Breakup withdrawal period

Silence hung heavy, Xu Fengluan’s green eyes reflecting the other’s figure.

Liu Tingsong’s face was pale and weary, her eyes still swollen from last night’s tears, fragile and broken. She wore only a thin short-sleeved shirt, oversized even on Xu Fengluan’s frame, let alone her slighter one. The collar slipped off one shoulder, sleeves drooping to her forearms, accentuating the deep and shallow marks on her skin, making her seem even more delicate, like a willow dipping into a lake, unable to pull free, fully submerged.

“Was it Xu Nanzhu?”

Xu Fengluan stared, her voice steady despite considering softer words, but urgency overpowered her restraint.

Liu Tingsong opened her mouth. Too new to her voicelessness, she instinctively tried to speak, only to stop, biting her lip and nodding.

Xu Fengluan’s emotions swirled—too complex to name. Her straight spine bent, her hand unconsciously reaching for her pocket. Barely a smoker, she’d already grown dependent.

If nicotine could do this, then…

Her gaze fell on Liu Tingsong, her heart sinking further.

At this point, hesitation only delayed the inevitable. Answers were due.

Liu knew her avoidance had been indulged by Xu’s patience. Now, with that patience gone, she had no choice but to face it.

“Your phone,” Xu urged again.

“Tell me why.”

No longer a question, but a firm command.

The phone screen lit up, keys tapped slowly. Liu was almost grateful for typing, buying time to choose her words carefully.

But that carefulness slowed the room to a crawl.

Her selfish side tugged, whispering this was her last card to soften Xu—write something pitiful, embellish the tragedy.

Yet her typed words were brief.

[She found out I entered the entertainment industry and was furious.]

Xu lowered her eyes, unsurprised.

[My contract with her had one year left… I couldn’t perform anyway.]

Xu frowned, interrupting, “What does your contract have to do with me?”

Liu paused, then typed.

[Using my resources to train the company’s new talents.]

It wasn’t complicated. Xu Nanzhu was a profit-driven businesswoman. Her heir mattered, but not more than the company.

Though transitioning industries, she hadn’t fully stabilized, still relying on the entertainment company as her cash cow, controlling it tightly. Since Liu was no longer useful, her resources should go to others.

Xu Nanzhu also feared Liu signing with another agency, sparking rumors—especially with Liu as the company’s only star. A departure could stir trouble, affecting key resources.

So, to avoid risks during her critical transition, Xu Nanzhu made a deal: Liu would leave the country for five years, returning only last year to start an independent studio with Du Yurong.

“What did she say to you then?” Xu’s expression didn’t soften, growing darker.

Liu typed without pause.

[She said if I left, she’d leave you alone.]

Xu’s lips twisted into a half-crying smirk.

Liu’s heart jumped, grabbing Xu’s sleeve, looking up.

Xu let her hold on, eyes clouded with complex emotions, saying, “You believed her?”

Sensing something wrong, Liu lifted her phone to explain, but Xu was faster, voice low, “After you left, she came to me.”

“That’s when she kicked me out, made me sign a contract cutting family ties.”

“Sister,” Xu murmured, the familiar term devoid of warmth, heavy with accusation, “Is this your so-called thoughtfulness?”

No mockery, but enough to freeze Liu, who stared in disbelief, scrambling to type.

[I kept tabs on things here…]

Before finishing, Xu cut in, “She didn’t openly target me, but her underhanded moves never stopped.”

Liu’s grip on the phone tightened, pale knuckles nearly piercing her skin.

The weather was pleasant, sunlight reflecting in puddles, yellow leaves floating serenely—a stark contrast to Liu’s chilling dread, her fingertips purpling.

Xu met her eyes, asking again, “You know Xu Nanzhu better than I do. Why trust her? Were you afraid she’d expose why you approached me?”

The blanket was crumpled, marked by chaos.

