Cross the Boundary GL - Chapter 47

Li Chu had a very long dream. She couldn’t quite recall the details, only that Qin Song in her dream was smiling, utterly different from the one in reality. With that faint smile, she said:

“I’m leaving.”

Leaving where?

In the dream, Li Chu wept as she reached out, begging her not to go. But that pink shadow still disappeared into the light, never again becoming clear.

She jolted awake, her chest faintly aching.

Qin Song’s apartment was extremely quiet—unlike the little loft above kiss.me. The silence here was deathly, so still it felt as though time itself had stopped.

Li Chu tentatively called:

“Qin Song?”

No reply. Not even the sound of wind.

Her heart suddenly plummeted. Before bed, Qin Song seemed to have been packing… what was in those bags?

Li Chu tried hard to remember: clothes, daily items, and… a computer.

She instantly threw off the quilt, got out of bed, and yanked open the closet. Things were still there—winter quilts, her own clothes.

And of course, Qin Song’s uniforms—just two or three. The cold, aloof scent of perfume lingered, as if the owner of those clothes had never truly existed.

In the living room, the glass of milk had been washed clean and placed upside down on the rack. The water stains had long since dried.

On the refrigerator was a note that hadn’t been there before. Li Chu rubbed her eyes and tore it off. It was Qin Song’s handwriting—sharp, beautiful.

“I will return. Do not miss me.”

Five simple words drained all the strength from Li Chu’s body. She collapsed against the refrigerator, tears smudging the ink.

The phone number was void, WeChat had been deleted. All Li Chu could do was return to the living room, crumple the note in her palm, and roar through gritted teeth:

“Qin Song! You bastard! You toyed with me and abandoned me!”

The paper ball traced a parabola over the balcony railing and fell onto the grass below. Suddenly coming to her senses, Li Chu’s tear-smeared face grew panicked. She rushed to the railing.

That little paper ball lay glaringly white amid the red-and-green of the lawn. Gripping the railing, she broke down, sobbing hysterically:

“Qin Song, come back to me! How dare you disappear without a word?!”

Her cries were like water drops vanishing into the sea—after the ripples faded, there was no trace left.

When Lin Zhiyan arrived, Li Chu was clutching the note, sitting blankly at the shop’s entrance like a soulless puppet.

“You—” Lin Zhiyan paced back and forth in anger. “Didn’t I say so? I knew it would end like this! You brainless fool!”

Seeing no reaction, her heart softened. She crouched before Li Chu.

“She’ll come back. Didn’t she write it? She’ll return.”

Only the faint sound of lanterns and wind chimes answered her.

These days, Lin Zhiyan had been extremely busy. Dean Hu had tried to entrust everything to reliable people before passing—she was one of them, now in charge of Hongfu.

“Why did she have to leave?” Lin Zhiyan muttered aloud, then immediately slammed down her chopsticks. “Forget it, you can’t answer that anyway.”

An Ji silently watched her for a long while, then slowly gestured with her hands.

Lin Zhiyan frowned. “And how would you know it’s for her own good? You think you’re living inside her stomach?”

She scratched her head in frustration. “Come to think of it, you two are alike. She just happens to be able to talk. Maybe it really is like you said.”

An Ji gave a silent smile and placed food into her bowl.

Lin Zhiyan naturally ate it. “I have to go back to the hospital tonight. Watch over Xiao Chu for me—don’t let her be alone. I’ll come when I’m free.”

But when she was finally done with work, rain had begun pouring outside, heavy and relentless. A crowd huddled under the eaves without umbrellas.

She hadn’t brought one either, so she lifted her backpack to shield her head, debating whether to dash to the bus stop.

Just then, a familiar black car pulled up before her. The wheels splashed water onto her jeans.

She stomped her foot furiously. “What the hell! Don’t you have any manners—”

The window rolled down slowly. Qin Song’s eyes appeared—gloomy, sickly. In just this short absence, she looked far worse than Li Chu.

The scolding stuck in Lin Zhiyan’s throat, replaced by a weak:

“What are you doing here?”

Qin Song didn’t answer. She simply leaned tiredly back, her voice hollow, as if drained of all spirit.

“Get in.”

That damned coldness, so indifferent—it was as unchanging as ever. Lin Zhiyan felt anger rise again.

The moment she got in the car, she couldn’t hold back:

“Where did you go? Do you know how badly Li Xiao Chu is right now? How could you just leave without a word? Don’t you know how to say goodbye? Playing with someone’s feelings—are you even human?”

Qin Song drove in silence. The quieter she stayed, the angrier Lin Zhiyan grew.

“Say something! What did Xiao Chu ever do to you? If you don’t love her, then at least end it properly! You don’t just disappear like this!”

Rain hammered against the windows. Qin Song said nothing the entire way, stopping only in a dense forest on the outskirts.

In the dim light, the car’s interior lamps made everything appear brighter. Lin Zhiyan stared at her gaunt jawline, so sharp it was almost cruel, and bit her tongue to stop herself from saying more.

“If there’s something you can’t say…” she muttered reluctantly, “at least give me a reason.”

“If you don’t love her anymore, then just say it. Don’t play this vanishing game. That’s not how people should be.”

Qin Song killed the engine, then lit a new cigarette. Smoke drifted out through the small crack in the window. She stared for a long time before turning back, her moist eyes heavy with unspoken emotion.

“I love her.”

Lin Zhiyan froze.

“I don’t recall ever saying I didn’t love her.” Qin Song flicked her cigarette. Her trembling fingers missed the ashtray several times, sparks falling onto her clothes.

