Chapter 20: She Only Wanted To Claim Her As Her Own
This translation is originally posted on https://love4baihe.blogspot.com please read it there. and check out other stories too.
A sharp-minded person notices many things, so when she detects Song Qingluo's unhappiness, she naturally can sense her current restraint.
But, Wen Ruoxian didn't understand what she was restraining.
Strange emotions chased after her. She could see herself almost falling into a bottomless pit called complexity, so she quickly stopped, not daring to deeply contemplate anything, to avoid causing herself unnecessary distress.
"I didn't ignore you on purpose at the dinner table today, it's just that I didn't know what to say to you..." Wen Ruoxian explained, half-truthfully.
She genuinely didn't know what to say to Song Qingluo.
But it had to be admitted that it was because of Song Qingluo making her blush in the afternoon, absolutely not acceptable. With Miss Song's temperament, she would either laugh at her fiercely or relentlessly pester her with questions. She truly couldn't handle either.
"It doesn't matter." Song Qingluo patted her hair gently. "Considering how cool you were today, I won't hold it against you."
Continuing to argue would be unreasonable.
She was only hanging around as a secretary, passing her idle days by Wen Ruoxian's side. The table was full of managers discussing work, which was utterly uninteresting.
Compared to exchanging a few words at the dinner table, she preferred intimate contact in private.
Like right now.
No one else, except her, could embrace Wen Ruoxian in this way.
"Alright," Wen Ruoxian teased her, "Miss Song is magnanimous."
"It's Qingluo."
"Qingluo."
Looking so earnest, Song Qingluo was quite pleased. "For every time you call me 'Miss Song' from now on, I'll hold a grudge until you completely stop."
"In that case, I take back what I said earlier," Wen Ruoxian sighed.
"Song Qingluo is stingy."
"You're the stingy one..." Song Qingluo pinched her back, not too hard, not too soft.
Wen Ruoxian hurriedly corrected herself, "I was just kidding."
"Hmph."
….
The night grew quiet.
Wen Ruoxian couldn't sleep.
Lying in bed, tossing and turning, various scenes flashed through her mind from daytime to nighttime—sometimes it was Cheng Suran, other times it was Song Qingluo—jumbled and disorderly.
There were a few thoughts about Cheng Suran.
She only remembered her smiling face, with two shallow dimples.
Since March of this year, Ranran had remained this way in her memory, unchanged.
There were many thoughts about Song Qingluo.
Her charming and lively eyes resembled those of a little fox. Her silver hair seemed to start fading, black and white strands intertwined on her head, giving off a touch of an artist's melancholic temperament. Unfortunately, her personality didn't match her temperament.
From their first meeting till now, it was like unwrapping layers of a mystery box, always providing her with different surprises.
Seemingly obedient on the surface, wild at heart, fundamentally pure. Disliking being bound by rules, and refusing to back down.
Every time she couldn't win an argument but insisted on arguing was quite adorable.
Two faces swapped back and forth.
It was not until the wee hours of the morning that drowsiness finally crept in...
She had a dream.
Five years ago, back when she had just met Ranran, the two of them traveled all over Europe. One day, she sat under a tree by the river while Ranran said she wanted to pick pretty stones. She took a wicker basket and walked off, going farther and farther until her figure disappeared.
She loudly called her name and hurriedly got up to chase after her. Running and running, she chased for a long time until she finally caught up with that figure.
This translation is originally posted on https://love4baihe.blogspot.com please read it there. and check out other stories too.
"Ranran!"
The person turned around.
Surprisingly, it was Song Qingluo.
Startled from the dream, Wen Ruoxian woke up. The sky was already bright, and the digital clock by the bed showed seven fifty-two. The dream was still vivid in her mind; she covered her mouth, and stared at the ceiling, as if experiencing an illusion, seeing nothing but Song Qingluo's face before her.
She had to close her eyes.
It took a while before she felt back in reality.
Getting up as usual, washing and dressing, and changing into the clothes she had set aside to wear today, she stepped out of the room.
There was movement in the kitchen.
Song Qingluo stood by the kitchen island in a robe, bending over, seemingly busy with something. The countertop was a mess, scattered with fruits, knives, and packaging paper, like a battlefield.
Seeing her, Wen Ruoxian stood still for a few seconds, trying hard to recall the dream, but the image had already blurred.
She only remembered that the person she was chasing had transformed into another face.
From Cheng Suran to Song Qingluo.
Terrifying, eerie, and overly absurd.
How could the ancestor be here?
Her mind slowly cleared up, finally recalling what happened yesterday—she brought the ancestor home.
"Miss Song."
Wen Ruoxian stepped into the kitchen and as soon as she spoke, Song Qingluo immediately turned around, pointing at her, and said, "You called me wrong, mark it down as a grudge!"
"Qing... Qingluo."
This address was somewhat uncomfortable for Wen Ruoxian.
Song Qingluo nodded, smiling, "You're up. I just finished making breakfast, come and eat."
Wen Ruoxian's gaze shifted down.
There were two plates with sandwiches placed on them, along with two cups of a purplish-red liquid. The presentation was decent.
"How did you think of making breakfast?"
"I'm your secretary, I should take care of you," Song Qingluo said matter-of-factly.
Wen Ruoxian shook her head. "A secretary isn't a maid. Cooking isn't within your job description."
"What if I insist?"
The ancestor was at it again.
She couldn't resist, couldn't provoke, and couldn't stop what needed to be done.
She shrugged, indicating no objection, then turned and sat down at the dining table. Song Qingluo placed the plates and cups in front of her. "This is grape juice, freshly squeezed by me. I looked through your fridge and cabinets, hope you don't mind?"
