Cross the Boundary GL - Chapter 6

“Intimate relationship” is a neutral term, but Qin Song preferred “unfeeling,” “cooperative,” and “mutually beneficial.” That was enough.

Her eyes remained dark, calm, and unwavering. Among the pile of useless messages from Li Chu, only one caught her attention.

“The tools have arrived.”

This meant her needs could be met.

So, after her final day of work, Qin Song hailed a taxi to Kiss.me. After so many days of a business trip, her craving had reached a new level, like a beached whale on the verge of death.

Qin Song wasn’t afraid of withering and dying, but she desperately needed pain.

It would be even better if Li Chu were clumsy or inexperienced.

She pushed open the door and entered the shop without a word. Li Chu followed, her eyes still filled with indignation: “Why didn’t you reply to my messages during your business trip?”

The shop was a mess, looking like the aftermath of a tough, losing battle. Qin Song surveyed the chaos, then turned to Li Chu. “What gives you the right to ask me to reply?”

Li Chu was stunned, as if in disbelief. “But we signed an agreement…”

“It doesn’t say anything about being forced to reply to messages.” Qin Song tossed her bag onto the counter and rebuked, “Looks like you haven’t been working seriously these past few days.”

She had, Li Chu wanted to say.

It was just that she had gone somewhere else for the first half of the month, and her mood hadn’t been great recently, so she hadn’t tidied up after closing the shop.

Qin Song lowered her head, taking a cigarette from her formal wear pocket and lighting it with a match from a hotel.

The hazy smoke softened her sharp features but still left her looking cold and lifeless.

For a moment, Li Chu couldn’t figure out what she wanted to do.

After a while, Qin Song used the hand not holding the cigarette to tear open her shirt collar. She did so with some force, and the strap and floral pattern of her bra were exposed.

In the midst of the mess, she hooked a chair with her foot, sat down with composure, and said, “Get the tools out.”

It was a very obvious hint, and it pushed the atmosphere to a climax.

Li Chu opened a cabinet and brought out a courier box. With no one to experiment on, she had only ever learned in theory. Now that this could be put into practice, she felt a sense of panic, like a first-timer.

Qin Song casually tied up her hair, leaving two strands of pink hair hanging by her cheeks, the rest falling down her back.

The silver needle, sanitized and held between her fingers, shimmered like a sharp sword. Li Chu pulled open her collar. The bite marks from over a month ago were still there, and they hadn’t faded, a shocking mix of red and purple.

She hesitated: “Where should I pierce?”

Qin Song lowered her eyes: “The same place as before, of course.”

As the needle pierced the warm flesh, Li Chu thought of when the orphanage director taught her to sew as a child, mending a broken doll back to its original state. Although her sewing was poor and crooked, the director still praised her and hung the doll by the window to show it off.

The sense of accomplishment from back then was the same as now.

Qin Song wasn’t normal, and maybe she wasn’t either.

Otherwise, why would she associate mending a doll with body piercing, and seek psychological comfort from it?

Because the previous wound hadn’t healed, when two more holes were made, blood quickly seeped out, staining the shirt red again.

Qin Song’s tongue piercing clicked against her teeth, and soon her teeth bit her lower lip. Even her sharp gaze became hazy and lost in reverie. She slowly shifted her eyes downward; Li Chu was preparing to pierce the other side.

The lingering scent of disinfectant in the room, mixed with tobacco, greatly blurred the boundary between the two people.

Li Chu’s breath was on her collarbone—faint, full, and warm. It was easy to get confused thoughts, especially at a moment like this.

Qin Song stared at her without blinking. Amid the familiar sensation, an untimely thought abruptly emerged.

She was good at leaving herself a way out, which was why the contract specifically detailed the content of her needs. Spiritual needs and other kinds of needs were all the same, and they took precedence over everything.

So the moment the second piercing was made, Qin Song’s breathing became ragged. A drop of sweat trickled from her temple down to her chin. In that brief moment, that thought seemed to be pushed to the forefront.

Pain brought clarity. Even though she didn’t care much about it, reflexes were unchangeable. Because she was so clear-headed, she knew what she was doing.

Li Chu was suddenly kissed on the lips, a wet, soft kiss, and the candy-like metal was also pushed into her mouth.

Her vision was limited. She could only see the lean shoulder, the continuous expanse of her fair collarbone, and the faint blue veins beneath it. Stripped of her detachment and lifelessness, Qin Song was not herself, becoming viscous and unfamiliar.

It was as if her original label had been torn off and replaced with a new one called “lust.”

The pain of the piercing went from intense to diluted, and Qin Song’s soaring desire also gradually subsided.

She reached out and pinched Li Chu’s jaw, pulling her away. She licked the saliva from the corner of her lips: “You’ve learned well.”

An unprovoked compliment. Li Chu’s eyes were moist, her damp pupils trembling for a few seconds before she lowered her head: “I’ve learned other things too. Do you… want to try?”

This was undoubtedly an invitation, adding fuel to Qin Song’s still-smoldering emotions. But she had no intention of accepting.

