Love cannot fill her, but Xu Fengrao can

Liu Tingsong’s thick lashes drooped, a faint peach-blossom haze lingering at the corners of her eyes. Passion and desire still intertwined, but her expression was focused, as if conducting a meticulous experiment.

The nail polish remover’s sharp scent overpowered others, a cold sensation seeping through the thin nail plate. The already chipped traces, with their grimacing smiley faces drawn in marker, were soaked away.

If she could speak, Liu Tingsong would ask if Xu Fengluan hated the design.

She wanted to say her special look today was a hit, comments shifting from surprise to praise.

But the words stalled, recalling that photo, better left unsaid to avoid another visit.

Why did Kuang Ye’s ex tug at Xu Fengluan’s hand…?

Liu paused, wanting to ask but unable, unsure how to start.

She only worked harder, determined to erase others’ marks, her fingers brushing Xu’s, gripping her knuckles, unconsciously moving upward. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Liu felt Xu’s gaze—doubt, desire, confusion, anger, and a sadness so tangible it solidified.

Xu’s broad shoulders and long, lean legs made her seem imposing, like a gaunt wolfdog standing at a distance, silently watching with suppressed intensity.

It was Liu who gave her flesh, made her bare her belly, embracing her with raw devotion.

And Liu who pushed her away, crushing her with ulterior motives.

Liu knew Xu couldn’t refuse her. Despite baring her teeth, it was just self-defense after pain. When Liu reached out, Xu would still rest her head in her palm, trembling from past hurts yet unable to resist.

This knowledge gave Liu a secret sense of security, but also crushing guilt.

That guilt nearly broke her, haunting her in the quiet of night, questioning herself endlessly.

*If…*

The brief calm in her teary eyes clouded again, tears pooling and falling onto Xu’s hand.

She was crying again.

She’d been crying all night.

The remover soaked Xu’s fingertips, needing a minute before the next step.

Liu hadn’t let go, but Xu pulled her hand back. The tear slid down, leaving a trace that dried quickly.

Xu turned her head, gaze shifting elsewhere.

Liu felt no relief.

Sounds were swallowed, leaving only the rain outside, their alternating breaths, and tears falling.

After obsessive entanglement paused, the silence grew unbearable.

Reason clashed with sickness in Liu’s body—one side warning her to stay away, to spare Xu more pain; the other urging her to push further, like vines strangling a branch for a sliver of life.

She wasn’t good—she was worse than anyone, fully aware of her actions.

Love couldn’t fill her hollow, fleeting shell, but Xu Fengluan could.

A sudden urgency surged, suppressed until the last second when she grabbed Xu’s hand, prying off the loosened polish, wiping it with tissue, wrapping it in wet wipes.

Her methodical motions hid a desperate efficiency—each second was torment, each wasted.

The wipe discarded, Liu cupped Xu’s face, resuming their kiss. Soft lips landed on Xu’s mouth, urgently kissing her chin, sucking her arched neck.

Tears fell, crushed between lips and teeth.

Catching Xu’s dim green eyes, Liu trembled, reaching to cover them but forced back, unable to touch, only letting out a muffled hum.

Rain roared, clouds rolling, eerie red and black weaving a wild, terrifying scene, the city lost in it.

Trees swayed, cold wind relentless, drowning out birds and insects, the air thick with icy mist, chilling the surroundings.

Upstairs, a sleeping child turned, kicking off blankets, mumbling dream-talk.

Downstairs, the dim lamp, chosen deliberately faint, cast only a small circle of light even at its brightest.

They couldn’t fully see each other unless close, but Liu, repeatedly pulled back by Xu’s grip on her neck, couldn’t stay near.

Though voiceless, her body answered honestly.

Her taut waist trembled, faint lines emerging.

The carpet spared her skin, but Liu still felt burning pain, soon overtaken as—

Her dress gave way, pooling at her waist.

She opened her mouth to call a familiar name but made no sound. Sudden alertness caught Xu’s furrowed brow, eyes full of doubt, probing all along.

Liu was too abnormal tonight, despite her efforts to hide it, discovery inevitable. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

She wanted to delay, like a prisoner begging for time before the blade falls.

Defying Xu’s control, she pressed closer, seeking a kiss, hands dropping to guide Xu’s stalled fingers, straightening them, pushing them in.

Her voiceless throat wasn’t mute from physical loss but psychological barriers, allowing short, suppressed sounds mixed with sobs, falling with tears onto Xu’s palm.

Wind rattled the windows, raindrops streaking, glinting faintly in the dim light.

Leaves were swept away, trees bare for days, bark wrinkled from soaking.

Late passersby splashed through puddles, shoes and pants wet, moving from caution to reckless stomping.

