Following that late-night confession and the promises made, it appeared, at least superficially, that things were indeed taking a turn for the better.
Qing Xinxue had become remarkably “obedient.”
No longer clinging to Lan Yucheng’s side at every moment, she now diligently maintained what she referred to as a “safe distance.”
Whenever someone else approached Lan Yucheng, even for a necessary conversation, Qing Xinxue would simply clench her fists, her nails digging deep into her palms until her knuckles whitened. She would then lower her head, drawing desperate, deep breaths, or fabricate an excuse to go to the restroom, temporarily fleeing the scene that threatened to suffocate her.
She was genuinely striving to uphold her promise—to crush the tempestuous waves of jealousy, possessiveness, and destructive impulses within her, trading internal pain and suppression for an outward facade of calm.
Lan Yucheng observed all of this.
She noticed Qing Xinxue’s subtle trembling beneath her feigned composure, the struggling, pained glances she occasionally cast before quickly averting her eyes, and the faint, crescent-shaped indentations hidden in her palms.
Initially, a flicker of fragile hope, and even a hint of imperceptible guilt, stirred within Lan Yucheng.
‘Perhaps Qing Xinxue truly could manage it?’
‘Perhaps their relationship could indeed settle into a relatively normal trajectory?’
Yet, this hope was swiftly eclipsed by a deeper unease. She discovered that beneath Qing Xinxue’s “calm” lay a repression so profound it bordered on self-destruction.
Her complexion grew increasingly pallid, the shadows beneath her eyes deepened, and her already slender frame appeared even more delicate.
She resembled a string stretched to its absolute limit, silently enduring an internal tearing, as if poised to snap completely at any moment.
****
Late one night, several days later, Lan Yucheng was roused by a faint urge to use the restroom. Groggy, she rose and fumbled her way towards the bathroom.
Passing the living room, she instinctively glanced at the sofa—Qing Xinxue insisted on sleeping there, claiming it was to give Lan Yucheng “space.”
The sofa was empty.
Half of Lan Yucheng’s sleepiness instantly vanished. She looked towards the bathroom, where a sliver of light escaped from beneath the door. It was so late; what was she doing in there?
A premonition of dread silently crept into her heart.
She lightened her steps, approaching the bathroom door. Silence reigned within, not even the sound of running water. After a moment of hesitation, she gently pushed the door open.
The sight before her made her blood run cold in an instant.
Qing Xinxue was curled up on the cold tile floor, her back to the door, clad in a thin nightgown.
Her head was bowed, her shoulders subtly shaking. Her right hand seemed to be gripping something, held against the inner side of her left arm…
By the light, Lan Yucheng clearly saw several fresh, crimson scratches, dotted with beads of blood, already marring the pale skin of her left arm! And in her right hand, she clutched a thin, chillingly glinting razor blade!
“What are you doing?!” Lan Yucheng’s voice twisted with terror and fury. She lunged forward, seizing Qing Xinxue’s wrist, the one holding the blade!
Qing Xinxue shuddered violently, startled by the sudden intrusion and sharp reprimand. The razor blade clattered onto the tiles with a crisp, grating sound.
She lifted her head in fright, her face utterly devoid of color, tears mingling with cold sweat. Her eyes were filled with the panic, fear, and helplessness of being caught.
“Cheng… Sister Cheng…” She stammered incoherently, attempting to hide her hand behind her back, her voice trembling uncontrollably. “I… I didn’t… I just… I just accidentally…”
“Accidentally?!” Lan Yucheng stared at the clear wounds on her arm, a mix of anger and urgency seizing her. Her chest felt as if something had violently clenched it, a numbing pain spreading through her.
She forcibly pried open Qing Xinxue’s hand, which was trying to conceal the injuries, and pointed at the wounds, her voice quivering. “What is this?! Qing Xinxue! Tell me, what is this?!”
Immense disappointment and a nearly desperate sense of powerlessness, like ice water, extinguished the last shred of hope in Lan Yucheng’s heart.