The hand on Li Chu’s face was terrifyingly thin, her wrist bone protruding. When she exerted force, the slightly raised bones on the back of her hand were very distinct.

Qin Song’s gaze was deep and dark, more full of disgust than ever before.

She felt that Li Chu was being reckless.

At the company, Qin Song was criticized as an outcast because she socialized little and had poor interpersonal relationships. Even so, no one was ever so bold as to negotiate with her or test her. Her presence was like a bomb, and anyone who came close was a fuse ready to light it.

But Li Chu completely ignored such signals. It was as if once the contract was signed, the necessary distance and separation disappeared, and she could do as she pleased, influencing her.

Qin Song never wanted to be controlled by others, nor did she like being tested. Even if the other person sensed her overflowing emotions, she was clear-headed and would not be manipulated.

“I told you,” she said, her knuckles pressing in a little harder, leaving a red mark on the clean cheek: “Don’t test me.”

“If you have a need, you can exchange something of equal value,” her cold eyes were full of iciness, without a shred of warmth: “Don’t act on your own.”

After saying that, she grabbed her bag from the table and turned to leave, her legs in the narrow skirt moving quickly, and she disappeared from view in an instant.

Li Chu’s cheek was in sharp pain, feeling as if her bones were about to be crushed. If pain really could bring pleasure, then this pleasure was torturous.

She was sure Qin Song was seriously ill. She reflected that no normal person would be like this, not even when angry—she was like a lifeless pool of water, her oppression suffocating.

In fact, Li Chu also really wanted to know some things, such as—whether extreme pain could truly make Qin Song emotional.

She just wanted to know, because there were too many things about Qin Song that caught her attention, like a forbidden fruit on a tree she wanted to pick and examine. No snake was needed to tempt her; she had walked into the trap herself.

In the pain, Li Chu vaguely remembered her childhood days, which she spent in a remote orphanage. The director’s surname was Hu, and in her youth, she was a distinguished lawyer. She had no children or a partner, and perhaps due to loneliness in her later years, she opened this orphanage.

It only accepted girls—many, many girls: abandoned infants, child brides who were trafficked and couldn’t find their families, and so on. All these girls were taken in.

The director treated them all equally, caring for each one, but Li Chu knew that she was the director’s favorite child.

Because she was the first to arrive at the orphanage. That year, on the winter solstice, it was snowing heavily, and she, only four months old, was placed at the entrance of the newly built Hongfu Orphanage, whose paint hadn’t even dried.

The baby in the swaddling clothes was wrapped in a thin blanket, and only her name was left behind.

Director Hu raised her as her own daughter and even tried to have her follow in her footsteps as a lawyer, but Li Chu’s heart wasn’t in it. At thirteen, she asked to study painting and slowly moved towards the tattoo industry.

Strangely, Director Hu, as an elderly person, was not against it and held a respectful view of tattoos and niche hobbies.

So when Li Chu decided to open a shop, Director Hu even gave her a sum of money as startup capital.

Although she didn’t have parents to rely on, Li Chu’s upbringing wasn’t grim. Though sometimes… she would wonder about her origins.

But it was only a little bit.

Besides Director Hu, she had no family or friends, and because she hadn’t attended school, she didn’t even have classmates.

Qin Song’s appearance made Li Chu feel that she had a new connection to the world.

So she wanted to probe, to understand her more deeply.

It was obvious that Qin Song was unwell and didn’t want to be explored. Even her minimal social interaction was because of her addiction-like needs.

The contract was in the file folder at the front desk, along with Qin Song’s original handwritten one. “Equal exchange” was the social approach of this sharply-worded, fiercely-looking woman.

Li Chu recovered, packed the piercing tools into the storage box, cleaned the shop, and then went to eat on the street.

The nightlife there was vibrant. It was most lively in the evening, with students passing by after school, office workers having a drink at the pub, and late-night food stalls preparing to stay open until the next day. It was all dazzling and dreamlike.

Li Chu walked past a bar. The colorful sign outside was full of today’s discounted drinks, snacks, and fruit platters. She was captivated and stood still for a long time.

A hostess saw her lingering and started a conversation: “How many in your party? We have a promotion today: spend 300 and get a pitcher of original beer.”

Li Chu smiled and waved her hand to leave, but after only two steps, she turned back: “Where did you buy this?”

The girl looked down at the colorful sign: “At the lighting store across the street. If you want it cheaper, you can buy it online.”

Li Chu thanked her, and the hem of her skirt swayed in the light reflected by the traffic lights.

Under the black-and-white sign of Kiss.me, the girl put down the half-sized colorful sign and glanced at the light board above.

Qin Song’s writing carried a sense of aggression and indifference, like a black hole that swallowed everyone’s emotions. But Li Chu’s writing was different—it had no sharp edges, no personality, and was even a little childish.

She used a pen to write: “Tattoo and Piercing.”

After thinking for a moment, she added two more strokes: “Piercings.”

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