I Heard That I am a HeartBreaker - Chapter 99

Xin Zhu smiled after hearing what Qiu Shuang had to say. Sometimes, she felt the other woman was like a wolf hunting in the jungle, but at other times, she felt she was like a pure fawn—much like the concept of love Qiu Shuang had just described.

Xin Zhu always had the impression that Qiu Shuang was like an ancient person stranded from a previous world, speaking of strange, self-imposed rites of propriety and so-called “true feelings.” In Qiu Shuang’s world, love was sacred and untainted.

She didn’t understand what had sparked Qiu Shuang’s enlightenment regarding love. She felt a tinge of jealousy toward the other’s outlook on romance, as well as a sense of envy and longing for Qiu Shuang to embrace her with that kind of love. However, Xin Zhu understood that given her past behavior and attitude toward life, it would be very difficult for her to obtain Qiu Shuang’s genuine affection.

After all, her “dark history” was indeed quite unsightly. The old Xin Zhu never tried to hide these things; she enjoyed the thrill of people knowing she was a “bad person” yet still being moved by her false pretenses—always believing they would be the “only one,” only to discover in the end that they were nothing special.

Xin Zhu knew her psychology was somewhat twisted. In the market of “fast-food” romance, she didn’t particularly stand out. People generally preferred handsome girls with short hair; there was a very small market for cute, “moe” girls like her, and at best, she would be liked by those same short-haired, handsome girls.

She had always known there was something wrong with her values or her aesthetics. She only liked beautiful women with long hair, yet normal, beautiful women rarely liked someone like her.

Xin Zhu had no choice but to treat them with “sincerity.” She used this—something everyone should do anyway—to gain an advantage. Time had proven her right; even though the things she did were ordinary, they always managed to touch people’s hearts.

She was always able to win someone over quickly, and then just as easily cast them aside.

Xin Zhu had witnessed countless beautiful faces and beautiful bodies, but someone as difficult to handle as Qiu Shuang was a first.

Xin Zhu felt her own love was a complex thing—possessiveness, voyeurism, competitiveness, and the urge to conquer were all twisted together, eventually tightening into this terrifying obsession.

“Senior, you really trust me. Are you truly not afraid that I’ll do… that kind of thing again?”

Qiu Shuang glanced at her and said nothing. She didn’t fear being imprisoned by the other girl because she understood Xin Zhu’s capabilities perfectly well. If there was anything to fear, it was the possibility of Xin Zhu suddenly going insane and killing her, claiming they were “dying together for love” or something similar.

“I don’t know how you got the idea that I could be stupid enough to fall for your ‘persuasion’ a second time. I don’t wish to discuss things that dampen my mood and affect my appetite while I’m eating. If you really want to chat, I suggest you bring up a topic that everyone enjoys, rather than saying things that make me want to throw this fork at your face.”

“It seems Senior can still show her true colors in front of me. You’ve probably never said things like that to them, right? To be honest, this makes me feel a bit proud; after all, what they know is just a fake, empty shell of you.”

Xin Zhu didn’t say the second half of that thought out loud. What she wanted to say was: Only I have the qualification and the energy to investigate and possess the true, complete you.

Qiu Shuang gave her a sidelong glance and returned her attention to the food on her plate. To Qiu Shuang, food was very important; she felt it was the very foundation that sustained her life.

Seeing that the other woman was immersed in her meal, Xin Zhu stopped being a killjoy. Regardless of what they did, the two of them always split the bill “AA style,” so neither side felt taken advantage of.

Xin Zhu actually wanted to pay for everything herself, but she knew her Senior would definitely refuse and likely think there was something wrong with her head.

“There’s a new movie out. Would Senior like to go see it with me?”

“Sure.”

Xin Zhu looked at the other’s indifferent expression and smiled. She sent the list of new films over, letting Qiu Shuang pick one.

After looking at the message, Qiu Shuang casually chose a literary romance and then ignored her phone.

Essentially, going on a date with Xin Zhu was a form of escape; at least Qiu Shuang didn’t want to deal with those other people anymore.

Moreover, if Qiu Shuang wasn’t mistaken, there were likely countless “observers” outside their window, taking photos of them and waiting to offer up their story as a sacrifice to the public.

In any case, Qiu Shuang had thoroughly realized that those so-called lunatics would not stop. Even though she had now announced her relationship, they would certainly be plotting in the shadows on how to “dig at the corner of the wall” and steal her away.

Qiu Shuang didn’t care about their “love” for her. She only wanted to know what kind of foul things those people had done behind her back. She intended to gather all that evidence and retaliate against them one by one. Qiu Shuang was not an easy target, and she absolutely would not allow anyone to deceive her or use her for nefarious purposes.

In truth, her view of wealthy people wasn’t very good. When she first became friends with Song Ya, her opinion shifted slightly, but after spending more time together, her impression of the wealthy actually worsened.

