Cross the Boundary GL - Chapter 45

When passion peaked, their body heat intertwined, unbearably hot, so hot it was impossible to tell whether the wetness on their skin was sweat or something else.

Her dress was rolled upward, inch by inch, nearly pushed all the way to her jawline. Without any fabric covering her, Li Chu was jolted back to her senses by the cool wind outside the window. Through the moonlight, she saw Qin Song’s face rise from between her legs.

A droplet clung to the corner of Qin Song’s lips, a tiny bead reflecting the scenery behind them. Li Chu’s long dark hair spilled down from her shoulders, framing the pale skin of her neck, making it look soft and luminous as moonlight.

Their eyes were both damp, evidence of their desire. At this moment, even Qin Song could not resist, nor could she hide it.

Li Chu sat up. In the shimmering glow, she saw Qin Song’s half-exposed shoulder, every mark on her collarbone laid bare.

Those traces carried a love that words could never express.

Qin Song raised her sharply defined hand and wiped away the dampness on her lips—dampness that belonged to Li Chu. Afterward, she leaned down to kiss her again, curling her arm above Li Chu’s head, fingertips stroking gently.

Beneath the moonlight, Qin Song’s once cold, sharp features seemed softened by a thin veil of silver-white, so gentle it felt unreal.

Li Chu couldn’t help but reach out, carefully touching her face. Qin Song tilted her head slightly, leaning into the warmth of her palm.

The heat under her fingers seeped into Li Chu’s fingertips, so at odds with Qin Song’s usual self. For no reason at all, Li Chu felt like crying. Tears slipped down from the corners of her eyes.

“Will you get treatment?” she asked, voice choked with sobs.

Qin Song only gazed at her quietly, eyes as calm as ever in the moonlight.

But the calmer Qin Song was, the more Li Chu’s heart ached.

The belt that had bound their waists together earlier had already loosened in the chaos of their passion. Li Chu lifted her other hand to hold Qin Song’s face, cupping her firmly as she pleaded, word by word:

“Live well. Don’t go. I don’t want you to go.”

She wasn’t sure whether Qin Song could hear her now, but she stubbornly continued:

“I can wait for you, wait for you to get better. I’ll wait in the future. Just don’t leave me.”

Dean Hu had passed away, Ye Wanru despised her—Li Chu was like drifting dust with no place to settle. Her only anchor was here.

Many times, even Lin Zhiyan believed Qin Song was with her purely for desire and personal gain, taking from Li Chu the emotional value she provided. And Li Chu herself never denied it.

But everyone overlooked one truth: in their relationship, it was she—Li Chu—who needed Qin Song more.

It seemed like Qin Song was always the one taking and controlling, but deep down Li Chu knew it had always been her who wanted to get close first, and her who could not let go.

Because that long-lost, rootless sense of security had finally sprouted in Qin Song’s palm.

Qin Zhao’s words in the attic had left Li Chu in sheer panic: if there were no more Qin Song in this world, no one could ever replace her.

“You have to live well…” Li Chu threw her arms around Qin Song, tears falling like rain onto her shoulder, soaking the thin strap of her camisole.

In the silent night, Qin Song let her hold on. This soft body in her arms bore the traces of their intimacy.

At first, she thought all she wanted was the pain. Now she suddenly realized what she truly craved was not the pain itself, but the one who gave it.

What was this? Qin Song wondered. From losing control to regaining control, what had caused the shift?

—It was liking. It had to be liking.

She quickly accepted it.

Yes, she liked Li Chu. She had liked her for a long time.

So Qin Song slowly raised her hand and lightly rested it on Li Chu’s head. “Alright.”

Her voice was as calm and indifferent as always. Even when Li Chu looked up at her with tear-filled eyes, Qin Song’s expression didn’t change in the slightest.

“Really?” Li Chu asked, breaking into a teary smile, dimples showing.

Qin Song hesitated for a moment, then used her thumb to wipe away the tears on Li Chu’s face. “Mm.”

The next day at noon, after lunch, Qin Zhao suggested Qin Song take Li Chu to walk around the estate. The old family house was huge, its gardens tended by professional caretakers. The rockeries and fountains had been remodeled last year, looking majestic from afar.

Qin Zhen’s fall did not mean the Qin family had collapsed. On the contrary, with Qin Zhao’s return, the family seemed to have regained its backbone.

Under the lush trees, sunlight pierced through the leaves, scattering shadows across Li Chu’s eyes and forehead.

She had tied up her long hair, blending into the scenery behind her.

Holding the Polaroid camera that Qin Zhao had shoved into her hands, Qin Song silently lifted it and captured the moment. Li Chu didn’t notice. She had turned toward the flowers with a curious smile and asked, “The flowers here seem different from the ones in the front yard?”

“The back garden’s flowers were planted by my father himself,” Qin Song said lightly. “Almost thirty years ago, the year I was born.”

She instinctively wanted to avoid those memories. But when she saw Li Chu dart into the flowerbeds, her face glowing like a butterfly among blossoms, Qin Song’s hand curled slightly. She reached down, plucked a branch, and followed her in.

Li Chu leaned over, sniffing and touching the blooms. “They’re so pretty! Uncle Qin is amazing. What flowers are these?”

She hadn’t expected an answer, but Qin Song glanced and said, “Hydrangeas.”

“…” Li Chu stared at her in surprise, then pointed to another patch. “What about these?”

“Poppies.”

“And these?”

“Cosmos.”

“And… this one?”

“Desert rose.”

Li Chu widened her eyes. “How do you know everything?”

Qin Song’s lips tugged almost imperceptibly, the breeze lifting her skirt into a scene as vivid as an oil painting.

