Cross the Boundary GL - Chapter 29

Li Chu tried to find even the faintest trace of tenderness on Qin Song’s face. But there was none. Qin Song remained as always—cold, distant, looking down from above with lowered eyelids. Even the pink hair couldn’t soften that chill.

“Not going upstairs?” she asked.

“Oh…” Li Chu mumbled, picking up her clothes, only to find her legs so weak she couldn’t stand at all.

Just as Qin Song was about to step onto the first stair, Li Chu braced herself and called out:
“Don’t go… I can’t stand up…”

She shamefully rubbed her thighs, complaining in embarrassment:
“They’re really sore.”

After all, she had lifted them for too long.

Qin Song didn’t know if she was more irritated or dumbfounded by her stupidity—she actually stayed silent for over a minute. As the seconds dragged on, Li Chu gave in:
“Forget it, you go ahead, I’ll get up myself.”

She pressed on the edge of the table, ready to push herself up. But then the same hand that had just driven her into waves of addiction suddenly reached over again, steadying itself firmly at her waist.

Her clothes were soaked through, clinging to her body like nothing more than a thin veil of modesty. They outlined the curves underneath, hazy and half-concealed, tempting yet restrained.

It shouldn’t continue here… With reason creeping back, Qin Song turned her eyes aside, then used her strength to scoop Li Chu up entirely.

The sudden loss of ground beneath her feet made Li Chu shiver. The movement shook her clothes loose, and a draft slipped through the gaps, so cold she trembled uncontrollably. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around Qin Song’s neck, pressing the pink hair beneath her arm.

Qin Song smelled faintly of tobacco. Her shoulders were thin, yet she carried another person up the stairs as if it were effortless.

Li Chu was tossed onto the bed, watching as Qin Song tugged open her collar with the very hand that had just touched her. Her snow-pale collarbones were revealed again, along with the tiny silver barbell piercing, gleaming coldly.

Qin Song fiddled briefly with her phone before returning to the bed, leaning over with her arms braced on either side of Li Chu.

The view was entirely unobstructed—she could even see the faint swell beneath the coffee-colored fabric. Li Chu stared, stared some more, and before she realized it, her hand was moving forward, reaching, until she touched the soft, delicate material.

Only undergarments were made of fabric this fine. And because it was so thin, nearly weightless, her fingers brushed skin almost instantly.

But Qin Song only gazed down at her with that same detached, world-weary look. Then she lifted her knee onto the blanket, pressing down on Li Chu’s legs that had tried to close together.

Li Chu’s hand, which had been wandering over Qin Song’s chest, immediately fell against her knee. It hurt—sharp, splitting pain, with no hint of gentleness behind it.

But Qin Song thought otherwise. Without washing her hands, she slipped her fingers into Li Chu’s parted lips, playing with her tongue, teasing until finally withdrawing—leaving only the reddened lips behind, lush as if painted with vintage lipstick.

Plump, full, achingly seductive.

Then Qin Song bent down and took those lips between her own. Li Chu’s mouth was small, but her lip peaks were pronounced, like the perfect standard model sketches plastered on cosmetic clinic walls. Except hers were natural.

The lines were smooth, easy for a tongue to trace, easy to pry apart and explore.

Soon Qin Song’s hand turned cold, and as her fingers pressed deeper, Li Chu gasped sharply, her lips brushing against the tiny piercing on Qin Song’s tongue.

That clarity jolted her awake, and with it came the sharp pain from her legs.

Helpless, she grabbed Qin Song’s thighs, one on each side pressing against her as if to crush her bones.

“Does it hurt?” Qin Song asked while stroking her drenched skin. Yet the fire in her eyes blazed higher. “Bite me.”

Li Chu’s eyes shimmered with tears, dazed as she looked at her.

Qin Song had no patience for hesitation. Her voice rippled like water through Li Chu’s blurred vision:
“Bite. Open your mouth.”

When Li Chu’s teeth sank down, Qin Song’s pent-up emotions finally broke free. And at the same time, so did hers.

Li Chu tasted blood. She also tasted the pleasure stirred out of her by Qin Song’s fingertips.

At last, Qin Song went to wash her hands.

The takeout arrived right on time. Li Chu went downstairs to fetch it, and secretly peeked inside—it contained disposable clothes and several bottles of alcohol.

Of course. Qin Zhen had just passed away. Qin Song needed release. Love and intimacy were just one part of it.

Li Chu’s heart softened. She no longer wanted to dwell on Tang Tang.

When Qin Song came out of the bathroom, Li Chu saw she had stripped off her upper clothing, revealing the full view of her tattoos.

Li Chu stared at the patterns and designs she herself had carefully drawn, and warmth welled up in her chest.

Qin Song’s tattoos weren’t just to cover scars—they were also to replace pain she couldn’t otherwise release. She wanted to hide the past, yet also confront the aftereffects it had left behind.

And that warmth in Li Chu’s chest came from this: every flower, every detail covering those shadows, had been carved by her own hand. She had covered Qin Song’s wounds for her, leaving only brilliant colors behind.

Li Chu wanted to cry, her eyes turning red and stinging.

She couldn’t explain the feeling—it was like the two of them crawling forward through a battlefield, only to find each other amidst the falling shrapnel.

That war-torn night sky held a sharp crescent moon, not full but jagged at the edges.

Back when she studied painting, people often praised Li Chu for her talent. She hadn’t understood then. Talent still required hard work, so she buried her head in practice for over ten years.

Now she understood.

Yes, she was a tattoo artist—that was unquestionable. But the reason she became one was because she loved everything incomplete.

The broken moon, the shattered glass shards, the scarred body. She longed to fill them, the same way tattoos conceal and adorn.

She loved flaws more than perfection. That’s why she liked Qin Song’s brokenness, her scars.

Because it was she who had laid the ornaments upon them, making the imperfect whole.

Li Chu smiled—and with that smile, her tears fell, dripping like the rain outside.

Qin Song glanced sideways at her, wondering if she had been too rough. She knew she was sick, that she often couldn’t control her emotions.

That’s why she forced things, why she bullied her so badly.

But Li Chu’s tears kept falling, as if straight into Qin Song’s heart. So she pulled two tissues and tossed them stiffly onto the bed.

It was impossible for Qin Song to say comforting words. For someone selfish and cold, this was already the best she could offer in gentleness.

Li Chu picked up the tissues and wiped her eyes.

Qin Song’s changes were subtle, but her buried gentleness showed through her smallest gestures. Li Chu was more certain than ever—she truly longed to be loved.

So, when Qin Song came out from her bath, she was suddenly wrapped in something soft. It took her a long moment to realize it was Li Chu’s embrace.

“If Dean Hu passes away, I’ll really have no family left,” Li Chu whispered. “Let me hold you for a while.”

Qin Song stood stiffly, wanting to push her away. Her hand pressed against Li Chu’s shoulder but lacked the heart to apply force.

And so, they simply absorbed each other’s warmth, like two fish depending on the same dwindling water.

But the saying goes—

Better to forget each other in the rivers and lakes…

Exhaustion set in.

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