Chapter 21

Luo Qingmeng had never dreamed of skyrocketing to store manager overnight. She knew full well that she lacked the gift of gab and couldn’t handle things with the Store Manager’s sophisticated flair, mingling effortlessly with people up and down the chain of command.

But a manager position? That came with a salary of over eight thousand!

That was pretty darn good!

Luo Qingmeng squeezed her phone, then whipped her head around to shoot a fierce glare at Qiu Shuxue behind her. That look seemed to say, “I’ll deal with you later.”

She set her phone down on the sofa, grabbed her notebook and pen, and since she had no phone stand, she fetched a book to prop it up.

She called the Store Manager, who picked up right away. Her son appeared in the frame too, wearing a frog hat on his head and sweetly calling out to her, “Big Sis.”

“Hello there,” Luo Qingmeng replied to the child with a smile. Back when she had first started working at the store, whenever something came up at the Store Manager’s home, she would leave the boy there to read. Luo Qingmeng had often helped watch him, so they were pretty familiar with each other.

The Store Manager shushed her son a couple of times, then stepped out with her phone in hand. She explained the specifics of those two positions to Luo Qingmeng, analyzed her chances, and advised her on what to do next.

Luo Qingmeng had no connections, so the best shot through recruitment was relevant experience and a management-related degree—both of which she had just right on point. She had planned to upgrade from junior college to bachelor’s last year by signing up for the adult gaokao, but that fell through because she wanted to get married instead.

Men really did bring bad luck.

The Store Manager said, “Don’t worry, you’ve got my recommendation. Apply for store manager first to get your face known and lock in the manager spot. Then look for the right opening to climb higher. It’s just that your personality is too reserved—you need to talk more, get chummy with everyone. If you just rely on being steady and hardworking, promotions will be tough. These days aren’t about who can take the most punishment anymore.”

“I know, thank you, Store Manager. With this opportunity here, I’ll definitely speak up—even if it means forcing the words out, I’ll tear my own mouth open to do it.”

The Store Manager laughed, delighted. “I’d never want you to leave—you’re my right-hand woman, after all. But I hope even more for you to get ahead. Give it a shot if the chance comes. Once you’re manager, your job will be secure. Grind for a few years, take out a loan for a place—I’ve done the same to buy mine. You can use the extra few thousand from the raise to pay it off without too much pressure, right?”

Luo Qingmeng nodded vigorously. The Store Manager was essentially getting the head office to back her loan. Of course, she didn’t outright thank her by saying something like, “You’re handing me a house on a platter”—words like that would saddle her with a massive favor she’d owe forever, weighing her down no matter what she did later.

She would certainly thank the Store Manager for the opportunity. After all this time scraping by, she knew to stay clear-headed at work. She’d help the Store Manager whenever she could in the future, but there was no need to sacrifice herself.

Luo Qingmeng lavishly praised the Store Manager, promising to treat her to a meal afterward and to give her a gift regardless of the outcome—to thank her for the vote of confidence. She vowed to work hard and not let her down.

The Store Manager grinned from ear to ear, leaning against her dining table. “Tomorrow I’ll recommend someone to you. It’s too late tonight; I won’t bother him now.”

“Got it. I won’t keep you, Store Manager.”

Pleased as punch, the Store Manager said, “No rush, let’s chat a bit more. So, have you wrapped up the paperwork with that ex-husband of yours? If you get promoted, he’ll regret it big time…”

Qiu Shuxue sat at the dining table. She had been watching Luo Qingmeng the whole time, listening as she talked on the phone. Luo Qingmeng played along perfectly with the Store Manager; they chatted and laughed, wrapping up business before diving into personal gossip.

Another half hour passed, and Luo Qingmeng and the Store Manager got more and more into it. They talked at length about bright futures—how Luo Qingmeng would handle things if she became store manager, how she’d go from manager to store manager after that…

“Come over for dinner sometime, haha. Tell me ahead of time, and I’ll buy groceries. We can cook together. If you make store manager, we’ll finally have each other for company.”

Qiu Shuxue’s slender fingers pinched lightly. She walked over and set a glass of water by Luo Qingmeng’s hand. Luo Qingmeng glanced back at her, and Qiu Shuxue said, “Sis, I want to take a shower. Can I borrow some of your clothes? I’m beat.”

