Cross the Boundary GL - Chapter 35

The succulent on the windowsill had finally bloomed, tiny dewdrops clinging to its leaves. Qin Song lit a cigarette and casually flicked away one fragile bead of water.

When the balcony door shut, the sound of the wind cut off instantly. She lowered her gaze to the thick stack of kraft paper envelopes on the table—inside were files on Zheng Chengfeng.

Dean Hu had truly been formidable. In those final fleeting days of his life, he’d managed to dig into Zheng Chengfeng inside and out—his shady dealings, his dirty tricks, even traces of flaws.

Qin Song knew it had been Li Chu who’d asked Dean Hu to look into it.

She couldn’t quite describe her feelings toward Li Chu. When she couldn’t see her, she missed her. When she could… there was desire.

She’d long since lost control, and once it began, it was unstoppable.

After finishing her glass of water, Qin Song sat down on the carpet and untied the string around one of the envelopes. She thought she’d find something crucial about Zheng Chengfeng. Instead, the first thing she saw was Li Chu’s name—her birthdate and birthplace.

Qin Song froze, staring blankly for a long time before pulling the file out for a closer look. Scanning down to the “Parents” section, she unexpectedly found a familiar name—Ye Wanru.

Familiar yet unfamiliar. Familiar because of Ye Wanqing and the tangled connections between them. Unfamiliar because Qin Song had never met her.

But she had heard the name—bits and pieces from Ye Wanqing over the years. Ye Wanru had a son and a daughter, ran a jade business in a neighboring city.

The Ye family wasn’t as wealthy as the Qins, but they were still well-off, a local merchant family with some influence. Qin Zhen hadn’t married Ye Wanqing for profit—the truth was that Ye Wanqing had genuinely admired him.

Though Qin Song found the word “true love” laughable to the extreme, after handling Qin Zhen’s funeral, Ye Wanqing had announced she would spend three years in a temple, eating vegetarian and chanting scriptures for her deceased husband, cultivating herself.

Perhaps part of it was also disillusionment with the fickleness of the world—especially now that Zheng Chengfeng’s power loomed large, while the Qin family was struggling, unable to resist.

Ye Wanqing’s retreat into low profile was, in its own way, self-preservation.

After returning from Dean Hu’s funeral, Qin Song had traced Zheng Chengfeng’s mistress and discovered the woman had ties to Ye Wanru—she was a distant relative of her ex-husband.

And Ye Wanru’s ex-husband… his surname was Li.

Qin Song’s lashes quivered slightly as she stared calmly at the black-and-white words. The truth wasn’t hard to piece together—especially for her.

Her father was Qin Zhen. Her stepmother was Ye Wanqing.

No wonder Li Chu’s features and temperament carried traces of Ye Wanqing. Ye Wanru was Ye Wanqing’s cousin—the blood tie couldn’t be erased.

Those misty, tender eyes of hers… now that she thought about it, Ye Wanqing had once had the same eyes in her youth. But Qin Song had seen them too rarely to remember clearly.

She suddenly wanted to see Li Chu. In the past, she could’ve simply sent a cold, curt text telling her to come downstairs immediately.

But now—for the first time—Qin Song hesitated.

She realized belatedly that she was actually worried about her.

Yes, worried. That unsettled, suspended feeling.

It was worry. Qin Song confirmed it again. Slowly, she tucked the file back into the envelope. If the truth was too cruel, could Li Chu really bear it?

Outside, moonlight spilled over the faded kraft paper, light patches falling like fish gliding in water—effortless, but aimless.

The night was deep, painted thick with the season’s change.

Qin Song stood outside the door of kiss.me, her newly grown black hair glinting silver under the moon.

In the end, she had come. After the time it took to smoke a cigarette, she saw Li Chu come downstairs. The girl’s long hair was tied in a low ponytail, her round, doe-like eyes wide in the dark:

“It’s so late… what’s the matter?”

Halfway through, she stopped, hesitated, and said cautiously, “I… haven’t showered yet…”

The next second, Qin Song crushed out her cigarette and smiled faintly:

“Whenever I come to find you, it must be that kind of thing?” she teased, lifting the paper bag. “This is yours.”

Her smile vanished almost instantly, replaced by her usual coolness. Even the gentle moonlight couldn’t thaw the ice in her eyes.

Sometimes Li Chu wondered if there was any way to warm this person.

Like coral deep under the sea—forever in darkness, never alive.

“What is it?” Li Chu asked, untying the string. As she reached the final loop, Qin Song’s heart inexplicably tightened.

Some truths were simply cruel. She knew that too well.

Li Chu unfolded the papers, her fingers rubbing nervously until warmth spread. After reading, her lashes lifted, wet with tears, like the dewdrops on the succulent.

Clear, fragile, pitiful.

Qin Song looked away, her gaze fixed on the red lantern above her. She said flatly: “It was a mistake. That’s yours.”

Li Chu nodded softly, crumpling the papers in her hand. “I know.”

A long silence followed. Qin Song’s chest ached sharply, unbearably. Frowning, she turned to leave.

Then Li Chu suddenly called out: “Don’t go.”

Perhaps the night wind was too gentle, too unlike before. Qin Song did not walk away. Instead, she slowed, back still facing her: “What is it.”

She truly was no good at expressing feelings—and she despised losing control.

