I Heard That I am a HeartBreaker - Chapter 67

“Yes, you must be.”

Qiu Shuang’s high school memories seemed to hold nothing of leisure—or at least, nothing of game consoles. The only thing she could remember was a game played abruptly, the moment it was interrupted, and then being smashed into fragments. What a pity.

Closing her eyes, Qiu Shuang could almost conjure that terrifying scene: countless shards and the sound of someone falling outside the door.

Did they all go mad? The demands placed upon her had to be met. Once they turned their attention toward her studies, they demanded her compliance without rhyme or reason.

It was as if gaining her “support” was the most vital piece of the puzzle, even though her own desires didn’t matter at all. From that point on, Qiu Shuang was unwilling to return home. That place, which should have been a warm harbor, had inexplicably become a living hell.

Even amidst this agony, a brush with death had occurred. Perhaps the noose around her neck had loosened for a fleeting moment of tolerance, but it continued to stalk her like a ghost.

In the eyes of her family, it was a cardinal sin for a child to be unwilling to stay in her own home, preferring the houses of others.

Every day after school, Qiu Shuang would walk alone, only to suddenly break into a run for no reason, not stopping until she was physically exhausted. When Lu Chen discovered this habit, she said nothing; she simply followed closely behind.

“I’m exercising,” Qiu Shuang would say.

At that time, all Lu Chen knew of her was that she had two very close friends.

But regarding Qiu Shuang’s suffering—did those two friends truly know nothing?

Lu Chen suspected they did know. Or perhaps they were so fragile that they chose only to enjoy her; they only allowed themselves to accept her generous, broad-minded side—the positive facade. As for Qiu Shuang’s darkness, they refused to contemplate it.

One could say they simply didn’t want to receive anything negative; they only wanted the “good” version of her. Whether Qiu Shuang was grieving or in deep pain because of it, Lu Chen suspected they didn’t care at all.

Lu Chen didn’t understand how things had reached this point. She only knew there was no such thing as a free lunch, and that those two were, perhaps, a bit too cruel.

Regarding why Lu Chen and Qiu Shuang were walking together, Song Ya said little. After all, it was Qiu Shuang’s choice. All Song Ya did was silently record debt after debt in her heart.

She truly thought this way, but it was wretched. Song Ya didn’t know in what capacity she could even speak such words, yet she declared that one day, she would reclaim everything that was owed.

In truth, she had no right to be a “creditor.” The reality of the situation and the debts between them were likely the exact opposite of what Song Ya believed.

Qiu Shuang sat in silence; this was her personal defense mechanism. Seeing this, Lu Chen said nothing. Perhaps the other girl had finally regained her senses.

Lu Chen watched her just sitting there, as if time itself had frozen. She didn’t speak or pry. She felt that perhaps Qiu Shuang truly needed a quiet environment to digest all the bitterness.

This was a scene common to the two of them. Most of the time, they would meet and just sit quietly for a while, and it felt as though anything could be resolved that way.

Qiu Shuang hoped Lu Chen would remember her. She could always sense the other’s immense tenderness and vast tolerance, which seemed capable of dispelling her fears. She craved more time with her, yet feared that if they stayed together too long, Lu Chen would discover her true thoughts and never speak to her again.

In this world, everyone has their own mission and their own life. There was no necessity for it—Lu Chen had no obligation to be her “blood bag.” She had already done enough.

Qiu Shuang felt she didn’t ask for much. Someone like her only needed to communicate occasionally and maintain a good relationship; she didn’t dare think beyond that.

After half an hour, Lu Chen still hadn’t spoken. She just sat there, seemingly lost in thought, quietly waiting for Qiu Shuang. Qiu Shuang sighed, nearly burying her face in her own arms.

“Lu Chen, don’t be like this…”

Lu Chen caught the words.

“Don’t be so good to me. I’m afraid I won’t be able to leave you.”

“I will never leave you.”

Lu Chen looked at Qiu Shuang and uttered those words with total sincerity. But Qiu Shuang could no longer hear her; in the moments that followed, she had truly fainted.

Lu Chen’s heart sank to the bottom. The situation was more complicated than she had imagined. Qiu Shuang’s internal exhaustion was worsening. At one point, Lu Chen had thought about resolving the source of the trouble.

But she didn’t know how to decide. Those unhappy memories had pieced together a scarred, sorrowful Qiu Shuang.

Lu Chen once had her own inner shadows. If Qiu Shuang weren’t so melancholic—if she were an extremely cheerful person—would things have turned out this way? Would they have ever met?

Lu Chen truly felt it would have been impossible. She didn’t know how to describe her feelings; it was a strange emotion. She felt like a gambler who had traded for a beautiful piece of cargo only because it was “damaged” and on sale.