Her voice was soft and gentle, leaving Luo Qingmeng a bit flustered. Qiu Shuxue was so close, her fingers braced on the table as she leaned in slightly to look at her—but she stayed out of the camera’s view. It gave Luo Qingmeng the odd sense that one nod or word from her, and Qiu Shuxue might just kiss her.

Luo Qingmeng let out an “Mm,” eyeing Qiu Shuxue warily. But Qiu Shuxue made no funny moves; she simply turned and headed to the bathroom, so well-behaved that Luo Qingmeng couldn’t quite wrap her head around it.

After all, Qiu Shuxue was usually such a flirt.

Seeing her act so well-behaved today, Luo Qingmeng started feeling a bit guilty. Had she been ignoring her too much?

Her conversation with the Store Manager grew distracted. When Qiu Shuxue opened her closet, Luo Qingmeng didn’t stop her.

The Store Manager asked curiously, “You have a little sister?”

Luo Qingmeng nodded. “Yeah.”

On the video, the Store Manager took a sip of water. Luo Qingmeng rarely mentioned her family. As she responded to the Store Manager, Qiu Shuxue emerged with some clothes. Luo Qingmeng looked up at her, then continued chatting, keeping her voice low until Qiu Shuxue entered the bathroom—only then did she speak up normally.

Luo Qingmeng told the Store Manager about her family situation: she had a younger brother and a younger sister. Her younger sister was seven years younger than her and now a university senior; her younger brother was twelve years younger and in his first year of high school.

But she didn’t say that she hardly kept in touch with them anymore—because one day, she had felt utter despair, so crushing she could barely breathe, like the only drowning fish in the sea.

It had happened when she was twenty-four, over something trivial.

She had scrimped and saved to buy her college sister a computer. In the second semester, her sister started dating and went to the claw machines with her boyfriend, grabbing a pile of plush toys and bags. Luo Qingmeng, taken with one of them, had smiled and said, “Give me one?”

She even picked the ugliest one. Her sister replied in an icy tone, “Why should I give you anything?”

Luo Qingmeng couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking.

She fell silent. That cold indifference stung deep, like a mocking “Who even are you?” She was caught in its net, unable to snap out of it, her air growing thinner. Suddenly, her four thousand five hundred-yuan heartache hit her, and she remembered how her college sister lavished over a hundred-yuan gifts on friends, sent them two to three hundred-yuan red envelopes for birthdays—while for Luo Qingmeng’s birthday, her sister had agonized on shopping apps over the cheapest option before sending a Little Prince notebook that cost just fifteen yuan.

Her sister had said at the time, “Sis, you like writing stuff. Here, for you.”

Luo Qingmeng had been deeply touched. But on the plush toy incident day, it all clicked: the best way to measure feelings was by the flow and weight of material things.

She had thought her sister was as pitiful as she was, bound by their dysfunctional family, and wanted to be good to her, make her happier than herself. In truth, her sister was just another part of that family, using a facade of “pity” to squeeze her dry. Only Luo Qingmeng was the “big sister” who gave the most but got nothing back.

Her sister was grown and selfish to boot.

Back when she had just started working, her family hounded her for money every day. She pitied her parents and, even when love felt absent and things suffocating, tried to ease their burdens. Once she realized she was just a tool, her good nature made it hard to cut ties decisively—it took years. As for her brother, with the family’s poverty and son preference, he probably wouldn’t be raised right either.

Later, nursing her disappointment, she stopped replying to her sister’s birthday messages and quit liking her social media posts.

If the Store Manager hadn’t kept pressing—and if she didn’t want that manager position so badly—she would never have brought up her family. In a family scarred by overpopulation policies, feeling sorry for anyone just made her the extra one.

This journey? She might as well be an orphan traveling the world.

Water ran in the bathroom. Luo Qingmeng’s mood had soured. Mimicking Qiu Shuxue’s playbook, she laid on the sob story for her boss. “Sorry, boss, my family’s not the greatest. Right after I turned eighteen, they pushed me to fend for myself—said they weren’t supposed to support me anymore and cut off the money. These years, I’ve been on my own. I actually got into a four-year university back then, but with no family cash, two months of summer jobs couldn’t cover the ten-thousand-plus tuition. I didn’t know about loans then, so I went with junior college.”

The boss noticed her mood plummet and said, “It’s fine, take it slow. You’re doing well now—someday you’ll go back home in glory and make them green with envy.”