Paparazzi lingered downstairs, hoping for another viral scoop, rain soaking their black ponchos, hands red from gripping cameras.

But tonight, they’d leave empty-handed.

Inside, neither planned to leave, letting the decadent heat rise.

Each brush against boundaries stopped short, unfulfilled sensations stacking, breeding more desire.

Control lay with Xu Fengluan. If she refused, Liu couldn’t reach her, her attempts at closeness rebuffed, even basic kisses denied.

Her mind clouded, tormented by these feelings, body and mind suspended, hollow and void.

Reason shattered, the last thread snapping.

As night deepened, the room darkened, scattered instruments like shadowy monsters.

A phone flashed nearby, messages piling up, stopping after a while.

The wallpaper—unchanged, a sunset beach—remained despite their fights.

Liu wanted to plead as before, with sweet, breathless words Xu loved, softening her.

But no matter how she tried, only monotone sounds emerged, not the earlier gasps but labored, incoherent noises.

Xu froze, her calloused hand pausing at the edge.

Not deliberate this time.

Through the mist, Liu saw Xu’s shock and disbelief.

She knew.

The blade fell.

Tears strung into beads, legs giving out, fragile body collapsing into Xu. Forbidden kisses landed messily on her hair, forehead.

Liu broke completely.

Her tears and kisses burned.

Xu was drenched by two rains.

Control slipped sometime ago.

What Liu craved but couldn’t have returned fiercely.

The carpet soaked, half tears, half else.

Rain seeped into red bricks, spreading dampness. Flashes sparked below, deleted in futility.

An old streetlamp buzzed, flickering out.

Someone’s hand hit guitar strings, discordant notes ringing.

No one cared or could.

The woman on the carpet, overwhelmed, greedily sought more, to be filled.

Water sounds persisted, rain slowing at dawn, a faint white on the horizon revealing rolling hills.

The city hushed, wrapped in rain’s fog, neon lights extinguished.

Puddles rippled with dripping water.

The noisy room quieted. Xu lifted the unconscious woman, bathroom lights flickered on, water running.

Soon, the soft bed sank slightly, Xu pulling a blanket over her.

She didn’t lie down, too restless despite exhaustion, thoughts racing about Liu’s secrets.

Sitting by the bed, her shadowed eyes lingered on the curled-up woman, sleeping deeply, perhaps soothed by familiar scents, undisturbed by nightmares.

Xu’s shadow draped over her like a blanket.

Time passed, her soaked fingers drying.

She slowly picked up her phone, opened Pizi’s chat, then stood, quietly closing the door.

—

A hoarse voice spoke on the phone. Xu listened mostly, nodding occasionally to show she was there.

Daylight broke, the night’s rain washing the city clean, summer heat gone, leaving autumn’s chill.

“I understand,” Xu finally said, her expression darkening, unmoved by the explanation.

Pizi, cautious, pleaded, “I don’t know what happened with you and Tingsong-jie, but her mental state is terrible, even stumping her psychologist. Please be patient, don’t push her too far, okay?”

Xu paused, then said slowly, “She’ll stay with me these days. Don’t worry too much. Call me if anything comes up.”

Pizi sighed in relief, cut off before replying, stunned by Xu’s rare rudeness, though understandable given her restraint.

Pizi sighed, scrolling her CP fan page, once cursed by fans, now silent, wondering when it’d revive.

Even a little.

She closed her phone, face pale from sleeplessness.

*—Click.*

The lighter snapped, a faint flame flickering, lighting the cigarette between Xu’s lips.

Leaning by the living room window, open to damp, cold wind lifting her white hair, her eyes were lost.

Venting didn’t ease her; it left her adrift, a hole in her heart letting wind pour in.

She recalled a poem, Xibei’s “Passerby,” stumbled upon by chance. Her songwriting talent was strong, but lyrics eluded her, dragging on.

That day, frustrated, she wandered, stopping at a shabby bookstore, flipping pages until the poem caught her.

It was six months after Liu left. After a month of collapse, Xu seemed to move on, no longer crying, living normally.

But staring at the poem, tears soaked the page.

Xu inhaled deeply, the cigarette burning fast, visibly shortening.

*Cough, cough.*

Her clumsy smoking brought coughs, back hunching, quickly muffling the sound.

Smoke slipped through her fingers, tears welling, leaving her disheveled.

Amusingly, the cigarettes were bought with wine days ago, untouched until now.

Steadying her breath, she sipped the smoke, swallowing bitter nicotine.

Smoking came easily, learned from others, half a cigarette enough.

Yet Xu slouched, a drained addict, relying on thin nicotine to ease pain and unease.

Cigarette after cigarette, ash scattered by wind, her arm chilled against the window.

