What if I still have hope?

When emotions finally vented,
the tense atmosphere eased.

The dark night climbed with the suit pants,
wrinkled shirts crumpled,
the two locked in a silent gaze.

Hard to imagine—
the band’s lead singer and the Heavenly Queen,
adored by fans in the daytime live stream,
playing distant and polite rivals,
now pressed so intimately against the door.

Breaths mingled,
tobacco and red wine fading,
replaced by a once-familiar taste,
laced with faint rust.

Xu Fengluan’s gaze dropped,
lingering unintentionally on swollen lips,
a deliberate bite mark at the edge,
leaving Liu Tingsong no room to hide,
still oozing blood from its depth.

She likely couldn’t go on camera for days.

Though Liu Tingsong initiated it,
Xu Fengluan felt a flicker of guilt,
her eyes shifting briefly,
softening for a moment,
then hardening,
stepping back to widen the distance.

Liu Tingsong, suddenly without support,
stumbled,
letting out a soft “hiss.”

Not deliberate—
Xu Fengluan’s earlier aggression,
pinning her without warning,
stole her breath,
leaving her limbs weak.
The earlier yank inside twisted her ankle,
and without Xu Fengluan’s support,
she couldn’t stand steady.

Xu Fengluan instinctively raised a hand,
but seeing Liu Tingsong stabilize against the door,
she stopped,
frowning,
gruffly asking:
“You okay?”

Liu Tingsong’s face paled,
forcing a shake of her head,
trying to stand straight with the door’s support,
only to hiss again.

Xu Fengluan’s frown deepened,
knowing Liu Tingsong’s high pain tolerance—
if she was vocalizing pain…

She recalled dragging her inside,
likely twisting her ankle then.

Her gaze fell on the five-centimeter heels.

Xu Fengluan pursed her lips.

Looking at Liu Tingsong’s disheveled, pitiful state,
if paparazzi were lurking downstairs,
they’d be thrilled.

She could already picture the headlines:
Drunk Heavenly Queen Liu,
rushing to rising star Xu Fengluan’s home,
leaving with messy hair, swollen lips, and an awkward gait.

Two days of trending topics guaranteed—
Zhang could save on promotion costs,
though she might not want to.

Just then, Liu Tingsong spoke:
“I’m fine.”

Hiding something, it wasn’t clear what.

The guilt that softened Xu Fengluan’s temper
flared again at those words.
Unsure why,
just seeing Liu Tingsong sparked irritation.

Xu Fengluan gritted her teeth,
words reaching her lips but swallowed,
unable to lash out at someone so visibly wretched.

She extended a hand,
saying:
“Come inside.”

Liu Tingsong looked startled,
glancing up,
at a loss under Xu Fengluan’s softened tone.

As if scared by her sudden shift.

This made Xu Fengluan more irritated.
She’d rather Liu Tingsong stay lofty or cold,
like on camera,
or even the bold door-blocking act—
anything but this timid, pitiful look.

She was the one who…

Xu Fengluan swallowed her breath,
done with words.
One arm around Liu Tingsong’s waist,
the other under her knees,
she lifted her effortlessly.

Liu Tingsong, flustered,
quickly hooked her arms around Xu Fengluan’s neck.

Xu Fengluan didn’t pause,
striding to the living room.

The post-live stream mess lingered,
but the beanbag sofa she’d lounged on was clean enough.
Though reluctant,
she wouldn’t nitpick now.

Xu Fengluan set her down gently,
standing straight without lingering,
heading to the medicine box.

Always distracted while walking,
she often bumped into things,
so her home was stocked with such supplies,
easily grabbed without searching.

But…

Xu Fengluan gripped the spray bottle,
mind tangled,
unsure how things turned this way—
a chaotic mess,
like mush,
impossible to sort or think through,
acting on instinct alone.

She exhaled,
returning.

Liu Tingsong was docile now,
sitting exactly as placed,
unmoving.

But…

Still so infuriating.

Xu Fengluan half-knelt before her,
gently grasping her ankle,
resting it on her leg.

The swelling was worse than expected,
red and angry in moments,
startlingly severe—
no wonder Liu Tingsong couldn’t bear it.

Xu Fengluan stared at the five-centimeter heels,
words circling her lips,
settling on:
“I’ll take your shoe off first.”

Perhaps because her upper half was so ornate,
the heels were simple—
black patent leather, pointed toe, red sole,
brushing Xu Fengluan’s shirt,
the toe catching her hem.

