Hedgehog's Belly - Chapter 59

Chapter 59

The cicadas of this year’s summer were clamorous, making midsummer feel exceptionally long.

“Where’s Muzi-jie?”

Yan Yu noticed that Yan Qingzhu had already prepared breakfast, but Luo Mu was nowhere to be seen.

“In the future, you should just strap her to your body wherever you go.” Yan Qingzhu walked to the dining table and handed the prepared milk to Yan Yu with a sarcastic tone.

Yan Yu took a bite of toast and instinctively muttered: “Did you guys have a fight?”

The moment those words left her mouth, Yan Qingzhu froze for a few seconds before swiftly stuffing a piece of bread from the plate into her sister’s mouth.

“Children shouldn’t talk so much.”

Life was gradually settling back onto its track, appearing so peaceful that not a hint of a storm could be seen.

— “Because I, too, am someone whose life was stolen.”

Compassionate pupils trembled under the warm light; her lover had bared her heart, exposing her final shred of dignity.

Yan Qingzhu’s eyelashes lowered slightly as an indescribable emotion grew silently in the depths of her heart. Beside her, Yan Yu noticed her unusual state.

“Last night… you two didn’t do anything, right?” Yan Yu lifted her milk glass, her eyes darting around as she tested the waters in a small voice.

Yan Qingzhu frowned instantly, not reacting at first: “Hmm?”

What was this kid thinking about all day?

Yan Yu’s ears immediately turned red. She covered them with her hands and turned away pretentiously: “Fine, fine, fine! I’m not listening, I’m not listening!”

Yan Qingzhu glanced at her reflexively just as a message popped up on her phone screen.

Lomo: I’ve arrived.

Q: Good. Stay safe.

Yan Qingzhu sent a voice message: “Waiting for you to come home.”

She then flipped her phone facedown on the table, calmly recalling how a slightly tipsy Luo Mu had leaned against her last night, vividly laying bare years of grievance and stubbornness.

With red-rimmed eyes and a trembling voice, she had said: “I don’t want to yield anymore.”

“Not even a single step.”

Every word had landed with the weight of a stone.

Yan Qingzhu had pulled her into an embrace as the faint scent of bitter orange leaf diffused through the air.

The pain of memory could not withstand close scrutiny. Yan Qingzhu had placed a kiss on her forehead. Letting the torrential rain hammer against the window outside, the only thing they wanted to cherish was this moment.

Luo Mu had remained silent for a long time, controlling her last bit of reason. Burying her head in the crook of Yan Qingzhu’s neck, her voice was devoid of warmth—like an echo from an abyss, ethereal and drifting.

“I need to go back to Chujiang for a trip.”

“Have you made up your mind?” Yan Qingzhu asked softly, not as a confirmation, but more like a plea for her to stay.

Luo Mu smiled faintly and pinched Yan Qingzhu’s cheek: “I’ll rush back as fast as I can once I’ve handled things.”

Yan Qingzhu looked aggrieved. Amidst the shifting light and shadows, Luo Mu noticed her reluctance: “Is it something very important?”

Luo Mu nodded.

“Then I’ll wait for you to come back. Don’t go running off.” Yan Qingzhu admitted defeat, kissing her shoulder and neck, her tone deep and fervent: “Sister.”

Luo Mu was amused. The once-proud Yan Qingzhu, whom her sister regarded as the sun, had now retracted her sharp claws and become gentle and submissive.

It seemed that only by Luo Mu’s side could Yan Qingzhu face her own vulnerability without feeling shame. Even though they both knew where the scars were, they didn’t have to worry about the other’s gaze dismantling their dignity.

“Okay.” Luo Mu rubbed her head, as if smoothing a cat’s fur.

She believed that to live, one always needs some form of conviction, and Yan Qingzhu’s conviction…

Luo Mu pursed her lips in self-derision and gripped Yan Qingzhu’s hand tighter, feeling their only warmth.

At least at this moment, Luo Mu believed this was not an illusion.

It was a happiness within reach.

“Miss Luo, please come this way.”

