Punishment for repeating the same old trick

The decision made, no more words were spoken. Exhausted, Xu Fengluan pulled over a blanket and pillow, collapsing into sleep. She woke at dusk, and after more turmoil, it was already night.

The bathroom’s water pattered, hot mist spreading. The living room glowed dimly, faintly outlining the instruments.

Xu Fengluan lounged in a single armchair, her long legs in black capri pants stretched and bent. The carpet sent for cleaning, her bare feet rested on cool tiles, toes chilled.

A newly opened cigarette pack sat nearby, the ashtray holding two stubs. Xu held her phone, head tilted against it, eyes lazy, occasionally murmuring a response.

On the line was Chu Cheng, her voice as dramatic as ever, chattering nonstop.

“The band’s been hounding us to finish the lyrics and record.”

Their collaborative song had been delayed repeatedly—first by lyric struggles, then by the rift between Xu Fengluan and Liu Tingsong, stalling re-recording.

As time dragged, online doubts resurfaced, reviving rumors of their discord. Fans clashed, Ranyun’s side defending the lyric-writing process, urging others not to interfere, while Liu’s fans accused Ranyun of deliberate delays. The feud nearly trended again.

“No recording,” Xu said bluntly, adding, “Say the lyrics aren’t ready.”

“Director Zhang offered to hire lyricists, their side covering costs.”

Xu frowned, no longer hiding her irritation. “Can’t record now. Find an excuse to decline.”

Liu’s poor condition was obvious, so Ranyun would take the heat.

Chu Cheng agreed, notifying Xu as a formality, nodding without persuasion.

She added, “Several companies contacted us recently. Seen their offers?”

After their messy split with their old company, they wouldn’t renew. New firms had come with tempting deals.

“Looked at a few,” Xu rubbed her brow.

“What’s your take? Sign with one?”

The group had discussed it, but Xu, as leader, would decide.

Xu paused, her gaze settling on the instruments, lost in thought before murmuring absently, “Orange, what if I don’t want to do the band anymore…”

Her voice was soft, almost inaudible, dissipating in the breeze.

Chu Cheng didn’t catch it, pressing, “What? Louder.”

Xu shook her head. “I’ll think about it.”

“Alright,” Chu Cheng shifted, cautious. “What’s your plan now? You and Tingsong-jie really done?”

The group had discussed today’s events, fully aware.

Xu glanced toward the bathroom.

Its bright light and warm heater glared, mist seeping through the frosted door, faintly revealing a vague silhouette, teasing the imagination.

Xu lowered her eyes. “Let’s leave it at that.”

Chu Cheng sighed, knowing their situation was tangled, with no easy fix, left to their own torment. “Mid-Autumn’s today. Spa plans still on? Zhao Zhao’s itching to play in the water.”

“Take her?” Chu added. “I’m booking a hotel.”

Mentioning Zhao Zhao softened Xu’s face, chuckling, “She plays in the tub daily and still wants a new spot.”

Zhao Zhao loved water, soaking in the bathtub forever, mocked endlessly by Ji Lunan’s videos.

The bathroom’s water stopped, followed by the rustle of fabric.

Chu Cheng laughed. “We’ll get her a big pool, let her bring her ducks, turtles, and frogs.”

Zhao Zhao’s charm won everyone over, her toys piling up, turning bath time into a pageant of picking favorites.

Xu realized she hadn’t gifted Zhao Zhao lately, opening a shopping app to order something.

The bathroom door creaked open, someone stepping out with lingering heat. Before taking a few steps, Xu said, “We’ll go ourselves. Spa might be inconvenient for her.”

“Inconvenient? I’ll book a private villa to avoid photos.”

Xu declined, “She’s busy. Next time.”

The figure paused, entering the bedroom silently.

The hairdryer hummed, then stopped. The living room light went out.

A faint wall lamp glowed in the bedroom. Xu rinsed a glass, filled it with water, and turned without a word, fetching new pajamas.

On the bed, only a slender back remained.

The bed sank as Xu slipped under the covers, saying, “I asked Ji Lunan. She knows some good psychologists and booked us an appointment.”

Her urgency seemed to scream her desire for Liu to recover and leave.

Liu Tingsong’s lips tightened, emitting a muffled sound, acknowledging she heard. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Words dried up, the room falling silent, save for occasional breaths.

