Su Yiyi’s voice was muffled and indistinct, as if heard through thick glass. Lan Yucheng curled up on the cold floor, her consciousness hovering at the edge of reality.
The system’s conditions felt like a cold, unyielding chain, momentarily pulling her back from the abyss of despair. Only by completing Su Yiyi’s ‘capture’ could she hope to see Xiao Xue again, even if it was just ‘browsing access’.
This hope, fragile as a flickering candle in the wind, was nonetheless the only thing she could cling to in that moment.
“…Xiao Cheng? Can you hear me?” Su Yiyi’s hand gently rested on Lan Yucheng’s shoulder. The warm touch permeated the thin hospital gown, carrying a gentle yet firm strength, distinctly different from Qing Xinxue’s.
Lan Yucheng slowly lifted her head, her vision blurred by tears. Su Yiyi’s face was distorted through the watery haze, but the concern in her eyes was undeniably real. This wasn’t the all-consuming, destructive love of Xiao Xue, but rather a normal, somewhat distant benevolence.
“I…” Lan Yucheng’s voice was hoarse as she opened her mouth. “I’m fine… it’s just… my wound hurts a little.” She offered the most clumsy of excuses. The wound on her abdomen did throb faintly, yet compared to the gaping void in her chest, that pain was almost negligible.
Su Yiyi didn’t expose her lie. Instead, she sighed, then gently helped Lan Yucheng to her feet. “The floor is cold. You just got discharged; you shouldn’t be treating yourself like this. Come, sit on the sofa for a bit, and I’ll get you a cup of hot water.”
Lan Yucheng moved like a puppet, allowing Su Yiyi to settle her onto the sofa. The sofa cover was a clean, off-white, devoid of any familiar indentations or scents. She looked around; this home felt both familiar and alien.
Every item was meticulously placed where it belonged, neat and sparse, exuding an impersonal chill. There were no snacks Qing Xinxue had secretly stashed away, no carelessly discarded picture books, none of that pervasive, suffocating warmth.
Su Yiyi brought a glass of warm water, her brow furrowed as she observed Lan Yucheng’s distraught expression. “Xiao Cheng, do you… really not need another check-up at the hospital? Or perhaps, I could help you contact a therapist? You look like you’re in a very bad state.”
A therapist? Lan Yucheng gave a bitter laugh in her mind. ‘Who could heal the trauma of having half her soul forcibly ripped away by the system?’
“No, thank you, Sister Yiyi.” She forced a smile, one uglier than a grimace. “Perhaps I was just… startled. I’ll be fine after some rest. Thank you for looking after me.”
“Neighbors shouldn’t speak so formally.” Su Yiyi sat beside her, maintaining an appropriate distance. “If you’re afraid to be alone, I can stay with you tonight.”
Stay? Lan Yucheng’s heart lurched. In the past, Qing Xinxue would have asserted her dominance in countless ways, never permitting Su Yiyi to remain. But now…
She gazed at Su Yiyi’s gentle yet distant eyes, as the system’s cold prompt echoed in her mind: ‘Capture Su Yiyi’. This meant approaching her, understanding her, and perhaps even… falling for her.
A powerful wave of rejection surged through her. This feeling was akin to betraying Xiao Xue, even if Xiao Xue was now “non-existent”. Her heart, her body, seemed to still retain the memory of being utterly possessed by Qing Xinxue, unable to immediately accept another’s proximity.
“No… no need.” Lan Yucheng refused almost instinctively, her voice trembling imperceptibly. “I can manage… I don’t want to trouble you.”
Su Yiyi watched her for a few seconds, seemingly sensing her resistance. She didn’t press the matter, simply nodding. “Alright then, rest well. Call me anytime if you need anything; I’m right across the hall.” She stood up, offered a few more words of caution, and then left.
The door softly clicked shut, plunging the room back into silence.
Lan Yucheng collapsed onto the sofa, a vast emptiness once again engulfing her. She closed her eyes, trying to conjure Qing Xinxue’s image in her mind—those eyes filled with obsession and madness, those soft lips, the strength of her tight embrace…
But those images began to blur, like faded old photographs, constantly interrupted and overlaid by Su Yiyi’s gently concerned face and the system’s cold prompts.
