The hour of “soul retrieval” acted as a potent cardiac stimulant, precisely injected into Lan Yucheng’s heart, forcibly pulling her back from the precipice of utter collapse.
Though the pain and emptiness never truly vanished, they were henceforth forged into a frigid flame within her chest, burning solely for one unambiguous objective.
The target: Su Yiyi.
The purpose: to use her as a bridge, crossing over to the real Xiao Xue.
No longer merely a wounded individual passively accepting solace, she transformed into a meticulously calculating hunter.
She understood that against someone as gentle, rational, and clearly defined as Su Yiyi, Qing Xinxue’s fervent possessiveness would be nothing short of self-destruction. Only by mimicking the quiet persistence of spring rain, subtly infiltrating and presenting a perfectly measured “need,” could she hope to dismantle Su Yiyi’s defenses.
Lan Yucheng’s excuse was impeccable: “The doctor recommended moderate activity, but walking alone, I’m always afraid of accidentally aggravating my wound.”
She packaged her request for companionship as a reasonable action, simply following medical advice.
Standing before Su Yiyi’s door, her eyes slightly lowered, her voice held a barely perceptible tremor: “Sister Yiyi, are you free this afternoon? Just a short walk around the neighborhood. Alone… I always feel a little uneasy.”
Her gaze, a meticulously crafted blend of vulnerability and expectation, resembled frosted glass, making it impossible to refuse.
During their walks, she precisely calculated her pace, allowing their arms to “accidentally” brush against each other as they moved.
Initially, Su Yiyi would subtly create a half-inch of distance, but Lan Yucheng was in no rush for immediate success.
On a subsequent occasion, she “accidentally” tripped over a pebble, her foot twisting slightly, accompanied by a soft gasp. Instinctively, her entire body swayed towards Su Yiyi, her cool fingers tightly gripping the other woman’s warm forearm.
“Are you alright?”
Su Yiyi immediately steadied her, her concern genuine.
“I-I’m fine…”
Lan Yucheng used the support to regain her balance, yet her fingers did not immediately release. Instead, feigning lingering shock, she leaned some of her weight onto Su Yiyi, a faint blush appropriately coloring her cheeks.
“You startled me. Good thing Sister Yiyi was here.”
She allowed this dependent contact to last for two or three seconds before releasing her grip as if startled awake, her eyes flickering with just the right amount of shyness and apology. “Was I… too presumptuous?”
This blend of accidental, vulnerable, and dependent touch was far more readily accepted than direct overtures. Su Yiyi, observing the genuine, or perhaps artfully performed, panic on Lan Yucheng’s pale face, simply offered a tolerant smile. “Just watch your step.”
Lan Yucheng began inviting Su Yiyi into her personal space. Her reasons were always perfectly legitimate: “Eating alone is never enjoyable. Sister Yiyi, your cooking is excellent. Could I help you out and secretly learn a few tricks?”
Or, “I just got a new movie; watching it alone feels too lonely. Will Sister Yiyi keep me company?”
In the brightly lit kitchen, she played the role of a “clumsy but earnest” apprentice. She would lean close, holding her breath to observe the rhythm of Su Yiyi’s knife, her own breath barely caressing the other woman’s ear. When handing over dishes, her fingertips would “accidentally” brush against Su Yiyi’s hand, only to quickly retract as if burned, followed by a soft, apologetic, “Excuse me.”
Su Yiyi’s body would initially freeze for a moment, but when her gaze met Lan Yucheng’s eyes, filled with innocence and focused attention, any doubts would dissolve into a helpless smile.
When movie night commenced and the lights dimmed, leaving only the shifting glow of the screen, Lan Yucheng would have a soft cashmere blanket ready.
At moving or startling moments, she would instinctively curl slightly towards Su Yiyi, or gently clutch a corner of her sleeve, seeking silent comfort.
The space beneath the blanket quietly became a warm haven, their body heat silently intertwining in the darkness.
She would even “accidentally” drift off to sleep, her head losing its support and naturally sliding down, gently resting on Su Yiyi’s shoulder.
She could distinctly feel Su Yiyi’s muscles tense instantly, but when the latter looked down, she saw only Lan Yucheng’s lowered eyelashes and steady breathing—a meticulously crafted pretense. Ultimately, Su Yiyi would simply sigh silently and adjust herself to a more comfortable position for Lan Yucheng to lean on.
Lan Yucheng displayed her “dependency” with exquisite precision.
When a lightbulb in her home went out, she would knock on her neighbor’s door, a troubled expression on her face, her voice soft with entreaty: “Sister Yiyi, I’m just so scared of this. Could you help me?”
As Su Yiyi stepped onto a chair to change the bulb, Lan Yucheng would stand quietly below, her upturned face softened by the light, her eyes brimming with complete trust and a hint of imperceptible admiration, naturally eliciting a protective urge in the one being relied upon.
She was even more adept at “catering to preferences.” From casual chats, she would “incidentally” learn of Su Yiyi’s fondness for a certain woody-scented flower tea. Not long after, she would “happen” to buy too much and offer half of it, her tone light and natural:
“I bought too many sample packs of this flavor at once. Sister Yiyi, could you help me finish some?”
If Su Yiyi worked late, the soup in Lan Yucheng’s pot would “just happen” to be perfectly cooked. She would ladle out a warm bowl and bring it over, her words thoughtful: “I made some soup, and it feels like such a waste to drink it alone. Sister Yiyi, warm yourself up while it’s hot.”
This infiltration was the silent erosion of dripping water on stone. Lan Yucheng wove a resilient web with “needs” and “reciprocation,” patiently eroding the safe distance Su Yiyi habitually maintained.
She never mentioned Qing Xinxue again, as if that period of madness had truly healed along with her injuries.
In front of Su Yiyi, she was merely a kind, slightly dependent, and grateful younger neighbor, gradually emerging from the shadows, evoking sympathy.
Su Yiyi’s defenses were visibly softening.
From initial polite distance to habitual care, and now—when crossing the street, she would instinctively place a hand around Lan Yucheng’s shoulder or back. When Lan Yucheng approached, she no longer reflexively withdrew. Even when that head rested on her shoulder, she would unconsciously raise a hand and very gently smooth the stray hairs from Lan Yucheng’s cheek.
All of this was calmly observed and recorded by Lan Yucheng.
Her heart was a deep well, all calculations clearly reflected at its bottom. Every “accidental” touch, every dependent look, was a pre-planned chess move.
She drew a perverse pleasure of control from it, temporarily filling the void within her. However, whenever her breath mingled with Su Yiyi’s, Qing Xinxue’s face would sharply flash through her mind—if it were Xiao Xue, she would have long ago, without a word, tightly embraced her, declaring possession with a nearly suffocating intensity, wouldn’t she?
The sharp sting of this vivid contrast imbued this “conquest” of Su Yiyi with a complex, almost masochistic hue.
The closer she successfully drew to this gentleness, the more frantically she yearned to return to that domineering, fervent, yet undeniably real embrace.
The hunt continued, calm and tender. The gentle traps were set, layer upon layer, and the prey was gradually falling into the snare.
When alone, all pretense vanished from Lan Yucheng’s eyes, leaving only the sharp, cold gaze unique to a hunter.
Su Yiyi’s gentleness was her only raft to the other shore, and she was willing to forge her own soul into chains if that’s what it took.
Intimacy was merely a means; reunion was the ultimate goal.
This conquest, waged in the name of love, was cruel from its very inception.