The assistant led Luo Mu into the office. Pushing the door open, she saw a woman in a tailored champagne-colored blazer, expertly conversing with a client on the other end of the phone.

The young assistant nodded to Luo Mu in apology, but Luo Mu simply smiled and waved it off. She stayed silent by the door, analyzing the woman’s decisive words and actions—most likely a major client.

Luo Mu narrowed her eyes slightly, carefully observing every move Lin Qiyun made. For this woman to reach her current position, she truly possessed a gifted sense of how to handle human nature.

The moment Lin Qiyun hung up the phone, she was already aware that the person by the door had been waiting for a long time.

Lin Qiyun approached slowly, her high heels clicking clearly against the floor. She expertly dismissed the assistant and settled Luo Mu onto the sofa, pushing a cup of freshly ground coffee in front of her.

“Long time no see, Little Sister Luo.”

“Qiyun-jie, you look like you’re in great shape. Things must be going smoothly lately?” Luo Mu slipped back into her “girl-next-door” persona, chatting comfortably with the woman.

Lin Qiyun wore a warm smile. She stood up, took a box of matcha cookies from a drawer, and pushed them toward Luo Mu: “I know you’ve liked these since you were little.”

Just as Luo Mu’s lips quirked up and she reached for a cookie, Lin Qiyun’s fingertips suddenly clamped around her neck. Her gaze turned ruthless, carrying the powerful aura of one in a high position who had long seen through the agility of her prey. She whispered a warning into Luo Mu’s ear.

“Of course, I know exactly what you’re trying to do.”

Lin Qiyun did not hesitate to tear away the beautiful and soft facade.

Luo Mu lowered her eyes to look at her, her gaze turning cold. Maintaining an unruffled composure, she gripped Lin Qiyun’s wrist and then feigned innocence to show weakness: “Qiyun-jie, great wisdom often looks like folly.”

“You and I are nothing more than black and white pieces on a tiny chessboard. Our ‘breath’ could be cut off at any moment.”

“Give me a hand, and you can go solo sooner.” A hint of cunning flickered in Luo Mu’s deep gaze, dangerous yet captivating. She suddenly pulled the wrist downward and articulated her point methodically.

Seeing this, Lin Qiyun couldn’t help but lower her eyes and laugh softly, retracting her hostility from the previous second. Luo Mu took a sip of the freshly ground coffee; the rich aroma was mixed with a sharp acidity. Sometimes, bitterness keeps the mind clear.

“I haven’t finalized that order yet, but I can certainly give you the ten thousand in advance.”

Lin Qiyun returned to the sofa, propping up her chin and watching her as if observing a piece of art. Facing a child in her early twenties who was so slick and worldly, she felt a sense of gratification mingled with inevitable worry.

Luo Mu’s heart paused for a few seconds. Her original plan had been disrupted. She had intended to use Lin Qiyun’s hand to deduce the total amount of the creative orders provided by the company, but now all her preparations were thrown into disarray ahead of time—something she hadn’t expected.

Luo Mu looked up at her. The woman before her maintained an air of dignified composure, her fingertip tapping lightly on the glass tabletop. Each tap made Luo Mu’s heart skip a beat.

Lin Qiyun had read her mind with ease.

“But Luo Mu, you really have no regard for old ties.”

Lin Qiyun teased, walking behind her. Her slender hand slid slowly over Luo Mu’s cheek, gentle yet chilling: “At the very least, you should respect your father’s wishes.”

The words grated on Luo Mu’s ears. Her father’s wishes had never included her.

From beginning to end, it had always been about the adopted son who shared no blood.

The person whose life was stolen had her mouth covered.

The “game” she had set was merely to make her father feel that she wasn’t a useless piece of junk.

In a daze, Lin Qiyun’s gaze lingered on the faint hickey on Luo Mu’s neck. The bruise was obvious; anyone who saw it would let their mind wander.

“The higher you climb, the harder you fall.” After a long silence, Lin Qiyun finally spat out these words, pressing her fingertip against the mark.

Luo Mu only then realized Yan Qingzhu’s little trick from yesterday and quickly covered the mark on her neck with her hand.

