Lin Xuqing hadn’t expected her to wake. Cheeks still buried in the crook of her arm, she went rigid, not daring to move.
She was such a proud, strong-willed person—how could she bear to be seen crying?
Jiang Min’s voice was husky. Like petting a little cat or puppy, she stroked her head—sick as she was, she still teased her: “I scolded you a few times tonight. Feeling wronged?”
“No,” Lin Xuqing said, unable to lift her head to look at her, voice muffled. “I don’t feel wronged.”
Jiang Min watched her a moment, then said abruptly, “I’m feeling a bit unwell.”
“What is it?” Lin Xuqing’s head shot up, tear tracks still on her fair cheeks—but she had no thought for those now, asking urgently, all anxiety, “Where does it hurt?”
“Here,” Jiang Min said, raising a hand to wipe away her tears. “Lin Xuqing—in all the years I’ve known you, this is only the second time I’ve seen you cry, isn’t it?”
The way she looked crying… probably because her features ran cool, with tears hanging on her lashes—hmm, actually rather beautiful.
Lin Xuqing, flustered further by the gesture, still worried about her condition—until she quickly realized: that “feeling unwell” had been a trick.
“Why so heartbroken? Crying like this beside me, you’ll have me suspecting I’ve contracted some incurable disease.”
“Don’t say such things!”
Seeing her knit her brows, utterly serious, Jiang Min shook her head, smiling. “All right, just a passing remark. Help me up. I want some water.”
Lin Xuqing hastily wiped her tears with the back of her hand, stood, and poured her a cup of warm water.
Jiang Min tipped her head back and drained it, finally quenching her thirst, and handed the cup back—still feeling the fever hadn’t broken, still lightheaded.
Lin Xuqing, not quite reassured, steadied her with an arm.
Jiang Min gave a soft hum, tilted her head, her forehead pressing under Lin Xuqing’s chin, her scalding breath spilling against her neck—practically nestling into her arms.
Lin Xuqing went rigid, for a moment not knowing where to put her hands.
Noticing her discomfort, Jiang Min teased her. “So stingy? I’m dizzy—can’t I even lean on you a little?”
Lin Xuqing believed she truly still had a fever.
Were she in her right mind, she would never say such a thing.
That normally so commanding, independent person, feverish and foggy, seemed a little… clingy.
Jiang Min leaned against her, silent for a good while, as if about to fall asleep.
Only after a long time did she ask, muzzily, “What were you crying about just now?”
As if she’d nearly slept, then remembered, and asked despite her drowsiness.
Lin Xuqing didn’t dare look down at her face—denouncing her own shamelessness on one side, while on the other drinking in, almost greedily, the warmth in her arms.
“I’m sorry. I was wrong. Back then, I desperately needed money. I needed an internship, a job. I couldn’t keep studying.”
“I felt… you were angry. That maybe you never wanted to see me again.”
Lin Xuqing bit her lower lip, released it, pausing every few words.
Some apologies, if not spoken now, would never have another chance.
Fighting her exhaustion, Jiang Min raised a hand in comfort and stroked her face. “You cried over this?”
“Back then—didn’t I already tell you? Ten thousand yuan. Would I really fall out with you over that?”
“I stopped being angry with you over that ages ago.”
With those words said, she could no longer resist the heavy pull of sleep, and murmured one last thing: “Lin Shanshan… do you really not know what kind of person I am?”
Lin Xuqing half suspected she’d misheard.
She’d said she stopped being angry over that long ago.
And—what had she just called her?
She could barely remember how long it had been since anyone used her childhood name.
With those words, Jiang Min sank back into deep sleep.
Lin Xuqing held that position for a while, then at last gently eased Jiang Min down to lie properly.
She sat back down on the carpet, chin propped in her palm, watching Jiang Min sleep—no telling how long she watched.
Until drowsiness overtook her, and she too fell asleep, slumped against the sofa’s edge.
……
Jiang Min was woken by thirst.
Fevered half the night, the moisture in her body seemed burned away.
She turned slightly—and saw Lin Xuqing’s face.
A sleeping face, fair and clear, her features still delicate and lovely, with a few degrees less of her usual coolness—hmm, somehow more docile.
Jiang Min’s mind swam for a moment, then pieced together last night in fragments.
She remembered arguing with Lin Xuqing in the car for a good while. Thinking back, it had been pure willfulness—Lin Xuqing was only driving her home; why had she been so set on making a point? Arguing while driving—how unsafe.
And she vaguely recalled that, in her sleep, she’d somehow sensed Lin Xuqing crying, had struggled her eyes open, and comforted her a few words.
It had all been so many years ago. In truth, Jiang Min had never been as angry as Lin Xuqing imagined.
True, that day Jiang Min had said she’d wash her hands of her. But the very next day, she’d tracked down quite a few old classmates and asked around everywhere—she wanted to know whether someone had stolen Lin Xuqing’s recommended slot, terrified she’d been bullied without her knowing.
It had been nearly ten years since Jiang Min graduated from Mingchuan University, and plenty of classmates still worked there—one round of inquiries and everything came out crystal clear.
