Chapter 49

“So, is this what you wanted to tell me?” Chen Yi lowered her head, her gaze sweeping over the scattered photos on the table. “Is that everything?”

Xu Yan gave a light cough, a flush of red blooming across her face. She nodded. She had poured all her strength into this confession and could barely stand steady. Her entire weight leaned against the doorframe, while the hand hidden behind her back gripped the edge desperately.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you? To make sure I found out.” Chen Yi fiddled with the thermometer nearby. The plastic case let out a crisp click. “You’re so sick that you could barely move, yet you didn’t leave the thermometer by your bedside or somewhere easy to reach. No, you hid it in your desk drawer, right out in the open.”

“What do you think, Xu Yan?”

Xu Yan let out a soft laugh. “I admit it. I did it on purpose.”

“I couldn’t think of any other way to come clean with you, Chen Yi. I don’t have your courage. So I figured if you discovered it yourself, it might be the perfect chance.”

“Was getting sick part of your plan too?”

Xu Yan shook her head. “That, I didn’t count on.”

“I mean, I never expected you to show up today. I thought I’d have more time. Maybe I’d tell you once I recovered. But then you messaged me, saying you were coming to see me. In that instant, I knew I had to lay it all out.”

“And then?” Chen Yi asked softly. “You tell me, and then what?”

Xu Yan’s fingertips tightened. She pressed her back harder against the doorframe and lifted her head to meet Chen Yi’s eyes. “Then you decide.”

“What decision?”

“The decision about us.”

Where this relationship—long since derailed—would go next was entirely up to Chen Yi to judge.

Chen Yi lowered her gaze, the light from the ceiling casting a shadow across her face. It hid her expression from view.

“Any decision at all?” she asked. “Even breaking up?”

“Or pretending we were never together?”

Every word, every syllable from Chen Yi’s lips turned into a blade, stabbing bit by bit toward Xu Yan’s heart. The child inside her screamed no, desperate to hold on.

But Xu Yan wasn’t a child. She let out a hum and said, “Whatever you want.”

Even breaking up would be fine.

She had considered that possibility from the start, when she first drew close to Chen Yi. In her calculations, learning the truth upon meeting might spark rage or fury—not this suppressed calm, this gentle turn back toward her. Such kindness was harder to withstand than any storm. She could face the wind and rain alone, but she had no defense against someone holding an umbrella for her. Now, confronted with Chen Yi’s choice, Xu Yan dared not reach out so easily again.

Worst case, she’d hurt all over again. She was long accustomed to keeping pain as her companion. Only by crashing into a dead end would she learn what it meant to stop.

Chen Yi watched Xu Yan quietly, then stood and handed her the thermometer before stepping closer. “Go take your temperature first.”

“And stop standing there.”

Xu Yan refused to take it, her eyes fixed stubbornly on Chen Yi.

Chen Yi found it amusing.

“Now you know how I felt in the elevator?” She pushed at Xu Yan’s shoulder, guiding her outward. “Does it feel good?”

Of course it didn’t feel good to Xu Yan. Knowing she was in the wrong, she yielded to the push and moved forward, sinking onto the sofa.

Chen Yi took the thermometer from its case. It was a white electronic one, its silver tip gleaming—meant to be tucked under the armpit. She reset the previous reading and passed it to Xu Yan. Xu Yan accepted it, hiked up her pajama top to her chin, and slipped it under her arm.

Chen Yi watched her through it all.

The Xu Yan before her was different from the one in her memories once more. The pajamas lent her a cozy, domestic air—languid and relaxed. Her illness added a layer of frailty that made her seem clingy, almost pitiable.

This was a side of Xu Yan she had never seen.

If Fade was one facet of Xu Yan, and the version at the company another… Chen Yi could accept it. From the beginning, what had drawn her in was everything Fade represented. But was it limited to that? Even after learning Fade was Xu Yan, amid the hurt, pain, confusion, and fear, one voice stood out above the rest.

She still wanted to get close.

She wanted to understand her.

The questions she truly sought answers to weren’t Why did you do this, Xu Yan? They were: Do you really like me, Xu Yan? Are you just playing with me?

Now she had those answers.

Her gaze lingered on Xu Yan’s pallid face.

“Beep beep! Beep beep!”

The thermometer chimed.

Xu Yan pulled it out, glanced at it, and instinctively offered it to Chen Yi. Chen Yi took it—36.8 degrees. Normal.

“No more fever,” Chen Yi said.

Xu Yan hummed in acknowledgment.

Her mind wasn’t on her health at all. She leaned sideways on the sofa, looking toward Chen Yi. “Have you decided?”

“I have.” Chen Yi placed the thermometer back in its case.

“—!”

“You want to know?” Chen Yi snapped the lid shut with a click.

“I do.”

“Why should I tell you, Xu Yan?” Chen Yi feigned sternness. “Look at you. You vanished without a word before, no heads-up at all. Even just now, after spilling everything, you had to tack on that you don’t deserve it. You’re great at making decisions, Xu Yan, and even better at keeping them from me. So why should I tell you mine?”

Xu Yan’s fingertips dug into the sofa.

“Then we—” she began, her voice faltering.

“No more online romance.” Chen Yi said it earnestly. “I don’t want that kind of relationship.”

Xu Yan finally plummeted off the cliff.

She wanted to be mature about it, to say okay, I understand, it’s fine—like she always had since childhood. But her body betrayed her. Tears spilled first, her hand shooting out to clutch Chen Yi’s clothes, refusing to let go.

