You Should’ve Said Earlier that you’re Such a Little Flirt! - Chapter 52

Holding the envelope in her hands, Xu Qingqiong remained frozen for a long time. Her brain felt like a computer suddenly overloaded with a massive influx of data, struggling to process it all.

She felt more dazed than surprised.

She had never imagined that these letters were from Lin Konglu, let alone that they were dated from nearly a decade ago. It was like an unexpected plot twist appearing without warning, hitting her with a force that shattered all sense of reason.

Regaining a flicker of composure, Xu Qingqiong asked in a low, raspy voice, “Can I read them?”

Lin Konglu, conversely, was now far calmer than her. “Of course.”

These letters were many years old. Despite being carefully preserved, the handwriting had inevitably faded, and the paper had grown yellow and brittle. Even with her gentle touch, the pages creaked and wrinkled. Xu Qingqiong opened the envelope with extreme care, the thin paper between her fingers carrying the traces of time passing slowly—as if she were unlocking a period of her own life she never knew existed.

Inside the letters, Lin Konglu’s handwriting was still green and youthful, and the tone was unexpected.

“Qingqiong, are you feeling any better?” “Qingqiong, I want to come see you.” “Sister… I miss you so much.”

Stripped of her cold, mature exterior, the letters revealed a Lin Konglu who was adolescent, reserved, and even shy and soft-hearted.

Xu Qingqiong was momentarily speechless. She looked up at Lin Konglu. As her gaze fell upon her, she felt a momentary sense of displacement—a jarring overlap of the same person across two different points in time. The letters in her hands were from the Lin Konglu of ten years ago; the woman sitting before her was the Lin Konglu of the present.

Yet, upon closer inspection, Lin Konglu still bore the traces of that younger self.

“I didn’t mean to deceive you,” Lin Konglu said, her voice tinged with a hidden sense of urgency. “These letters have always been here. Do you believe me?”

Xu Qingqiong actually wanted to tell her that no explanation was necessary. The moment she saw the contents of the envelope, her doubts had vanished. She and Lin Konglu had known each other a long time ago; if a feeling could span such a vast stretch of time…

What mattered most to her was whether Lin Konglu had feelings for her. Now, it seemed there was little room for doubt. The answer to that question sat right in front of her.

Xu Qingqiong opened her mouth, her voice incredibly dry as she spoke instinctively. “We knew each other before, didn’t we?”

Though it was phrased as a question, she already knew the answer.

“Yes,” Lin Konglu replied.

“We were junior high classmates?” Xu Qingqiong asked.

If these letters were real, Xu Qingqiong searched her memory and realized the only gap where such a connection could exist was the period surrounding her car accident in her teens. Ever since seeing the letters, she hadn’t doubted their authenticity; she had subconsciously accepted them as truth.

“Yes,” Lin Konglu said again.

“So you knew me from the very beginning?”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t remember you… you aren’t in my memories,” Xu Qingqiong said softly. Then, she added, “Why didn’t you come find me?”

It wasn’t an accusation, just a gentle inquiry.

“I was worried…” Lin Konglu started.

“Worried about what?”

Worried that Xu Qingqiong had already forgotten her. Worried that Xu Qingqiong might not want her to disturb her life. Did she even matter to her?

As Xu’s grandmother had once said, they were too young back then. Life was so long—did Xu Qingqiong like her? Was it that kind of liking? Did Xu Qingqiong even like girls?

If all those variables were uncertain, then her sudden appearance would have been nothing more than an intrusion.

Lin Konglu parted her lips, but for a moment, she couldn’t find the words. Her heart had wandered in a state of anxious uncertainty for so many years that it had long ago lost the ability to find an island to land on.

She had never received much in life. She was like a bewildered traveler fumbling her way forward, only her luck had been poor; she had started her journey with the worst possible options. Her path was filled with equal parts thorns and snow, with precious little light to guide her.

To her, Xu Qingqiong was like an SSR pull in a game—a rare, limited edition, something beautiful but untouchable. She wasn’t that determined, nor was she brave; she didn’t even dare to speak with certainty. Because love was so rare to her, she preferred to keep it stored in her memories rather than risk destroying it with recklessness.

If the destination of Xu Qingqiong’s search wasn’t her, then she would simply watch over her in silence.

She still remembered that restaurant where they met again. Xu Qingqiong had pulled out a chair and said, “Hello.” Lin Konglu had feigned indifference while looking at her, her hands clenched into fists, her palms damp with cold sweat. Her heart had been pounding so loudly it felt like it would leap from her chest.

When she pushed that contract toward her and asked, “Can you accept this?”… Lin Konglu had actually been prepared to be rejected. At that time, she was a complete stranger to Xu Qingqiong; she had no leverage to move her.

