A long silence made Chu Susu even more uneasy. She couldn’t help but raise her voice. “Say something.”
The gaze she directed at the other was filled with wariness, as if the other were some ferocious beast ready to pounce at any moment.
Han Xuan seemed like she wanted to reach out and smooth the rumpled bedsheets and blanket for her, but upon meeting that gaze, she ultimately let her fingertips drop and hid them behind her back.
“Yes,” she said softly.
What?!
The undisguised affirmative answer left Chu Susu dumbfounded. Her vision went black for a moment, and in that instant, she nearly felt herself fainting again.
Han Xuan had really admitted that Qiao Qian’s death was related to her?
The girl in the black dress remained expressionless, as if it had nothing to do with her. “It was me who told her about Yu Zize’s bet.”
Chu Susu’s eyes instantly reddened, her nose stinging.
It had only been a few hours since the incident—how could she possibly forget the light yet utterly despairing tone in Qiao Qian’s voice over the phone?
“Why did you do that?” Chu Susu asked painfully, curling up her knees and hugging her legs as she buried her head. The blanket in front of her slowly became soaked with tears. “Qiao Qian, she…”
She didn’t have to die.
She could have continued living just like everyone else in this world.
Han Xuan remained standing in place, not moving an inch.
“I only recounted what happened,” she said calmly. “Everyone has the right to know the truth.”
Chu Susu was stunned for a moment before slowly lifting her head, staring at her in disbelief.
“Don’t you care at all?” she asked, her lips pressed tightly together. “That was a living person’s life. Did it never occur to you that it might drive Qiao Qian to her death?”
Han Xuan didn’t answer, but Chu Susu could see the response in her emotionless eyes.
—She didn’t care.
Chu Susu moved her lips but couldn’t say another word.
She didn’t know why everything had turned out like this. In just one short day, everything had fallen apart.
She thought she understood Qiao Qian and never imagined she would seek death, yet Qiao Qian had leaped down so decisively.
She also thought she knew Han Xuan well enough, but only today did she realize that Han Xuan wasn’t the person she had imagined.
Chu Susu only regretted not reaching out to Qiao Qian sooner. If she had called even a day or an hour earlier, could she have saved her?
She regretted even more not noticing the oddities about Han Xuan. There were so many abnormalities…
In a daze, Chu Susu thought that she actually had noticed them but had chosen to ignore them.
For example, why did Han Xuan always cook her favorite dishes and flavors whenever she made a meal? Or why was Pipi, who was usually wary of strangers, so affectionate toward Han Xuan, as if they had played together before…
Han Xuan’s voice drifted into her ears like a quiet night breeze. “That was her own choice.”
“Qiao Qian still harbored feelings for Yu Zize, so she asked me to investigate for her. I only told her what I found.”
“As for how Qiao Qian reacted after learning the truth and what path she ultimately took, that has nothing to do with me.”
Her solitary figure resembled a mandala flower standing aloof from the world.
Those words were far too cold. Chu Susu felt the blood in her veins freeze. She was stunned for a long time before regaining her thoughts.
“You said everyone has the right to know the truth,” she said, her eyelashes trembling. “What about me? How long are you going to keep hiding it from me?”
“If I hadn’t gone to the class reunion today by chance, I’d probably be kept in the dark forever.”
“We clearly knew each other before.” Chu Susu tugged at the corner of her mouth, letting tears streak messily down her cheeks. “As far back as so many years ago…”
Where had Xingxing gone back then?
Since she had chosen to leave before, why was Han Xuan standing before her now?
Han Xuan didn’t seem surprised at all that she already knew. Her welcoming gaze was as deep as the night, utterly unmoved.
Only when she glimpsed the tears falling did she let out a soft sigh.
“Don’t cry.”
She seemed to want to approach but stopped in place due to the wary posture of the person on the bed.
After a long while, Chu Susu finally said, “I want my memories back.”
She didn’t believe the incident where Xingxing hadn’t shown up back then was the real reason Han Xuan had erased her memories.
Once she knew Xingxing was Han Xuan, everything became shrouded in mystery.
Back then, Xingxing herself hadn’t appeared; it had all been handled by relatives.
With Han Xuan’s abilities, if she truly despised Chu Susu, she could have simply killed her. There was no need for such elaborate trouble, nor for hiding her identity and reappearing years later.
So, the events back then and Han Xuan’s true motives definitely had other reasons.
Chu Susu had a gut feeling that the answers lay in those lost memories.
Faint birdsong came from outside the window—unclear if it was early-rising birds or ones that hadn’t slept.
Han Xuan’s bangs slightly obscured her eyes, casting a shadow. “Once lost, there’s no need to recover them.”
“That’s not for you to decide. I must make the choice myself.”
Han Xuan suddenly spoke up. “How do you know this wasn’t your decision?”
Her decision?
Did Han Xuan mean that she had actively chosen to erase her own memories?
Chu Susu froze, never having imagined things were like this. What kind of unforgettable, unwilling-to-recall memory would make her choose to forget?
She still remembered the high school incident and thought nothing could be worse, but now it seemed the extracted part was even more unbearable.
