Cross the Boundary GL - Chapter 37

The moment the car door opened, a gust of wind rushed in, whipping Li Chu’s long hair into bloom like black petals, fluttering like a streaming banner.

But the reality was utterly out of control.

Because in Qin Song’s perception, seeing the truth clearly was what mattered most—it at least spared one from all unnecessary troubles later on. That should have been a good thing.

What’s more, it was Li Chu herself who so easily said she wanted to “walk out of it.” Since she believed she could, what harm was there in letting her face the truth?

Children’s emotions… really made no sense.

So the moment Li Chu’s feet touched the ground, the driver simply stepped on the accelerator, speeding away. Exhaust fumes spilled out, smothering her face.

“……” Staring at the fading taillights, Li Chu felt a pang of hopelessness. After all this time together, she still couldn’t warm this person up.

Melting a glacier was harder than plucking a flower from a cliffside—even if the glacier had shown its cracks before.

But could those cracks truly make Qin Song vulnerable?

Probably not. Qin Song was still as sharp and frigid as ever. Her weaknesses were like a double-edged sword—hurting herself while also wounding anyone who drew near. Sooner or later, even if one knew her pain points, no one would dare to touch them.

The sky grew darker, deepening into a navy blue that paired with the glowing full moon in a breathtaking scene. Li Chu walked for twenty minutes before her legs refused to go on.

She was exhausted in both body and spirit. Lifting her head to gaze at the moon, she saw it shrouded in mist, its outline blurred into gray.

On this deserted stretch of road, only the rustling of leaves filled the silence. Ahead lay a slope she had to pass.

Lost in her daze, Li Chu came to a crossroads—and there she spotted Qin Song’s black car.

The engine seemed off, and the pink-haired woman was leaning against it. Even from afar, Li Chu could tell by her movements that she was lighting a cigarette.

Lighting up meant waiting.

Li Chu wasn’t sure if she was waiting for her, but she quickened her pace, breaking into a run.

“Qin Song!” Tears glistened in her eyes as she ran, sweat beading along her jawline. “Were you waiting for me?”

Qin Song pinched out the freshly lit cigarette, fixing her gaze on the figure running toward her. The strands of hair over her forehead veiled the faint gleam flickering in her eyes.

Moonlight wrapped itself gently around the space between them. Li Chu’s face, shining silver under the glow, was beautiful—like a goddess of the moon.

Qin Song disliked drawn-out, irrational emotions, yet she still couldn’t bring herself to leave Li Chu stranded by the roadside. So she had parked along the only route she knew Li Chu had to take. Even her voice, when she finally spoke, carried an uncharacteristic husky softness:

“Get in the car. We’ll talk inside.”

This time, Li Chu didn’t argue. She climbed in quietly, hesitated for a long while, then forced out the words:

“I’m sorry.”

She fussed with her messy hair. “I want to apologize for what I said before. I understand now… at this point, no one can truly let go.”

The thorn in her heart was buried too deep. Even if pulled out, scars would always remain. Li Chu finally understood the saying: When you cannot truly empathize, silence is the best protection.

Qin Song slowly turned the wheel, her voice calm as still water:

“If she was never part of your life to begin with, then it doesn’t matter.”

A pause. Then she added, “It’s a waste of time.”

“I know.” Li Chu nodded obediently. “But I keep thinking—I am still her child. Did she ever hold me like that?”

Maybe the only time was the day she abandoned her.

Her tone carried too much sorrow, steeped in endless grief. Qin Song unconsciously pressed a hand to her chest. That dull ache… it couldn’t be avoided.

“The image of her holding Li Chang’an won’t leave my mind. Those few minutes… felt like a century.” Li Chu’s voice cracked again.

Just as her tears threatened to fall, a pale hand reached over. Not exactly gentle, but the pressure was noticeably restrained—it brushed her tears away.

Li Chu looked up in surprise. In front of her was Qin Song’s cold yet striking face.

For a brief moment, that sliver of tenderness shook her heart, unraveling her tightly wound nerves.

And then the tears came like a flood, unstoppable, overwhelming.

“Don’t cry.” Qin Song placed her hand back on the wheel, her voice detached as ever. “Think about what to eat tonight.”

“I don’t have any family left.” Li Chu’s tears streamed endlessly, wetting her hand. “None at all. What am I supposed to do?”

Qin Song stared straight ahead. That was a question she still couldn’t answer.

“Uncle Qin is gone. Dean Hu is gone. Qin Song…” Li Chu sobbed beneath the warm glow of the car’s interior light, her features outlined in gold. “Do you think… maybe our pain is actually the same?”

In that instant, something inside Qin Song snapped. She pulled the car into a dark corner and stopped, her eyes locking onto Li Chu.

That gaze was deep and lingering, as though trying to see straight through her.

Li Chu dropped her head, fiddling distractedly with her fingers.

In the heavy silence, Qin Song’s thoughts spiraled—to Lu Jincheng’s faltering steps, to the blood-red roses before Tang Zhi’s grave, to the neon lights spinning in the city night, to the decade-long ache of her own obsession.

Was it equal?

For the first time, she had to admit: yes. They were balanced now. Subconsciously, she had dragged Li Chu into the same abyss, forced her to face the same cruelty of reality. When their values aligned, the stalemate broke.

The truth was, the ones who had loved them most were gone, leaving behind two hollow shells to wander the world. That was the same. Grief had no rank. At the very least, they both endured the same torment.

