My Straight Girlfriend with Skin Hunger Syndrome - Chapter 80
Chapter 80
By the time Yi Shanshan returned home, it was past one in the morning.
Pretending to be a dutiful junior at a dinner filled with “fatherly” pronouncements had left her utterly drained.
She rode back in the same car as Yi Tian.
Leaning back in the passenger seat with her eyes closed, Yi Shanshan was resting when Yi Tian suddenly said from the back seat, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to that classmate you brought home?”
Her eyes snapped open, a tremor in her heart. “She’s just an ordinary girl, Dad, not from our world. She’s never seen anything like this before. You’d scare her.”
Yi Tian: “We’re not discussing business at home. Bring her downstairs tomorrow for breakfast.”
His statement was a command, leaving no room for negotiation.
Yi Shanshan didn’t reply, gazing silently out the car window at the empty night.
As the car pulled into the driveway, Yi Shanshan hurried upstairs.
At that moment, all she could think about was rushing into Ying Yuan’s arms, holding her tight for a while, before even attempting to deal with these troublesome matters.
Ying Yuan would undoubtedly be neatly tidied up, either lying in bed or curled up on the sofa, asleep or engrossed in a book.
Whatever she was doing, her body inevitably radiated that intoxicating scent, like a dry, crisp haystack cushioning her weary, restless mood.
Yi Shanshan pushed open the door and tossed her bag aside.
Too impatient to bother with her shoes, she kicked them off and stepped barefoot onto the floor.
Even her clothes irritated her. With a swift tug, she loosened the sash at her waist.
Taking a deep breath, she unzipped the expensive, luxurious dress, letting it pool on the floor, and stepped over the prickly, diamond-studded hem.
“Ying Yuan…” she murmured the name softly, her voice unconsciously softening with a touch of endearment.
The corners of her eyes drooped slightly, and she tugged at her neatly styled hair until it was tousled. In this moment, she felt like a disheveled puppy, longing to be held in its master’s arms.
She entered the living room, which was spotless and bright but empty of Ying Yuan’s presence.
Surprised, she hurried to the bedroom, but the large bed showed no sign of Ying Yuan.
Yi Shanshan frowned and began searching the apartment.
Her territory wasn’t small, but it wasn’t vast either. Soon, she realized Ying Yuan wasn’t there.
The haystack was gone, the soft clouds were gone, and the tranquil lake under the moonlight, resembling a sheltered harbor, was gone…
The little dog had been abandoned.
A fire surged in Yi Shanshan’s heart.
She strode to the bag she had tossed aside earlier and rummaged for her phone.
There were no new messages from Ying Yuan—no communication since they had parted ways.
Where are you?
Yi Shanshan typed the words, her fingertips trembling slightly.
Her message wasn’t answered immediately.
Each second stretched out like an ebbing tide.
Unable to wait even another second, Yi Shanshan grabbed a coat, slipped it on, clutched her phone, and flung open the door, striding out of the room.
As she reached the staircase, she bumped into the housekeeper who was climbing the stairs.
The housekeeper glanced at her, then lowered his gaze deferentially. “Miss, Miss Ying asked me to inform you that she’s gone to pick up a friend.”
“Pick up a friend?” Yi Shanshan’s brows furrowed tightly. “What friend?”
“She didn’t elaborate, just told you not to worry,” the housekeeper said.
“When did she leave?” Yi Shanshan asked.
“She arrived home at 10:05 PM and left at 10:20 PM.”
Impatient.
Ying Yuan had been in such a rush to leave that fifteen minutes was barely enough time to wash her face and change her clothes.
She had the housekeeper relay a message instead of sending Yi Shanshan a text herself.
Yi Shanshan’s gaze darkened. “Which driver took her?”
“No driver was used,” the housekeeper replied.
Yi Shanshan stood there, feeling as if a chaotic sky were pressing down on her, suffocating her.
She glared at the housekeeper. “In this sweltering heat, you let her walk out alone without offering a driver?”
“I suggested it, but Miss Ying declined,” the housekeeper said.
“So what if she declined?! Why couldn’t you be more assertive?!” Yi Shanshan’s voice suddenly rose sharply. “What’s the point of you if you can’t even see a guest off properly?!”
The housekeeper remained silent, an unspoken resistance that needed no further explanation.
Yi Shanshan’s anger surged, spreading like wildfire. “Why wasn’t I notified when she left? What did she do? Why didn’t you tell me anything?!”
