Cross the Boundary GL - Chapter 41

After finishing those words, Qin Zhao paused for a moment before continuing in a breathless tone:

“Because it’s not worth ruining your whole life over that beast Zheng Chengfeng. He is him, you are you, Lele. He doesn’t deserve it.”

The room was utterly quiet. Since Qin Song had trouble sleeping, the doors and windows had been fitted with top-grade soundproof panels. Not a sound could enter. Everything inside this room had been bought to atone for the evil Zheng Chengfeng had committed.

In the stillness of late night, Qin Song would sometimes draw open the curtains and sit by the moonlight, reflecting on the unbearable first twenty-nine years of her life.

That rust-stained cage seemed to stand forever in her heart, trapping her every second, even though it had long since become a pile of useless scrap.

“I know pain can’t be forgotten so easily,” Qin Zhao said, his voice heavy with remorse. “But I just hope you can forgive yourself and welcome the future. I know every psychologist you’ve seen—that’s my fault too. Don’t punish yourself anymore.

“Besides… to slay a dragon, one cannot first be bound by thorns.”

Qin Song turned her head toward the window. The thin curtain hadn’t been fully drawn; threads of light slipped in one by one, like the shape of a young girl’s eyes.

She exhaled heavily, a rare trace of hesitation and confusion in her face.

“You won’t be alone from now on,” Qin Zhao promised.

Qin Song instinctively considered his motives—what he wanted, what benefits he sought. In the end, she sneered at herself:

“I’m not taking over the Qin family business.”

Qin Zhao seemed startled, then scolded gently: “Why would you think that? The Qin family has others to manage it. It may not even come to me.”

Qin Song fell silent, fingers unconsciously brushing her collarbone. There, besides the nail that had been warmed by her own body heat, were uneven scars.

The English letters etched there seemed to come alive under her touch, as though flesh and blood, stirring a warmth long dormant in her chest.

“…I know.”

She glanced at the time. It was just past five in the morning. On the bedside table, her work phone screen lit and dimmed intermittently, as if reminding her of something.

After hanging up the call, Qin Song got out of bed and switched on her work phone. At that hour, the internet was quiet, very few people browsing. Naturally, the message from Li Chu popped to the very top.

Not sleeping at this hour? Qin Song frowned and opened the chat.

“Jiejie, are you asleep? I want to tell you a secret, but you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

Confiding in a stranger? What was that supposed to mean…

Qin Song typed quickly:

“What secret?”

The reply came instantly:

“Do you usually work this late? Is this considered overtime? I thought I was the only one awake.”

Qin Song started typing:

“Just got up to check something.”

But she didn’t send it. After some hesitation, she deleted the words that sounded too cold, replacing them with:

“I just woke up and thought I’d check in. What about you?”

Li Chu believed her without doubt:

“Ohhh, you must be so tired. I couldn’t sleep… too many things happened yesterday. I don’t have anyone to talk to.”

Qin Song:

“What happened?”

Li Chu:

“I fell in love with someone.”

Qin Song froze, fingers hovering above the screen, unable to press send. She hadn’t expected Li Chu to be so direct. After all, behind the screen she was just an “outsider.”

And to outsiders, you could say anything. Yet when they were face to face, Li Chu only passively accepted, resisted weakly—never more than that.

Qin Song couldn’t help asking herself: Am I really that overbearing?

She admitted it—because of her uncontrollable possessiveness and need for control, she had forced Li Chu into many things. Almost every time they met this past year, it was the same.

Worse, because of her own past pain, she had projected unhealthy desires onto Li Chu—including yesterday’s forced “mark.”

Another message arrived:

“This person is cold, selfish, and heartless. I tried to talk myself out of it. I know she’s like a cold stone, but I still can’t help but get close.”

And then:

“She’s like a snow lotus clinging to the cliffs of a high mountain—beautiful, but out of reach. Someone ordinary like me actually dares to dream of plucking such a noble flower. Do you think that’s ridiculous?”

Qin Song couldn’t answer. “Cold and ruthless” had been etched into her too long, carved deep into her bones. She always defaulted to being detached, calculating gains and losses.

“But even if she’s unattainable, I know that without such harsh conditions, such a flower couldn’t even bloom. I love her beauty and her aloofness. I love the look in her eyes when desire flickers there. Wanting to pick her isn’t for any selfish reason. I only want her to live in a better place, somewhere without snow and storms. I don’t think that’s wrong… but it’s so hard.”

The soft ping of another message broke her trance.

Qin Song replied, complicated feelings pressing in:

“What’s so hard?”

Li Chu:

“We’ve known each other long enough, but I still can’t figure her out. Even when she shows all her weaknesses, I still can’t read her. She’s like a snowflake—falling into my palm, only to melt away. Impossible to hold.”

Then another flood of words:

“I’m so tired. Chasing the sun isn’t hard, but chasing frost in the darkness… that’s exhausting. My wounds hurt so much, but I don’t even know how to tell her.”

At six o’clock sharp, Qin Song typed without hesitation:

“Then you can choose to give up.”

After all, Li Chu had been the one to approach her, to try and build a connection. And now she was saying she was tired.

She had warned her. She had “advised” her.

Panicked, Li Chu hurried to explain:

“No, no, when I said tired I meant the difficulty in communicating. I never thought of giving up! I understand her pain. And I think… maybe she understands a bit of mine too. It’s just… love shouldn’t be this unhealthy.”

