I Heard That I am a HeartBreaker - Chapter 66

Qiu Shuang was a doll worth buying—decorous in character, cheerful, gentle, and good-tempered. Coupled with her beautiful appearance, she was someone everyone would love.

As for what kind of core was hidden beneath that beautiful skin, no one particularly cared; everyone simply loved her sunny, upward, and bursting vitality.

But what then? How can a river without a source flow north forever? This vitality was something she traded for by squeezing herself dry time and time again, pushing herself to the brink of collapse.

Zhang Heming was pondering a strategy. She felt the other person needed a psychiatrist more than anything. Simultaneously, she extinguished those strange fantasies in her own heart—such as moving to an unfamiliar city.

She was an adult now with a stable job. Even if an old friend, with whom she had little affection left from years ago, invited her back, she couldn’t just change everything on a whim.

Of course, Zhang Heming couldn’t ask Qiu Feng to come to an unfamiliar city when her career couldn’t develop in their current location; she couldn’t be that selfish.

Because growing up seemed to be like this: always being skilled at weighing pros and cons, and then fantasizing about the path one didn’t choose. What would have happened if she hadn’t left that place all those years ago?

But there are no “ifs” in this world. If Zhang Heming had stayed in Beijing, perhaps they would never have met again.

Zhang Heming felt she was slightly better than those other people—at least she might be the first to discover the other’s illness and sincerely wish for her recovery.

“Qiu Feng, you need to receive formal treatment. Of course, I’m not sure if taking medication will affect you—maybe it will make things worse—but you really need a doctor to solve all of this. You are too strong. I think you should relax appropriately.”

After saying this, Zhang Heming closed her eyes. A distance of thousands of miles was truly vast; she felt like she was talking nonsense.

Because if the other person had an outlet in real life, she probably wouldn’t be confiding in a stranger on the internet. Chatting with people is indeed a good thing; through an anonymous internet connection, you speak of your tragic past, and out of politeness, most people immediately give you basic humanitarian concern.

But with acquaintances, they might comfort you, they might get annoyed, or they might just smile. The world is strange: strangers are full of kindness upon first meeting, while acquaintances are filled with thorns.

Take Qiu Feng, for example. Her first impression on Zhang Heming was one of extreme kindness. Everyone could treat her like an emotional trash can; she seemed to be a qualified “hollow tree hole,” taking everything in but letting nothing out.

She was always responsible for digesting those strange emotions and then remaining silent alone. When this poor tree hole had its own sorrows, people would say, “How could that be? How could you think like that? You’re the strongest person I know!”

The person truly suffering from an illness was silenced.

Qiu Shuang’s first sharing of her illness was with a stranger. Separated by thousands of miles and relying on shared hobbies, they built a seemingly fragile connection, yet this stranger often knew more than those by her side. How ridiculous.

“I will seek treatment. I’ll try my best.”

Qiu Shuang lowered her head. She couldn’t stand being overly sentimental. Currently, she did occasionally feel very sad and painful, but brief bouts of torment were manageable.

Compared to the pain, she feared the side effects of medication more—that they would make her more numb or cause her to lose her ability to learn. Qiu Shuang couldn’t accept that back then. She had no right to take a leave of absence, no right to stop. She had to run forward with all her might until she reached the infinite end or died of exhaustion.

Qiu Shuang didn’t know if she would reach the finish line first or drop dead on the road, but that was all she could do. Perhaps the only way to relieve the pressure was to find someone to talk to.

Lu Chen was a good listener, but Qiu Shuang felt embarrassed to bother her anymore. Qiu Shuang didn’t want such a good person to bear her pain; she felt she had already troubled her enough.

After Zhang Heming felt the other’s emotions settle down, she sat on her bed in the deep of the night, sinking into silence.

The world is truly unfair. It seems those who hold themselves to higher standards are always more prone to pain. Zhang Heming had almost forgotten the last time she broke down.

At that time, she had just been fired from her previous job, falling from a wealthy socialite to someone truly scrambling for reality. It was Qiu Feng who gave her encouragement and cheered her on, which allowed her to slowly walk to where she was today.

What was Qiu Feng’s situation at that time? A high school senior.

Zhang Heming wondered what a child of that age should be like. Back then, she was either studying or playing wildly with friends in her spare time. Was it possible to be that calm?

Looking back on those years, which clearly should have been the busiest period, Qiu Feng seemed to always be available at any moment.

Regarding her future studies, Zhang Heming recalled that the other person never even seemed nervous. She didn’t know how to evaluate that feeling—it felt like being both fully confident and having given up in advance.

Zhang Heming didn’t know the complete Qiu Shuang; she only knew the momentary “Qiu Feng.” Similarly, those so-called suitors of Qiu Shuang only knew a fragment of Qiu Shuang and didn’t know Qiu Feng.

They couldn’t grasp her character or see her in her entirety; it was like walking through a fog with eyes blindfolded. Even with eyes open, one might fall, let alone while blindfolded.

People are always attracted to excellence. Ultimately, humans are creatures of interest: education represents wealth, appearance represents genes, and character represents a fallback.