“Don’t you tell President Yi every detail? What time I leave and return, who I’m with, what I eat, what I do?”
“Isn’t that your job? Spying on me like some kind of spy? What, you can spy on me, but not on others?”
“Miss, I only follow orders,” the housekeeper said, her gaze lowered, her voice as lifeless as a tomb, devoid of any emotion. “President Yi instructed you to go to bed early tonight and have breakfast with him tomorrow.”
Yi Shanshan’s fingers curled into fists, her entire body trembling violently.
Her mouth gaped open, gasping for air like a dying fish.
The woman’s face blurred before her, and countless other faces sprouted behind her—countless identical, indistinct faces.
These faces twisted, tore apart, and swirled into a vortex. At the bottom of the whirlpool lurked a demon, a demon with eyes identical to her father’s.
Yi Shanshan wanted to pull out a knife and stab through it all.
A vibration in her palm—two short buzzes, then two more.
It was a message from Ying Yuan, a fragile lifeline, barely registering on her nerves.
Yi Shanshan picked up her phone.
Ying Yuan’s texts scrolled across the screen:
I’m at home.
It’s too late tonight, so I won’t come over.
You just got back? You must be exhausted.
“You must be exhausted. Hurry and take a bath to rest properly.”
Yi Shanshan’s blurry vision gradually focused as she gripped her phone, her eyes fixed on the screen.
The warm water flowed over her, making her exhale deeply.
Ignoring the indistinct woman before her, she focused solely on messaging Ying Yuan.
“Yes, I just got back.”
“I was so scared when you weren’t here.”
“Can I call you?”
Even as she typed, her finger had already tapped the voice call icon and dialed.
But the call was immediately disconnected.
The chat window flashed a stark “The other party has rejected your call”.
Yi Shanshan froze, stunned.
Half a minute later, Ying Yuan’s message finally popped up again.
“It’s too late, not convenient.”
After typing those six words, Qi Hongyue threw Ying Yuan’s phone back to her.
She spread her hands, furrowed her brow, and scolded her with exasperation: “Is it so hard? Is it so hard to decline? Do you have to answer calls in the middle of the night? Even when you know they’re treating you like an emotional dumping ground? Don’t you need sleep? Don’t you get annoyed?”
“I turn my back for one second, and you’re already texting back like a puppy. And you’re being so gentle too! You just got back? You must be so tired…”
“Who wouldn’t love being fussed over like this every day? If you kept messaging me like that, I’d take advantage of you morning till night. I’d act like I couldn’t live without you—how great would that be? A low-cost, all-purpose lapdog…”
Ying Yuan’s face flushed crimson, whether from the wine or Qi Hongyue’s scolding, she couldn’t say. But she felt deeply ashamed.
But when she suddenly saw Yi Shanshan’s message, she couldn’t help herself. Her fingers moved as if driven by a motor, automatically typing out a string of replies.
“I… I was just letting her know I’m safe,” she stammered, desperately trying to justify herself. “See? She even said she was terrified when I didn’t respond…”
Qi Hongyue: “Terrified I’d have to hold all this trash with nowhere to put it since our trash can vanished.”
Ying Yuan: “……”
Qi Hongyue: “Did she ever consider you might be asleep? Tired? She asks ‘Can I call?’ and dials immediately. I wouldn’t even have noticed if it weren’t for your special ringtone suddenly going off.”
Ying Yuan: “……”
Qi Hongyue clinked her glass against Ying Yuan’s. The two sat at the dining table, several plates of snacks neatly arranged before them.
The beer bottles were neatly lined up, each empty can joining the line after being finished.
Though their conversation revolved around matters of the heart, neither of them descended into tearful melodrama or exaggerated emotional displays. Instead, they focused on presenting facts and reasoned arguments, with Qi Hongyue offering analytical insights, sharp critiques, and personal anecdotes.
It felt more like an academic seminar than a heart-to-heart.
“Alright, let’s continue,” Qi Hongyue said. “As long as she doesn’t keep calling you, report you to the police, or kick down your door, it means she’s doing just fine without you. Stop letting her extract your emotions and sacrifices at such a low cost.”
Ying Yuan clutched her beer can, her head swimming, as if she were floating through the sky.
Qi Hongyue spoke with such conviction that Ying Yuan couldn’t help but nod in agreement.
Qi Hongyue resumed writing in her notebook.