They always seemed to think that because they had abundant resources, they could casually claim the hearts and souls of others. They believed that supreme wealth could buy anything, essentially objectifying everyone and treating them like commodities.

Qiu Shuang didn’t know that among those people, Xin Zhu was the one they looked down on the most. To some extent, she had intentionally chosen Xin Zhu to be her “contract girlfriend” because, in their eyes, Xin Zhu was just an orphan with no wealth and seemingly no outstanding academic record.

Therefore, in their eyes, Xin Zhu was not fit to be a suitor for Qiu Shuang and was never taken seriously. But in reality? This suitor they dismissed had turned their world upside down and had uncovered seventy or eighty percent of the things they had done in secret.

Qiu Shuang looked at her companion and fell into serious thought. If Xin Zhu were also a wealthy person, she would probably have exposed everything the others did behind the scenes. But then, she shook her head.

If the girl were wealthy, she might not have fallen in love with Qiu Shuang in the first place, and they wouldn’t be sitting here together so peacefully.

Qiu Shuang was well aware: if Xin Zhu were truly wealthy, she would probably be locked in a basement by now. The terrifyingly shameless part was that she knew Xin Zhu couldn’t suppress all of them alone.

If she went missing, those other suitors would surely search for her, and Xin Zhu wouldn’t be able to keep her hidden. Qiu Shuang also firmly believed in one fact: if one day Xin Zhu gained enough power, she would absolutely lock her up.

As for whether that method of confinement was born of “adoration,” Qiu Shuang wouldn’t judge. After all, everyone’s understanding of relationships is different; perhaps in Xin Zhu’s eyes, love meant turning her into a total dependent.

“Whatever we watch is fine. It’ll all be more or less the same. I hope you behave normally before I decide to end this relationship. If it ends prematurely, I don’t have time to find a second person to help me ward off those people.”

Qiu Shuang warned her while eating the last piece of food on her plate.

Xin Zhu raised an eyebrow upon hearing this but didn’t reply, which served as a tacit agreement.

Song Ya lay on her bed looking at the messages sent by the private investigator, her fists clenched. Why? Why did it turn out like this?

Song Ya had accepted that if she didn’t make her feelings clear, she might have to watch Qiu Shuang fall into someone else’s arms.

But she truly hadn’t expected that this so-called Xin Zhu would be the one to succeed.

If Qiu Shuang were in front of her right now, she would surely feel she had been prophetic and understood these people all too well.

In reality, this was mutual. Song Ya and the others thought they understood Qiu Shuang, but how could Qiu Shuang, who had spent so much time with them, not understand them in return?

Song Ya had returned home. She had to prepare for the upcoming art competition. Despite all the recent drama, she had to take these preparations seriously. As for the mess involving Gu Xue, Gu Su had already taken over that matter; she only needed to wait for the final result.

She stared at the familiar figure on the screen. She desperately wanted to rush to the other girl’s side and walk before her again in the role of the “all-knowing best friend,” just like when she was able to wedge herself between Qiu Shuang and Chen Wanjun.

However, ever since her feelings for Qiu Shuang were exposed to her family, her mother had forbidden Song Ya from going out.

According to Song Ya’s mother, Song Ya would only be allowed to talk to the girl once she figured out her own heart. Song Ya didn’t understand why her mother was doing this; perhaps there really was a fundamental problem with the way they were raised.

Song Ya knew she was in the wrong, but she didn’t have the courage to change—or rather, she felt she shouldn’t have to.

There was a strange sense of pride and calculation in her heart, perhaps a result of the arrogance born from her long association with Qiu Shuang.

Song Ya always felt that there would forever be someone waiting behind her, always waiting at the entrance of the path. But she forgot that human relationships aren’t like that; no one is obligated to wait forever for someone to grow up or to provide eternal companionship—especially when that person was in the wrong.

But Song Ya refused to bow her head. She felt things should still be the same as the past—just like how, no matter what mistake she made, Qiu Shuang was always the one forced to bow to her first, wasn’t she?

Before leaving, Song Tianci looked through the window at Song Ya, who was lying on the sofa looking distressed, and sighed. She didn’t know what kind of setback would make her daughter grow up, or when she would have the courage to take responsibility for her mistakes. But she wasn’t a successful parent; she hadn’t educated her child well. A mother’s instinct made her not want her child to bow and apologize.

Yet, basic human morality made Song Tianci realize that her daughter should not continue to harass the other girl. No matter how unfair it seemed, the most she could do was let her child wake up on her own.

After all, such is love. Song Tianci would rather her child spend the rest of her life feeling the regret of not having enough courage than see her get rejected and learn the truth only to regret it for a lifetime.

This was a mother’s final act of selfishness.

After Gu Lingxi had been “used” once by her sister, her sister discovered how useful she could be. Since she had to do an internship after her senior year anyway, she ended up interning at her own family’s company. However, she was confused by her sister’s recent state of “being so happy she forgot to come home.” Driven by this curiosity, Gu Lingxi felt she should go and see exactly what her sister was up to.

Support