She naturally understood Lin Qiyun’s underlying meaning: she was telling her not to be too greedy.

The essence of human nature is greed; therefore, one must accept the punishment that greed brings.

Luo Mu lifted her chin slightly, her tone humble yet brook no argument. Her calm, restrained pupils held not a shred of cowardice, her sharpness hidden deep within.

“Qiyun-jie, the most torturous thing is when a person cannot distinguish between extreme love and hate,” Luo Mu murmured.

Her gaze fell on the towering skyscrapers of Chujiang outside the window. This was once the place she cared about most, but now, all possibilities were about to be overturned.

“Hating incompletely and loving incompletely makes it easiest to suffer.”

Luo Mu understood that too well.

Any hint of dullness would lead to a hint of hesitation.

Luo Mu was unwilling.

Late summer in Chujiang was even more scorching than in Lingyang. Luo Mu received a text from her coordinating professor, setting the dates for the exchange program. The time left for her in the country was truly dwindling day by day.

A message popped up on her phone.

Q: Muzi-jie, I’m so bored.

Lomo: I’ll order two female models for you.

Luo Mu returned to Nanming. No matter what, she had to come back. Even if her father treated her poorly, her stepmother constantly worried about her, allowing her to taste the sweetness of being loved. At the very least, it allowed her to falsely believe that someone was always waiting for her to come home.

Standing at the entrance of her former home, she habitually entered her fingerprint. Suddenly, the lock flashed red multiple times until a voice announced: “No fingerprint record found. Unlock failed.”

Luo Mu frowned. Her fingerprint had been deleted?

Her mind went blank instantly. The color drained from her face, and she didn’t even dare to let her breath fluctuate.

How was it possible?

How could they just shut her out like this?

Who was the guest outside the door? Who was the redundant one?

Luo Mu’s nose felt an acidic sting. Despite her best efforts to control her emotions, a buzzing ring filled her ears.

It was just like when she was a child, not yet taller than the door bolt, pounding on the front door with all her might.

The door had been locked then. She didn’t know why so many people had gathered outside, or why the demolition crew was eyeing the most dilapidated brick house. She had wailed, tears streaming from bloodshot eyes, but no one responded.

“Ma… Ma, Mama!”

The Luo Mu of that time had no memory of anyone called “Mother.” She had never seen that woman’s face or heard her voice. Yet, in extreme suffering and sorrow, she instinctively cried out the word “Mama” loudly and repeatedly.

With nothing to lean on, she survived only on a sliver of delusion.

The surrounding villagers whispered among themselves, jokingly saying the girl’s mother was a madwoman who had ended her life before her daughter was even a year old. They shook their heads, pitying the child as if she were a mere plant. At the end of every conversation, the sentence always remained:

“This child has a bitter fate.”

Luo Mu dug her nails into the flesh of her arm; the pain was enough to keep her conscious and prevent her from dwelling on her past wretchedness. The hair on her forehead was matted with cold sweat, covering the desolation in her eyes. She used one hand to hammer forcefully against the door.

If it really didn’t open, she would never come back from this day forward.

Never come back…

Luo Mu froze. Where else could she go?

Suddenly, the door latch clicked open. Luo Mu looked up instantly to see a familiar figure staring down at her.

After two years apart, the once-instinctive rapport with Ji Rongshu was nowhere to be found. Instead, his pupils were vacant, his brow was furrowed, and the veins on his arm bulged. He grabbed Luo Mu and questioned her in a suppressed voice:

“What are you doing back here?”

The air was instantly sliced thin and detached, condensing into a lonely, resentful wail.

It was as if her very presence was a mistake.

Luo Mu was suddenly speechless, struggling to control the trembling of her fingertips. She grabbed Ji Rongshu’s collar, so choked with emotion that she couldn’t spit out a single word.

Clearly, so much time had passed. She believed she was no longer controlled by her memories; she believed her life would no longer be stirred by this.

Luo Mu let go weakly and slowly took a few steps back. Her voice sounded hollow, without a hint of inflection or tone: “Should I… not have come back?”