Cross the Boundary GL - Chapter 32

Li Chu understood the severity of Qin Song’s illness—not because she knew it in theory, but because she had truly experienced the fluctuations herself.

Qin Song’s pain lay in the fact that she didn’t want to become deranged, but how could she control it? A volcano buried beneath the shoreline would inevitably erupt.

Like now, Qin Song lit a cigarette, the smoke curling up to the roof of the car. Li Chu thought: she must be holding back, restraining herself, suppressing all the unruly things that wanted to break free.

Qin Song lifted the hand holding the cigarette, and the shifting light and shadow crossed her skin.
“My world is a tangle of chaotic threads. I try to smooth them out, but in the end, it’s all left to fate.”

“Nine out of ten things in life won’t go your way. If you think death isn’t real enough, think of my father.”

She turned on the air conditioner, and the smoke smell thinned a little.

In the past, Qin Song resisted talking about her past, hiding herself in a hard shell. Today was an exception. Somehow, Li Chu’s tears had stirred her emotions, made her want to speak.

Though her words were stiff and cold, Li Chu understood.

“Are you… comforting me?” Li Chu asked.

Qin Song stayed silent. After a long while, she lifted her lashes, gazing into the distance.
“No matter how painful, the gears of fate have never stopped turning.”

She had never spoken so many words before. Li Chu became certain.
“You really are comforting me.”

“I’m comforting myself.” After a moment of the moon being hidden behind dark clouds, she drew her gaze back and looked sideways at the person beside her.
“The body’s instinct to survive is stronger than the mind. What can I do about that…”

“There’s no way.” She muttered softly.

Li Chu’s sadness was like the moon covered by clouds, her emotional strings tugged by the woman before her. More than anything, she felt pity… and heartache.

Dean Hu had loved her deeply, treating her like his own daughter. From childhood to adulthood, Li Chu had never suffered grievances. She was first placed to study painting in the area under the law firm’s jurisdiction. After entering the workforce, every location and environment had been checked and re-checked by Dean Hu’s people before approval.

You could say her growth had been smooth and fortunate. Up to now, she had never been made things difficult, and even her classmates at the studio were all good people.

But Qin Song was different. Her parents divorced when she was young. She was assigned to her mother, but suffered violence at the hands of her stepfather. Her elder brother, indifferent, had gone abroad. For her, the identity of a “business world’s heiress” was a burden, not a privilege.

Now the only person who had truly loved her, Qin Zhen, was gone. The people left in this world were connected to her by nothing more than faint ties of blood.

Li Chu racked her brain for comforting words, but in the end all those thousands of thoughts condensed into one sentence:
“Don’t be so negative. There will always be a way out. Look at you—you’re doing pretty well now, aren’t you? You have to live well.”

Qin Song started the car, the corner of her lips twitching up.
“You think I’m doing well now? Even I don’t feel that way.”

As the car roared to life, Li Chu hastily fastened her seatbelt.
“At least better than before, isn’t it? You’ve escaped—you can fight back against the malice now.”

The car was so quiet they could hear each other breathing. Not until they were on the highway did Qin Song finally speak in the dark:
“It’s not the right time yet.”

Li Chu didn’t understand what those words meant. She was still weighing how to respond when, turning her head, she saw the starry sky outside the window.

After the heavy rain, countless stars hung in the sky. Li Chu rolled the window down, the cool wind rushing in, making her squint.
“Where are we going?”

Very soon, she fell silent—because the coastline was drawing closer and closer, until she could see waves crashing against the rocks, sending spray into the air.

Li Chu had never come to the seaside at night. Unlike in daylight, the sea at night was heavy and oppressive. Spray-laden wind swept between their fingers.

Qin Song squatted on a smooth rock, smoking, her coat hem stained with sand and seawater—she didn’t care.

The Milky Way seemed to touch the horizon, merging with the sea in endless stillness.

Li Chu waded in the water for a bit. Seeing the still silhouette on the rock, she grew playful. Bending down, she scooped up seawater and flung it toward her.

The salty tang filled the air. The cigarette, only a few puffs in, was drenched and extinguished. Its lingering taste blurred Qin Song’s features.

She was calm, water droplets sliding off her lashes.

She simply looked at the culprit before her, as if admiring a fine oil painting—the reflection of stars and sea in her eyes, beautiful.

Li Chu grew guilty under her gaze.
“…I’ll get you some tissues from the car.”

She tried to flee quickly—but Qin Song was faster, catching her. The slim ladies’ cigarette rolled into a crevice, stopping by a trembling blade of grass.

From Li Chu’s angle, she could only see that shivering leaf.

The rocks were slippery with moss. She leaned against them, the damp cold scraping her skin, sending shivers of pain and sharp sensation through her chest.

There was no one else here. Li Chu knew it, but still her toes curled nervously, her head tipped back toward the star-filled sky.

She shouldn’t have provoked her. She knew Qin Song wasn’t an ordinary person.

Qin Song’s kiss carried a faint saltiness. Li Chu knew full well this wasn’t seawater. Just moments ago, she had felt the heat of her tongue piercing.

How had it come to this…?

The metal ornament, sweet as sugar, melted away in the exchange.

Was she sinking into the stars over the sea, or the delicate, wet fingers brushing against her? It no longer mattered.

Twenty minutes later, in the car, Qin Song tied up her hair. It was a casual knot, with several damp strands falling onto her neck and collarbone, making her skin appear even whiter, painfully delicate.