“Chen Yi…”

In that moment, a torrent of long-suppressed emotions roiled in Xu Yan’s chest. She couldn’t name them, couldn’t form the flashing thoughts in her mind into words. She had never begged anyone to stay—it was as if avoiding that kept her safe from hurt. As long as she hid her true feelings, no one could reject her.

But… but.

Not with Chen Yi.

She meant she couldn’t just let go—not of her.

Even as she claimed she didn’t deserve it, she hoped Chen Yi would stay. If Chen Yi truly chose her, she’d feel bewildered disbelief.

Why me? Can I really have this kind of love?

Her thoughts tangled into a mess, tears pouring like rain, soaking the sofa in soft patters. The hermit crab finally emerged from its shell, exposing its soft vulnerability.

“Please, think it over again,” Xu Yan babbled incoherently. “I can change. I can see a doctor. I can—”

She couldn’t go on.

Xu Yan’s eyes widened in shock.

Chen Yi, who had been sitting across from her, suddenly leaned in close. Strong hands gripped the back of her head, and lips silenced her own. It was Chen Yi kissing her—not skillfully, not romantically. Just enough to stop her words.

The interruption shattered Xu Yan’s thoughts.

When Chen Yi pulled back, Xu Yan’s first words were, “I’m sick.”

“So?”

“The flu is contagious.”

Chen Yi laughed and ruffled her hair.

“Xu Yan, I’m sure now.”

“You really do like me.”

“If you’re no good at expressing it, then listen to me.”

“I may be a few years younger than you, but I’m not some clueless kid. I know why my heart beats like this. I know the name of the feelings surging in my chest. I know I want to get close to you, to understand you—to a pathetic degree.”

Chen Yi’s hand gently caressed Xu Yan’s cheek, her eyes brimming with tenderness that nearly melted Xu Yan away. “Xu Yan, like you said. Where our relationship goes, how it proceeds—that’s for us to decide. You get it? Us.”

“No single person should make that call.”

“And never say again whether you deserve it or not. Because the one standing here right now is me.” Her palm pressed firmer, demanding Xu Yan’s full attention until she finished. “Me, Chen Yi. Not anyone from your past who’s ever said that to you. Understand? No one gets to say that to you, Xu Yan. Not even you.”

Xu Yan’s tears wouldn’t stop.

“But…” She was crying so hard she hiccuped. The tears were warm, trickling down through Chen Yi’s fingers, tracing Xu Yan’s jawline before dripping silently onto the sofa. So quiet, as if the nearly thirty years of pain that had shaped her had been just as silent. As if nothing had happened.

The sofa was soaked now, a damp mark staining its leather surface. Countless imprints scarred Xu Yan’s heart too. And now, gentle hands were soothing them.

“I love you, Xu Yan.”

“You once said love is a choice.”

“No matter what happens, I’ll choose to love you.”

Chen Yi gently wiped away her tears with the pad of her finger, then drew her into a tight embrace. Xu Yan stood in front of the sofa, her arms wrapped around Chen Yi’s waist, her sobs growing louder and more wrenching with each one. Xu Yan had never cried like this before. When she was little, her parents hadn’t allowed it—not when she was hurt, not when she was scared.

“Why are you crying? What kid has so many problems like you?”

“It’s so annoying, Xu Yan—can you just shut up? It hurts? You think this little scratch hurts? Your sister wasn’t like that when she was a kid.”

“If you keep crying, I won’t want you anymore!”

She wasn’t allowed to cry. She had to be strong, to fear nothing, to be perfect at everything.

Crying was something only the weak did.

But today, Xu Yan finally understood that exposing one’s vulnerability could also be a kind of strength. It was a lesson she’d learned from Chen Yi.

She let herself sink into her longing for love, confronting the deep-seated desire to hold onto this warmth from Chen Yi. She laid all her cards on the table, and in that all-in moment, she gained everything she’d never had before.

Heart aching for her, Chen Yi leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Xu Yan, maybe I’m not what you imagined, either.”

“Or to put it another way, in this world, no one can perfectly match another person’s expectations. No one can fully understand another person’s everything. We might not even fully understand ourselves.”

“But that’s enough.” Chen Yi squatted down, resting her forehead against Xu Yan’s and cradling her cheeks as she spoke softly. “Right here, right now, our lives intersect, sending out ripples, igniting our desire to know each other. That’s enough.”

“So.” Chen Yi’s voice was steady. “I don’t want to do online dating with you anymore.”

“Let’s have a real relationship. Okay?”

Xu Yan clutched Chen Yi’s clothes in a death grip, her voice thick with tears when she finally spoke.

“Okay.” Her nose was bright red from crying, the corners of her eyes smudged with makeup. “Chen Yi, I also…”

She said those three words like a toddler just learning to talk—tentative yet earnest. Too embarrassed to meet her gaze, she buried her face in the crook of Chen Yi’s neck and mumbled into her skin, “I love you.”

From a very, very long time ago.

In a way that was utterly out of her control.

Chen Yi held this woman who was older than her like a child, rubbing her back with indulgent pats. “I know.” She realized now that from the day they’d met, the only words she’d ever wanted to hear from Xu Yan were those three. Never “sorry.” Never “I’m not worthy.” Just: I love you. And she’d finally said them. Chen Yi’s eyes grew hot with unshed tears. She fought back the urge to cry and said to Xu Yan, her voice gentle but firm, “Sister, let’s learn to love each other, one step at a time. Together. Okay?”