“Xiao Xue…” she murmured unconsciously, her fingers gripping the sofa cover so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “I will… I will do what the system asks… Just wait for me…”
This was no longer a ‘capture’ for the sake of ‘going home’, but a sacrifice for the sake of ‘going back’. She would exploit Su Yiyi’s gentleness to fulfill the system’s conditions, even if the process made her feel utterly despicable.
Over the next few days, Lan Yucheng forced herself to ‘return to normal’. She ate on time, took her medication on schedule, and her wound gradually healed. She began to proactively contact Su Yiyi, using the excuse of thanking her for her care, inviting her over for dinner, or going grocery shopping together.
Su Yiyi seemed pleased to see her recovering, always readily agreeing to her invitations. Their relationship superficially warmed quickly. Lan Yucheng played the role of a vulnerable neighbor, traumatized but in need of companionship, while Su Yiyi perfectly embodied the gentle, attentive confidante.
While cooking together, Lan Yucheng would ‘accidentally’ brush against Su Yiyi’s hand, then feign panic and apologize, observing her reaction. Su Yiyi usually just offered a faint smile, subtly evading her touch, her eyes clear and devoid of any flirtation.
While watching movies, Lan Yucheng would deliberately choose films with ambiguous romantic plots, discreetly tearing up during touching scenes. Su Yiyi would thoughtfully offer tissues, gently pat her back, and utter comforting words, but that comfort remained strictly platonic.
Su Yiyi was like a warm, yet unfathomably deep lake. The pebbles Lan Yucheng cast into it only created shallow ripples, which quickly subsided. She was gentle, polite, and maintained clear boundaries. This stood in cruel contrast to Qing Xinxue’s volcanic, undeniable love.
Each ‘friendly interaction’ with Su Yiyi served as a stark reminder to Lan Yucheng of what she had lost. Every time she returned to that empty home, devoid of Qing Xinxue’s traces, the emptiness and anxiety gnawed at her heart even more fiercely.
She began to suffer from insomnia, lying awake all night, staring at the ceiling. In her mind, Qing Xinxue’s desperate, tear-filled eyes and Su Yiyi’s gentle smile alternated. A terrifying thought began to fester: ‘What if… what if she could never meet the system’s requirements? What if she could never see Xiao Xue again?’
This fear tormented her more than her abdominal wound. She grew increasingly agitated, yet had to strive to maintain composure in front of Su Yiyi. This internal division pushed her to the brink of collapse.
One evening, Su Yiyi brought over some homemade cookies. Lan Yucheng ate them, finding them tasteless. Su Yiyi chatted about interesting things from work, her voice soft and pleasant.
Suddenly, Lan Yucheng interrupted her without warning. She looked up, her gaze fixed intently on Su Yiyi, with an almost obsessive seriousness. “Sister Yiyi, do you… believe there’s someone who could love you so much that… they couldn’t live without you?”
Su Yiyi froze, the smile on her face subtly congealing. She looked at the unfathomable pain and a certain incomprehensible yearning in Lan Yucheng’s eyes. After a moment of silence, she answered cautiously, “Xiao Cheng, that kind of emotion… it’s too heavy. Healthy love should make both people better, not… mutually destructive.”
‘Healthy love? Mutually destructive?’
Lan Yucheng’s heart felt as if it had been pricked by a needle. In Xiao Xue’s world, love was possession, extremity, a symbiosis where one couldn’t breathe without the other. Yet with Su Yiyi, love was restraint, rationality, a warmth maintained at a distance.
She suddenly realized she was trying to ‘capture’ someone completely opposite to Qing Xinxue, using Qing Xinxue’s methods. It was a complete farce.
Despair, like a cold tide, instantly engulfed her. She lowered her head, her shoulders trembling slightly, no longer able to maintain her facade.
Su Yiyi watched her sudden breakdown, a complex expression flashing in her eyes. She said nothing more, simply extended her hand and placed it very lightly, soothingly, on Lan Yucheng’s hand.
That hand was warm, dry, and carried a reassuring strength.
But Lan Yucheng felt no warmth at all. She only felt a chilling coldness to her bones. This gentle touch, for her at this moment, was not salvation, but the key to another cage. And she, for a faint hope, was personally locking herself within it.
A gentle cage, perhaps, was even more suffocating than a mad one. For what she was imprisoning was her own heart, which had long ceased to belong to her.