Li Chu’s heartbeat quickened, pounding uncontrollably. Her feet carried her forward until the distance between them shrank.

She looked into Qin Song’s eyes, then shyly repeated her question: “So how do you know all that?”

The height difference forced Qin Song to lower her head to meet her gaze, but instead of bending straight down, she tilted her head slightly, the fine lines of her neck visible, making the garden feel suddenly intimate.

Li Chu’s eyes fell on the silver ornament resting at her collarbone. In its reflection, her own face looked even redder than the poppies behind her.

Her heart raced, blood surging hot. Li Chu leaned forward, pressing her lips against the gem embedded above Qin Song’s collarbone.

Her lips were softer than imagined, her tongue tracing the skin around it. The clash of water and fire alternated between hot and cold. Qin Song couldn’t help but clutch her tighter. Looking down, she met Li Chu’s glistening eyes.

Before she could process it, Li Chu’s back was already pressed against the largest tree in the garden. Qin Song braced her hand on the rough bark, the scrape of wood sounding against her skin. “This is an apricot tree. Not in bloom yet.”

“Oh…” Li Chu murmured, lost in the kisses.

When their lips finally parted, Qin Song leaned to her ear, teasing her earlobe with her tongue piercing as she whispered darkly, “At this point, you’re still asking me how I know these things?”

She chuckled softly. “Yangxin Landscape Design Team. Remember it.”

Li Chu blinked, slowly realizing she’d forgotten: Qin Song’s hands weren’t just good at stirring up desire—they were the hands of one of the top landscape designers in the field.

She had seen her works before, and they never seemed like creations of someone so cold. Amid the decay of life, Qin Song herself was lifeless, yet her works brimmed with vitality and human warmth.

Qin Zhao was right. Qin Song did not want to leave this world. As desperate as she was, as unstable as her mind had become, the instinct to survive could not lie.

Apricot bark clung to Li Chu’s hair, smelling faintly of grass. She closed her eyes, feeling as if all their passion had absorbed the essence of nature—except for her stiffened waist and trembling legs.

Qin Song tucked her clothes inside her collar, her tongue piercing lingering at the most sensitive tip. Just the slightest touch made Li Chu’s body falter.

“I can’t stand…” she whispered earnestly.

So when Qin Song stood, she hooked her arm under Li Chu’s knees, lifting her effortlessly. Her dangling ankle lost a shoe, which landed in the flowerbed, petals scattering across the damp ground.

The blossoms shimmered with dew like tiny rainbows. Li Chu dared not look; she couldn’t face her own surrender.

Before they left, Qin Song cleaned her hands and watched as Li Chu hurriedly put on her shoes. From her other pocket, she took out something.

As Li Chu straightened up, she felt a light weight on her head. Reaching up, she found a flower crown.

She pulled it down to see—white and yellow daisies, braided neatly into three strands, resembling a halo fit for a moon goddess.

“It’s so pretty!” Li Chu exclaimed, placing it back on her head. She shook her head playfully. “Is it for me?”

Qin Song, who had just managed to avert her gaze, found herself looking again. After a few seconds, she turned away quickly and said coolly, “Let’s go.”

At noon, the top landscape designer had woven a crown of flowers for her lover.

No one else would know. Only Li Chu would.

And perhaps, the flowers in the garden.

Only the flowers knew her romance.

That night, the crown hung by Li Chu’s bed, preserved with gel. The misty air blurred everything, and without a window in her attic, she could not see the night sky. So she simply lay on her elbow, chin in hand, admiring it for hours.

The old house was never convenient. Qin Song drove her home first, then returned to the suburbs. There were still matters to discuss with the Qin family, and Qin Zhao would surely bring up Zheng Chengfeng.

No sooner had Qin Song arrived than a message came: Qin Zhao wanted her in the study. She agreed, slipped off her shoes, and reached into her pocket out of habit for a cigarette—only to find the Polaroid she’d taken that noon.

In the photo, the girl’s smile was bright, her dimple half-hidden by blossoms. The angle was just right, her beauty fully revealed.

Qin Song gazed at it for a long time before slipping it back into her pocket, lighting a cigarette, and heading into the study.

The door opened. Qin Zhao’s frown peeked out from behind his computer. “Here? Sit down, I’ll show you some files.”

As Qin Song pulled out a chair, he added, “Cut down on the smoking. Why’s your addiction so heavy? At this rate you’ll—”

He stopped halfway, lips pressing together uncomfortably. “Lele, you need to love life.”

For once, Qin Song didn’t argue. She simply answered with a faint “Mm,” twisting the ring on her finger as she asked, “What is it?”

“Oh…” Qin Zhao gave her a curious glance before continuing. “I sent people to find Zhou Qingchun. She still refuses. I heard she has some connection to Li Chu’s biological father?”

Qin Song’s lashes fluttered like butterfly wings. “Mm. Li Qiming is in prison. That connection doesn’t matter anymore.”

If Zhou Qingchun’s life had been better, she wouldn’t have ended up as Zheng Chengfeng’s mistress.

Qin Zhao nodded. “We also reached out to Ye Wanru, but her attitude was icy. She even hung up on us.”

“Don’t bother with her,” Qin Song cut in immediately. “You may not know—Li Qiming forced her back then.”

For Ye Wanru, Li Chu was a stain, a source of hatred, and the cause of many sleepless nights. A single scumbag had ruined many lives—not only Ye Wanru’s, but Li Chu’s as well.

Qin Song stubbed out her cigarette, lifting her eyes with quiet resolve.

“Find me a psychiatrist.”

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