“I’ll do it,”
Liu Tingsong spoke,
adding, as if fearing misunderstanding:
“It’s dirty.”

Irritation surged,
Xu Fengluan’s brow tightened,
blurting:
“Stop pretending—
you didn’t mind shoving your foot in my mouth before…”

She cut off,
realizing it was inappropriate.

Xu Fengluan lowered her head,
memories surging,
quickly suppressed,
refusing to recall their earlier intimacy.

No more delays—
one hand on Liu Tingsong’s calf,
the other on the shoe,
swift but gentle,
carefully removing the heel.

Liu Tingsong didn’t react,
as if the pain wasn’t hers.
Since that comment,
she stared fixedly at Xu Fengluan,
her black-and-white eyes blurring,
misty with heavy, unreadable emotions.

Xu Fengluan felt her gaze,
but didn’t look up,
shaking the spray bottle,
applying it to the swelling,
saying:
“No ice packs here,
just Yunnan Baiyao for now.
Ice it when you’re home.
If it still hurts,
have your assistant take you to the hospital.”

She paused,
adding:
“Send me the receipt,
I’ll cover it.”

In a few words,
she pushed their brief closeness away.

Liu Tingsong understood,
not responding,
just humming in acknowledgment.

Xu Fengluan didn’t press for a reply,
gently setting her leg down,
looking up:
“Let’s talk.”

Her tone was calm,
unclear if spontaneous or long-considered.

Liu Tingsong paused,
composing herself,
then said solemnly:
“Okay.”

Xu Fengluan didn’t stand,
staying half-kneeled,
asking softly:
“We’ve broken up, right?”

She’d stressed this countless times,
but now phrased it as a question.

Liu Tingsong knew what it meant,
not denying it,
forcing out a short:
“Yes.”

Xu Fengluan showed little reaction,
her face shadowed with gloom.
The unlit living room stayed dark,
only faint light from the bedroom
spilling faintly over them.

“Then what do you want now?
To get back together,
or to make up for regrets,
ease your so-called guilt?”
Her voice quickened,
sharp with accusation.

Liu Tingsong struggled:
“I…”

“Whatever it is, I won’t accept it,”
Xu Fengluan cut her off.

Liu Tingsong’s breath caught,
her pupils trembling,
looking at her.

Xu Fengluan didn’t flinch,
meeting her gaze,
baring her resistance, rejection,
and hidden sadness for the first time,
like an abandoned dog baring its teeth,
saying:
“You left me.”

“No matter the reason,
you didn’t leave a single message.”

She tugged her lips,
enunciating:
“You vanished without a word.”

She didn’t say what she went through—
the frantic searching,
accepting Liu Tingsong’s departure,
crawling out of the haze.
No need.

Her current state spoke enough.

Five-foot-seven,
barely ninety pounds,
her loose shirt clinging to her gaunt frame,
bones jutting sharply in the breeze.

Even her manager worried,
fearing she’d waste away,
urging hospital visits.

Before, Xu Fengluan had some proud talent,
struggling with people due to her upbringing,
but her nature was good,
her clear eyes brimming with youthful spirit.
Even those who disliked her boldness
couldn’t muster much hate.

Now, her eyes were heavy,
edged with sharp aggression,
softening only on stage,
bass and mic in hand.
The change wasn’t just emotional,
but Xu Fengluan wouldn’t say,
and Liu Tingsong couldn’t know—
their closeness was gone.

Xu Fengluan paused,
speaking like a sigh:
“No matter how it happened,
this is the result.”

Though expected,
Liu Tingsong trembled,
realizing knowing Xu Fengluan too well
wasn’t always good—
no more playing deaf.

As Xu Fengluan said,
no matter what happened,
the result was the same:
she was abandoned.
No reasons or guilt could change that.
Even reuniting wouldn’t help—
a broken mirror can’t be whole,
a thorn forever lodged.

Even if Liu Tingsong promised change,
the next issue would tense Xu Fengluan,
any ripple sparking fear of abandonment.

It was unavoidable—
the wound was carved,
the hole permanent.
A year, a decade, longer—
Xu Fengluan would always carry this unease.

Unfixable, undeniable,
impossible to ignore.

The air grew deathly still,
neither speaking.
The wind slammed the window,
rattling the glass,
birds flapping away,
distant food stall laughter and fried rice scents drifting off.

Liu Tingsong finally spoke,
slowly:
“What if I’m still holding onto hope?”