed. So Li Chunyi made her path clear before she died—leave the country, go somewhere distant and unreachable.

Whether Tang Tang had ambitions or not, it didn’t matter. Since the Qin family’s fall had begun with the Tang family, Zheng Chengfeng’s downfall had to start there too.

Qin Song had never wanted power struggles, but she couldn’t let go of Qin Zhen’s death. That wound had gone beyond the bounds of calm endurance.

A volcano buried deep beneath the sea would erupt sooner or later—she only needed to wait for the right moment.

After dinner, Tang Tang and her friends went their separate ways. Qin Song escorted Lin Zhiyan to the subway, then drove Li Chu back to the front of Kiss.Me. She cut the engine and stood in the dark, smoking.

“Not going home?” Li Chu stood with her back to the car. Her long hair fluttered in the wind, a black blossom blooming beneath the neon lights.

The colorful signage cast rings of light above her head, only making her silhouette seem lonelier.

Qin Song frowned, cigarette still at her lips, and stepped closer.

“Upstairs.” Her words were short, her meaning obvious.

Li Chu, full of unspoken grievances, bit her lip until it bled, her voice trembling:
“Just go. I’m not in the right state tonight.”

Qin Song finished her cigarette silently, then raised her hand and pushed the iron shutter door open with a clang. She pulled Li Chu inside.

The door slammed shut again, plunging them into darkness.

“What are you doing…” Li Chu groped blindly, unsure of where she stood.

But she was certain Qin Song was right in front of her—the woman’s breath was hot, heavy, and suggestive, spilling into the suffocating space.

Li Chu flushed, her body growing hotter. Panicked, she stumbled forward, but Qin Song simply caught her around the waist. In her arms, Li Chu felt like a fragile ant that could be crushed at will—weak, helpless, her resistance meaningless.

“Let go of me!” Li Chu didn’t want this in her low, broken state. In her mind, intimacy belonged to just one person.

Qin Song didn’t understand her thoughts. All she felt was that Li Chu shouldn’t resist. Possessiveness swelled within her, her warped desires smothering reason. She shoved Li Chu against the iron door, the impact echoing loud and metallic.

Li Chu gasped in pain, shoulders aching as she bent over.

When she straightened again, Qin Song’s hand, still holding a cigarette, braced beside her ear. The smoke stung her eyes.

Li Chu shoved at her, but couldn’t move her. Instead, her wrists were seized.

Her heart thundered. These past two months had made her forget just how dangerous Qin Song could be—not only to outsiders, but to those closest to her.

She twisted, trying to free herself, when Qin Song’s flat voice came from above:
“Don’t make me use both hands.”

The air still carried the sharp tang of tattoo ink. Terrified, Li Chu’s eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them fall. If she cried, Qin Song would only catch them.

Stubborn, she wouldn’t let herself be seen as weak.

Her hands were pinned overhead. The glow of the cigarette flared once before dying out completely. Then Qin Song’s smoke-scented fingers brushed over her eyes, then down to her temple, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear.

The bite mark on her skin had healed, though still faintly visible. Qin Song leaned in, breath hot against it. Li Chu didn’t dare move.

Qin Song seemed to be examining it carefully, though the darkness hid everything. Just as Li Chu wondered what she was doing, sharp pain suddenly flared.

It felt like her teeth were sinking deep, almost to the bone, her tongue stud scraping cruelly.

In truth, Qin Song had only used half her strength. The other half became heat, seeping into Li Chu’s skin.

Heat against heat sparked into fire. Qin Song finally released her grip, and Li Chu broke free—only to realize there was nowhere to escape.

Her wandering hands always found the places that made Li Chu’s body falter. Just the lightest touch, and her waist went weak.

One leg trembled, lifting helplessly. Still, she wanted to resist, to vent the bitterness and anger in her chest. But before she could, Qin Song’s burning palm slid lower, and only her shadowy outline could be seen in the dark.

“Your resistance isn’t honest,” Qin Song murmured, a smile brushing her lips as her sharp jawline grazed Li Chu’s cheek, her words dripping with teasing intimacy.

It was a violent kind of tenderness, and Li Chu had no defense against it.

The cold iron door slowly warmed against her back. Qin Song stepped away slightly, and only then did Li Chu lower her leg, stumbling to steady herself.

Before she could catch her breath, Qin Song’s damp fingers pressed against her shoulder blade again, sliding forward.

Li Chu’s clothes slipped precariously, barely clinging to her arm. Only their closeness kept them from falling.

But Qin Song was dissatisfied with even that barrier. With a swift flick, she undid the lace clasp, pulling it free. Soft curves trembled in the dark.

Li Chu only looked delicate; in truth, her figure was balanced, not fragile. Anyone comparing would find she couldn’t be held within one hand.

Qin Song wanted to crush her. Wanted to taste her slowly.

Like the red medicinal oil before, the honeyed warmth slid down Qin Song’s wrist, soaking into the tattoo-covered scars, as though healing them.

At least in that moment, Qin Song was mending, piece by piece.

The frenzy ended when the rain outside grew heavy. Li Chu sat on the floor, feeling the damp, earthy air seep in through the cracks, soaking the clothes scattered around her.

“It’s raining,” Qin Song said, turning on the light with clean hands.

Li Chu looked up into her eyes, now like rippling water, blurred and dazed.

She had no tears left. Her voice, husky with desire, sounded both sensual and lost:
“Mm. It’s raining.”

Qin Song’s gaze fell on the half-closed lock of the iron door. She lowered her eyes, slid off her coat, and draped it over her arm. Then she removed her earrings and rings, setting them together.

“What are you doing?” Li Chu tilted her head up, watching her pale hands strip away each piece of jewelry.

Those hands had just stirred waves within her moments ago. Now they moved with calm precision, stripping everything away without hesitation.

Li Chu couldn’t understand.

Soon, Qin Song had removed all her accessories, leaving only the ruby-like crystal glimmering on her tongue stud.

“It’s raining. Am I still leaving?”

Her faint smile vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, too fleeting to catch. When Li Chu looked again, her expression was the same cool detachment as always.

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