Chapter 34 Part 2

Lu Qingxue: [Without me, you’d ramble to my photo, and I’d hear you.]

Mo Yue: [Stop. It was just a figure of speech—how could I ever be without you?]

Mo Yue: [But I didn’t expect you’d move back to the country for her.]

Although SNOW had set up a branch in the country, Lu Qingxue’s focus had always been overseas.

Lu Qingxue: [The idea of returning had always been there.]

The implication was that it had nothing to do with anyone in particular.

Mo Yue: [Sure, it had.]

Mo Yue: [But that ‘always’ only started after you saw your little childhood sweetheart again, right?]

Lu Qingxue didn’t reply. She was drinking her coffee.

Mo Yue: [Does she even remember you, though?]

Seeing that question, a strange tension rose in Lu Qingxue’s heart.

She wasn’t sure.

She and Yun Chun hadn’t been in touch for a long time. Lu Qingxue had only learned about Aunt Qin’s passing later on. She had wanted to send Yun Chun a message, but she worried that belated condolences might reopen old wounds—and reaching out out of the blue after so long would feel awkward.

[She shouldn’t have forgotten me…]

That was how she replied to Mo Yue.

She had used the word “shouldn’t,” which sounded overly confident even though she had little faith left.

That evening, she wore the latest design in evening gowns—a sleek black mermaid skirt with her long, voluminous curls swept to one side. The venue’s lights played across her, making the necklace at her throat and the watch on her wrist gleam. She exuded refined nobility, intellectual grace, elegance, and voluptuous allure. Holding a flute of champagne, she politely turned away those who approached to greet her. With a smile on her lips, she made her measured way toward Yun Chun, who had caught her eye the moment she entered the hall.

That short path to Yun Chun felt, to Lu Qingxue, like traversing the years they had been out of touch.

A long and winding road, distant and arduous.

Climbing mountains and crossing rivers, all to glimpse an old friend once more.

Her heart fluttered with anxiety, yet the figure in her eyes—radiant like the sun—slowly filled the emptiness within her.

But the sun illuminated countless planets each day. How could it remember a tiny moon, one that only shone by borrowing its light?

Lu Qingxue stepped forward and called out, “Little Yun?”

The person she addressed looked up in a daze, her eyes hazy as if veiled in white mist. Lu Qingxue, caught up in the moment, didn’t notice. She only saw Yun Chun frown and ask, “Is there something you need?”

In that instant, Lu Qingxue froze. She was a master of the corporate world, able to relax her nerves at the first sign of even the greatest challenge, pinpoint the error, devise a solution, steady her emotions, and face it head-on. But when Yun Chun responded with that question, something inside Lu Qingxue snapped silently. The words “long time no see” stuck in her throat. Her lips parted and closed several times in seconds, but she couldn’t get them out.

Her pounding heart stuttered to a halt, and when it resumed, the fierce rhythm had faded.

She had thought that even if Yun Chun didn’t recognize her at first glance, she would surely study her for a few seconds and then cry out her name in shock or delight.

But reality was different. Yun Chun hadn’t recognized her. Not at all—no spark of recognition whatsoever.

And even after Lu Qingxue said it was nothing, gave her name, Yun Chun’s frown remained. She even rubbed her temple as if deep in thought, then asked as if she hadn’t heard clearly, “Who?”

How could she not have heard? She had simply forgotten.

Just then, someone came to speak with Lu Qingxue. She mustered a polite smile, apologized to Yun Chun, and walked away. The eagerness vanished from her expression, replaced by faint sorrow.

Her heart ached from the aloofness in Yun Chun’s tone.

So… old friends remained just that—old friends.

So… no one remembered you forever.

So… “shouldn’t” wasn’t a cautious guess. It was overconfident presumption.

That day, Lu Qingxue didn’t exchange another word with Yun Chun. It wasn’t for lack of wanting to, but by the time her gaze inevitably drifted back to where Yun Chun had been sitting, the seat was empty.

In the end, Lu Qingxue did go to the private room Mo Yue had prepared—but not with Yun Chun, not with anyone. Just by herself.

She stayed in Private Room 7 for a long time.