The notebook contained a meticulously organized table with rows labeled: Time Investment, Energy Expenditure, Emotional Support, Material Contribution, Social Integration, Physical Affection, Verbal Communication, Conflict Resolution, Sacrifices and Compromises, Future Planning, and over a dozen other evaluative dimensions.
“You mentioned earlier that when she was sick, she said, ‘No one can ever replace you.’ Was she directly comparing you to someone else at the time?” Qi Hongyue asked.
“I brought up her childhood friend,” Ying Yuan replied.
“Tell me more about what you did, what your childhood friend did…” Qi Hongyue pressed.
The conversation continued for another half-hour. Qi Hongyue pointed at Ying Yuan’s phone. “See? She hasn’t contacted you again. That proves she can cut off her need for you at any time.”
The sorrow in Ying Yuan’s heart welled up like a rising tide, overflowing in all directions. “Mm-hmm,” she murmured.
Twenty minutes later, Qi Hongyue picked up her own phone and posted the photo she had been preparing.
“Even the possessiveness toward a tool can ignite fierce emotions,” Qi Hongyue said. “If there’s no love, then there’s hate.”
Ying Yuan’s emotions churned. She felt a spark of excitement, but her mind was dulled by alcohol, and she couldn’t quite grasp what they were getting excited about.
“Mm-hmm!” she nodded vigorously, responding loudly.
In the small room, the overhead light cast a hazy yellow glow.
Ying Yuan’s thoughts drifted higher and higher, soaring aimlessly into the sky.
She couldn’t drink any more. She slumped against the edge of the table, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glazed over.
She could no longer understand what Qi Hongyue was saying, but she still hummed occasionally and made sounds of acknowledgment.
Qi Hongyue stopped talking.
She also stopped recording.
The paper was covered in densely written notes and scores for each event, but how could human emotions and memories ever be neatly categorized and quantified by a mere grading system?
Emotions surge like a flood, and memories deceive. In love stories, reason is a taut string—either plucked to resonate brilliantly or stretched until it snaps completely.
When Qi Hongyue felt hatred, she always remembered that dark, empty room. Her leg was broken; she lay on the floor, feeling for the first time that life was an isolated island—silent, cold, utterly alone… Then Ying Yuan came to her side.
Ying Yuan called her name, tears streaming down onto her. She embraced her, her warmth like a cloud before a storm.
Her scent, mingled with the metallic tang of blood, thrilled her stagnant heart.
After that, she rarely found such exhilaration again.
She fell from the cliff’s edge, love and hate crashing like flesh and bone into a shattered mess.
Qi Hongyue stood in a daze for a while before rising and approaching Ying Yuan.
Though only three years younger, Qi Hongyue always saw Ying Yuan as the younger version of herself—naive, innocent, courageous, daring to walk repeatedly along the cliff’s edge.
Qi Hongyue lifted Ying Yuan’s arm, wrapped it around her back, and half-carried the unconscious woman into the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed.
Ying Yuan held her liquor well; she didn’t vomit or become rowdy when drunk, her cheeks merely flushed crimson as she sank into a deep sleep.
Qi Hongyue returned to the dining table, clearing away the dishes and trash. She carried the dirty dishes into the kitchen and washed them casually.
Before she could even dry her hands, a sudden, loud banging erupted at the door.
In the dead of night, the aggressive pounding sounded like the reckless intrusion of a bandit.
Qi Hongyue left the kitchen and approached the front door.
The hallway’s motion-sensor light had been triggered by the persistent banging. Through the peephole, she clearly saw Yi Shanshan’s face—still beautiful even when distorted by the convex lens.
Qi Hongyue raised an eyebrow. Her mood, which had been gloomy all day, suddenly brightened.
She glanced at the wall clock: 3:10 a.m.
If someone’s possessiveness over a tool is so intense that it not only keeps them tossing and turning but drives them to rush here in the middle of the night, doesn’t that suggest the possessiveness is intertwined with a deep, exploitable affection?
As long as she hasn’t hit rock bottom, there’s still hope.
Qi Hongyue wanted to throw Ying Yuan a lifeline, and she also longed to witness her triumph over adversity.
Composing herself, she tugged at her shirt collar, and opened the door with a languid, almost amused air, her eyes glistening with a hint of tears.
“Shanshan, what brings you here?” Qi Hongyue greeted her with a smile. “Looking for Ying Yuan? She’s exhausted. I just tucked her in after pampering her.”