Chapter 52: The Submissive, Obsessive Top Student

Jiang Zhiyi fell into a prolonged tangle of emotions. She began to suffer sleepless nights, leaning by Shi Qingyi’s bedside and watching her intently. Her gaze was like that of some terrifying beast fixated on its prey, yet laced with an inexplicable panic.

Whenever Shi Qingyi woke briefly, she would stare out at the snowy landscape in a daze. Jiang Zhiyi watched her do so, and the room was so quiet that one could hear a pin drop.

One day at the end of November, Jiang Zhiyi had a dream. In it, Shi Qingyi stroked her head and called her name. When she looked up, Shi Qingyi kissed her eyes and told her, “Don’t move.”

So she didn’t dare move a muscle. Shi Qingyi was dressed in a white hospital gown, looking startlingly thin, her cheeks slightly hollowed, her face deathly pale, her hand wrapped in thick white bandages. In a hoarse voice, she said, “Zhiyi, I’m leaving…”

The kiss landed at the corner of her eye, and it felt as though tears fell with it.

She jolted awake from the dream in near panic and pulled Shi Qingyi into her arms. The girl, roused by her, gazed blankly and let herself be held tightly. Helplessly, Jiang Zhiyi bit into her neck like a beast driven by instinct.

Fresh blood pulsed through the veins of her neck. Jiang Zhiyi held that patch of skin and flesh between her teeth, feeling the endless vitality coursing through Shi Qingyi’s body. Only then did she confirm that this person was still here, that she hadn’t left without a word.

Scorching tears trailed down her cheeks. She sobbed uncontrollably, calling out that name over and over, wishing she could merge her into her very flesh and blood: “Qingyi, Qingyi…”

Shi Qingyi let her hold on, merely patting her back silently without saying a word.

Trembling, Jiang Zhiyi slipped into her bedding. A sob escaped her throat as her shaking hands quietly undid the loose hospital gown. She nibbled at her pale earlobe: “Qingyi, I miss you so much…”

That dream had been too terrifying; her blood had run cold throughout her body. She desperately craved the warmth of another, wanted Shi Qingyi to hold her close, yearned for their bodies to intertwine, for utter intimacy—

Shi Qingyi paused. Facing the red-eyed woman in the hospital room, her hands couldn’t move, and she lacked the strength to even refuse. When she slightly lifted a hand, Jiang Zhiyi pressed it back down.

“Qingyi, don’t push me away…”

Memories of that night later blurred together. She only remembered Jiang Zhiyi’s exceptionally sharp teeth leaving marks all over her body. Snow swirled wildly outside the window as Jiang Zhiyi bit her lip to silence any sound that might alert the night nurse.

“Qingyi, why do you want to run away? Why won’t you stay with me forever… I’m so afraid you’ll abandon me, so afraid… Qingyi… You’re all I have…” Even in the heat of passion, she wouldn’t stop, whispering into her ear again and again, her hot breath forcing Shi Qingyi to clutch the sheets tightly.

By the time everything quieted, Shi Qingyi was drifting into sleep. In her haze, she heard someone murmuring apologies by her ear amid sobs, calling her name over and over.

Later, she heard that terrifyingly persistent woman holding her, kissing the bandaged wrist bones, and whispering softly, “Qingyi, I’ll let you go…”

If her love was just a cage for Shi Qingyi, mere torment, then no matter how heartbroken she was, she had to release her. Loving someone meant wanting them to be well. Her affection couldn’t be only pain and endless mutual harm for Shi Qingyi.

She was the moon cradled at the tip of her heart, the one she wanted to shield from every grievance in the world for life.

She couldn’t truly drive her to death, could she?

She cupped the moon in the water, but she was just a ridiculous monkey who could never truly grasp it.

The day Shi Qingyi was discharged, heavy snow fell in great flakes. Shi Mother drove to pick her up herself. Her mother watched her with cautious care, holding a bouquet of flowers and embracing her: “Qingyi, it’s all in the past now.”

Beside her was her father. It had been years since her parents appeared together, yet here they were to take her home from the hospital. Jiang Zhiyi had vanished without a trace since that morning, never appearing before her again.