She barely sang, just drank a bit.

~~~

Now, thinking back, the weather that day… hadn’t been great after all.

Clouds blanketed the sky.

Lu Qingxue’s fingertip was like a pool of clear spring water under the autumn moonlight—crystal clear, chillingly cold, icy.

Yet it also reflected the moonlight’s gentle glow and pristine white. Pressed to her brow, the warm touch quickly smoothed Yun Chun’s frown.

Her thoughts ended there, and in that moment, she understood something.

Yun Chun grasped Lu Qingxue’s hand, lifting it from her forehead. With her other hand, she clasped Lu Qingxue’s wrist, her tone firm and resolute. “If it was that day you saw me, and I didn’t recognize you, I can explain.”

What explanation could there possibly be?

The memory of Yun Chun’s detachment often haunted Lu Qingxue, making her hesitant to appear before her again for fear of hearing, “Who is Lu Qingxue?”

Lu Qingxue wanted to say no explanation was needed, that it was in the past. But… perhaps Yun Chun’s gaze was too earnest; Lu Qingxue’s resolve wavered.

She smiled faintly once more. “Go ahead.”

A soft breeze brushed her face, and Yun Chun’s suspended heart settled.

As long as Lu Qingxue was willing to listen, that was enough.

Yun Chun licked her lips and recounted her memory of that day to Lu Qingxue.

Yun Chun had been frowning because she was recalling the Anniversary Celebration Lu Qingxue had mentioned.

She had only attended once. If she remembered correctly, she had a fever that day.

It stemmed from shooting an ad the day before, where she got drenched in artificial rain for over two hours. She had been working nonstop, eating irregularly, and not getting enough nutrition, so her body was run down. She spiked a fever right after the shoot and needed two IV drips before improving. Xiang Ze hadn’t wanted her to go to the celebration at all, but the company directors insisted: SNOW had so many partnerships with them, and they had specially invited Yun Chun. Skipping it would be disrespectful, bad for future business. So they told her to at least make an appearance, exchange greetings, and leave.

Before heading to the venue, she had two more IVs, thinking she could tough it out. But on the way there, not only did her head throb, but her stomach started churning too. At the venue, she was dizzy and lightheaded, her stomach cramping in waves. Xiang Ze helped her to a corner table to rest, saying he’d greet SNOW’s directors soon and take her home. She murmured agreement. Seeing how wretched she looked, he went to fetch her some hot water and told her to wait.

Once Xiang Ze left, Yun Chun sat alone in the corner, head down, eyes closed, trying to rest.

She didn’t remember much after that.

Her brain felt like it was frying, her vision a blur. She had no recollection of what she did, whom she saw, or what she said.

So when Lu Qingxue approached, that must have been why she hadn’t recognized her.

Otherwise, even if Lu Qingxue had gotten plastic surgery, Yun Chun would have known her from the mole at the corner of her eye and the warm light in her gaze.

Later, when she asked Xiang Ze what happened, he said, “I came back with the water and saw you chatting briefly with SNOW’s director. I wanted to ask what you talked about, but you kept mumbling about looking for some ‘jie’—saying you heard her name but then she was gone when you came to… I figured the fever had you delirious, so I got you out of there fast.”

At the time, Yun Chun hadn’t thought twice about it, assuming the “jie” was feverish nonsense.

Now, looking back, those mutterings must have been about Lu Qingxue.

Yun Chun felt a pang of regret. Why hadn’t she considered it more deeply?

If only she had cared a little more about things beyond work, she wouldn’t have had to wait until now to reunite with Lu Qingxue.

But a missed chance was a missed chance.

The one silver lining was that she could still hold Lu Qingxue’s hand and explain, “That day, I had a fever so high I didn’t even know who I was, so I must not have responded to you.”

Finally, strength returned to Yun Chun’s legs. She rose to her feet and lifted her gaze to meet Lu Qingxue’s eyes directly. “Sister Qingxue, please forgive me. I didn’t mean to.”

She looked into Lu Qingxue’s eyes to plead for forgiveness because words spoken in that intimate gaze came straight from the heart. More than that, Yun Chun hoped that tranquil lake would embrace her once again.

What was Lu Qingxue feeling?

Relief?

No.

With a trace of guilt in her voice, she said, “You should be the one forgiving me. I didn’t even notice you were sick.”

The moment Yun Chun mentioned her fever that day, Lu Qingxue’s first thought wasn’t anything else—it was that she herself had failed to notice anything unusual about her friend.

She had been so wrapped up in her own emotions.

That day, she had been eager to see Yun Chun’s reaction to their reunion. Immersed in the joy of it, she had walked right up to her, focused only on speaking with her. When Yun Chun failed to recognize her, disappointment had flooded Lu Qingxue’s heart, overwhelming everything else and blinding her to any other details. If only she hadn’t been called away that day—if she had lingered just a little longer in front of Yun Chun until her emotions settled—she surely would have spotted something amiss…

Lu Qingxue’s chest tightened. How strange—it actually hurt.

Her heart felt clenched tight, as if it might tear free from her body.

She had misunderstood Yun Chun.

She had overlooked her.

Slowly, Lu Qingxue raised her hand and let it rest on Yun Chun’s cheek.

Her slender thumb pressed lightly against Yun Chun’s cheekbone, the pad of her finger caressing the soft skin like a spring breeze brushing over fresh new sprouts. No longer daring to hope for anything, Lu Qingxue’s voice carried a gentle anticipation, as if nurturing peach blossoms to full bloom. “If you hadn’t been sick that day, Little Darling… would you have recognized me?”

Yun Chun shook her head. Lu Qingxue took it as a no, but Yun Chun was rejecting the word itself.

“It’s not about recognizing,” Yun Chun said. Her long lashes fluttered softly as she spoke with earnest sincerity. “Recognizing applies to someone unfamiliar, a fuzzy memory, or something—or someone—you’ve forgotten. I’ve never forgotten you.”

Where was there any need to recognize her?

“Just one glance, and what I see isn’t anyone else—it’s you, from the last time we met.”

“What I mean is, even after years apart with no contact in between, it would feel like the blink of an eye. And after that blink, I’d still call out to you…”

“Sister Qingxue.”

The instant Yun Chun’s words faded, Lu Qingxue smiled.

Her eyes curved into pretty crescent moons, the corners of her lips lifting.

It was a brilliant smile, more beautiful than peach blossoms in full bloom.

Yun Chun’s gaze lingered on it, momentarily entranced.

Only when Lu Qingxue’s face loomed larger before her eyes, casting a shadow across her features, did Yun Chun blink and snap out of it.

Then came a cool touch on her forehead, followed by something soft pressing against her skin.

By the time Yun Chun realized what was happening, Lu Qingxue’s lips had already parted from her forehead. Her hands remained cupped around Yun Chun’s cheeks.

Yun Chun stared at Lu Qingxue in a daze.

What was that sudden kiss supposed to mean?