She’d sworn to cut ties with Liu, yet couldn’t escape her influence.

No smoking or drinking—Liu’s rule. Smoking and drinking—tied to Liu. Everything was her, no one else’s.

Their time was short, barely a year and a half, a summer of spats, yet Liu shaped her deeply—her future, habits, worldview, all tied to her.

Liu didn’t create her but molded her present self.

Her joys and sorrows were bound to Liu.

Her lashes trembled, green eyes rippling, suppressed emotions breaking through.

The poem surfaced again, recited countless times in whispers.

“You healed my depression, then gave me sorrow.”

The joy between was her rare happiness.

But that joy hid selfishness, happiness laced with lies, never pure.

A gust brightened the cigarette’s ember.

Xu wondered, *What should I do?*

Clouds parted, veiling the sunrise, fog lingering, but no more delays—the world was waking.

Cars rolled out, an old woman pushed her breakfast cart, toiling earlier since paparazzi left, setting up farther away.

Xu recalled her tasty tea eggs, a secret recipe outshining others.

The cigarette burned out.

Xu inhaled, the morning chill jarring, clearing her mind.

Could she become strangers with Liu?

Could she forgive her?

Could she accept her again?

She saw Liu’s fear and helplessness, pleading repeatedly, enduring despite fragility.

Her shattered gaze, like rippling lake light, soft and red, spoke wordlessly.

Xu lit another cigarette.

Her focus scattered, thoughts chaotic.

Liu’s voicelessness, though sudden, wasn’t unexpected.

Xu was ill; so was Liu.

Her mood swings, racing thoughts, and uncontrollable compulsions were proof.

Liu hid it better, but only deep understanding allowed her perfect comfort.

Five years ago, Liu was less guarded. Though not overt, intimate moments revealed enough to puzzle Xu.

No normal person rose at four or five to make porridge without work—just sleepless nights.

In highs, she’d play music with Xu or act boldly; in lows, she’d hide silently.

They both had issues, mutually understood, accommodated, never exposed.

Smoke curled from her lips, blurring her chilled face, eyes drifting, unfocused.

Cigarette after cigarette, tangled thoughts, Xu stood by the window all morning.

Until the sun rose, drying damp traces, the air warming.

Xu stood straight, legs prickling like ants biting.

Her expression steady, she limped to the bathroom.

Half an hour later, showered, Xu returned, voice hoarse from smoke, tone calm, “Liu Tingsong, stop pretending to sleep.”

“Get up. Let’s talk.”

The woman buried in bedding opened her eyes, bloodshot but less so, still tired.

Nothing resolved, no deep sleep—just shallow rest, Xu outside, Liu curled up inside, avoiding.

Xu opened her phone, pulled up notes, and handed it over.

“I ask, you answer,” her tone eerily calm.

She added, “I just called Pizi.”

An unspoken warning.

Ironic—Xu once begged Liu to speak, trusting only her, but now needed others to verify Liu’s words.

Liu’s lips twitched, saying nothing, sitting up quietly, taking the phone.

Xu paused, starting with an easy question, “Where’s Fat Cat?”

Liu blinked, confused.

“I went to your place last night,” Xu said.

Liu’s confusion deepened, wanting more.

Impatient, Xu snapped, “Are you asking me, or am I asking you?”

Her tone wasn’t harsh, but Liu flinched, reaching for Xu’s hand, only to be dodged. Fearing more anger, she typed quickly.

[My condition’s bad, I couldn’t care for it, so I put Fat Cat in a pet shop.]

Xu read, emotions unclear. Without the cat, her misunderstanding last night deepened.

To ease Xu, Liu added, [It’s well cared for, they send videos daily. Want to see, baby?]

Xu ignored the pet name, “Next question.”

“Is this your second time losing your voice?” @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Liu hesitated, then answered.

[Yes]

“Half a month ago, S University’s anniversary?”

[Yes]

Liu’s usually cool, refined features showed timid fragility, her neck bare with last night’s marks, a chaotic canvas.

Xu looked away, inhaling deeply, “Was your first loss because of me?”

Liu froze, thumb pressing the keyboard, typing gibberish, no real answer.

Xu stared, refusing escape.

Liu opened her mouth, still voiceless.

The air stiffened, the phone’s screen flickering, typed words vanishing.

“Is it?” Xu pressed, desperate for answers.

“Is that why you didn’t return?”

“Why did you leave the country?”

Word by word, “Liu Tingsong, tell me.”

“No more hiding,” her green eyes dimmed, pleading yet struggling.

The oft-abandoned dog clung to hope, yearning for Liu’s truth, not Xu Nanzhu’s, Pizi’s, or anyone else’s.

“Tell me, please.”