Qin Song turned her head slightly, stealing a glance at the girl beside her. And for once, her gaze didn’t drift away.

This tear-streaked girl was her only tether now.

After a long silence, Qin Song finally spoke:

“We don’t…”

The shadows of the trees outside flickered in her dark eyes. No one knew what silent decision she had made. “…need the contract anymore.”

“Huh?” Li Chu’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“The contract is void.”

She restarted the engine. “It was never complete.”

She couldn’t find the right words, but she knew she no longer wanted their bond to be bound by a contract—especially not something like this entanglement.

“Why?” Li Chu straightened, anxious. “You’re not finishing your tattoo anymore? But the colors on your back aren’t done yet…”

It was a misunderstanding, but Qin Song didn’t bother to explain. “We’ll do it another way.”

“What way…?”

“What do you think?” Qin Song’s tone was light, unreadable.

It only confused Li Chu more. She panicked, thinking Qin Song wanted to cut the last tie between them. “Are you leaving me?”

Leaving? Leaving where? Qin Song frowned.

“Yangxin isn’t good enough for you? Did Zheng Chengfeng come after you again? If there’s anything about me that makes you uncomfortable, I can change, I swear…”

Li Chu wiped her eyes. “I won’t cry so easily anymore, and I won’t rush to conclusions either. Just… please don’t go…”

Halfway through, she realized—she had no right to ask her to stay. Aside from the nights tangled in sheets, she and Qin Song really had no reason to stay connected.

There were plenty of tattoo artists in this city. With Qin Song’s wealth, she could easily find someone more skilled, more famous.

Li Chu’s presence made no difference.

Their relationship had been circled and defined by a piece of paper.

And now Qin Song was saying she would destroy it.

Li Chu didn’t understand. All she knew was that the sand in her chest had sunk fast, her voice rising in desperation:

“Can’t we just keep the agreement?”

Qin Song didn’t know how to explain. In truth, ending the contract meant ending one kind of relationship—because she wanted another. But words failed her, so she stayed silent.

The streets outside shone with dazzling lights. The glowing GG billboard flashed over the mall entrance. In the grand bustle of the city, love and heartbreak seemed so small.

But the deeper they walked into the mall, the more uneasy Li Chu grew. She hadn’t noticed how Qin Song slowed her steps. Clutching at her sleeve, she begged nervously:

“Please don’t leave me… I’m begging you…”

Qin Song’s hands were in her pockets as she turned calmly: “Leave where?”

Li Chu froze. She didn’t know where Qin Song would go either.

“I’m not going anywhere.” The woman walked toward the elevator. “You don’t need to beg me. You should have your own thoughts.”

Truthfully, Qin Song disliked Li Chu like this—her fragile imbalance had been surfacing more and more often lately.

Leaning against the wall, she thought about the changes of the past weeks, and realized her illness seemed to be worsening. It was showing up through Li Chu.

She didn’t want Li Chu to please anyone else. She didn’t want her to lower herself. She wanted to control her every moment, down to the second.

That mindset—it had to be the illness.

She should see a doctor again, Qin Song thought.

The ding of the elevator snapped her back. Only then did she realize her palm hadn’t been clammy in a long time.

Her fear of cramped spaces had come from spending all her childhood in tiny corners—trauma that had grown into claustrophobia.

Looking down at her hand, Qin Song’s expression turned complicated. If her condition worsened, the phobia would worsen too.

So then… what were all these turbulent feelings really born of?

No answer. No words.

After dinner, they returned to the front of Kiss Me. Exhausted, Li Chu pulled open the shutter. The heavy rumble jolted them both awake.

Qin Song ducked inside, kicking the shutter down behind her. In the darkness, Li Chu’s voice wavered:

“The contract…”

“Mm.” One sound was enough to silence everything else.

Li Chu trailed upstairs. Though it was her home, Qin Song acted more like the owner—tossing her coat aside, opening Li Chu’s laptop, closing out indecent videos.

“Protect your privacy.” She tore the contract from the wall, crumpled it, then spread it out again, her eyelids flickering as she scanned it.

Li Chu knew what she meant and whispered, “But Sister Ziyan isn’t an outsider. Besides… isn’t it just human nature?”

Qin Song didn’t answer. She flicked her lighter several times, holding it under the paper. Smoke curled up as flames devoured it.

The blackened ash was dumped into the toilet, half-dissolved in water. Staring at the remains swirling down the drain, Li Chu felt all her strength flowing out with it.

“I’ll destroy my copy too.” Qin Song leaned in the doorway, spinning the lighter in her fingers. “Any other questions?”

“No.” Li Chu’s gaze lingered on the drain, her answer absent-minded.

With the cold agreement gone, she oddly felt lighter, as though she had put down a burden. Maybe… maybe they really could build something new.

Qin Song’s warmth radiated from behind. Sometimes Li Chu wondered why this icy blossom was always warmer than anyone else.

Just one step back, and she could lean into that embrace—so warm it made her heart race, so safe it made her want to draw all the strength she could from it.

So she gathered her courage and turned around.

Her lips were red from the damp air, glistening like ripe fruit. Her voice, too, carried the thickness of longing.

“Should we… build another kind of relationship?” She faltered, her eyes darting away in embarrassment, her lips even rosier.

“I mean… an intimate relationship.”

At last.

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