Her madness and obsession had been frightening; her release was so carefree it chilled the heart, like a drop of water vanishing into the vast sea, impossible to trace.

Shi Qingyi stood in the vast snow and looked back. She still wore the down jacket Jiang Zhiyi had personally chosen—white, with a thick fur collar. Jiang Zhiyi used to love burying herself in that collar like a lazy, spoiled cat, endlessly demanding kisses.

Her eyelids grew heavy, her lashes trembling slightly. A snowflake landed precisely on her lashes, striking her heart like a heavy blow.

Shi Mother gripped her hand tightly, almost forcing her into the car.

The car was warm with the heater on. Father Shi, bundled in a heavy coat, drove while she and her mother sat in the back. Shi Mother held her hand and chattered on.

“Qingyi, let’s go abroad for a while. Your dad and I have arranged everything. When you were little, we didn’t have time for you—it was our fault. It’s cold here now; we’ll go to the seaside abroad where it’s warm…

“We’ve consulted experts about your hand. Once we’re abroad, we’ll see them. You might still be able to paint. No rush—we’ll take it slow. Your dad and I will stay with you properly…”

She painted such a rosy picture, as if the future stretched out clearly to its end. Father Shi, not one for words, tried his best to chime in.

Shi Qingyi sat in her seat. She knew full well this road led to the airport.

No one blocked the car that day. They arrived smoothly at the airport, their luggage already packed. Father Shi carried the bags, shielding her and her mother through the surging crowd, looking like the most ordinary family.

But the one protected in the middle suddenly stopped. The silent passenger reached out to Shi Mother. Her hand was pale and slender, like a branch about to wither.

“Give it to me.” Her voice was hoarse, as if she hadn’t spoken to anyone in ages.

Shi Mother’s face changed abruptly, like the calm before a storm. She tried to hug her only daughter and pull her forward, her hands shaking: “Qingyi, let’s go—right now—”

“Mom, give it to me.”

Shi Qingyi hadn’t called her that in so very long—how long, she couldn’t even recall. It seemed after she chose to leave, her once clingiest daughter had grown increasingly willful and distant, never calling her so intimately again.

Tears spilled from her eyes. After so many years, she saw a pleading look on Shi Qingyi’s face.

“Three years ago, when I crashed and called begging for help, you weren’t there.” Her voice was calm, but her eyes quietly welled up. “You won’t save me now either?”

She took the phone and turned against the flow of the crowd. Shi Mother watched from behind as her daughter walked into the throng without looking back, as if abandoning the peaceful life she had hoped for her.

Yet at the very last moment, she turned back for a glance. Too far away, Shi Mother could only make out the shape of her lips: Thank you.

—

The other end of the line was chaotic and disordered—crying, wind and snow. It was Jiang Zhiyi’s secretary, whom she had met once: “Is this Miss Shi? President Jiang left something for you.”

Sirens wailed in the background. She looked up sharply. A white car was parked by the airport, and beside it stood an elderly man over seventy, leaning on a cane in the snowstorm, watching her.

—That was Jiang Zhiyi’s grandfather.

“If Miss Shi hadn’t turned back, I wouldn’t have come out.” The old man invited her into the car, his voice heavy with a sigh, his cloudy eyes holding the clear wisdom of years.

“Miss Shi has her own life. I can’t let my granddaughter ruin it.” The old man’s withered hand produced a thick stack of medical records and placed them in her hands. He coughed. “You probably don’t know—Zhiyi is ill.”

Shi Qingyi’s hands clenched suddenly, her voice trembling: “Where is she now?”

—

Jiang Zhiyi was on the rooftop of the Jiang Family estate, on the nineteenth floor.

She had always known she was sick. Her father was a murderer. As a child, classmates threw grass and mud at her, calling her the daughter of a killer, saying she’d grow up to be one too.

Her family was poor; she often went hungry, skinny and sallow, too weak to fight back. She endured tears until the homeroom teacher noticed by accident, or when bullies copying her homework got caught by the dean—such mishaps abounded, and her tormentors always paid a price.

The Jiang family had hereditary mental illness. Her father had been suspected of a psychotic episode when he killed accidentally, but he ended up in prison anyway. Mental hospitals were expensive, and everyone thought he was still serving time. He wasn’t.

