Before Tang Yan could even react, Ji Yuqing, clearly flustered, started the car and muttered, “We’re heading off—buckle up.”
“Oh… okay,” Tang Yan replied, scrambling to get her seatbelt on.
They drove in silence for a full ten minutes before either of them spoke.
“Not much traffic tonight,” Tang Yan finally said.
“Yeah, seems like it,” Ji Yuqing answered.
Tang Yan stole another glance at her—Aunt Ji looked nervous, noticeably different from usual. That made her feel secretly triumphant. She turned her head to the window, hiding her smirk, watching the scenery fly by. But her heart was still stuck on that moment ten minutes ago.
It had been so sweet. Aunt Ji’s lips were soft, perfect. If it hadn’t been for those people walking by—if Aunt Ji hadn’t pushed her away—Tang Yan would’ve held on longer. Much longer. She wanted to stick to her, cling to her forever.
They finally got home.
Ji Yuqing got out first. Her movements were quick and clumsy, clearly still rattled from the kiss. She looked like someone who’d lost all composure.
Tang Yan, grinning to herself, followed behind. Aunt Ji was so frazzled she forgot entirely why she’d rushed home in the first place. She slipped into her bedroom and shut the door.
Tang Yan cleaned up the kitchen, turned off the stove, and went to her own room.
She collapsed onto the bed, relaxed, one hand slowly drifting to her lips—the lips that had just kissed Aunt Ji. Her eyes closed. She was glowing from the inside out, tipsy on happiness.
She wasn’t done yet.
Aunt Ji’s lips… she could kiss them a thousand times and it still wouldn’t be enough.
Meanwhile, Ji Yuqing sat at the edge of her bed, brushing her hair back from her face, dazed. She took a deep breath and stood up, pulling a magazine from the shelf, trying to distract herself. But no matter how hard she tried, the words wouldn’t sink in. She gave up and put in her earbuds to listen to music. Ten minutes later, she gave up on that too.
She began pacing around the room aimlessly. What was she supposed to be doing again? She couldn’t remember.
She left her bedroom and went into the study, turned on the computer, and opened a half-finished contract.
All of it—distraction.
Her mind was a storm, scrambled by that kiss. She couldn’t focus at all. Eventually, she closed all the windows and sat staring at a blank screen.
She ran her hands through her hair again and again—six, seven, eight times.
Ding-ding.
A message.
She pulled her phone from her pocket. It was from Tang Yan.
“Aunt Ji, you like me too, don’t you? I can feel it. I know it’s true.”
The words rocked her. Her heart was a mess. She didn’t even know how to name this feeling anymore. That girl… she’d completely shaken her.
Maybe it was just instinct, a sixth sense—but when Tang Yan kissed her earlier, Ji Yuqing hadn’t exactly fought her off. There was hesitation, sure, but also a flicker of something else… something dangerously close to enjoyment.
Before tonight, Tang Yan hadn’t been sure. Was Aunt Ji just treating her kindly out of gratitude? Guilt? Trying to repay her mother?
But now… now she knew the answer.
Tang Yan waited for a reply, clinging to her phone like it was oxygen. She took it with her to the bathroom, into the shower—even the faintest buzz would send her scrambling to check it, even if it was just spam.
But no reply came.
Not even after midnight.
Eventually, sleep won out.
She dreamed something awful.
In the dream, Aunt Ji, desperate to escape her, agreed to marry another man—just to draw a clear line. Tang Yan showed up at the wedding, caused a huge scene, but couldn’t stop it from happening.
She woke up, heart pounding, grateful it was only a dream.
First thing she did was grab her phone—9 AM. She’d overslept.
The house was eerily quiet.
No new messages.
Panic started to set in. She jumped out of bed and rushed out of her room.
The living room was spotless. Not a sound.
She reached Aunt Ji’s door. It was slightly open—but no one inside.
Something felt wrong. Very wrong.
“Aunt Ji? Are you here?” she called out twice. No answer.
Confused, worried, she spotted something on the coffee table: a letter, with her name on it. In Aunt Ji’s handwriting.
She tore it open.
Inside was a folded letter—and a bank card.
*Yanyan,
There’s something I’ve been hiding from you. I owe you an apology.
I read your diary. I know it was wrong—probably the most shameful thing I’ve ever done. But the day it fell open on the floor, it was like it pulled me in, like it had some kind of power.
That’s when I found out how you felt about me.
I wondered if it was my fault—if I’d been too close, too kind. Did I lead you on? I tried to pull away, to distance myself, to end it before it could start.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t bear to hurt you. You’re supposed to be happy—laughing, shining at your age. And the more I tried to step back, the more I found myself unable to.
And now, I’ve lost control.
How can I explain this to your mother? How can I ever face her, knowing her daughter fell in love with me—and I…
It should never have gone this far.
Yanyan, you’re brilliant, hardworking, full of promise. You have a future with endless possibilities. Don’t throw that away for me.
I’ve left. Don’t try to find me.
The bank card in this envelope has enough for the next three years—tuition, living expenses. The PIN is your birthday.
Forget me. Please, promise me that.*
By the time she finished reading, Tang Yan was sobbing uncontrollably, tears falling like rain.
She grabbed her phone and kept calling, again and again, her tears splattering the screen, soaking the very phone Aunt Ji had bought for her.
But no one answered.
She was just… gone.
Tang Yan couldn’t accept it. She refused to believe it. It had to be a dream—another bad dream. If she just opened her eyes, Aunt Ji would be there, just like always.
She kept opening and closing her eyes. Hit herself on the head, trying to “wake up.”
But it didn’t work.
She hated herself for falling asleep like a fool, letting Aunt Ji sneak away.
What if—just what if—she had stayed up all night, would she have stopped her?
But there’s no such thing as what if.
Tang Yan collapsed to the ground and cried—loud, hoarse, broken sobs—until there was nothing left in her but pain.