Lin Xuqing had given it up voluntarily. The academic secretary had even urged her several times—with the top score in her major, giving it up was such a waste.
Lin Xuqing wouldn’t be moved. Whoever came asking her reasons, she said there were none.
After asking her way around the school, the last thing Jiang Min heard was a seemingly trivial piece of news: barely into the September term, Lin Xuqing had taken a week’s leave, saying her mother needed surgery, and gone home.
And with that, Jiang Min more or less understood why she’d given up the master’s.
The year she’d chosen Lin Xuqing as her sponsorship recipient, she had of course looked into the girl’s family background. A mother chronically ill and bedridden, a father farming the land, Lin Xuqing the eldest with younger siblings beneath her.
Jiang Min had still been in university then; saving money hadn’t come easily. She was powerless against medical bills, so from the very start they’d agreed: her money was for Lin Xuqing’s education only, to be used for nothing else.
Jiang Min could understand Lin Xuqing—and yet couldn’t quite.
She could understand that, for her parents’ sake, she’d had to use that money, even give up further study, graduate fast, and work.
What she couldn’t understand was why she hadn’t told her the truth, and had said so stiffly that it was none of her business. Especially since, in all the years after, Lin Xuqing sent New Year greetings only to Ning Rou.
Eight years. Lin Xuqing had never once contacted her.
Remembering how Lin Xuqing had first insisted on repaying the money last night, then cried so heartbrokenly, Jiang Min almost wanted to laugh.
Fine. She was the bigger person. She wouldn’t bring it up again.
How old had Classmate Little Lin been back then? What was there to hold against her?
…Wait.
Last night she had… leaned into Lin Xuqing’s arms.
And said what—so stingy? Can’t I even lean on you a little?
Mortifying.
Jiang Min could scarcely believe she was capable of such a thing.
…Thank goodness they were both women. Otherwise it would look like outright misconduct.
And she refused to believe Lin Xuqing had the nerve to laugh at her.
Jiang Min consoled herself with a few thoughts, but only grew more embarrassed the more she dwelt on it. Just as she was debating whether to pretend nothing had happened, the person slumped against the sofa’s edge stirred.
Lin Xuqing was awake.
She’d slept the whole night on her arm and felt stiff all over; she was just stretching when she lifted her head—straight into Jiang Min’s clear eyes.
Lin Xuqing jolted, wide awake at once.
In that instant of eye contact, she remembered being seen crying last night, and wanted nothing more than to burrow into the ground.
And those things she’d said in the deep of night… she felt rather embarrassed about those too.
“Um,” she said, clearing her throat and scooting back to put distance between them, “I fell asleep in the living room last night. By accident.”
Jiang Min was startled by this opening, thinking she was about to say something; only at the second half did she relax, feigning calm. “Oh. Thank you. Sorry for the trouble last night.”
Her reply was rather cool and distant, nothing like last night’s warmth. Lin Xuqing lowered her eyes. “It was nothing. A small favor.”
“Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Oh…”
For a moment, Jiang Min couldn’t think of anything else to say—she only hoped Lin Xuqing wouldn’t bring up her behavior last night. She suddenly realized she was still lying there like this, which wouldn’t do, and propped herself up on the sofa.
Lin Xuqing said instinctively, “Let me help you.”
“It’s not last night anymore—getting up hardly requires being carried. I can do it myself. I’m all better.” Jiang Min tossed the words off casually—then froze.
What had she just said?
Why had she brought it up herself?
Lin Xuqing blinked, belatedly realizing—she seemed to be embarrassed.
She turned her head aside, pressed her lips together, and fought down a laugh.
“No laughing!”
Catching her micro-movements, Jiang Min rose briskly to her feet and threatened, with great ferocity, “Laugh again and I’ll thump you.”
Lin Xuqing nodded obediently. “Okay.”
Her ear tips felt warm. Jiang Min gathered her hair loosely and headed for the kitchen. “Milk and soup dumplings for breakfast—all right?”
Lin Xuqing watched her back. “Hm?”
“There are disposable toothbrushes and toothpaste in the guest room. Go wash up first.”
“There are fresh towels too.”
“Come out and eat when you’re done.”
Jiang Min couldn’t really cook. Living alone, she made do with salads, boiled chicken breast, pan-fried steak, or a quick pot of dumplings or noodles.
But Lin Xuqing had cared for her through the whole night; sending her off without even breakfast would be terribly rude.
In the fridge were the soup dumplings Pei Ruyi had wrapped on her last visit—just needed steaming. The milk was a bit cold; she warmed it in hot water, took down two glasses, and filled them.
Hearing the water in the guest room stop, she knew Lin Xuqing had finished washing up, and called without turning around: “Come here.”
Lin Xuqing came obediently.
“Milk.”
Lin Xuqing took the milk. “Thank you, Presi—”
Jiang Min looked at her, eyes narrowing slightly.
Why was this woman so infuriating? Insisting on “President Jiang” morning to night—anyone would think she was on the clock.
Lin Xuqing stalled for two seconds, then said, “Thank you… Sister.”
Jiang Min gave a soft hum—acknowledgment enough.
So she wasn’t a block of wood after all. She could be sweet on occasion.
