Cross the Boundary GL - Chapter 34

The mist of hot water rolled slowly from above, covering their wet hair and heads. Li Chu was drenched and dazed, but soon grew more awake.
“Why did you suddenly turn on the shower?”

“For convenience.” Qin Song replied coldly.

Her hand slipped back from behind Li Chu. Under the bathroom light, her pale forefinger lazily hooked the shoulder strap of a white embroidered bra, swaying heavily.

Li Chu immediately raised her elbow to cover her chest, watching helplessly as her clothes were tossed through the crack of the sliding door onto the sink.

The beating of her heart thundered louder than the sound of water. Instinctively, she stepped back—just a small step—but the narrow space made her feel cornered, besieged from front and back.

In her panic, Qin Song’s blood-colored tattoo was revealed, slashing down from her chest to just above her belly piercing. It looked like shattered petals of a manjusaka flower glistening with dew.

This was the second time Li Chu had seen this mysterious and eerie mark—so strange it felt as if it sealed away some demon.

Was it meant to seal her own madness? Li Chu wondered.

But the waist beneath her fingers was fine and soft, nothing like Qin Song herself. Dazed, she lifted her gaze, and their eyes met.

Through the drifting fog, Qin Song saw that Li Chu’s features resembled beach sand, blurred by surging waves, her pupils washed bright and unable to hide the rising desire.

In that instant, Qin Song wanted to kiss her—not just her lips and neck, but below the collarbone as well. And soon she pressed forward.

Qin Song wore a shirt, unbuttoned with only a thin layer beneath. Li Chu wore nothing, so when their bodies pressed together, they could feel each other’s pounding hearts.

Li Chu closed her eyes lightly, her trembling lashes betraying unease. Yet she pretended to be half-dreaming, half-indifferent.

With her bare hand, Qin Song brushed along her hairline, then bent low, lips cold as they trailed from ear to neck to collarbone.

Further down, she bit gently, her tongue stud piercing grazing—painful and ticklish. From that point, heat spread inward, seeping into the heart, filling long-starved craving.

Had Qin Song not held her, Li Chu would have already collapsed. Even so, her trembling calves could barely support her. She lacked the strength to push Qin Song away and instead clung to her weakly, searching for security.

Qin Song’s shirt was pulled half-off, baring the tattooed shoulder. Li Chu’s boneless hand traced upward, palm pressing firmly, fingers stroking each inked line.

Her fingertips sketched scars, and history.

Her touch sank deeper, pressing against flesh and soul alike.

It was impossible to count how many times. By the time Qin Song finally let go, even the sheen of steam had dried away.

She casually draped a bath towel gently over Li Chu before leaving, locking the door behind her.

When Li Chu finished washing and stepped out, her damp eyes found Qin Song.

Qin Song leaned against the wall by the doorway, strands of wet hair folded into her arm.

She tilted her face slightly, as if hinting.

Li Chu perked her ears and pressed them against the door.

She really looked like a little animal. Qin Song, distracted, found herself secretly staring at her.

“Has he come out?” Li Chu whispered.

“Mm.” Qin Song’s gaze returned to the wooden door. “He’s out.”

“That fast?”

Only after blurting it did Li Chu realize the double meaning. Her cheeks flushed. “I mean… we… it was several times…”

The more she spoke, the worse it sounded.

Qin Song was silent for a long while before answering in a flat tone: “You think everyone is me.”

“…” Li Chu’s eyes widened. She wasn’t used to Qin Song joking, especially in such a dry, offhand way.

She wanted to laugh, but Qin Song only listened coldly to the hallway sounds, as if her words carried no hint of flirtation.

Through the door, the noises outside grew muffled. One had to stand close to hear clearly.

Li Chu pressed her ear again. At once, Zheng Chengfeng’s mocking voice came through:
“The Qin family’s finished. Even Qin Zhen’s funeral was a mess…”

Li Chu glanced anxiously at Qin Song, but her face remained expressionless, her sideways lean lending even a touch of laziness.

“That brat Qin Zhao is overseas. All that’s left is a lunatic—what storm can she stir? Qian Fang? I’ve got plenty of dirt on her…”

His words dissolved beneath a woman’s playful giggle and the slam of a door.

Li Chu frowned. “He’s so vile.”

Qin Zhen’s body was barely cold, yet Zheng Chengfeng spoke of past cruelty without remorse—proud, even.

