It makes me depressed and I can only think of her over and over again

### Chapter 24

When Liu Tingsong received the news, Xu Fengluan was already in the hospital.

During Xu Fengluan’s frantic escape earlier, Liu Tingsong hadn’t chased after her.
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Everything had happened too quickly—misunderstandings, jealousy, being caught, kissing, hiding, explanations, and another kiss—all compressed into the second half of the musical. When the body couldn’t bear it, the mind faltered, emotions spiraled, and the instinct to flee took over.

As the older one, Liu Tingsong understood and accommodated, choosing not to press or exploit the moment to push Xu Fengluan further. Instead, she intended to give her time—a long stretch to process and reflect.

So, not only did she not pursue, she deliberately avoided the front exit, lingering backstage to rest.

This unusual behavior drew questions from Camille.

It was hard not to be curious. Their planned dinner was abruptly canceled, and halfway through their talk, Liu Tingsong had sent her backstage. Now, she’d returned, canceling the evening’s plans entirely.

In the years Camille had known her, this was a first.

More strikingly, Liu Tingsong had returned wearing an unfamiliar black mask, refusing to take it off.

These anomalies piqued Camille’s curiosity. She bombarded Liu Tingsong with questions, finally learning Xu Fengluan’s name.

It wasn’t that Liu Tingsong hadn’t mentioned her before—she was just cautious, even with close friends, vaguely withholding names to protect Xu Fengluan back home.

Thus, Camille knew Liu Tingsong had a long-cherished ex-girlfriend but lacked specifics.

Liu Tingsong often spoke of her unintentionally. When longing became habit, everything around her triggered memories. But when those thoughts spilled out, the expected response was absent, leaving only loneliness and melancholy. It seeped through her skin, into her bones, piercing tiny holes that let the wind whistle through, a desolate sound.

This time, though, Camille saw her friend’s eyes soften, a faint smile breaking through.

Curiosity surged, and Camille pressed for more.

Then, voices outside stirred—post-show chatter about a chase in the theater’s underground parking lot, someone nearly hit by a car.

The gossipers hadn’t seen it, only heard secondhand. Exaggerated through retellings, it caught Liu Tingsong’s attention. When she heard it involved a famous singer chasing a paparazzo, the paper cup in her hand hit the floor.

Panicked, she tried contacting Chu Cheng.

But Chu Cheng, mistakenly thinking Liu Tingsong was two-timing, was resentful, blaming her for Xu Fengluan’s state. She ignored Liu Tingsong’s calls, hanging up over twenty times before reluctantly sharing the hospital address.

By then, Xu Fengluan was unconscious. Though diagnosed with a mild concussion, her condition seemed worse than the report suggested.

She’d been dizzy during tests, vomiting twice, slumped in a wheelchair, utterly drained.

Chu Cheng and Kuang Ye were pale with fear, only slightly reassured after the doctor’s repeated insistence it was just a mild concussion.

But when Liu Tingsong arrived, Chu Cheng’s retelling was far more dramatic.

In her version, Xu Fengluan was a martial arts movie star—running laps around the parking lot, chasing a car on foot, nearly hit by three or four vehicles.

Though Chu Cheng hadn’t seen it, having gone for the bike, she could embellish. Her story was so wild that Kuang Ye rolled her eyes.

Liu Tingsong, too worried to question, believed every word. Her face grew paler, especially when Chu Cheng described Xu Fengluan jumping into a moving van to snatch the camera.

Chu Cheng didn’t exaggerate too much there, but it was enough to terrify.

After finishing, Chu Cheng’s face hardened. Gone was her playful demeanor; her 1.8-meter frame loomed with an unexpected intensity.

“Listen, Sister Tingsong, I think you remember,” she paused, emphasizing, “you left without a word back then.”

Liu Tingsong didn’t know why she brought it up. Her eyes lowered, silent.

Kuang Ye shifted uncomfortably, glancing away but still watching.

Summer night air drifted in, the tiled corridor quiet, lined with closed doors. Cold lights illuminated the disinfectant-scented space.

Chu Cheng scratched her head, mussing her red hair. Unaccustomed to this seriousness, she felt compelled to speak with Xu Fengluan unconscious in the ward.

She opened her mouth, but the words caught.

“Go on,” Liu Tingsong finally spoke, lifting her gaze to Chu Cheng. Her clear eyes, sharply defined, were like chess pieces in a lacquered box—gentle yet resolute when placed.

Her apricot dress fluttered in the breeze, its hem rising and falling, accentuating her elegant figure.

