Chapter 76: The Little Follower at the Aristocratic School (Part 25)

The library on the third floor was extremely quiet, with tall bookshelves blocking every compartment tightly.

Qi Yuan’s breathing was very light, but it was equally rapid.

Shen Ke felt very hot, very soft.

More moist than the mouth.

She had always wanted Shen Ke. In every kiss, every hand-holding, every touch, every gaze, all of it made her utterly infatuated.

The emotions came fast and fierce, like a tsunami sweeping over her and drowning her in surging passion.

Love and desire were inseparable—the more intense the love, the more intense the desire.

Noticing Shen Ke’s trembling, Qi Yuan pulled Shen Ke into her arms and lightly kissed her cheeks.

Shen Ke’s tears wetted her lips.

Qi Yuan was tall, and the sudden lift made Shen Ke involuntarily clench.

Qi Yuan released Shen Ke’s lips.

But Shen Ke pursed her lips, trying desperately not to make any ambiguous sounds.

They were outside, after all—someone could pass by at any moment.

Shen Ke was afraid deep down, but that fear also affected her body, making her extraordinarily sensitive.

Her body remained in a constant state of tension.

Qi Yuan asked in a low voice, “Shen Ke, will you like me?”

Shen Ke’s gaze was scattered. Qi Yuan could lift her with one arm—her strength was overwhelming.

The calluses made her tremble nonstop.

Shen Ke clung tightly to Qi Yuan’s arm. At Qi Yuan’s words, she merely shook her head with difficulty.

“Drip, drip.”

Water dripped down Qi Yuan’s wrist onto the floor again. Some of it also splashed onto Qi Yuan’s waist and abdomen.

There was no smile on Qi Yuan’s face. She and Shen Ke were doing the most intimate things.

Yet from start to finish, Shen Ke’s face showed not a trace of affection for her.

Qi Yuan held Shen Ke and sat down against the wall. Opposite them stood a bookshelf crammed with densely packed books.

The massive bookshelf seemed to separate this space from the outside world entirely.

Qi Yuan buried her face in Shen Ke’s neck, greedily inhaling her scent.

“Shen Ke, I like you.”

They were so close, yet so far—so far that she didn’t know when she could reach Shen Ke’s heart.

“Shen Ke, I like you.”

The low, hoarse voice confessed once more.

Qi Yuan raised her head. Her eyes burned with passions tangled in love and desire—persistent, domineering.

She greedily watched Shen Ke, etching every shift in her expression into her heart.

Shen Ke’s face was flushed with crimson, gorgeous to the extreme. Her plump red lips and the blush at her eye corners drew Qi Yuan more than anything else.

Beautiful, pure, yet seductive—this seductiveness built on utter purity, like a flower in full bloom, gorgeously alluring and dripping with dew, every inch exuding a rich, intoxicating fragrance.

Qi Yuan knew full well that even a single glance from someone like Shen Ke was a stroke of luck.

It was she who had crossed the line, unable to restrain her heart, greedily craving more from Shen Ke.

“Shen Ke, I really like you so much.” The words brimmed with love.

Shen Ke gripped Qi Yuan’s arm tightly, panting softly as she said, “Tch, aren’t you annoying?”

“Don’t you know this opportunity was snatched from Si Qing?”

“I’m not like I have to have you.”

Shen Ke’s words struck Qi Yuan’s heart like heavy blows.

[Protagonist Mental Breakdown Value: 50%]

Qi Yuan’s breathing halted abruptly, her eyes reddening. She rarely cried.

Her childhood had been harsh. After school, she cooked and fed the poultry. On days off, she went to the mountains to help plant crops, chop wood, and haul it back—summer and winter alike. Her small palms were covered in wounds.

The village kids mocked her for having no parents, called her a weed-like existence.

They also mocked her for being tall and sturdy, nothing like a girl.

They ganged up to shun her.

She never had friends—always alone from start to finish.

Those days dragged on for over a decade.

Her mood stayed gloomy, like a rainy day—stuffy and damp.

Exhausting, but she never considered crying.

It was merely physical exhaustion, and she didn’t care about those who shunned her.

But she cared too much about Shen Ke. The pain was so intense it nearly stopped her breath.

She wanted to cry, but what good were tears? They would only make her seem more pathetic.

Qi Yuan blinked her dry eyes, suppressing the urge to cry.

Her first time with Shen Ke held no sweetness—only bitter agony.

What had she done wrong? She just wanted mutual love with the one she liked.

If she hadn’t come to this school, she never would have met Shen Ke.

Perhaps she would have met an ordinary person at an ordinary school, shared an ordinary romance, and lived a plain life.

But there were no ifs. In reality, she loved this rose of a woman to death.

Qi Yuan laughed—a stiff, tragic sound—as she withdrew her fingers. “Shen Ke, it wasn’t me who snatched it.”

“You were meant to be mine.”

“That day, I should have pinned you to the bed.”

“Or the time Si Qing showed up.”

“I had so many chances, but I didn’t take them. I… just wanted to cherish you—” By the end, Qi Yuan’s body trembled.