“Love is supposed to be pure. Her situation isn’t good, and I worry more than anything. If she keeps closing herself off, she’ll only wear herself down. How can someone survive long in such a sick state?”

Qin Song suddenly heard Qin Zhao’s voice in her head again: Don’t punish yourself for Zheng Chengfeng’s violence.

Li Chu:

“Anyway, I’m just telling you. I don’t really have close friends. The one I do have… is always busy.”

“How long does it take to open up a heart that’s been hurt? A year? Five? Ten? Or…”

She didn’t dare type the next words—a lifetime. Too heavy, too distant. She doubted Qin Song even had that word in her dictionary.

Qin Song certainly hadn’t thought about it. Her past bound her tightly to the present. She lived step by step, day by day, as though every moment could be the end.

She asked:

“Do you really like her that much?”

The reply was immediate:

“Yes. Very much.”

And before Qin Song could respond, Li Chu sent another message:

“I’m a tattoo artist. I specialize in repair work. Most of my clients come to cover their scars. Some just like tattoos, but I especially love things that are imperfect.”

Qin Song froze.

“I love the moon with a missing piece. I love colors that are broken and scattered. I love how disasters and fireworks make this world feel alive. So I love her brokenness and her darkness—even more than perfection.”

Qin Song didn’t know whether those words were meant to strike a chord, but they did. She felt the raw power of them, sincere and unyielding.

After sending that, Li Chu fell silent.

At seven, her alarm suddenly rang, shattering the stillness. A strand of sunlight replaced the moonlight, landing right across Qin Song’s eyes. She squinted against it.

The pale morning light traced the curtain’s edge in gold. Qin Song walked over and yanked it wide open. A wash of golden warmth spilled over her whole body.

In her mind, a voice repeated endlessly: Let go of the past. Let it go. Free yourself. Move forward.

Cut through the thorns, and only then can you lift your sword to slay the dragon.

So when Li Chu opened the door, she saw Qin Song standing in that very first light of dawn, her coldness softened into something that almost seemed to melt.

“Morning…” Li Chu greeted. The moment her eyes fell on Qin Song’s wounds, a sting of pain rushed back. The injury was in such a private place that even applying medicine herself had made her flush with embarrassment.

Qin Song was still her usual aloof self, fingertips hooked on two plastic bags. Li Chu noticed immediately:

“What’s that?”

“Breakfast.” Qin Song calmly moved the neon light sign outside, plugging it in without fuss. “Eat first.”

Li Chu’s expression flickered like the multicolored sign.

Watching her walk stiffly, Qin Song spoke again: “About yesterday—”

“It’s fine!” Li Chu blurted, flustered, waving her hands quickly. “Please don’t look, okay? The wound hasn’t healed yet. It doesn’t look good…”

It was hard to say aloud, even though they’d already seen each other completely bare.

Qin Song didn’t answer. She lowered her eyes, unpacked the breakfast. She didn’t know what to do beyond that—she wasn’t good at these small gestures. In the end, she only pulled out a carton of milk, sliding it across the table toward Li Chu.

“Sit down and eat.”

Li Chu grew anxious. It was such a small thing, hardly worth noting. But since it was Qin Song, her mind spun toward darker thoughts.

Like—was she going to force her into another tattoo? Those hurt so badly, the pain enough to make her faint.

“I’m fully booked today,” she said quickly, trying to hint. “From ten until night, I won’t have any free time.”

Qin Song, still answering work messages, didn’t even look up: “Mm.”

Li Chu felt the hint had failed. She lowered her head, eating in silence.

By the time Qin Song remembered again, it was nearly lunch. Li Chu was in the middle of tattooing a flower sleeve for a male client. Her long black hair was loosely tied to one side, half-covering her delicate face.

Qin Song, who had been sitting all morning, suddenly stood and walked out. The moment she left, the male client craned his neck toward Li Chu:

“Who was that chick? A client?”

“…Yeah.” Li Chu blinked, then added, “Not exactly.”

“She got a boyfriend? Hook me up with her WeChat.”

Li Chu had lost count of how many clients had tried to get Qin Song’s contact. Any woman standing at the door of Kiss.Me became a breathtaking view.

“She…” Li Chu racked her brain for words, finally giving a vague answer: “She’s… not easy to get along with.”

The man only waved it off. “Wild girls, I can handle. Even the ones with boyfriends!”

Men always bragged loudest about such things. Li Chu bristled—not only because it was Qin Song, but because in their eyes, all women seemed like toys.

“She has a boyfriend,” Li Chu declared boldly.

“So what? Give me her number first. Once I get her, I’ll treat you to a meal! And introduce more clients your way.”

“…” Li Chu’s brows knit tight. Her hand pressed harder than usual. “Let’s focus on your tattoo. The design’s complicated.”

“Ow—hey, what’s with the heavy hand? That other place only charged two hundred, and they were way gentler. How did you even open a shop with this kind of skill?”

Before Li Chu could reply, a flat, emotionless voice cut in:

“Then get out.”

Qin Song had returned, carrying lunch. The smell of food drifted in with her, but no one paid attention. The atmosphere was too tense. Arms folded, she smiled faintly—so faint it was nearly invisible.

“Too much talk.”

For a moment, Li Chu felt like she’d traveled back in time. Qin Song hadn’t changed at all—still that cold, sharp, bloodless high mountain flower.

The man’s face darkened, clearly angered. His palm slammed hard on the table.

“You bitch, what did you just say to me?!”

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