It’s her calculation.

“What if I’m still holding onto hope?”

Xu Fengluan raised her head suddenly, almost mad with anger.

She couldn’t understand, couldn’t fathom. She and Liu Tingsong had been in sync before, at least able to communicate without this impenetrable wall.

But now, she’d blocked and resisted, drawn a clear line early, showing an attitude of complete detachment, leaving Liu Tingsong no hope.

Even a stranger would see her firm stance, yet Liu Tingsong kept pestering, appearing at her home again and again.

The last time was at her gig, then outside her door, then sending medicine through others, pinning her against the frame.

Today, she used the live stream as an excuse to barge in. If this continued, who knew how much further it would go?

Tonight’s talk wasn’t just because Liu Tingsong showed up again—it was the growing panic from everything before, pushing her to confront Liu Tingsong after the rage.

But she hadn’t expected Liu Tingsong to be unmoved by soft or hard words.

Xu Fengluan was so angry she could barely think, glaring at Liu Tingsong, nearly spitting out “shameless rogue.”

“No way,” she squeezed out through gritted teeth.

She regretted it, feeling it was a mistake from the start. She shouldn’t have opened the door for Liu Tingsong. If only, if only…

Xu Fengluan’s expression froze, as if realizing something.

“You did it on purpose,” she said, voice firm.

The other didn’t refute, eyelids drooping, as if agreeing.

After peaking anger, she couldn’t muster more, calming instead, coldly analyzing Liu Tingsong’s every step.

For example…

Compared to other clothes, Xu Fengluan actually preferred women in suits—a small personal kink.

And she was fixated on moles, always removing her own, a quirk that seeped into daily life.

While she didn’t force others to do the same, she couldn’t help pausing on others’ moles.

As her former lover, Liu Tingsong knew it all.

But that wasn’t enough. If Liu Tingsong had shown up like this from the start, Xu Fengluan might not have cared.

Having moved on, she’d see Liu Tingsong as a stranger, ignoring her outfits, avoiding her. If unavoidable, she’d desensitize over time, ceasing to care.

So Liu Tingsong chose another way.

Appearing repeatedly in front of Xu Fengluan, provoking her step by step, then today, using her preferences and aversions to draw her attention again and again, finally igniting her resentment, leading to that earlier scene.

Xu Fengluan’s face darkened, at a loss.

She couldn’t hide, couldn’t curse her away, falling step by step into her trap.

Kneeling too long made her calves itch unbearably, but she didn’t stand to ease it, deliberately tormenting herself.

She paused, frowning: “Today’s live stream…”

Liu Tingsong knew what she meant, explaining: “I didn’t arrange it. I knew about the live stream but wasn’t planning to join for other reasons. Zhang went all out to find me.”

“Zhang should’ve told you—the guest bailed last minute, refusing even with a penalty. I’d worked with her once or twice before, so in her panic, she asked me to help.”

Xu Fengluan’s expression softened slightly. After the live stream, Zhang explained the hour-long delay to the band, needing to clarify the reason.

As for Liu Tingsong’s prior ties with Zhang, Xu Fengluan knew about them.

When Burning Meteor formed, they had no fame. No one would give them a stage, even for free.

Liu Tingsong asked around, learned about Zhang’s band audition show, and got someone to recommend Burning Meteor.

Without her, they wouldn’t have had an audition, let alone competed.

Thinking of this, Xu Fengluan pursed her lips, her attitude easing a bit.

Though Liu Tingsong abandoned her back then, she’d helped her a lot when together.

Without her, there’d be no Burning Meteor, no Xu Fengluan storming the music scene.

Liu Tingsong noticed the shift, her voice softer: “I figured you’d check X-blog after the live stream, so I arranged the shoot for today.”

“What if I didn’t see it?” Xu Fengluan interrupted.

Liu Tingsong paused, then laughed, her eyes like clear springs rippling with light, voice gentler: “Then I’d come find you.”

Xu Fengluan looked away, unsure what to say, blurting: “You’re still drunk.”

Liu Tingsong just laughed, amused despite her swollen ankle.

She said: “You wouldn’t miss it.”

Sunk in Xu Fengluan’s favorite beanbag sofa, her injured left leg crossed over her right, tight suit pants outlining slender legs, rounded toes slightly upturned—not proper, but strikingly alluring.

Her loose hair and messy shirt didn’t dim her beauty, paired with slipping rimless glasses, adding a fragile, vulnerable charm, like a lofty moon pulled from its pedestal, ready to be marked.

“You wouldn’t miss it. Even fate’s helping me,” she said.

“I wasn’t going to show up that day, just wanted to watch your gig from the crowd, but someone recognized me.

I hadn’t been back in five years…” Liu Tingsong shook her head.

Xu Fengluan’s eyelids trembled, realizing she meant the bar gig.

“The guest bailing gave me a chance to step into your home openly.”

Liu Tingsong’s tone shifted: “Li didn’t want overly formal shots, so when I suggested rescheduling, she agreed.”

“Drinking was her idea—thought it’d add vibe,” Liu Tingsong smiled: “Gave me a chance to act drunk.”

“I planned to wait outside all night, thinking I’d play the pity card when the crew’s cleaners came,” Liu Tingsong confessed her scheme openly.

“But I didn’t expect you to open the door.”

Everything was explained. Though Xu Fengluan’s face stayed neutral, she felt better inside.

There were coincidences, not all calculated.

“Then I twisted my ankle,” she laughed, whether intentional or not, her bare foot swaying, brushing Xu Fengluan’s leg.

Xu Fengluan glanced at her, silent.

Liu Tingsong wrinkled her nose, boldly saying: “You and Chu Cheng were in the bathroom today.”

She emphasized: “For a long time.”

Xu Fengluan snapped: “None of your business.”

Drunk nonsense, getting jealous over nothing, calling it “a long time” when Chu Cheng just said a few words and left.

Liu Tingsong mentioned it once, not pressing, just staring at Xu Fengluan.

It annoyed Xu Fengluan, who blurted: “Who brought you here?”

“Pear.”

Xu Fengluan recalled the likable round-faced assistant from earlier, her expression relaxing: “Is she still waiting downstairs?”

Liu Tingsong nodded, whether from restraint or the wine’s aftereffect, answering honestly: “She’s worried, still waiting downstairs.”

Xu Fengluan relaxed: “I’ll have her take you back.”

Liu Tingsong nodded, neither agreeing nor refusing, just stretching out her arms, looking at Xu Fengluan.

Xu Fengluan hesitated, then sighed, standing to lift her without complaint.

Old complexes had their flaws—elevator talks dragged on for years, unresolved, leaving only stairs.

Footsteps descended, neither speaking, silence enveloping them.

Soon, the waiting car drove quietly out of the complex.

Xu Fengluan collapsed onto her bed, her sigh loud in the dark night.

It ended as expected—both were direct, no secrets, laying out all thoughts.

But one refused closeness, the other chased relentlessly.

More words were futile.

Thinking this, Xu Fengluan sighed again.

Unable to sort it out, unsure what to do, she set it aside for now.

Finally, she raised her hand, staring at the new mole, gritting her teeth, deciding to remove it tomorrow.