Luo Qingmeng gave a faint smile, a little dimple pressing into the corner of her mouth.

The boss probably wouldn’t get it: some disappointments ran so deep you didn’t need to prove to anyone how well you were doing. She didn’t want to slap faces or make anyone rue the day. She just wanted no contact for life—no pushing for reconciliation.

She could take care of herself just fine now.

“Alright, boss…” Luo Qingmeng was about to say goodbye when Qiu Shuxue emerged first, her voice cutting in: “Sis, I’m done. You go wash up and get all fresh now.”

Luo Qingmeng nodded slightly. After exchanging final goodbyes with the boss, she stood up to go take a shower. Her legs had been crossed for so long that they were numb. She slapped them hard a couple of times, then dragged her feet toward the bathroom.

Qiu Shuxue had used her body wash, filling the air with the scent of milk and roses. Her skin was fair, giving her a soft, babyish quality. When Luo Qingmeng reached the bathroom door, Qiu Shuxue stepped aside.

After Luo Qingmeng went in, she glanced back out. Qiu Shuxue, wearing slippers, was sitting on the sofa and scrolling through her phone. Luo Qingmeng dragged her feet back, grabbed the phone, and took it into the bathroom. Her feet were still too numb. She squinted and pounded on them, but it didn’t help.

She let out a helpless hiss. “I’m dying here.”

Qiu Shuxue looked over at her and said, “Sis, are you afraid I’ll snoop through your phone?”

She hadn’t acted crazy all evening, but Luo Qingmeng still felt uneasy. She really was worried that Qiu Shuxue might go through her phone and call the store manager. “I just want to listen to some music,” she said.

Luo Qingmeng bit her lip as she searched for an English song on her phone and played it. She grabbed a shark clip from the vanity and tied up her hair.

When she undressed, she also locked the door from the inside. Her mind wandered to family matters for a moment, but Luo Qingmeng wasn’t too upset. No expectations meant no hurt, and no contact meant she could be perfectly happy.

To keep herself from sinking into loneliness in the past, she had made a point of tracking it: there were 365 days in a year, and even in the worst months, she was unhappy for only about ten. Away from her family, she could enjoy a full three hundred happy days.

She only occasionally felt lonely when the thought crossed her mind, or found time dragging on endlessly.

So there was no need to let others define her “loneliness” and spend a whole year moping.

From this failed marriage, Luo Qingmeng had drawn many lessons. They were always too kind—when someone treated them well, they foolishly gave everything in return. From now on, she wouldn’t blindly fall into feelings again. She’d hold something back to love herself, stay clear-headed forever, and never sacrifice herself just because someone seemed good.

Qiu Shuxue, sitting outside, wasn’t idle. She unwrapped the gifts. The two books had very whimsical titles—Luo Qingmeng really did treat her like a kid. There was also a small box containing a little tiger red rope bracelet. She glanced at the platinum bracelet on her wrist.

The Cartier chain bracelet.

Qiu Shuxue opened one of the books and spotted some childish handwriting, probably from when she’d first bought it long ago.

【We all know that life has no script. But no matter how cowardly we are, we’ve all done something thrilling, perilous, and full of challenges: we’ve stepped onto the path of our own lives. No matter the outcome, whether we laugh or cry, as time flows in that moment, we’re moving forward through our existence.】

Luo Qingmeng did far more than her words suggested. She’d even summarized this old book: notes on what the early chapters covered, the best way to read it, warnings about which parts might drag but to push through for the eye-opening finale, along with all sorts of materials she’d prepared.

Tucked among them was even a sheet on “Golf Tournament Rules,” annotated: “This is Mr. Toad’s hobby. What’s yours?”

The old book was only 199 pages—a serious read would take just an afternoon. Yet she’d filled it with notes.

Qiu Shuxue recalled a little incident from the past. Back then, she hadn’t known Luo Qingmeng had a boyfriend. Every time she went to the bookstore to see her, her heart pounded just like it had in her school days.

When Luo Qingmeng came out, Qiu Shuxue was deeply engrossed in flipping through that old book. Luo Qingmeng’s cheeks flushed a little, and she didn’t want to scold her.

Hearing the sound, Qiu Shuxue looked up and said, “Sis, there are so many sticky notes inside. Did you add them new?”

Luo Qingmeng replied, “Since you were going to read it, I went through it again.” What if her low points had left a bunch of depressing scribbles that dragged Qiu Shuxue down even further?