Chu Cheng’s bravado faltered, but having started, she couldn’t back down.

Leaning against the cold wall, she steadied herself, saying, “This should be between you and A-Feng. We shouldn’t interfere, but…”

She hesitated, then continued, “Since you left, A-Feng hasn’t been okay.”

Her teeth grazed the scar on her lip, deliberately pressing to feel the sting.

“She…” Chu Cheng searched for words. She had so much to say, but now her mind was blank. She settled on a mundane memory.

“The first New Year’s after you left, the band went to a bar to celebrate. It was lively, packed with people.”

She gestured exaggeratedly, “Like sardines, bouncing to the music.”

Kuang Ye’s ears twitched, and she leaned closer to Chu Cheng.

“We were all happy, dancing messily, no coordination, looking ridiculous,” Chu Cheng grinned, recalling the scene.

Kuang Ye covered her face, embarrassed but smiling.

“But in places like that, you don’t need to dance well—just look good,” Chu Cheng smirked.

“That night, tons of people hit on A-Feng—guys and girls, all attractive. We egged her on, told her to get their numbers, start dating again.”

As Xu Fengluan’s ex, Chu Cheng felt no guilt saying this. The fault was Liu Tingsong’s—why shouldn’t Xu Fengluan move on?

Liu Tingsong stayed silent, biting her lip harder, reopening the scabbed wound, pain stabbing deep.

“A-Feng just smiled, added their contacts, but never replied, letting those red dots pile up.”

“We tried to get her to drink. Everyone was pushing—‘It’s fine tonight,’ ‘It’s a celebration,’ ‘You’re disrespecting us if you don’t.’ We were relentless, like we were drugging her,” Chu Cheng chuckled.

Even Kuang Ye, usually quiet, spoke up, “She wouldn’t drink.”

Her voice, low and resonant like her drums, suited the summer night.

“We really wanted to corrupt her,” Chu Cheng scratched her head again.

“Drinking, smoking, hooking up, tattoos, piercings—anything, as long as she’d loosen up, find an outlet.”

The scene was absurd: in the hospital’s top-floor private ward corridor, deathly quiet, a red-haired lion and a sleeveless, tattooed cool girl with clinking accessories lectured a refined, elegant woman on how they tried to ruin her ex-girlfriend.

Anyone passing would’ve been shocked by the twisted dynamic.

Yet they acted as if it were perfectly normal.

“But she never did. She’d lift the glass to her lips, then set it down.”

Chu Cheng gave a bitter smile, “You know the wildest thing she ever did?”

“She tore open a cigarette and chewed it. That bitter stuff—she could stomach it but not a sip of alcohol. Isn’t that weird?”

Liu Tingsong’s lashes trembled. She finally understood why Xu Fengluan’s lips tasted of tobacco that night. But it didn’t ease her—pain twisted from her heart, spreading through her limbs.
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“Even that outlet—she quit it long ago,” Chu Cheng looked at her steadily.

“Online, people slander A-Feng, saying she’s a mess, chain-smoking, drinking, even doing drugs.”

“But we know she’s like a monk. Besides riding with us sometimes, her life is just bass, composing, and vocal practice. She doesn’t need a living room, entertainment, nothing. Just a small sofa outside her room to rest on.”

Chu Cheng’s voice trembled.

Kuang Ye silently patted her shoulder, comforting her.

Chu Cheng took a deep breath, suppressing her emotions. She hated saying this—it felt like pleading on Xu Fengluan’s behalf. But tonight, she had to, to justify Xu Fengluan’s muddy, fear-filled chase.

“That New Year’s night,” she returned to the story.

“She didn’t drink, smoke, or leave with anyone. She drove us drunks home one by one.”

Chu Cheng paused, adding, “My house key was lost, so she carried me to her place.”
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Liu Tingsong nodded slowly, showing she was listening.

“Middle of the night, I woke up and saw her sitting in the bathroom, the floor littered with lit but unsmoked cigarettes.”

Chu Cheng’s eyes reddened, turning away from Liu Tingsong, saying, “She looked like she wanted to cry but didn’t. She just smiled and asked me, ‘What do I do?’”

*What do I do, Orange?*

*I don’t know what to do. I really hate her.*

*I hate her.*

*I hate how she taught me too well. I want to drown in lust, sink into booze and smoke to ease the pain of sleepless nights, bitten by snakes and gnawed by bugs. But she taught me too well, nailed a cross to my spine, so I can’t fall apart, can only think of her over and over.*

*Orange, I miss her so much.*