Lin Zhiyan stared at those glowing embers. Her lips moved. “But… you never said you did, either.”

“Must it be spoken aloud?” Qin Song lifted the cigarette, as if measuring the height of the trees. After a long while, she lowered her hand, turned her head, and said coolly:

“There’s no rule that love must be spoken. Actions mean far more than words.”

When she finished, she opened the glove box and pulled out some papers—medical reports. She handed them to Lin Zhiyan.

“Read.”

Puzzled, Lin Zhiyan took them. Though professional in wording, they weren’t hard to understand. The black-and-white text clearly stated the patient suffered from a mental illness.

She flipped through several pages before lifting her gaze in disbelief.

“Whose…?”

Qin Song gave a mechanical smile. “Who else could it be?”

She looked down again—the name on the diagnosis form was indeed Qin Song.

“What illness? Is it… incurable?”

“Of course it is curable.” The patient pinched the cigarette between her fingers. The tiny red flame flickered, then was crushed out barehanded.

Lin Zhiyan shrieked. “Are you insane? Doesn’t that hurt?! Do you have medicine? Water—anything—”

“No need.” Qin Song cut her off coldly. “You saw it yourself. In this condition, it’s impossible to maintain a long-term stable relationship. But treatment takes too long. I don’t know how long it will be.”

“If you have the time, please visit her often.”

Her instructions were stiff and rigid. Lin Zhiyan, still shaken, sat upright and scolded:

“Look at you—so clearly you care. Then why make it so hard?”

Treatment was painful and slow. Many times, because of medication or other reasons, Qin Song had wanted to end it all.

She felt like rotten meat on a cutting board, like a lamb awaiting slaughter, like a fish with its scales scraped off but not dead yet. The knife cut slowly, deliberately avoiding vital spots while pressing into every nerve. There was no end in sight.

“Where do you live?” Qin Song tossed away the cigarette, but couldn’t discard the shadow between her brows. “I’ll take you.”

She’d never asked before. Normally she’d just drop someone off near a subway station. From her lifeless demeanor, Lin Zhiyan sensed change—and suffering.

Qin Song’s love was like a flower hidden behind thorns—deep, secret. Only by peeling away the rot could one glimpse its purest side.

She didn’t know how to love. So she had to learn.

Lin Zhiyan suddenly understood—perhaps true love wasn’t about wanting the other to change, but about wanting yourself to become better.

Before getting out of the car, she happened to see a photo peeking out from Qin Song’s coat pocket. Crumpled and creased, but faintly showing a girl’s face.

Deep in the alley, Lin Zhiyan froze. No wonder it looked familiar—dimples, round eyes—it was Li Chu!

“Goddamn…” she kicked a stone furiously. “If those two really end up together, I’ll have to repay all this nonsense! So annoying!”

But deep down, she understood Qin Song’s intent. Only by leaving could she properly heal. As long as Li Chu was around, Qin Song would never truly settle into treatment.

Because healing wasn’t like eating or sleeping. It meant stripping away years of built-up shadows, forcing yourself to face them head-on.

But how do you face your own shadow? Lin Zhiyan didn’t know.

She showered, cooked, and helped An Ji take care of Li Chu. Now, it wasn’t just as a friend, but also because Qin Song—rarely—had asked her to.

“Please, eat something! You’re driving me crazy!”

Li Chu lay slumped on the table, her eyes blank. The lunch before her hadn’t been touched. An Ji, being deaf-mute, couldn’t comfort a heartbroken person.

Lin Zhiyan shoved her aside and sat heavily down, tugging at her own hair in frustration.

Qin Song had told her to keep it secret. But Li Chu was too stubborn. After much thought, Lin Zhiyan decided—Li Chu was her best friend. She couldn’t just watch her waste away.

So she made the best decision of her life. She nudged Li Chu with her elbow.

“Get up. I’ve got something to tell you.”

No reaction. Lin Zhiyan narrowed her eyes, her tone dropping low.

“Qin Song just came to me. Want to know what she said?”

Li Chu’s head shot up, eyes filled with desperate hope. Lin Zhiyan had planned to mock her, but seeing her swollen face, her heart softened.

“You really love her that much?”

Of course she did. The kind of love carved into her very bones. Li Chu couldn’t express it, so tears answered for her.

The sight only convinced Lin Zhiyan more—she had to tell the truth.

“She went to get treatment.”

A pause.

“For you.”

Li Chu’s eyes widened blankly, tears spilling like foolish pearls. Pitiful. Absurd.

Lin Zhiyan’s heart ached. She reached out, wiping the streaks on her cheeks. She spoke earnestly:

“It’s true. You probably know her illness better than I do. But the process is painful—she’s lost so much weight…”

She pressed her lips together, then added:

“She admitted to me she loves you. And because she loves you, she chose to quietly change herself. She wants to become better—not drag her sick body into a half-lived relationship with you. Do you understand? She’s becoming better for you. And you?”

“Right now you’re not eating or working. Planning to starve to death? Then all her suffering would be for nothing. Do you have any idea how agonizing it is to fully heal from a mental illness? I have documentaries—I’ll send you one to watch.”

Lin Zhiyan had studied it carefully later—it was like tearing down and rebuilding. Not physical pain, but the collapse of psychological defenses.

“That’s all I’ll say. Don’t ask me where she is. There are too many hospitals in Nancheng—I don’t know. She might not even be here. But Li Xiao Chu, don’t you want to become better too?”

“You should work hard. Eat well. Grow strong.”

“Don’t you want to wait for her in the future?”

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