She felt a pang of guilt that such a perfect thing had fallen to this state, yet she also felt a few sparks of relief. After all, if the other girl had no problems, they would have lived in two different worlds forever.

What led to today’s conclusion? Sometimes even Lu Chen didn’t understand. She wasn’t sure if it was the distorted family, the pathological constraints, or the pain buried deep in the other’s heart during every midnight.

Because she was so reserved, Qiu Shuang was overly considerate of others. This hadn’t made her life any better; instead, it had plunged her into deeper sorrow.

Qiu Shuang felt she might be going mad. It was only after she fled her home and looked into the hotel mirror that she saw her own pitiful disarray and agonizing fragility.

She had distanced herself from the environment she temporarily wished to avoid.

Sure enough, everything was as Qiu Shuang expected. Her sudden disappearance didn’t surprise her family; they were accustomed to it. It was always this strange—no one cared about her departure, and no one cared about her grief.

They simply sent money in silence.

They were a “happy” yet similarly distorted and painful family. Perhaps none of them were bad people individually, but when they came together, they only brought sorrow to everyone.

“I’m sorry, Qiu Shuang.”

Qiu Shuang couldn’t hear this apologetic whisper for the time being. She had fallen into a deep sleep. She could only feel a gentle hand pressing against her forehead, followed by words she couldn’t catch or remember.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Lu Chen, who had stayed awake all night.

Watching the sleeping Qiu Shuang, Lu Chen wondered what she should do. How should she treat her? How could she make everything right again?

That they had reached this point was no surprise; Lu Chen had known for a long time. Gold hidden in the sand will eventually be unearthed, and the number of suitors around Qiu Shuang seemed to be growing.

Lu Chen thought seriously. She felt she was the most ordinary of them all. Compared to those wealthy and powerful pursuers, she was merely “attentive.” But was being attentive really an advantage worth showing off? It was nothing.

For someone like Qiu Shuang, being with a girlfriend meant that if the partner was good, it was expected; if they were bad, it was a mistake.

Lu Chen loathed Chen Wanjun and Song Ya. Although those two had helped Qiu Shuang in the past, it didn’t mean the wounds they caused could be covered up.

There is no such thing as “low-key” love in this world. There is only a simple truth: love is love, and hate is hate. The two do not cancel each other out; they only force a person to survive painfully in the cracks between them.

Lu Chen felt sad whenever she thought of this, hating that she had arrived too late. If she had known Qiu Shuang earlier, would they have reached this point?

But these were just idle thoughts; the past was ancient and unchangeable.

“I’m sorry, I seem to have caused you trouble again.”

“No, we are friends, aren’t we?”

Sometimes Lu Chen felt she was lowly. She didn’t dare let the other see her hidden love because she feared that, in the end, they wouldn’t even be able to remain friends.

She tried her best to control herself, to not contact her or to keep her distance, because love is impossible to suppress.

Trying to be “just friends” with the person you love is truly a painful endeavor. Perhaps Lu Chen had experienced brief moments of courage, but they were only fleeting.

She had excellent grades, but the one with natural brilliance was Chen Wanjun. If they were to compare looks, Lu Chen couldn’t win there either. Everything she possessed could be easily surpassed by those others.

It seemed that only a sincere heart was truly precious. But is sincerity really that important?

Those pursuing Qiu Shuang did so with various ulterior motives. But perhaps Qiu Shuang was just that kind of magical person—no matter why you approached her, you would soon be drawn in by her beauty and goodness. No one could resist that extreme tenderness and the desire to protect her.

Or perhaps, none of them had ever truly loved anyone else. Lu Chen felt her own sincerity was worthless. She only wanted to protect her silently. If Qiu Shuang ended up with someone else, Lu Chen might be in pain, but she wouldn’t be bitter—she would be glad the other found happiness, even if that happiness didn’t belong to her.

Qiu Shuang looked at Lu Chen. She was always causing a mountain of trouble for her, which was a massive conflict with her usual principles and way of life.

The other girl always gave her so much help. The more she received, the more guilty Qiu Shuang felt. Lu Chen was such a good person, yet it seemed she kept her best side for others and left only her “broken” side for Lu Chen. It wasn’t fair at all.

Qiu Shuang felt like a villain. She felt she should stay far away from her. Yet, when she encountered terrible things and could no longer process them on her own, she couldn’t help but lean on Lu Chen. After all, Lu Chen could always provide the best support and the optimal solution.

“Did my mother call last night?”

Lu Chen nodded. Not long after the two of them had gone out, Qiu Shuang’s mother had contacted her. She didn’t mention what had happened at home; she only instructed Lu Chen to look after Qiu Shuang and sent some money.

“I’m truly troubling you, classmate…”

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