Have I Acquired the Meaning of Love to You?
Lin Que’s brain began a frantic rewind—why had she lost control again?
What had happened right before all of this?
Unlike Lu Ling, Lin Que was absolutely certain that her condition had deteriorated.
In the long years of her past, the last “episode” was the first of this lifetime. At that time, the cause could still be attributed to long-term fasting and excessive exercise, coupled with external environmental triggers.
But what about this time?
Lately, she had been “revenge eating,” and her only work was filming a commercial. Had she failed to take her supplements on time?
No.
Supplements were only a matter of principle for daily intake. Her physical exam reports showed no sub-standard indicators.
Was it because the show’s recording and the commercial shoot followed each other without a break?
That wasn’t right either. Compared to her past, this level of intensity was nothing.
The evening breeze stirred slightly. Lin Que’s eyes froze for a moment; she sat up straight and looked out the window. A scent—extremely faint—was hidden within the salty dampness of the sea breeze.
It seemed to be… cherry blossoms?
Lin Que tilted her head slightly and sniffed. Her straightened back slumped once more.
In that instant, that fleeting second, the scent of cherry blossoms hidden in the salty waves made her think of Xiaobao again.
In their homeland, which had been destroyed a hundred years ago, they lived by the sea. Her mother and kin resisted atop the waves and slept forever in the seawater, while she and her sister were reborn in the ocean.
When Xiaobao was born, she was as frail as a kitten. Candlelight flickered on the mottled walls as her mother held her and Xiaobao, humming a tuneless nursery rhyme. “Our Yi-Yi is a big sister starting today. Are you happy?”
At that time, Lin Que didn’t have a precise answer. She looked into her mother’s eyes and felt that a positive answer would surely make her mother happy.
But before she could nod, her mother pulled her into a tight embrace—it smelled of the sea.
“Yi-Yi doesn’t have to be happy; it’s also okay if you don’t like your sister.”
“Whether Yi-Yi likes or dislikes Xiaobao, you are still Mama’s baby, my only baby.”
Little Lin Que shrank into her mother’s warm chest. Her mother’s heartbeat was strong. At that moment, Little Lin Que found her answer: she liked her sister. She liked Xiaobao.
And then, the rust-red beach.
Under the setting sun, the waves were a magnificent red.
Xiaobao would be thirteen forever.
It can’t be.
Lin Que pressed her hand to her forehead and shook her head.
Before it happened, when she was on the beach with the others, the surroundings were filled with various sounds. The moment a certain someone passed by her, the world began to spin.
Her heart felt like it was trying to burst through her flesh, her skin twisting and tearing. The distant mountains and the sea blurred into identical blocks of color—Run.
Escape to a place where no one could see her.
Everyone was an enemy; phones and cameras were their weapons—thump, thump, thump.
Lin Que tilted her head and sniffed.
The scent of safety.
Lu Ling stood at the door. The moonlight—cold and white—grudgingly cast only half its brilliance, shining between them like a silver river.
Instinct drove her to reach out, crossing that “Silver River” to tightly grasp Lu Ling.
The skin touched by the moonlight felt scorching. Standing under the moon, Lu Ling appeared translucent and holy—like a medicine bottle.
She kissed her as if swallowing an antidote.
“Why?”
Ding—
Lin Que froze, looking toward the source of the sound, looking at Lu Ling.
Her antidote, her evidence of guilt.
Lu Ling’s eyelashes trembled slightly. The wound at the corner of her lip was a deep red, and the lingering traces on her neck were exposed to the sound of the waves.
Lin Que’s gaze fixed there, her fingers curling involuntarily.
She should feel sorry for this; she should say “I’m sorry.” Even if it seemed incredibly ironic, it would be better than this—
Better than looking at those ambiguous marks and still thinking she was beautiful.
She was truly beautiful.
Stripped of all flowery, hollow words, only this simplest sigh remained.
Lu Ling was beautiful. This was a beauty she might have never realized herself. The environment they grew up in was always conflicted about beauty—wishing for it to exist, yet loathing the negative labels that came with it.
Beauty itself is not a crime.
Lu Ling was running and jumping in the sunlight, her ponytail bouncing; Lu Ling was leaning on her desk using books as cover, popping a sour candy into her mouth the moment the teacher turned around, only to be called on before she could adjust her expression.
Dear girl, why are you so vivid and full of life?
“Lin Que,”
Lu Ling’s voice was hoarse. Her eyes downcast, the fragmented moonlight enveloped her hand.
She reached out, and the moonlight descended into Lin Que’s palm along with her.
Lin Que’s gaze moved from her fingertips to her face.
Lu Ling began to laugh, her eyes squinting as she hid all her emotions.
“We are both adults, aren’t we?” Lu Ling exhaled, appearing quite carefree, though her eyes involuntarily flickered for a split second. “If you didn’t… It’s not like we can’t do this, right?”
Lin Que didn’t answer; she just stared at her.
Lu Ling took a deep breath and propped herself up. Her dark, bright eyes were like washed grapes. “Or rather, if you weren’t a vampire, if you were like me, would you even have desires for someone like me?”
Lin Que’s eyes flickered. The sound of the waves was drowned out by a dial tone in her ears. Just as she was about to speak, Lu Ling seemed to sense what she was going to say and cut her off:
“Don’t say it.”
Lin Que was slightly stunned.