Xu turned, pulling the blanket, back to Liu. Though on the same bed, they clung to opposite edges, a vast divide between.

Until someone shifted, cautiously inching closer.

Xu noticed but didn’t stop her, staying rigid.

Liu lowered her head, forehead against Xu’s spine. Thin fabric couldn’t block her warmth, heavy breaths falling, mingling with the scent of body wash.

She paused, and when Xu didn’t resist, she pressed closer.

Her hand rested on Xu’s waist, closing the gap entirely.

Soft curves pressed against Xu’s back, feet brushing, sparking an itch.

Xu stiffened as Liu pressed closer, her gentle demeanor deceptively forceful, leaving no retreat.

Cool lips grazed Xu’s spine, trailing upward along the bones.

Dark eyes fluttered, tender and clinging. If she could speak, each kiss would carry a soft “baby.”

Kisses landed on Xu’s neck. Liu tilted her head, her feet hooking Xu’s, teasing an itch.

Xu shrank her neck, scolding, “Liu Tingsong.”

Only more kisses answered, lingering on her neck’s curve, not fleeting but bitten lightly, tongue circling.

Xu hissed, nearly jolting forward, gripping the mattress edge.

“Liu Tingsong,” she warned again.

Liu sucked, leaving a faint mark.

Xu couldn’t stop her—she’d given her this right. In this withdrawal period, they were still lovers, free to cross lines.

Liu’s tongue traced upward, lingering on Xu’s spine, nowhere else.

Xu’s breathing grew heavy, the mattress dented under her grip, her fingers carving visible hollows.

Liu’s kisses polished Xu’s spine, gleaming like jade pulled from water, drawing her back repeatedly.

Tingling spread from Xu’s spine, radiating through her body.

Unable to bear it, Xu flipped over. Liu pulled back, looking up.

Her clear eyes misted again, swollen rims reddening.

She gazed at Xu, soft and docile like a cat baring its belly, nuzzling Xu’s raised hand, her delicate face in Xu’s palm, tears falling with each blink.

She was crying again. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

The poised Liu Tiansong had become a crybaby these days. Xu, the culprit, knew why, deliberately dragging out the call until Liu could hear, making her suffer, mirroring Xu’s own pain.

Liu’s lips pressed Xu’s palm, mouthing words.

*Want.*

*Do.*

As if Xu might not understand, she repeated the phrases.

*Take me.*

*Do.*

Her breath filled Xu’s palm, voiceless yet louder than sound, demanding focus. Xu’s mind filled in the words, even her voice.

Itching unbearably, Xu curled her fingers, gripping Liu’s face to silence bolder words.

But Liu persisted, legs entwining, her slim waist twisting, grinding dampness against Xu’s bent knee.

She froze, wincing in pain.

Last night’s excess lingered—her waist and legs ached, let alone other battered places.

Xu seemed to smirk, prying Liu’s legs apart to deliver a slap.

Liu trembled, letting out a muffled, pleading whimper.

Her earlier overstep demanded punishment.

But it wasn’t enough. Slap after slap landed, thin fabric muffling the sound, soon joined by wet noises.

Liu tried to dodge, only to be pulled back by her waist, trembling, fragile as a reed.

Night wind rattled windows, snapping dry branches. The moon hid behind thin clouds, casting faint shadows from towering buildings.

Insects, stalled by last night’s rain, burrowed into leaf piles.

The air cooled, dampness lingering, occasional bird calls fading fast.

Passersby, fooled by the day’s warmth, shivered in thin clothes, hugging themselves for warmth.

The phone on the nightstand buzzed, but Xu ignored it, her hand wet, each touch sparking shudders. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Liu, trying old tricks, suffered again, curled in Xu’s arms, sobbing hoarsely.

Her unsanctioned chaos carried a heavy price, even if Xu encouraged it.

It ended sometime later, Liu limp in Xu’s arms. Xu helped her, and the bathroom’s water ran again, a tube of ointment from the cabinet applied to swollen areas.

In a haze, Liu heard Xu whisper wickedly, “Liu Tingsong, how can you, like this, manage twice?”

Liu didn’t answer, tears at her eyes’ corners her only response.

To salvage this way came at a brutal cost.

This was Liu Tingsong’s lesson tonight, one she’d relearn in the days to come.