In his seventh year inside, he took his own life with a shard of tile. That year, her mother died, and upon hearing the news, her father followed.

Her aunt never told her, thinking she knew nothing.

Her uncle had violent tendencies and unstable moods, lashing out at the whole family. She had been beaten from childhood and had countless times contemplated dying with him.

And Jiang Zhiqing—she lost her child, Gu Chuanjing’s business failed and he wanted a marriage alliance back home. She jumped from the hospital building and went mad, now cradling a doll and babbling about her baby.

The whole Jiang family were lunatics. She was next, and she knew she wasn’t much better.

As a child, she knew how to retaliate at the smallest cost. In her youth, she fantasized about perishing with her abuser.

The first time she met Shi Qingyi, she was cornered in an alley and extorted. After paying up, the boys started groping her crudely. Then Shi Qingyi kicked them one by one into submission.

She trembled and sobbed, playing weak to lure the enemy. She figured the brash blonde girl would bully her too, so she curled up tight to minimize her presence. Instead, the girl took off her jacket, draped it over her, and barked fiercely, “You coming or not?”

She was stunned. Someone long in the dark clings to even a sliver of light, even if it burns.

From the moment Shi Qingyi first teased her, dark, terrifying thoughts took root in her heart. She wanted to smooth away her sharp edges, make her belong to her completely.

But she had been so weak then. Had she really wanted to jump?

No, she didn’t. Why should she die while her tormentors lived on? She wanted to live well. When she saw Shi Qingyi through the gap on the rooftop, she climbed up.

She had learned to read people young. If she truly didn’t care, why go to the rooftop? Even if just playing with her feelings, the moment she stepped up there, Shi Qingyi would feel guilt.

After all, that was a life.

Shi Qingyi always thought it all coincidence. It wasn’t. Why did a soy milk cup alone tell her Shi Qingyi had secretly followed her home?

Because she had stood watching that girl from afar—not once, but many times. That beautiful, exquisite girl she couldn’t help but want to possess.

How pitiful she had been in her youth, though not always. Once, her uncle was detained for beating her—it was her doing. After that, he learned to leave marks out of sight.

Why could Shi Qingyi see those scars? Because Jiang Zhiyi made them herself.

When the pain was unbearable, she’d cut herself, one slice at a time. It hurt, of course, but the more it hurt, the more Shi Qingyi pitied her and treated her better.

She could nestle in her arms, crying softly for comfort, getting more of what she craved—

She was drinking poison to quench thirst, courting her own doom. She knew from the start but couldn’t stop. Shi Qingyi was her fleeting antidote, worth the self-immolation.

She never explained the sleeping pills to Shi Qingyi. She’d had the symptoms for years—paranoid, sensitive, overthinking, obsessive. Sleepless nights. Her illness was long-standing.

Those pills weren’t for her uncle; they were hers. Her tutoring money paid for her meds and secured her gigs. How else would she get prescriptions, or tutor right in Shi Qingyi’s complex?

—So she could obtain controlled drugs.

She’d suspected the car crash three years ago. With her current status, what couldn’t she uncover?

It was she herself who was unwilling to lift the veil of fog. She wanted Shi Qingyi to owe her something, wanted a legitimate reason, one that would let her bind Shi Qingyi to her side with a clear conscience—

She was a thorough bad person.

She had schemed her entire life, plotted every step for half a lifetime, but it ended here. She realized that, in the end, she simply couldn’t bear to let go.

She couldn’t bear to see Shi Qingyi lose her vitality and her life in front of her. She couldn’t bear to see anything happen to her even more.

That dream had been truly terrifying. In it, her Qingyi left and never came back, abandoning her alone in this desolate world.

What had Qingyi done wrong? Nothing. It was herself—she had deceived her from the very start, calculated against her, dragged her step by step into the abyss with no escape.

She was that ridiculous monkey, foolishly trying to pull the moon into her arms.

That was the moon in the sky, the person she wanted to cherish on the tip of her heart for a lifetime. No one could hurt her—not even herself.

If only Shi Qingyi hadn’t saved her from the rooftop back then—

Sometimes, she wondered if Shi Qingyi regretted it. Regretted saving a devil like her.