Downstairs in the booth, Yu Qingyu had only taken a few sips of her Long Island Iced Tea, while Ling Li beside her had already downed three cocktails, the alcohol rushing straight to her head.
Propping her cheek, Ling Li looked at Yu Qingyu with a tipsy smile in her eyes: “Want to go dance?”
Yu Qingyu glanced at the swaying figures in the dance floor and shook her head gently: “You go ahead. I’ll pass.”
Ling Li’s mind was already out of control, and the words tumbled out:
“Qingyu, you’re not still hung up on Huo Zhili, are you? That kind of icy person isn’t worth it at all. He doesn’t deserve you.”
As she spoke, she fumbled in her bag for her phone, tapped open an interview video sent by a colleague, and shoved it right in front of Yu Qingyu: “Look, he’s a complete jerk!”
This video—she had originally planned to bury it deep in her heart. Since they had already broken up, why torment each other further?
But now, with the alcohol taking over, she had long lost any sense of restraint, acting purely on an impulse of indignation for her friend.
The booth’s lights flickered dimly and brightly, casting half light and half shadow across Yu Qingyu’s face.
Ling Li’s words were like needles, pricking densely into her heart, yet she dared not even frown too noticeably.
In the video, Huo Zhili’s indifferent voice came through clearly—“Not considering it for now.”
Just four short words still struck Yu Qingyu hard.
She should have moved on long ago, yet the moment they reached her ears, her heart clenched sharply, a sourness rising up her throat.
At this moment, she was clearer than anyone—it turned out there had never been a place reserved for her in his future. She was the one who turned away first, she was the one who tactfully stepped back, and she shouldn’t cling to any lingering attachment.
But reason was one thing; the heart had its own will.
Ling Li, completely unaware of the dimness in her eyes, continued venting angrily:
“All he has is a pretty face. Beyond that, there’s not a shred of decency in him—just a scumbag, a jerk.”
Yu Qingyu’s fingers tightened around the glass, the icy touch unable to suppress the heat welling in her eyes.
She tilted her head back and drained the Long Island Iced Tea in one go. The strong liquor slid down her throat, burning so fiercely it made her eyes sting—just enough to hide the tears threatening to fall.
Ling Li put away her phone and shook her head: “I’m going to dance. If I run into any handsome guys, want me to introduce one to you?”
Yu Qingyu forced a faint smile, her voice so soft it was almost drowned out by the music: “No need. Keep them for yourself.”
Ling Li grinned goofily. “Oh, then I’ll keep them for myself.”
Yu Qingyu knew she wasn’t drunk—not even a little.
She was soberly aware that she was hurting, soberly understood it wasn’t worth it, soberly forcing herself to swallow all the grievances and reluctance, one glass after another.
Ling Li staggered off to the dance floor, the noise instantly cut off just a few steps away.
Yu Qingyu gazed at her half-empty glass, a faint, lonely smile tugging at her lips.
The sorrow was real, and so was the clarity.
She wouldn’t look back, and she wouldn’t lose her composure over him again. It was just that the emptiness in her heart would need a little more time to slowly fill.
She sat alone in the booth, slowly sipping her Long Island Iced Tea. By the time she had finished three glasses in a row, Ling Li finally stumbled back from the dance floor.
Ling Li frowned, her expression full of disdain: “Didn’t see a single decent-looking guy. Just a bunch of greasy men trying to take advantage.”
Yu Qingyu gently swirled her glass, the sides beaded with fine droplets of condensation: “The handsome ones are all upstairs.”
Ling Li was taken aback for a moment and casually replied, “Should we go up too?”
“No.” Yu Qingyu shook her head gently, her tone so faint it was almost devoid of emotion. “He’s up there.”
The two of them sat there chatting idly, and before they knew it, half an hour had quietly passed.
When Huo Zhili came downstairs, he spotted Yu Qingyu, who hadn’t left yet, at first glance.
He strode toward the booth, and as he approached, he heard Ling Li slurring drunkenly:
“Qingyu, when I have money, I’ll go abroad and find a handsome guy, borrow his sperm, and have a beautiful little mixed-race baby.”
Upon hearing this, Yu Qingyu replied flatly:
“How much do you need? I’ll lend it to you.”
Ling Li grinned, her eyes crinkling:
“Great, I’ll remember that. Let’s talk about it in a few years.”
Huo Zhili stood nearby, his gaze fixed on Yu Qingyu, his voice deepening slightly:
“It’s getting late. Let me take you home.”
Yu Qingyu looked up at the sound, her eyes carrying a hint of distant coldness as she met his gaze. “No need.”
After a pause, she stared straight at Huo Zhili, enunciating each word clearly and distinctly:
“From now on, there’s no need to speak when we meet. It’s better to act like strangers.”
“Qingyu,” Huo Zhili frowned slightly, a touch of impatience in his tone, “a person’s energy is limited. There’s no point in carrying on like this.”
Yu Qingyu suddenly let out a self-mocking laugh.
He always thought she was making a scene, always believed she was being unreasonable. No matter what she said, he would never believe her.
Since that was the case, saying another half-word would be superfluous.
She no longer looked at him, picked up her bag, reached out to support the drunken Ling Li, and stood up to leave directly.
Huo Zhili watched her resolute departing figure, feeling as if he had thrown a punch into cotton—soft and powerless—while an inexplicable sense of irritation and emptiness surged within him.
He believed he had given her plenty of room to step down, yet she stubbornly refused to take it.
In the end, he didn’t chase after her, only stood there for a moment.
He was certain that once she had made enough of a scene and came to her senses, she would always come back.