Xu inhaled deeply. Over five years, she’d imagined this moment countless times—on bustling streets, dragging Liu to demand answers; mid-banquet, clashing coldly; or decades later, indifferent, while Liu begged to explain. Xu had conjured countless excuses for her.

But not this—a tangled autumn afternoon, face-to-face on a bed, a palm’s distance like an unbreakable wall, splitting them into separate worlds. Unable to approach or escape, they avoided hurting each other, yet their words cut like knives.

Liu bowed her head, guilt crushing her, nearly snapping her spine.

Xu didn’t relent, her sleepless mind sharp, cold as an outsider.

Her voice, laced with frost, continued, “Liu Tingsong, this is the result of your arrogance.”

“You thought your sacrifices were thoughtful, but I only see your hubris, believing you could handle everything, pushing us to this point.” @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Xu laughed bitterly, words spent, too drained to say more.

Liu’s head hung low, frail body trembling, tears splashing the screen.

She didn’t want to cry, knowing it was useless, but guilt and sorrow overwhelmed her. Unlike Xu’s calm, she was lost.

Tears splattered the screen. Chu Cheng sent a funny video, laughing endlessly.

Liu gripped the phone, her fragile wrist taut, veins stark under thin skin.

Her silent sobs lacked even vague sounds, like a broken doll in a forgotten corner.

Xu watched silently, offering no comfort, standing to leave.

*—Bang.*

The door slammed, startling Liu, already fragile, into trembling, tears falling again.

The once-favored elder fell hard, sprawled, unable to rise or ease the pain.

Noises came from outside, but Liu, lost in emotion, heard nothing.

Tears soaked the screen, dripping onto the sheets, leaving stains.

Would Xu make her leave?

Was this truly the end?

Would Xu never forgive her?

Questions flooded her mind, their undeniable answers deepening her fear.

She missed the sound of returning footsteps.

A hot towel hit her face, covering the celebrated Liu Tingsong with damp cloth.

The bed sank as Xu knelt, wiping Liu’s eyes and cheeks roughly, like cleaning a table.

“Liu Tingsong, does crying help?” she snapped.

The coarse, warm towel swept away tears, wet hair sticking pitifully to her cheeks, her face red from heat or pain.

Yet Liu didn’t resist, like a tamed dog, wagging its tail after a hit, leaning into Xu’s palm.

Xu stayed silent, pulling her hand back, blocking closeness.

“Keep it on,” Xu said curtly.

The steaming towel covered Liu’s eyes, voicelessness stripping her sight, sharpening her hearing to catch Xu’s every word.

“Liu Tingsong, I realize I can’t just cut you off.”

Hope flickered in Liu, leaning toward Xu to hear more.

“Your loss of voice is tied to me. I can’t ignore that.”

Liu shook her head slightly, trying to deny it.

Xu ignored her, stating, “I’m giving you two choices.”

“First, leave now. I’ll call Pizi to get you. I’ll cover your treatment costs, but we’ll have no further contact.”

Liu paled, reaching out but grasping air, opening her mouth soundlessly.

Xu watched her raised hand, neither advancing nor retreating, cold as ice.

“Second, I’ll care for you while you’re voiceless, take you to a psychologist, cover all costs. In exchange, you help me through my withdrawal from you.”

To clarify, she added, “We can kiss and hug like a normal couple, but I’ll slowly detach until you regain your voice, and I fully let you go.” @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Hope extinguished, Liu closed her eyes, despair sinking in. Tears soaked the towel, cooling it.

No doubting Xu’s words. Even if she wanted to stay, she wouldn’t say this if she weren’t serious about leaving.

“First, nod. Second, shake your head.”

Xu’s clear voice echoed, calm as a simple transaction.

Liu’s hands clutched the crumpled blanket, her frail body trembling despite efforts to control it.

Xu watched calmly, neither urging nor pitying.

After an eternity, Liu silently shook her head.

She chose the second.