Bo Ranying went rigid, unable to comprehend how things had spiraled to this point.
Nan Qi had suddenly transformed from a fragile lily into a rose bristling with thorns.
In a tone as cold and mocking as a heart dead with despair, she finally confronted the reality she’d long avoided, shattering the faint hope in Bo Ranying’s heart. “You couldn’t accept my confession, but you knew what Tang Lian wanted, so you just went along with it and pushed me right into her arms, didn’t you?”
Nan Qi knew she held a special place in Bo Ranying’s heart—perhaps born from that mutual appreciation they’d shared in their youth, even before they’d truly gotten to know each other. It was why she enjoyed privileges no other friend could: Bo Ranying initiating kisses, setting her as the emergency contact with the nickname “Baby,” and turning to her first in times of danger or hardship.
Everyone knew Nan Qi was Bo Ranying’s closest friend.
And with the two of them appearing together so often, if you couldn’t find Bo Ranying, checking with Nan Qi was a sure bet to track her down.
Bo Ranying relied on her, which was why Nan Qi had stayed by her side all these years, treading so carefully.
One clung tightly, unwilling to let go; the other chased a stroke of luck, hoping persistence would win the day.
But she’d forgotten: affection wasn’t born from sentiment or habit.
The only role Bo Ranying could offer her was that of her most intimate friend.
Unable to reciprocate her feelings—and fearing that her affection might disrupt her life right at the time of her engagement—Bo Ranying had seized the moment when Tang Lian appeared, smoothly granting the other woman’s wish and making the introduction.
Three people’s desires fulfilled two of them—what a heartwarming tale that made.
Nan Qi nearly laughed in fury.
A pang of guilt hit Bo Ranying. She avoided those cool, mocking eyes. The spark of delight she’d felt earlier, at the thought that Nan Qi and Tang Lian didn’t know each other and could meet by chance, vanished without a trace.
Pushing Nan Qi’s WeChat contact to Tang Lian hadn’t been her original intent; she’d fallen for Tang Lian’s deliberate teasing. But deep down, a sliver of what Nan Qi had accused her of was true.
She had hoped Nan Qi could carve out a fresh chapter in her life, one that belonged to her alone.
Yet hearing it laid bare so bluntly and nakedly made Bo Ranying’s cheeks burn with embarrassment.
“Little Qi, that’s not what I was thinking… You’ve got it all wrong.” Ignoring Nan Qi’s earlier resistance—convinced it stemmed only from momentary disappointment—Bo Ranying leaned in close again. She took Nan Qi’s hand from her lap, stroking her fingers, pinching the tips, then flipping the palm over to trace the prominent lines with her soft fingertips.
Just as she had done countless times before.
It was her silent way of making peace.
As she drew nearer, the space between them shrank to nothing. Nan Qi caught the faint, familiar fragrance that had haunted her dreams so many times. It stung her eyes with tears and made her want to flee this tormenting scent that left her so disoriented.
But there was nowhere left to retreat. One step back pressed her against the hard, cold car door, blocking any escape.
Nan Qi lowered her gaze. From this angle, she could see Bo Ranying’s lashes—long, thick, and doll-like. No mascara or curler needed; they curled naturally, denser than any makeup could achieve, framing eyes that sparkled with lively charm.
Bright and shimmering, they always held a sunny playfulness when she looked at someone, like a forest fawn—innocent and untouched by the world’s harshness.
Nan Qi fell silent.
She forced herself not to look at Bo Ranying anymore.
With deliberate force, she yanked her hand free from Bo Ranying’s fingers.
Refusing to let her touch continue.
Bo Ranying’s palm emptied, and she froze for half a second.
Then, in a voice sweet with attachment, she called out Nan Qi’s name, over and over.
“Little Qi—Little Qi, Little Qi…”
“Baby?”
“Nan Qi Baby, I really didn’t mean to. Don’t ignore me, Little Qi…”
Her voice was as sweet as honey-filled candy.
The sugary murmurs made Nan Qi’s heart tremble—and her anger surge. How dare Bo Ranying offer such a perfunctory apology, so certain she’d accept it? Why should she?
A sudden impulse surged through her chest. Her body doubled over involuntarily as a violent coughing fit erupted. “Cough cough cough… cough cough, cough cough!!”
The rage unleashed hours of pent-up discomfort.
Nan Qi coughed until her cheeks flushed red, nearly passing out on the spot.
Bo Ranying stared in shock at the sudden attack. She quickly reached over to pat Nan Qi’s back, hoping to ease the earth-shaking spasms.
“Why are you coughing so hard? Caught a cold?”
“The temperature dropped yesterday—you must not have bundled up enough. Did you take your medicine this morning? You didn’t mention it. Remember to take it later.”
“If it’s really bad, just call in sick and skip the law firm today. I’ll ask my teacher for a leave too, and we can go home so I can take care of you.” Bo Ranying’s voice was gentle and soothing, brimming with concern.
She pulled out her phone, found her teacher’s contact, and prepared to dial. “Practicing music at home works just fine. Teacher will approve the leave.”
“You—you don’t talk.”
Nan Qi raised a hand with effort, blocking the phone screen to stop her.
Her mind was a storm, like two little figures hammering at her nerves.
The gentle, sweet voice of Ranran—the one she’d once adored, perfectly timed now to soothe her anger—only irritated her now.
Like barbs on a cat’s tongue, pricking her with every word.
It turned out that with October’s endless rainy season had come an incurable ache.
Nan Qi’s attitude was so unyielding that it caught Bo Ranying off guard. She really stopped the call.
Her lips parted, a faint sound escaping, but Nan Qi cut her off impatiently once more.
“I said no need for a leave. Sit properly, hold the flowers, and I’ll drive you to work.”
Bo Ranying pressed her lips together, at a loss and a little aggrieved. Confirming that Nan Qi meant it, she slowly straightened up and settled back into her seat.
Her gaze drifted blankly to the center console, landing on the Cinnamon Dog ashtray—exquisite and cute, so at odds with Nan Qi’s vibe.
She and Nan Qi had decorated the interior together back then; she’d picked it out herself, and Nan Qi had gone along with everything.
Because the passenger seat was hers most of the time, so it just needed to suit her tastes.
Years had passed—two or three now. The once-pristine Cinnamon Dog showed signs of chipped paint at the edges, mirroring Nan Qi’s abruptly hardened demeanor.
Bo Ranying’s lips curved faintly as the idle thought crossed her mind.
Meanwhile, Nan Qi caught her breath, soothing the itch in her throat and confirming Bo Ranying was seated.
She hit the accelerator and sped off into the distance.
