Qiu Xing didn’t answer, just lowered his head to kiss her again.

He silently kissed her forehead, kissed her eyes.

Lin Yiran had to close her eyes, so she could no longer look at Qiu Xing.

Qiu Xing’s kisses gradually became gentle, his nose tip touching hers. Lin Yiran couldn’t see that Qiu Xing’s eyes were also tender at this moment, with a tiny reflection of herself in them.

Before Qiu Xing got up, he lightly bit Lin Yiran’s lip.

Lin Yiran made a soft “mmm” sound, immediately opening her eyes wide to stare at Qiu Xing.

Qiu Xing smiled, ruffled her hair, and got up to take a shower.

The spot where her lip had been bitten felt hot and swollen, with a tingling sensation. She sat up and persistently asked him back: “Why don’t you want to be with me?”

Qiu Xing didn’t turn around, heading straight for the bathroom and turning on the shower.

Normally, after asking twice without getting an answer from Qiu Xing, Lin Yiran definitely wouldn’t ask again. The little courage that occasionally rose in her wasn’t enough to face Qiu Xing’s silence. But today, the alcohol in her body was restlessly encouraging her, not letting her just let it go.

So when Qiu Xing came out after his shower, Lin Yiran asked the same question for the third time.

Qiu Xing came out of the shower wearing only sweatpants, no shirt. Water droplets slid down his waist and abdomen, over his abs, soaking into the elastic waistband. He never dried his back properly after showering, just carelessly swiping the towel behind him, wiping off whatever it caught, so his back was always wet after a shower.

When Lin Yiran asked, Qiu Xing was just unscrewing a bottle of mineral water for a drink. Hearing Lin Yiran’s question, Qiu Xing looked at her once and said: “There’s no why.”

“Don’t you like me?” Lin Yiran tilted her head to look at him.

Qiu Xing screwed the cap back on and put down the bottle, not looking at Lin Yiran: “Don’t ask.”

“If you like me, say you like me. If you don’t, say you don’t. What are you afraid to say?” Lin Yiran pressed her lips together as she asked him.

Once Qiu Xing put on that impenetrable demeanor of his, Lin Yiran had no way to deal with him.

“I said don’t ask,” Qiu Xing said expressionlessly. “Don’t force me to say it. If I do, you’ll just end up crying.”

“Tell me,” Lin Yiran stared at him.

Qiu Xing frowned slightly: “If you’re not going to sleep, I’ll take you home.”

Lin Yiran couldn’t win an argument with Qiu Xing, nor could she get a word out of him. Qiu Xing had always been this kind of person—as long as he didn’t nod or give in, no one could change his mind.

Lin Yiran sat on the edge of the bed, arms propped beside her legs, biting her lip, no longer asking.

The room fell silent. Neither spoke. Lin Yiran sat with her head down while Qiu Xing leaned against the table, using his phone to reply to messages.

After finishing his messages, Qiu Xing wandered around looking for a charger for his phone. He deliberately didn’t look back, acting as if nothing had happened.

Until a deliberately suppressed, barely audible intake of breath sounded, Qiu Xing turned to look.

Lin Yiran’s earlier assertiveness was gone, returning to her usual obedient demeanor, sitting properly, with half her long hair hanging in front of her chest. From this angle, he could see her delicate nose and beautiful chin.

The youthful naivety had mostly faded from the young woman, who had grown into someone graceful and poised, soft yet resilient—the kind of exceptional girl who would stand out in any environment.

Lin Yiran’s slender shoulders were slightly raised from propping up her arms, and blue veins were visible on her fair skin.

Qiu Xing finally put down his phone, sighed, and walked over to crouch in front of her.

His arms stretched straight, resting on his knees, fingertips just barely touching the floor.

“See, I haven’t even said anything and you’re already crying,” he looked up at her. “Your tears come so quickly.”

Lin Yiran sniffled and shook her head.

Qiu Xing raised his hand to wipe her tears away with the back of his hand: “Stop crying.”

Alcohol amplifies all emotions—whether sadness or grievance, nothing can be hidden.

“Don’t cry over me anymore,” Qiu Xing said as he wiped her tears. “I’m not irreplaceable. It’s the same with or without me.”

Every word he said only made Lin Yiran’s tears fall more fiercely.

Qiu Xing crouched there, like a large dog, looking somewhat young, not his usual profound self. Perhaps if he hadn’t experienced all these hardships, if he had remained that sunny, cheerful boy, this is what he would be like now. At this moment, he resembled a young man comforting his girlfriend, from his expression to his tone, yet the words he spoke were all about leaving.

“How do you know you’re not?” Lin Yiran asked in retort.

Qiu Xing said: “You’ve barely met anyone else.”

Lin Yiran grew anxious, wanting to speak. Qiu Xing shook his head and told her: “I took advantage of your situation, took advantage of your youth, took advantage of you, and you still think I’m being good to you?”

Lin Yiran frowned deeply, shaking her head vigorously.

