Qing Xinxue’s contemptuous declaration, “You can leave now,” pierced Su Yiyi’s final psychological defense like an ice-tempered dagger.
The color drained from her face in an instant, and her body swayed imperceptibly, as if she might collapse at any moment.
Yet, she remained standing. Her gaze was fixed intensely on Lan Yucheng, who was held captive in Qing Xinxue’s embrace, her expression a mix of panic and a hint of numbness.
The air solidified, leaving only the ragged, suppressed sound of Su Yiyi’s breathing, like the struggles of a dying beast.
She looked at Lan Yucheng—the woman she had carefully cherished for months, the one burdened by guilt over ‘her own mistake,’ the one she had sworn to take responsibility for to the very end. Now, Lan Yucheng was held in another woman’s arms in such a humiliating posture, a blush still lingering on her cheeks.
“What… what exactly are we?”
Su Yiyi’s voice was dry and hoarse, barely squeezed from the depths of her throat, carrying a precarious calm that belied the volcano about to erupt beneath it. “Lan Yucheng, tell me… what was all that care, that attention for the past few months, and that night… that accident… what was it all? A performance?”
Her gaze, almost palpable, pinned Lan Yucheng’s face, filled with the immense pain and disbelief of being deceived and ridiculed.
Lan Yucheng trembled in Qing Xinxue’s arms. Qing Xinxue tightened her hold reassuringly, then looked at Su Yiyi with a challenging smirk, as if enjoying a captivating show.
Lan Yucheng closed her eyes.
She was weary.
Truly weary.
Playing the role of the fragile, the dependent, the remorseful… the moment Qing Xinxue appeared, all pretense lost its meaning.
Su Yiyi’s gentle world was no longer a place she could squeeze into, nor did she wish to.
She slowly lifted her head, meeting Su Yiyi’s despairing gaze. Her face was devoid of its usual weakness or calculation, leaving only an almost ethereal calm, a cruel, reckless abandon.
“A performance?” Lan Yucheng repeated softly, a cold, humorless curve touching her lips. “Perhaps. A performance… I had to see through.”
She paused, her gaze sweeping over Su Yiyi’s ashen face, then continued in a flat, yet utterly devastating tone:
“Haven’t you always wanted to know why you suddenly ‘lost control’ that night?”
Su Yiyi’s pupils contracted sharply; an ominous premonition seized her.
“Because I drugged you.” Lan Yucheng’s voice was soft, yet it detonated like thunder in the silent room. “In the oil, salt, and jam in your kitchen… a little every day, colorless and odorless. And the red wine that night was the final catalyst.”
She watched Su Yiyi’s eyes widen instantly, filled with horror and absurdity, and cruelly added:
“So, you didn’t *do* me, Su Yiyi.
“I… designed you.”
A deafening roar echoed in Su Yiyi’s ears, making the world spin. She stumbled backward, leaning against the wall to steady herself.
Months of guilt, self-reproach, and meticulous efforts to compensate… all built upon the most malicious deception!
Her supposed ‘responsibility,’ her imagined ‘redemption,’ had actually been a meticulously planned trap! She had been played for a fool, manipulated like a puppet!
“Why…?” she murmured, her voice shattered, her eyes hollow as if she’d lost her soul. “Why did you do this?!”
“Why?” Lan Yucheng watched her collapse. Strangely, no sense of triumph arose within her, only an endless weariness and emptiness.
Did she need a reason? To return to Xiao Xue’s side? That reason, for Su Yiyi, would likely be even more cruel than having no reason at all.
She simply stopped explaining, saying faintly, “Do you need a reason to hate me? Then hate. Now you know, I am far more disgusting and despicable than you imagined. So, put away your nauseating sense of responsibility and leave. We are quits.”
“Quits?” Su Yiyi sounded as if she had heard the most ridiculous joke in the world. She laughed softly, yet her laughter was more painful than crying, filled with despair and self-mockery. “Quits… what a way to be quits…”
She looked up, taking one last, profound look at Lan Yucheng. Her gaze was incredibly complex, containing trust utterly destroyed, bone-deep loathing, self-mockery for her own foolishness, and perhaps a trace of utterly shattered pain that she herself refused to acknowledge.
She said nothing more. Any words would have been meaningless at this point. She simply turned around slowly, extremely slowly, like an empty shell drained of all strength, stumbling, step by step, towards the door. She did not look at the gifts on the floor, nor did she glance back at the two embracing figures.
The door closed softly. There was no angry slam, but the silent closure was more suffocating than any loud bang.
Silence returned to the room, broken only by the distant sounds of traffic outside the window.
Qing Xinxue chuckled contentedly, then lowered her head to kiss Lan Yucheng’s hair. “Well done, Sister Cheng. The annoying fly has finally flown away.”
Lan Yucheng did not respond. An irresistible wave of fatigue washed over her, engulfing her limbs. The moment the truth was revealed, there was no relief, only a deeper void. She had expended all her strength; her mind and body had reached their limits.
She turned, burying her face into Qing Xinxue’s familiar embrace, and with her last ounce of strength, wrapped her arms around her waist, her voice almost inaudible:
“Xiao Xue… I’m tired… hold me tight… I want to sleep.”
Qing Xinxue looked at her pale, weary face, a flicker of tenderness in her eyes, but more so, a profound satisfaction of her possessiveness. She scooped up the feather-light Lan Yucheng, carried her to the bedroom, and gently placed her on the bed like a fragile treasure. Then, she lay down herself, holding her tightly.
“Sleep, Sister Cheng,” she whispered into her ear, like the sweetest curse. “I’m right here. From now on, no one will ever disturb us again.”
In the familiar, comforting embrace, inhaling the scent that made her soul tremble, Lan Yucheng’s consciousness rapidly sank into darkness. Before losing all awareness, her last thought was: *Everything is ruined, but at least… Xiao Xue is still here.*
Meanwhile, outside the apartment door, in the empty hallway, Su Yiyi leaned against the cold wall and slowly slid to the floor, burying her face in her knees. Her shoulders trembled violently, yet she made no sound.
She recalled the images she had just witnessed, and a thought began to form deep within her heart.
‘Lan Yucheng’
‘You love this woman so much’
‘What if… she were dead?’