Lu Ling looked at her, stubbornly refusing to blink—If you say ‘I’m sorry’ to me, then what am I?
A pitiful, jilted woman?
“Lin Que, this isn’t something that requires an apology.”
Lu Ling looked up and smiled. As if to match the light expression, she gave a little shrug. “You’ve returned to normal, and I enjoyed the process. Honestly, you’re very beautiful, aren’t you? Thinking of it that way, I haven’t really lost out. We both got what we needed.”
“Don’t make me get goosebumps with mushy talk, please.”
Lu Ling made a pleading gesture.
Lin Que lowered her gaze. As Lu Ling lowered her hand, those beautiful peach-blossom eyes also half-closed.
Lu Ling finally couldn’t keep smiling.
She curled back into the blanket, turning her back to Lin Que. “Sleep—”
“Lu Ling,”
Lin Que’s voice came from behind her, deep and hoarse. “I must say I’m sorry—regardless of whether we are adults or whether we both got what we needed.”
“It’s because the act itself was wrong,” Lin Que said. “You should condemn me in any way you can think of, and I should pay whatever price I can, including my life. This was wrong. Even if you say you didn’t feel bad, this shouldn’t have happened.”
With her back to her, Lu Ling’s body curled into a ball beneath the covers.
“Sex is a desire; it has nothing to do with love, and even less to do with whether someone is charming. Whether it happens depends on a tacit understanding between two people. Alcohol, flowers, or anything else are just innocent scapegoats.”
Lu Ling turned around and looked at her.
Lin Que looked up at her, her voice not loud, but firm. “You’re right, we are adults, but it shouldn’t be like this.”
“Your body is just as important and precious as your will.”
“I’m sorry, I still haven’t figured out why I suddenly lost control again,” Lin Que lowered her hands. Lu Ling looked up, her eyes meeting Lin Que’s.
“You should kill me,” Lin Que whispered, averting her gaze.
“Why?”
Lu Ling asked again.
Lin Que paused and answered, “The reason is obvious.”
“Is your life something you’re so eager to throw away?” Lu Ling’s voice was soft, her eyes vacant and lonely. Lin Que watched those eyes, witnessing the version of herself reflected in them become distorted and submerged.
Lin Que instinctively wanted to say something to “fix it,” her lips trembling, but in the end, she couldn’t make a sound.
Why did she think of that?
Lu Ling sat up, resting on Lin Que’s lap so their gazes were level.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Lin Que nodded.
“After the sun rises, will you still remember your answer?”
“Yes.”
“You said sex has nothing to do with love,” Lu Ling said. “Then what about you?”
Lin Que was stunned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Lu Ling looked directly at her, “Have I acquired the meaning of love to you?”
Splash—
The sea suddenly grew violent. Waves crashed against the reefs, and at the edge of the sea breeze, a seabird let out two sharp cries. Inside the room, the window was half-ajar; the mirror on the dressing table reflected Lu Ling’s smooth back.
“Yes.”
Lu Ling’s body stiffened for a moment. She looked into Lin Que’s eyes, and the tension supporting her back vanished—no.
Love and the meaning of love were different.
“And you?” Lin Que asked. “Do you love me?”
Lu Ling looked down, her chest rising and falling shallowly with her breath.
Lin Que was taken aback. “Yo—”
“No, I shouldn’t have asked that.”
Lu Ling’s hands rested on Lin Que’s shoulders, her head bowed as if talking to herself. “Because I don’t love you.”
“In my twenty-four years of life, I have hated you the most.”
Lin Que lowered her eyes and let out a soft sigh, the emotions in her gaze dark and indistinct.
“Promise me one thing, Lin Que.”
Lu Ling’s back was toward the mirror at the corner of the bed, her spine smooth and straight like a lighthouse.
Lin Que looked up at her. “Okay.”
“Don’t say things like that anymore,” Lu Ling tucked a stray hair behind Lin Que’s ear, her tone gentle. “No one should be killed by anyone.”
Lin Que’s eyes blanked. Before she could react, Lu Ling’s finger traced the contour of her cheek downward—
A kiss, as light as a night breeze, touched her lips.
“Goodnight, Yi-Yi.”
—Bang!
Lin Que practically bolted upright. She wasn’t even fully awake, but her muscle memory kicked in, flipping the blanket over to cover the majority of Lu Ling, who hadn’t been woken up.
Ren Hui quickly shoved a cup toward her. “Here, drink this.”
Lin Que took it. Her brain said, “Wait a second,” but her hand and mouth delivered and swallowed—”Ah!”
“Water!”
Ji Yao hurriedly pulled out some water, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to Lin Que. As their fingertips touched, Ji Yao froze for a moment.
She looked at Lin Que first, then took off her mask and sniffed, her gaze landing on the blanket behind her.
“A mission?” Lin Que’s tone was weary.
“Yes!” Ren Hui said brightly. “Congratulations, now you get to draw the next lucky winner!”
“Wow!!”
—Bang!
Multicolored ribbons rained down following the cheers. Lin Que sat on the bed with her hand to her forehead, looking helpless, but the corners of her mouth were turned up in a beautiful, indulgent smile.
She glanced around the room and clapped along.
“Okay, is my part over yet?” Lin Que took a long breath and asked.
“Not yet—”
Ren Hui held out a drawing bucket.
“Please draw the next lucky person, and,” as Ren Hui spoke, she “magically” produced a second drawing bucket, “the lucky mission.”