“Don’t be foolish. You shouldn’t date someone like me. Don’t take on more burdens.” Qiu Xing brushed her face, looking at her and saying, “With my circumstances, anyone else would have run away long ago. Only you keep foolishly talking about dating, dating. You could date anyone, why me?”

Today’s Qiu Xing was different from usual, which made Lin Yiran even more anxious.

Lin Yiran couldn’t stop her tears, nor could she suppress her sobs any longer.

“My mom’s illness might never get better, you never know when something will trigger her and make her ill again.” Qiu Xing crouched there saying, “She might not always be like she is now; she could get worse than this. Of course, I hope she gets better, but my hopes don’t matter. If it happens, I have to face it.”

Qiu Xing spoke rationally and calmly, his tone gentle yet somehow cruel to himself.

“You heard how people cursed me that day. My mom and I have to bear all this because we’re family. The trouble my dad caused, we have to bear it.” Qiu Xing asked her, “And you still want to join this mess? Are you out of your mind?”

Lin Yiran cried until she coughed. Qiu Xing continued: “Stop crying. If I stayed with you, you’d have even more to cry about later.”

“I don’t care,” Lin Yiran countered.

“Let it go anyway,” Qiu Xing said coldly. “Let’s end it here. I don’t have the heart for this anymore.”

Once Qiu Xing had said these things, there was no taking them back.

Lin Yiran cried for a long time, her eyes swelling badly. For as long as she cried, Qiu Xing comforted her, crouching in front of her the whole time, sitting on the floor when he couldn’t crouch any longer.

Later, Lin Yiran asked him in a hoarse voice: “Qiu Xing, are you going to abandon me?”

“No, you’re the one abandoning me,” Qiu Xing said. “I’ve been standing in the same place, living this kind of life. You let go of me, so you’ve gone further and further away. You haven’t been abandoned by anyone.”

Lin Yiran nodded and stopped crying.

She raised her arms toward Qiu Xing and said: “Hold me, please.”

Qiu Xing smiled slightly, stood up, bent down, and lifted her directly into his arms, carrying her to wash her face.

Lin Yiran couldn’t keep Qiu Xing with alcohol, nor could she keep him with tears.

Their relationship had been an absurd consequence of impulsive actions, chaotically binding them together for three years, sometimes distant, sometimes intimate, yet never truly being lovers.

Now that Qiu Xing was unwilling to continue, Lin Yiran had no bargaining chips and could only do as Qiu Xing said—look forward, without looking back.

*

Early the next morning, Lin Yiran was sent home by Qiu Xing. Aunt Fang was startled when she saw Lin Yiran’s badly swollen eyes.

“What happened, Little Boat?” Aunt Fang held her face tenderly with both hands. “Have you been crying?”

With her face held in those warm hands, Lin Yiran felt an intense ache in her heart. Aunt Fang was so gentle, with so much love to give, yet she had become one of Qiu Xing’s reasons for pushing Lin Yiran away.

“I feel so sad, Minmin,” Lin Yiran said softly, her eyes red.

“Don’t be sad,” Aunt Fang comforted her. “It will all pass.”

“When will it pass?” Lin Yiran sniffled, asking her.

“Soon,” she stroked Lin Yiran’s head. “Very soon.”

Even three years ago, at her most desperate, when she had nothing and lived in constant fear, Lin Yiran had never clung to Qiu Xing. When it was time for her to leave, she would go.

Now that Qiu Xing had said he didn’t have the heart for this anymore, Lin Yiran naturally wouldn’t persist. Qiu Xing owed her nothing. Whether before or now, Lin Yiran’s gratitude toward him far outweighed any resentment. More than anyone, she wished for Qiu Xing to have a peaceful life.

Lin Yiran didn’t leave immediately; her vacation wasn’t over yet.

She didn’t deliberately distance herself from Qiu Xing either. When Qiu Xing came to deliver things, she still went down to collect them. They still kept in touch, and everything seemed normal when they met.

The tacit understanding between them meant many things didn’t need to be repeated; some matters were settled as if by agreement.

This was a vacation ending in farewell. Lin Yiran spent each day with Aunt Fang, listening to her confused mentions of Qiu Xing and Yangzheng.

Lin Yiran asked her: “What kind of person is Yangzheng?”

Aunt Fang said with disdain yet pride: “He has a bad temper but is very devoted to his family.”

“Who pursued whom?” Lin Yiran chatted with her, smiling.

“Of course he pursued me,” Fang Min sat up straight at this point, smoothing her dress and raising her chin slightly. “Who wanted to marry him? I even thought he was too poor, a penniless man.”

The distant happiness sparkled in her eyes as Lin Yiran rested her folded hands on the back of the sofa, watching her.

Lin Yiran suddenly thought, if staying in the past could keep her happy forever, maybe that wasn’t so bad. There, she had her Yangzheng and her Qiu Xing.

But on second thought, she felt it wasn’t right.

She only wanted her eighteen-year-old son, which meant the current twenty-five-year-old Qiu Xing was too pitiful.

He wouldn’t let anyone accompany him, and no one wanted him either.