“Qin Song, I asked Dean Hu to investigate Zheng Chengfeng for you. According to the contract, you owe me a request.”

A contract? At this moment? Qin Song turned, surprised, to see Li Chu’s weary, helpless expression.

How foolish that agreement had been. Binding a burning feeling into cold mechanical words, nailing it shut forever.

She had wanted balance, had trusted only contractual ties—never imagining there would be things that could escape such rigid frames.

“Say it,” Qin Song murmured, stepping closer, her shadow swallowing Li Chu’s features.

“Go to the bar with me? Have a drink together?”

Qin Song stared at her, gauging whether she was serious.

“I mean it.”

Li Chu smiled, warm and gentle, dimples faint on her cheeks. “Please?”

For a fleeting moment, Qin Song regretted—but it was too late.

Their shadows trailed one another until they stopped in front of a bar.

It wasn’t peak season; the place was nearly empty. Li Chu chose a seat in the corner, watching Qin Song pour drinks across from her.

The woman’s movements were cool and languid. Under the kaleidoscope of colored lights, she seemed like a thorn—sharp, untouchable, yet mesmerizing.

Qin Song finished her drink, lacing her fingers beneath her chin as she gazed into the distance. Light shimmered over her exquisite features like butterflies hovering over blossoms.

Li Chu admitted—she was the butterfly, drawn in without resistance.

The intoxication of wine and neon stripped away her usual shyness. With false boldness, she asked: “Can I get you drunk tonight?”

Qin Song said nothing, eyes searching hers, full of questions.

Li Chu explained: “Because I want to see… if someone as calm as you, once drunk, would feel sad the way I do.”

But clearly—Qin Song would not.

Li Chu understood. “Alright, maybe I just blame you. You’re cruel, Qin Song. If this truth had never been told, I could’ve gone on as if I didn’t know. But you had to show me.”

“How could you? Did you never think of my feelings?”

Qin Song sipped her drink, lips made more alluring by the wet sheen, though her tone remained detached: “There’s nothing wrong with knowing the truth.”

“But I didn’t want to know!” Li Chu protested miserably. “Your stepmother—wasn’t she Ye Wanqing? A family like yours wouldn’t abandon a child over money, right?”

Qin Song rotated her glass slowly, liquid swirling within. “That’s why you need to know the reason.”

She truly was cruel—cutting open her own wounds, then trying to cut open others’. Li Chu thought she was mad.

And indeed, Qin Song was mad. Driven mad by Zheng Chengfeng’s abuse, by storms of her upbringing. She wanted others to suffer as she had, to make it all feel balanced.

Li Chu asked softly: “But what good does it do? They’re strangers now. The past can’t be changed. Qin Song… you have to move on. There are thousands of possibilities for the future…”

Abruptly, Qin Song lifted her eyes. The icy sharpness in them devoured all warmth around them.

Li Chu’s shoulders trembled involuntarily.

The music pulsed in her ears, yet couldn’t drown out the bloody thorns in Qin Song’s gaze, stabbing like ten thousand needles.

“So what?”

Li Chu steadied herself, feigning calm. “So… stop locking yourself in the past.”

The words had barely left her mouth when Qin Song suddenly stood, movements so fierce Li Chu’s heart leapt wildly, almost breaking free from her chest.

“Tomorrow. At your shop entrance,” Qin Song muttered lifelessly. Then she went to the counter to pay, walking out without a backward glance.

That night, neither of them slept.

Qin Song woke again and again. Whenever she closed her eyes, she dreamed of cages and basements, of Zheng Chengfeng’s voice, of wounds shifting from pain to numbness.

Scars built over more than a decade—too thick to peel away. She could never let go, could never live peacefully.

But Li Chu—so close to her—should have understood. Why did she urge her to “move on”? Who could truly move on?

Qin Song resented her attitude toward the past, as if Li Chu were born to stand at her side.

Why was that? Even by the next day, Qin Song had no answer.

Li Chu hadn’t slept either. Sitting in the passenger seat, she yawned, her once-bright face drawn with fatigue.

It seemed both were suffering. And sickly, Qin Song found balance in that.

“Where are we going?” Li Chu asked. She realized she was no longer afraid of the passenger seat—perhaps ever since that night at the seaside.

Qin Song pressed the accelerator, speeding out of Nancheng.

Only when she saw the sign for Zhaoping did Li Chu panic. Zhaoping, the neighboring city, was beautiful and peaceful. But Li Chu knew—Qin Song hadn’t come for the scenery.

Ye Wanru was there. Qin Song was going to drag her into the truth.

The closer they got, the more frantic Li Chu became. She pounded the car window with her fists, shouting: “Let me out! Take me back to Nancheng!”

Qin Song locked the doors. Silent, unyielding, she drove on, intent on dragging Li Chu into the mire with her.

She wanted Li Chu to be like her.

There was no clear logic—but that was what Qin Song wanted.

The Ye family’s jade shop was at the base of the busiest office tower. Li Chu was half-dragged inside, until she collapsed by the stairwell door, refusing to take another step, nearly sinking to the floor.

Qin Song tugged her once, twice, but when she wouldn’t move, she let go. Leaning down, she pointed: “There.”

Li Chu didn’t want to look. But curiosity gnawed at her. Hesitant, trembling, she slowly lowered her fingers from her eyes and dared to glance in the direction Qin Song had shown.

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