Mint Ice and Frosted Threads

“The situation with Ms. Liu is complex. There’s no comprehensive treatment system domestically or internationally. We can do little; it depends on Ms. Liu herself.”

“The good news, if you can call it that, is since she recovered once, there’s a high chance she can overcome it again. Don’t be too anxious, as it might make her more stressed.”

“More companionship, less pressure.”

Familiar words echoed again. Xu Fengluan frowned, thanked the doctor, and left the hospital with Liu Tingsong.

Her heavy, restless mood didn’t ease—it grew more oppressive.

On the drive away, neither spoke until they reached the supermarket.

Compared to others, this one was quiet, with more staff than customers. A glance at the shelves revealed jaw-dropping prices.

Xu rarely came here—not because she couldn’t afford it, but because it lacked the warmth of everyday life, built entirely on wealth.

But Liu’s condition demanded caution. Ordinary places brought worry of incidents, and the hospital’s frustrations needed an outlet, so this was the choice.

Declining the staff’s assistance, Xu pushed a cart with one hand, tugging Liu’s sleeve with the other, moving slowly. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Liu followed docilely, her calm expression almost light, contrasting Xu’s furrowed brow.

“What do you want to eat?” Xu tossed chips into the cart, adding, “We’ll pick up Fat Cat later.”

They’d agreed last night: Xu’s place wasn’t safe with paparazzi lurking, so they’d move to Liu’s, and retrieve the Maine Coon from the pet shop.

“Take what you want.”

Xu couldn’t help but add, “Or tug my sleeve, I’ll grab it for you.”

Her words were absurd—Liu was voiceless, not helpless—but Liu didn’t protest, nodding obediently.

They weren’t talkative people, often sharing space in silence, finding comfort in hugs or glances.

But now Xu spoke more, initiating repeatedly.

“Want this?” Xu held a fruit tray, looking at Liu.

Liu shook her head, instinctively gesturing, then stopping to type on her phone.

Due to their height difference, Xu had to tilt down, white hair falling over her eyes, hiding her emotions. Her grip on the cart tightened.

Liu raised her phone.

[Let’s buy fruit and cut it at home.]

“Fine,” Xu said, looking away, casually asking, “When did you learn sign language?”

Liu typed.

[Delayed it a long time.]

Xu glanced, grabbing a wrapped fruit tray, tossing it in.

[I was stubborn, thought I’d recover, refused to learn.]

[About six months after losing my voice.]

Xu’s gaze lingered on the last words, lips tightening into a line, emotions unreadable.

Sensing Xu’s unease, Liu patted her hand, typing to comfort.

[It’s not bad. Not speaking avoids pointless socializing and chatter.]

[I sometimes pretend not to know sign language to dodge trouble.]

Her tone seemed light, as if ignoring the blow of losing her divine voice—a celebrated singer, her career stalled. To say she wasn’t devastated would be a lie.

Liu tugged Xu’s sleeve, handing back a poorly chosen apple, gesturing to return it.

Xu snapped out of it, taking the apple, shoving it back, asking, “Is sign language hard?”

Liu reassured.

[Not too hard, but rarely used in daily life, so few know it.]

Xu hummed, dropping the topic, grabbing cherries, then pulling Liu’s arm.

Focused on typing, Liu nearly hit the cart, but Xu caught her.

“Watch where you’re going,” Xu scolded softly.

She realized her chatter forced Liu to keep looking at her phone.

Liu didn’t mind, smiling up at Xu, her tired eyes less haunting, her cool elegance softened, replaced by—

Xu’s grip tightened on Liu’s arm, leaving faint marks on pale skin. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

A vague irritation rose; nothing Liu did seemed right, even now.

To an onlooker, the couple seemed odd, like they’d fought. Side by side, a palm’s distance apart, their closeness was undeniable, intimate to any observer.

Especially the older one, her eyes glued to the other, leaning in subtly, then pulling back restrainedly.

The taller one seemed stiff, face taut, but instantly noticed the other’s movements.

Curiosity piqued, a clerk turned to watch.

The older one glanced over, revealing half her profile. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Liu Tingsong?!

The clerk gasped, eyes widening, reaching for a phone that wasn’t there.

She remembered: no devices during work, and a confidentiality agreement forbade sharing customer details.

In her excitement, she’d forgotten.

If that was Liu Tingsong, then the other…

Her eyes shifted to the tall, slim figure with striking white hair, rare even in the glamorous entertainment world.

Names flashed in her mind, landing on Xu Fengluan.

Weren’t Liu Tingsong and Xu Fengluan rumored to be at odds?

What was this?!

A thousand questions swirled, but before she could think, the older one stepped closer, tiptoeing to kiss Xu’s cheek.

Huh?!

The clerk’s legs nearly gave out. This job had fed her plenty of gossip.

Like the “devoted” exec who shopped with his mistress under the guise of overtime.

Or the “poor” celebrity whose single purchases topped six figures.

Or the “gentle” star, actually a tyrant, tormenting staff, who dodged her visits.

But none matched this—two seemingly incompatible people as lovers!

And Liu Tingsong was the initiator.

Her heart raced.

Xu froze, unprepared for the kiss, letting Liu’s lips graze hers, leaving a cool tenderness.

Like a spring breeze, it brushed her lips, fleeting as a dragonfly’s touch.

[Don’t frown.]

Liu raised her phone. After Xu read it, Liu brushed Xu’s brow, trying to smooth it.

[Be happy.]

The screen’s words changed.

Xu’s tight lips loosened, then pressed again, looking away. “Stop it.”

She grabbed Liu’s wrist, pushing the cart forward.

Fruit, groceries, and toys for Zhao Zhao filled the cart, stopping at a dazzling display.

Unsure if their condoms were gone, they lingered, avoiding potential issues.

Xu grabbed two boxes of their usual brand—plain, medical-grade, safe.

She picked simpler ones, checking ingredients.

Liu tugged Xu’s sleeve.

“Hm?” Xu turned.

Liu pointed ahead.

Not Xu’s choices—different flavors and styles.

Liu tugged again, urging.

Xu smirked, teasing, “Mint ice?”

Liu’s ears reddened, but she nodded.

“Ribbed?”

Liu lowered her head, tugging Xu’s sleeve.

“Frosted threads…” Xu drawled.

Before Liu could respond, Xu glanced at her, her calm face tinged with mischief. “Can you handle it?”

Liu didn’t answer, grabbing a box and tossing it in.

Xu didn’t stop her, watching Liu add more.

A few steps later, Xu spotted other items, recalling Liu’s deliberate display last time. She tossed in lubricant.

Liu froze, then saw Xu add a cat-paw paddle.

With those chosen, the rest felt natural—rose-shaped candles, leather cuffs, chains.

It became a game: one escalated, the other doubled down. The cart piled high, the initial boxes now the tamest.

Luckily, the store was quiet, no line at checkout.

Xu nudged Liu aside to wait, donning a mask.

Bold earlier, she now felt a twinge of embarrassment.

The trained clerk showed no reaction. Xu stiffly scanned her payment.

*—Beep.*

Late at night, the living room glowed faintly from a projector.

Wearing a cat-ear headband, Liu knelt on Xu’s lap, biting a washed cherry, carefully offering it to Xu’s lips.