After wiping away the excess seawater on her, she pulled out two tissues and tossed them lightly onto Li Chu’s lap.

Li Chu quietly picked them up.

She hadn’t expected the tide to rise so quickly. One wave had crashed down, drenching them both.

To be precise, only Li Chu was flustered. Qin Song merely shook her head indifferently, then returned to the car without a word.

Li Chu tossed the crumpled tissues out the window, head down, picking at her nails.

Every so often, her eyes darted to the hand resting on the steering wheel.

Those hands could easily kill her, she thought.

“Disappointed?” Qin Song suddenly leaned in. Half her face was lit by the headlights, her eyes uneven depths, full of an unreadable tenderness.

Was it an illusion? Li Chu swallowed nervously, her throat’s movement exposing her fragile neck—achingly… tempting.

But not only she was tempting. From Li Chu’s angle, every piece of metal piercing on Qin Song’s skin glimmered, stirring the tattoo artist’s instincts.

Tattooists love broken moons, love flawed people. Qin Song seemed perfect, but her cracks aligned exactly with Li Chu’s gift.

So she used her teeth to tug at the jewelry embedded in her skin, her tongue teasingly pressing as she removed them one by one—from her collarbone to her ear.

Qin Song’s patience and indulgence always surfaced at times like these. She stayed motionless, letting the other have her way.

“Why take them out?” She chuckled softly, good-natured.

Muffled against her ear, Li Chu answered, “To change them for new ones.”

Qin Song said nothing, just reached out and switched off the headlights.

“Why is it dark now?” Li Chu cupped the warm little pieces of jewelry in her hands—only to have Qin Song take them and pour them into her own palm.

Li Chu grew uneasy, yet there was no retreat.

Behind her was only the car’s not-so-soft leather seat.

Her skirt slowly rode up, the smell of seawater dulling the car’s faint perfume, everything hazy and unreal.

The jewelry was capped with smooth, rounded crystals on both ends—no sharp needles to pierce flesh.

Li Chu’s chest heaved violently, her hands clutching at the window handle and the seatback.

“Count.” Qin Song, guided by moonlight, pushed deeper, her tone as plain as water. “How many now?”

Seeing her bite her lip and stay silent, Qin Song smirked and counted herself.
“One, two…”

“I’ll count, I’ll count…” Luckily, there was no light. Otherwise, Li Chu would surely have seen her own reflection in the window, flushed crimson.

Ripples shimmered in her eyes, light trembling with each motion, her nails digging into the seat cover.

“Five… five already…” Li Chu clutched that pale hand, red-eyed, pleading. “It’s five already.”

“Only five.” Qin Song tossed the rest in her hand. Still a dozen more, their metallic gleam making Li Chu squeeze her eyes shut.

Qin Song was mad beyond reason—her way of tormenting people was just as extreme.

Watching her empty palm, she bent down, damp hair brushing Li Chu’s lips.
“Now I’ll help you take them out.”

The smooth, cool ornaments had long since warmed. Li Chu’s breathing hitched, sweat beading over her skin, mixing with seawater that hadn’t yet dried.

Back at the mourning hall, Lin Zhiyan was nearly frantic.
“Where on earth did you go? Breakfast doesn’t take that long!”

Her hands were on her hips, the camellia on her chest pinned crookedly.
“You didn’t answer your phone—I thought you…”

Her words cut short. Glancing at Qin Song walking in from the parked car, she lowered her voice.
“Don’t wander off again. I’m leaving soon.”

Lin Zhiyan had found a new job in the neighboring city. Once Dean Hu was cremated and buried, she’d have to leave.

“I know, Sister Zhiyan.” Li Chu wiped the dampness under her eyes. “I’ll go change my clothes.”

She left awkwardly. Lin Zhiyan’s body turned with her, then ended up facing Qin Song.
“What happened to her… Hm? And your earrings, and those ones on your collarbone?”

Qin Song, unusually, looked her straight in the eye.
“Washed.”

“Washed…? Do those things need disinfecting or what?”

Qin Song walked off, slipping behind the curtain into a room. On the other side of the wall, Li Chu was changing clothes. Hearing the rustling, Qin Song curled her hand and rapped mischievously on the wall.

The sounds stopped immediately. After a long pause, a hoarse, soft voice came through:
“This is a mourning hall. Can’t you have a little respect for me?”

“Be quicker.” Qin Song replied.

She hadn’t meant to push further. The sea and the funeral were dividing lines. No matter how cold, selfish, or indifferent she was, she would never do anything at someone else’s funeral.

Only men like Zheng Chengfeng would trample on others’ dignity without restraint. If Qin Song’s personality had any redeeming point, it was that she would never go out of her way to stir up trouble.

Even when ill, she was composed.

Lin Zhiyan sent their clothes to the dry cleaner. There were no showers here, so when they came out their hair was still damp.

“Go home and sleep after lunch. You don’t need to be this busy for the next two days. Don’t wear yourself out—look at your face.”

Li Chu nodded, kneeling silently on the cushion. This was the last act of filial piety she could offer Dean Hu. There was no other way.

As Qin Song had said, there was no leaving together. The gears of fate never stopped. The living must always look ahead.

But the road ahead was so confusing.

Li Chu raised her eyes to Dean Hu’s portrait. The old man’s smiling, kindly gaze was forever frozen there.

How was she supposed to go on with the rest of her life?

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