So, the seemingly effective “restraint” had come at such a brutal cost!
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Sister Cheng…”
Qing Xinxue collapsed into desperate sobs, slumping to the floor like a withered leaf. “I can’t help it… it hurts so much… here…”
She pounded her chest forcefully, producing a dull thud. “It feels like knives are cutting me… a thousand times… ten thousand times worse than the pain in my hand…”
She lifted her tear-filled eyes, gazing at Lan Yucheng with terrifying emptiness. “You said… you wanted me to restrain myself… I tried… I really tried… but it hurts so much… Sister Cheng… only… only this makes it a little better… only this stops me from thinking… from causing trouble…”
Her defense was pale and desperate, every word like a dull knife carving into Lan Yucheng’s heart.
Lan Yucheng looked at the girl on the floor, who, unable to bear the pain of “love,” had resorted to self-harm. She saw the old and new scars crisscrossing her arm, the madness and agony bordering on collapse in her eyes. All her anger dissolved into a profound weariness and… a suffocating pity.
She slowly released Qing Xinxue’s hand and sank weakly to the floor beside her.
The cold tiles seeped through her thin nightgown, but it was nothing compared to the chill in her heart.
She understood.
For Qing Xinxue, “restraint” was an impossible task.
That deeply ingrained paranoia and possessiveness, like an incurable tumor, would either erupt outwards, harming others, or turn inward, destroying herself.
And she, Lan Yucheng, was the root of all this suffering, as well as Qing Xinxue’s sole lifeline, the one she refused to let go of.
Only Qing Xinxue’s suppressed, desperate sobs remained in the bathroom.
Lan Yucheng sat quietly, her gaze vacant, fixed on the pristine white tiled wall before her.
Su Yiyi’s words echoed in her mind—”seek professional help,” “establish healthy boundaries.” Those seemingly rational and correct suggestions now felt so utterly powerless.
For a madwoman who would rather cut herself with a blade than “disturb” or harm her, would those methods truly work?
If the price of “health” meant watching Qing Xinxue slowly self-destruct before her eyes…
If “normal” boundaries meant pushing Qing Xinxue into a deeper, irretrievable abyss…
Then…
A terrible thought, one she had once vehemently rejected, now twined tightly around her heart like a vine growing in the darkness.
‘Perhaps… perhaps she had been wrong from the very beginning.’
‘Perhaps for someone like Qing Xinxue, there was no such thing as a “healthy relationship.”‘
‘Perhaps… the only “solution” wasn’t to pull her back into the “normal” world, but rather…’
Lan Yucheng slowly turned her head, looking at Qing Xinxue, who was trembling and crying almost to the point of exhaustion beside her.
Her eyes no longer held anger, nor mere pity, but a calm bordering on emptiness, and a chilling sense of compromise.
She reached out, not to snatch the fallen blade, nor to inspect the wounds, but very gently, she caressed Qing Xinxue’s tear-streaked cheek.
Qing Xinxue froze, startled by this sudden, tender touch. Her sobs ceased abruptly, and she stared at Lan Yucheng with a bewildered, frightened gaze.
Lan Yucheng met her terrified eyes, her voice very soft, yet it resonated like the tolling of a final judgment bell in the silent night:
“Xiaoxue…”
“If… if I were to be locked away…”
“If I belonged only to you…”
“Would you… not suffer so much?”
“Would you… be a little more ‘normal’?”
Each word of the question was uttered with extreme slowness, as if painstakingly dredged from an abyss.
It was not an accusation, nor mockery, but a serious consideration born of utter exhaustion.
Lan Yucheng, the “player” who had always tried to control the situation and remain rational, having witnessed extreme suffering and twisted love, for the first time, actively and desperately offered the key to eternal confinement to the abyss named Qing Xinxue.
Qing Xinxue’s pupils abruptly constricted, her eyes widening in disbelief, as if she had just heard the most inconceivable words in the world.