Fortunately, upon careful review, she saw that no matter her circumstances, she’d never stopped comforting herself to live well.

Remembering that she’d stayed up late the night before, Luo Qingmeng urged, “All right, you should head back. I’m tired too.”

It was a pointless thing to say—Qiu Shuxue had no intention of leaving. She packed the books back into the paper bag, picked up the red box, and came over. “I borrowed your box. Here, this is for you.”

“What’s this?” Luo Qingmeng took the box, eyeing her suspiciously. When she opened it and saw what was inside, she immediately frowned. “Why are you giving me this? I don’t want it.”

“It’s not expensive,” Qiu Shuxue said.

“Of course a chain isn’t expensive. The issue is why you’re giving me this? To tie me up? Don’t even think about it. And you’ve worn it before, haven’t you? I don’t want it. What do you take me for?” Luo Qingmeng said, her emotions flaring.

Qiu Shuxue badly wanted to say she’d gotten a new one just for this, a different style. She pressed her thin lips together, staring at the box Luo Qingmeng was pushing back at her.

A chain. To tie her up.

“Yeah, kinda,” she said.

“Don’t even think about it. I don’t want this junk. Take it back.” Luo Qingmeng shoved the box toward her palm. Qiu Shuxue didn’t take it—instead, she grasped her hand, leaned down, and kissed her lips directly. Luo Qingmeng’s struggles crumbled instantly under her teasing.

Qiu Shuxue guided her hand to her own waist, gently pinning her against the wall. “Do you really want me to go?”

Luo Qingmeng trembled. The box slipped from her hand and thudded heavily onto the floor.

Before her marriage, when she’d been shopping for jewelry, she’d read up on it. The way to tell real silver or gold was by the sound it made when dropped—dull and heavy meant genuine.

So… so it was silver?

“Mm.”

Qiu Shuxue leaned down.

“So fragrant.”

Fragrant?

Holding Qiu Shuxue felt so complicated. Whether she was bullying her or kissing her, any touch brought a spark of joy.

Was she starting to feel lonely?

These bouts of emptiness were coming too often.

Luo Qingmeng gasped like a fish out of water, her lips parted.

Qiu Shuxue filled her emptiness completely, squeezing out all her pent-up frustration. It hurt, yet it felt so good.

Qiu Shuxue looked up at her. “What does Sis want?”

Luo Qingmeng thought that after sleeping with Qiu Shuxue this time, she’d gradually get used to her. She and Qiu Shuxue would be entangled in this illicit affair from now on. If Qiu Shuxue wanted to sleep with her later, she wouldn’t be able to resist seriously.

“Kisses,” Luo Qingmeng said, trembling with shame.

“Sis likes kissing too? So cute.” Qiu Shuxue kissed her lips.

She closed her eyes, her body going soft amid the various kisses, letting Qiu Shuxue have her way. Qiu Shuxue pushed her toward the sofa.

Luo Qingmeng lay there, breathing hard, her vision blurry as if still misted by bathroom steam.

Ashamed, Luo Qingmeng rolled over, her legs pressing into the sofa as she gazed up at the cool moonlight outside the window.

She recalled an anime she’d watched, Your Lie in April, where the protagonist, Kousei, said, “Spring is almost here—the spring that brought us together is coming; the spring without you is coming too.”

As she thought about it, tears welled up in her eyes. Luo Qingmeng couldn’t hold them back anymore; they spilled out. Qiu Shuxue was too intense. She seemed restrained today, yet there was this wild edge to her.

Luo Qingmeng felt that state in her and tried to guide her with well-meaning sisterly advice. “Be good… be kinder…”

But Qiu Shuxue was fierce.

She wasn’t listening at all.

With wet eyes, Luo Qingmeng twisted her head to look at her. Qiu Shuxue’s lips were pressed thin; she wasn’t smiling. From behind, she scrutinized her. Luo Qingmeng couldn’t teach or guide her, so she could only beg. “You… you, don’t… I feel so awful.”

But this state wasn’t helping. Qiu Shuxue asked how awful, and she let out a sobby whimper—awful enough that she just wanted to cry. “Then let it all out, Sis,” Qiu Shuxue said. “You can keep crying.”

Once the tears fell, Qiu Shuxue flipped her over and kissed her eyes. “Then from now on, don’t be my sis. Be my mom instead.”