Han Xuan’s eyes shifted slightly, filled with emotions Chu Susu couldn’t decipher. “You said back then that you hoped never to remember it in this lifetime.”
She abruptly took a step closer.
“I’ve never lied to you.”
Yes, Chu Susu knew she was telling the truth. Otherwise, when faced with the questioning, she could have just erased the memories again.
That way, the two of them could have easily returned to harmony without all this confrontation.
But why? Chu Susu’s thoughts were in turmoil, her mind filled with this one question.
Why exactly?
She suddenly met Han Xuan’s eyes and felt like she was about to be sucked in. She watched as the other drew closer but could do nothing.
In the next instant, Chu Susu abruptly lost consciousness and fell backward. But she didn’t hit the bed straight on; instead, a hand gently caught her, slowly lowering her head onto the pillow, perfectly avoiding her injury.
Han Xuan’s fingers were ice-cold as they quietly brushed the furrowed brow, even in sleep.
She sighed, then a faint warm yellow glow bloomed from her fingertips. The moment it touched Chu Susu’s forehead, it sank in and vanished.
The expression on the person in bed gradually relaxed into peacefulness.
“I’ll give it back to you, just not now.”
“Wait a little longer. It’s almost over.”
“Death isn’t an end—it’s a new beginning.”
Han Xuan’s fingertips didn’t move away as she murmured obscure, unintelligible phrases in her mouth—not any common language, incomprehensible to anyone.
Her final murmur was like the world’s most beautiful blessing.
“Beautiful Princess, you should never frown.”
… …
Chu Qingyang didn’t sleep well that night. Perhaps due to a police officer’s natural vigilance, she kept hearing faint noises from next door, making it hard to fall asleep.
Out of concern for Chu Susu, she got up and entered the ward to check.
Only after confirming that the person was safely lying in the hospital bed and seemed to be sleeping soundly did Chu Qingyang relax. After tucking in the blanket for her, she turned to leave.
At the door, she suddenly paused in doubt and looked back, squinting as she scanned the entire ward again.
That strange intuition returned. Chu Qingyang felt like someone had been here.
But after looking around, she found no concrete evidence and chalked it up to her own paranoia, letting it go.
Winter days brightened early; it was already four o’clock in a flash, with the first light of dawn appearing on the horizon. Chu Qingyang couldn’t sleep anymore, so she went out for a smoke.
She used to hate smoking and would even nag Chu Susu whenever she saw the e-cig in her bag.
But their line of work was high-pressure, with too many frustrating cases and heavy burdens on the heart. So Chu Qingyang occasionally smoked one to vent.
After a couple of puffs, she felt her mood ease a bit. Suddenly, she recalled Qiao Qian’s suicide.
The case had a bad impact, and the higher-ups were paying close attention. Preliminary judgment had ruled out murder.
The only suspicious lead was the calls the deceased had made before dying. One was to Chu Susu, the other to a girl named Han Xuan. The police would likely summon her tomorrow.
However, the investigation showed Han Xuan had an alibi at the time and no motive to kill Qiao Qian, so it was probably just a formality for a statement.
“Han Xuan.” Chu Qingyang murmured the name.
When Chu Susu had been hospitalized from her injury before, she had met Han Xuan once and knew she was Susu’s friend.
Chu Qingyang’s first impression of her had been good—a quiet and well-behaved girl.
She even remembered the somewhat unique scent on her as they passed by—slightly pungent and uncommon.
And just now in the ward, Chu Qingyang seemed to have caught that scent again, faint, like a lingering base note about to fade…
Was it an illusion?
She went into the building and asked the nurse on duty, but the answer she got was that no one had come to visit.
Yet the doubt still lingered endlessly in Chu Qingyang’s heart. Her many years of case-handling experience allowed her to keenly seize important clues, and she planned to check with her other colleagues about Han Xuan’s transcript tomorrow.
There might just be some unexpected discovery.
The next morning, Li Le’er came to visit Chu Susu.
A recurrence of concussion wasn’t a minor issue—a moment’s carelessness could leave even more serious aftereffects, so she still had to obediently stay in the hospital for a good while longer.
Because of Qiao Qian’s death, the two were much more silent upon meeting than before.
It was clear Li Le’er had cried until her eyes were swollen; she hadn’t even bothered with makeup, looking somewhat haggard.
But she still mustered her spirits to comfort Chu Susu, forcing a smile. “Want some buns? I specially lined up to buy them for you.”
Chu Susu paused. “Le’er, there’s something I need your help with.”
She had mulled it over all night and finally made this choice. Though she really didn’t want to drag Li Le’er into it, there was no better option.
After all, Li Le’er already knew Han Xuan was anything but ordinary.
“Go on.”
“Han Xuan and I actually knew each other long ago. It’s just that I lost part of my memories, so I didn’t recognize her.”
“According to Han Xuan, some things happened back then, so I took the initiative to ask her to take away my memories.”
“She wouldn’t say more, so I want to find them back myself.”
Chu Susu’s tone was resolute, unflinching even under Li Le’er’s shocked gaze.
“Will you help me?” she asked.