Yet, to her surprise, Xu Qingqiong had looked up at her and said, “Okay.”

In that instant, her heart felt soothed. She felt like she had a chance. This recent period had felt like a drunken dream, lush and beautiful. Consequently, she had subconsciously procrastinated, trying to delay the moment the dream would end.

If Xu Qingqiong hadn’t been willing to sit here and listen to her explanation today, what would have happened? She suddenly couldn’t bear to imagine it.

Xu Qingqiong was always more steadfast than her, and always understood love better than she did.

Lin Konglu: “I was worried you wouldn’t like me… We were already strangers; why would you like me? I was afraid of disturbing you…”

These words, tinged with self-doubt and hesitation, exposed her true thoughts.

Xu Qingqiong felt a sense of dazed realization; too much had happened today. Yet, even with her impressions being so shaken, she never expected such self-deprecating and disparaging words to come from Lin Konglu’s mouth.

It was as if Lin Konglu was certain she would never be chosen, and so she had already prepared herself for the worst-case scenario.

Xu Qingqiong wanted to ask why. But the words reached her lips and suddenly died there. She looked into Lin Konglu’s eyes—those slightly pale pupils were now brimming with a thin shimmer of tears.

She had always thought Lin Konglu’s eyes were beautiful, a sort of cold, aloof beauty. She never imagined that the coldness was merely a mask and a disguise, a way to bury her true vulnerability deep within her heart.

Actually, thinking carefully, Lin Konglu wasn’t a very good “actor.” Had she really not noticed anything all this time?

She looked down at the stack of opened letters.

No, that wasn’t it. It was just that she had never looked closely before. Or rather, even though these details had been flashing vividly before her eyes, she had never taken them seriously.

The names of the senders on those envelopes. Cong Yun’s familiar attitude whenever she mentioned Lin Konglu. The fact that Auntie Chun didn’t show the slightest suspicion upon learning that Lin Konglu had attended the same middle school.

Every detail of their daily life pointed to the fact that Lin Konglu had known her for a long time, and perhaps knew her very well. There was also the way Lin Konglu looked at her every time, her understanding of Xu’s tastes… all these things she had ignored were clues leaking through the cracks.

She still didn’t know why she had forgotten Lin Konglu, nor did she understand why her grandmother hadn’t given her these letters at the time or told her about Lin Konglu’s existence. These mysteries seemed destined to remain unanswered for now.

But Xu Qingqiong suddenly felt fortunate—fortunate that they hadn’t continued to miss each other, and fortunate that she had chosen to go to the music festival today to hear Lin Konglu’s explanation.

She looked up at Lin Konglu. Lin Konglu hadn’t composed herself yet; the corners of her eyes were still damp with tears.

Xu Qingqiong reached out, her fingertips gently brushing the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I didn’t remember you, that I forgot you.

It seemed the two of them had said “I’m sorry” many times today. But just as she didn’t need Lin Konglu’s apology—needing only her explanation—Lin Konglu didn’t need her apology either.

Lin Konglu took hold of her wrist and shook her head.

Xu Qingqiong didn’t move. Maintaining this posture, she said softly, “I’m sorry for making you wait so long today.”

Lin Konglu froze, looking at her in disbelief. These words were like a small, precise bomb, landing softly right in the center of her heart.

Even though Lin Konglu hadn’t intended to cry further, the emotions she had been desperately suppressing suddenly collapsed. Like a flood breaking through a dam, her long-held defenses were swept away.

Her shoulders trembled as she leaned her forehead against Xu’s. Warm tears fell like a steady drizzle, striking against Xu Qingqiong’s heart.

And so, Xu Qingqiong tasted the flavor of those tears—sour, bitter, and heartbreaking.

Xu Qingqiong pursed her lips tightly, trying to push back the emotions surfacing within her. Her voice was low and trembling. “Don’t cry…”

But before she could finish the sentence, she herself could no longer hold back.

Lin Konglu pulled her into a tight embrace.

Today, their emotions had been stretched and released like a taut rubber band, experiencing massive highs and lows. Xu Qingqiong rarely cried; even during the car accident, she had endured the pain to try and comfort others. But now, she was drawn into tears by the woman in her arms.

Lin Konglu hurriedly snapped back to her senses.

The two of them scrambled to wipe each other’s tears, but the tears were like pearls from a broken string, showing no sign of stopping.

Outside the window was a clear, bright day. The sunlight was soft and not piercing—a rare fine day for late autumn. But inside the room, a continuous rain had begun to fall.

A moist, warm rain.

Locking eyes, still blurred with tears, they both suddenly couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

Lin Konglu returned the words exactly as they were given: “Sister, don’t cry…”

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