After hanging up the phone, Qiu Shuang lay on her bed, staring blankly at the yellow light until a new message notification sounded. She thought it was “Erdami” again, but when she opened it, she found it wasn’t.

Lu Chen: Look downstairs.

Seeing this message, Qiu Shuang didn’t understand. She walked to the window, pulled back the curtains, and looked outside. There, she saw a familiar figure standing beneath her building.

Lu Chen sometimes found her own intuition laughable. For some reason, even though Qiu Shuang simply hadn’t replied to her messages as usual, her gut told her something was very wrong.

Lu Chen knew a lot about Qiu Shuang. She knew it was time to move closer. The other’s affection for Chen Wanjun had slowly cooled, meaning this drama had reached a brief buffer period. Perhaps it was time to welcome the next relationship.

After a moment of daze, Qiu Shuang immediately threw on her clothes and dashed downstairs. Right now, she desperately needed a warm embrace—just one hug would do. So, on this snowy night, they held each other tightly.

Qiu Shuang looked at her—at this Lu Chen who had always been tolerant and had tried everything to solve her problems.

“Take me away.”

Lu Chen asked nothing and said nothing. She took off her own scarf and wrapped it around Qiu Shuang. The two of them walked forward firmly. Qiu Shuang didn’t know why, but she didn’t feel cold at all. Right now, she only wanted to leave this place as quickly as possible, the further the better.

It wasn’t until they entered the hotel that she realized she had foolishly followed the other person, and she had done so entirely of her own free will.

“You were crying just now. Did they have another fight?”

Lu Chen used a declarative sentence. Regarding everything about Qiu Shuang, she had known for a long time.

Completely different from what everyone thought, the Qiu Shuang of high school was actually different from who she was now.

In high school, it could be said that Qiu Shuang didn’t study at all, maintaining a peaceful or perhaps self-abandoning attitude. Chen Wanjun and Song Ya had tried to persuade her countless times, but they couldn’t change her mindset.

She simply muddled through every day, maintaining an average, mediocre grade that was just enough to appease her family.

As for university, any ordinary undergraduate school would do; Qiu Shuang didn’t care.

Lu Chen didn’t know how to describe her own feelings—maybe a bit of jealousy. The other person did nothing, yet still sat firmly in the middle of the class rankings; regardless of the exam’s difficulty, her scores were always the same.

Is this the world of a genius? Lu Chen didn’t quite understand. She had originally thought she was somewhat clever, but in a place like this, it didn’t really manifest as anything special.

Between Chen Wanjun, who always reigned supreme at number one, and Qiu Shuang, who never studied but whose grades never slipped, Lu Chen, caught in the middle, seemed a bit less impressive.

Chen Wanjun similarly looked down on Lu Chen. She had nothing to say to someone who needed diligent effort just to maintain second place.

Recalling it now, Lu Chen was also somewhat unhappy. So a thought emerged: why couldn’t she push Qiu Shuang up to challenge Chen Wanjun? Regardless, she believed her deskmate was definitely smarter than Chen Wanjun.

As for the friendship between Qiu Shuang and Chen Wanjun? It wasn’t as if Lu Chen hadn’t seen Chen Wanjun’s strange looks and hidden jealousy.

She smiled. Admit it, Chen Wanjun, you are also jealous of Qiu Shuang. You fear her effortlessly taking your identity as number one. It seems this “genius” isn’t that much stronger after all.

Lu Chen felt that her deskmate was definitely a good person. No matter what, the other never disturbed anyone and would immediately return any help given by others. Consequently, Lu Chen even gave up her own self-study time to create a study plan for her.

This tactic was surprisingly effective. Qiu Shuang was completely unable to resist someone’s inexplicable kindness. In order not to waste the other’s time, she could only follow Lu Chen’s plan.

Lu Chen didn’t know when she had fallen for her—perhaps it was while helping Qiu Shuang, when she saw the icy core beneath that gentle exterior and that strange sense of morality.

Because Lu Chen had sacrificed her own rest and study time, Qiu Shuang felt guilty, which is why she started studying hard. It sounds strange, but with her, it was inexplicably logical.

Lu Chen felt that Qiu Shuang was the strangest person she had ever met. How could someone be so strangely concerned about someone else’s future while never caring about their own?

Because she was hindering Lu Chen’s studies, she had to study well so as not to waste Lu Chen’s time.

Qiu Shuang didn’t want to be number one anymore. She could no longer bear the brainwashing and madness of this meritocracy. Qiu Shuang had already received many honors and had paid the price for them. Couldn’t it all just end there?

But Lu Chen began to tutor her on her homework incessantly. Qiu Shuang didn’t know what to do. The other was a person with a clear plan for her future, while she herself lived day to day, with no dreams.

Qiu Shuang didn’t understand why the other person was wasting time on her, nor could she understand the light flashing in the other’s eyes. She picked it all up again—it wasn’t actually hard—she just didn’t understand why Lu Chen was doing it.

“Qiu Shuang, you are a genius.”

“No, Lu Chen, I’m not.”

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