Power and greed had blinded his conscience.

Li Chu did not wish him dead; she hoped he would live—but not comfortably. She wished he’d be dragged down, forced to grovel like a dog.

She glanced again at Qin Song.

She herself had bathed; Qin Song had not. Her slender fingers still bore dried traces of passion, the paths of water stains plainly visible.

Qin Song’s gaze turned toward Li Chu’s eyes.

She had often wondered: what truly set Li Chu apart? Beyond delicate tattoos—what else?

It was her eyes. Always pure, transparent enough to last a lifetime.

They pulled her deeper, without her noticing—like sand in an hourglass, falling silently.

Qin Song pressed her brow, then turned away to put back on her glasses and ring.

This three-thousand-yuan room ended up holding them only two and a half hours.

Three months later, Director Hu’s affairs were fully settled. She had cherished Li Chu deeply, paving a secure path for her, including wealth and arrangements.

At the law firm, the director read out Hu’s handwritten will: eighty percent of her assets to Li Chu, the rest to the firm for turnover.

Future profits would also be shared into Li Chu’s account.

By the final word, Li Chu’s tears had already blurred the ink. Looking up through tears, she found the chapel solemn and reverent.

A beam of light illuminated the sculpture. Behind it, Qin Song noticed a rusted iron plaque with a name: Tang Zhi.

She had heard the legendary tales of Tang Zhi in university—a designer who had swept through the fashion world, a once-in-a-century genius.

But beyond glamour, Tang Zhi’s life held depth. In her moments between chaos and clarity, Qin Song had admired Tang Zhi’s strength and openness.

She herself was trapped, unable to escape.

“Qin Song.” Li Chu rubbed her eyes, pointing to a seat in the front row, voice thick with tears. “Sit down.”

The fact that she came at all was a miracle. The chapel was old, small—an unpleasant place for someone with claustrophobia.

But Qin Song had come. When asked before, she neither agreed nor refused. The next day, she simply bought a car and waited outside Kiss.me.

Li Chu could not tell what had caused this change. If it was love and desire—she thought about it, and realized she could accept that too.

Many times—especially near the height of their passion—Li Chu longed to ask: had Qin Song ever, even for a moment, felt her heart move?

She admitted she was the boldest coward in the world—too afraid of Qin Song’s icy eyes smothering her fire.

Director Hu’s wish was honored: she was buried beside the woman named Tang Zhi.

Aunt Lu also came, laying roses for Tang Zhi, and white camellias for Director Hu. Then she stood, quietly gazing at their photographs.

Her eyes seemed to cross time and memory. Li Chu whispered, heartbroken, “Auntie Lu, don’t be sad.”

Lu Jincheng smiled faintly. “I stopped being sad long ago. After Tang Zhi died, I found I couldn’t cry anymore. That’s just how it is.”

The elderly woman rose, hair fluttering in the wind. In the vast graveyard, only three of them stood together, silent.

“Your name is Qin Song, isn’t it?” Lu Jincheng suddenly spoke.

“Live well. At least you have the capital of time.” She glanced at the doves soaring above, a gentle smile forming. “When Tang Zhi and I married, there were so many peace doves… truly…”

“Time spares no one.”

Her last words scattered with the wind. When Qin Song lowered her gaze again, the woman was gone, leaving only trembling flowers.

“Let’s go too.” Li Chu stood, her swollen eyes red with grief.

A sharp nerve tore within Qin Song, followed by crushing pain. She didn’t fear pain, but this—this gnawing ache with no outlet—left her helpless.

Then Li Chu came closer, handing her a brown envelope. “Before she passed, Director Hu kept watch on Zheng Chengfeng for you. Following this, you should find some clues. Don’t rush…”

Here, in a graveyard of partings, flower petals swirled in the wind around their ankles.

The burning press of Qin Song’s tongue drew blurred tears from Li Chu, who clutched at her sleeve.

From the overwhelming wave, reason broke through. Her lips, stained red, parted with difficulty: “No…”

Qin Song brushed aside the hair covering her eyes. With searing breath, her tongue stud grazing: “Alright.”

Outside the cemetery, the old gatekeeper was locking up.

Following Qin Song, Li Chu looked back once more. Among countless graves, Tang Zhi’s roses stood vivid.

She suddenly understood Aunt Lu’s heart.

On my barren land, you are the last rose.

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