“I just wanted to cherish you, that’s all.” She wanted to claim her in a place worthy of her.

She wanted to date her, marry her, spend a lifetime together.

But why was Shen Ke so heartless, refusing her even a flicker of warmth in her eyes?

The intense love began to twist. Qi Yuan didn’t cry, but her eyes were terrifyingly red.

A layer of gloom shrouded her handsome, upright face.

As long as she made Shen Ke unable to leave her, that would be enough.

Shen Ke frowned, about to speak, but as her lips parted, her body went limp against Qi Yuan.

“Urgh—” The urgent, brief moan leaked out only a little before lips sealed it.

From then on, their mouths never parted again.

Qi Yuan wasn’t one for words. She had no sweet nothings, especially not here.

She simply buried herself in the act, over and over, drowning the one she loved in ecstasy and tremors, leaving her unable to stop.

At the Si Family, Si Minglan lay in bed, gazing at Si Qing with an exceptionally complex tone. “Little Qing, give it up.”

Si Qing replied indifferently, “Impossible.”

“I’ll head to school the moment you’re better.” Si Qing had rushed back upon hearing Si Minglan had fainted.

She harbored resentment, but she still cared for Si Minglan.

Si Minglan wasn’t actually ill—she was faking it. The Lu Family kid had called, saying Si Qing had nearly clashed with her over Shen Ke.

It wasn’t the first time. Earlier investigations showed Si Qing had already conflicted with a girl named Qi Yuan.

She truly feared Si Qing would die because of Shen Ke.

Si Qing still didn’t grasp just how fragile her body was.

Si Minglan’s eyes reddened as she let out a long sigh. “Si Qing, why can’t you think of Mama a little more?”

Si Qing clenched her fists. “But you made me this way. Why didn’t you just strangle me back then?”

Si Minglan’s face drained of color. She met Si Qing’s resentful gaze, unable to retort.

Si Qing truly hated her.

Even so, she didn’t want Si Qing seeing Shen Ke again.

With proper medical care, Si Qing could live a long time.

Not ruin herself over Shen Ke.

Si Minglan’s expression hardened. She turned away, avoiding Si Qing’s eyes.

“Little Qing, from now on, stay by Mama’s side. You’re not going anywhere.”

The words hit Si Qing like a warning bell.

She spun to flee, but bodyguards instantly filled the doorway.

Si Qing’s expression went blank. She turned stiffly to Si Minglan, her voice hoarse and terrifying. “What is this?”

No answer came from Si Minglan. Si Qing staggered two steps and collapsed into a chair. Despair blanketed her clear, cold face.

“Mother, are you so eager for me to die?”

Si Minglan ached inside. During the pregnancy, the doctor had warned her: insufficient maternal nutrition would lead to an underdeveloped fetus—congenitally weak and sickly.

Back then, she had hated the child, desperate to abort it. But she wasn’t yet in charge of the Si Family and couldn’t defy her parents.

They insisted on keeping it.

Her parents had her monitored; any trip to the hospital meant being dragged back.

So she starved herself, smoked, drank, took drugs—anything to end it.

Yet the child was born.

Tiny and pitiful, with a heartbeat so faint, its feet smaller than her finger.

So small, so weak—guilt stirred in Si Minglan’s heart.

She gradually accepted the child.

Si Qing had been frail since birth. Si Minglan knew how much pain she endured.

Every doctor said her organs were slowly failing—no diagnosable cause, but with care, she could reach thirty.

Frequent fainting or stress might stop her heart at twenty.

Death might be a mercy for Si Qing.

But as a mother, how could she not be selfish? She wanted Si Qing to live longer.

Si Minglan’s breathing grew chaotic. “Little Qing, stop chasing Shen Ke.”

“I told you—you can’t win against them.”

Si Qing struggled to name her feelings. Suffocation seeped into every pore.

“So why not strangle me then?”

“Why make me live in such pain!”

“Si Minglan, you’re too selfish! I hate you!”

Si Qing wanted to scream it out, but her head throbbed, her throat burned. Her voice grew just a bit louder, and violent coughing seized her.

Her deathly pale face and tottering body laid bare her fragility.

Si Minglan fought back tears and said gravely, “Si Qing, aren’t you selfish too?”

“You know you won’t live long. Why provoke Shen Ke?”

“Have you ever considered how those who love you would feel if you died?”

“Your pursuit of Shen Ke—beyond love, it’s selfishness.”

“You want her by your side for happy times, then die content.”

A roar filled Si Qing’s mind. Si Minglan’s words blackened her vision—she had no rebuttal.

Because Si Minglan was right.

Knowing her time was short, she still pursued Shen Ke—for her own happy end.

She never considered what it would do to Shen Ke if she truly fell in love, only to watch her die.

At her core, she was the same as Si Minglan: a selfish soul.

No color remained in Si Qing’s face or lips. Her pale pupils seemed to fill with tangible darkness, hazy gray lending them a lifeless cast.

“Yes, I’m selfish too.”