"Not at all, thank you, Song... ahem, Qingluo," Wen Ruoxian nearly bit her tongue.
She picked up a sandwich and took a bite.
Song Qingluo looked at her expectantly. "Is it good?"
"Mm."
That was not entirely honest.
The ingredients were taken out of the refrigerator and were cold without cooking. For Wen Ruoxian who was used to eating hot food, it was difficult to adapt to it.
What’s more, it’s winter now.
Her stomach felt cold after swallowing it.
But the Young Miss has good intentions, it would be too hurtful if is picky.
Thinking about it, she said politely: "It tastes very good, better than what I have eaten in Western restaurants. Maybe you can try other methods, such as a heated version."
Song Qingluo immediately heard the subtext.
A little disappointed, with self-blame on her face: "So you are used to eating hot breakfast... But, I can only cook cold ones. I can't master things that require cooking. It took me a long time to learn how to grill chicken wings."
"It doesn't matter, I'll do it next time." Wen Ruoxian said smoothly, without realizing that she had made an arrangement for next time.
Song Qingluo keenly grasped this opportunity.
She thought for a long time last night about how to get the old-fashioned to agree to her long-term stay. The safest and most effective way was still to sell her misery. She sold it once yesterday. If she sells it again today, she's afraid the effect will be greatly reduced.
But old bottles can hold new wine.
She nodded, pretending to yawn, and muttered: "I had a terrible nightmare last night, and I couldn't sleep well, ai."
Wen Ruoxian couldn't help but think of her dream, "What nightmare?"
"I dreamed that I was alone at home and kept hearing footsteps outside. Then, as I thought of opening the door to take a look. Suddenly the door was knocked open from the outside and a man rushed in with a knife. I...I woke up with a fright and couldn't sleep, and kept the light on." Song Qingluo showed lingering fear and patted her mouth.
There is something to think about every day and something to dream about at night.
Wen Ruoxian knew that it was because of what happened last night. Even though it was a mistake, it really scared Song Qingluo.
How can it be impossible? Considering her upbringing. She was pampered since childhood, well-protected, and everything she saw and felt was benevolent. Encountering such an incident for the first time naturally left a psychological shadow.
She inexplicably pitied and felt sorry for her. "Maybe it's better to find a safer place..."
Before she could finish, Song Qingluo, with a pitiful look, asked softly, "Can I stay at your place permanently?"
Wen Ruoxian was about to refuse outright, but her mind raced ahead of her mouth.
She didn't utter a word.
"I just feel particularly safe around you. Living together, I won't be afraid anymore. Also, it'll be convenient for work, and we can communicate face-to-face about anything," Song Qingluo drooped her eyelids, looking pitiful. Seeing Wen Ruoxian's lack of response, she pulled out the ultimate weapon—
"If it's not possible, it's okay. I know sometimes I can be quite bothersome to you. Though living alone is scary, I should be able to overcome it..."
Wen Ruoxian hurriedly explained, "I don't find you bothersome."
"Oh."
Song Qingluo silently nibbled on her sandwich, looking so aggrieved as if she was about to cry.
"Our living habits might clash since they're different. If you think it's okay, we can try living together for a while," Wen Ruoxian reluctantly compromised.
This house used to be where she and Cheng Suran lived.
Everywhere bore Ranran's breath, filled with memories of her. She could reminisce freely alone, even if it risked getting forever lost in those memories.
Yet, she knew she needed to move on as soon as possible.
Looking from a different perspective, Song Qingluo staying here might not be a bad thing. In this perpetually dull and closed-off corner, an occasional gust of fresh air could clear away some of the dirt and gloom, benefiting both physically and mentally.
Suddenly, a strong sense of guilt surged within her.
She was using Song Qingluo.
Business resources, client relationships... everything was being exploited. As long as it served her interests, there was no need to question her conscience.
Wen Ruoxian suppressed the guilt, and her boiling emotions suddenly calmed down.
"Can I really?" Song Qingluo looked up, almost overflowing with joy.
"Mm."
Both harbored their thoughts.
….
Song Qingluo officially moved into Wen Ruoxian's house.
With numerous bags of luggage making two trips, she even brought along her precious Stradivarius violin.
She transformed the guest room into her own little sanctuary.
The reason it was a guest room was that it was distant from the "quiet zone," separated by a large and spacious living room from the other four rooms. Those four rooms faced each other; one side belonged to Wen Ruoxian's resting and working area, while the other side... the doors were tightly shut and locked.
Wen Ruoxian said those two rooms were off-limits.
Although curious, Song Qingluo didn't insist. Her wish to live together had been fulfilled, and there was ample time ahead.
On the day of the New Year's concert, which coincided with New Year's Day, Song Qingluo arrived at the orchestra early in the afternoon.
This annual grand event was much more significant than usual performances. The higher-ups paid considerable attention to it. While everyone was rehearsing with taut nerves, Song Qingluo was eagerly looking forward to the nightfall.
She would finally be able to see Wen Ruoxian in the audience.
After rehearsals ended, there were three hours of free time. Song Qingluo sat in the lounge, taking selfies, and picked out the two most satisfactory ones to send to Wen Ruoxian.
[Do I look good?]
Wen Ruoxian replied instantly: [Very beautiful.]
Song Qingluo: [What should I do? I can't wait until tonight, to see you.]
Wen Ruoxian: [But don't we see each other every day?]
Song Qingluo: [But I want to see you all the time.]
Wen Ruoxian didn't respond.
Song Qingluo waited with her phone for a while, feeling dejected. Just as she was thinking of sending something else, Sun Yiren called out from behind her, "Qingluo—"
“Mm?"
"Director Yang wants you to go to his office for a moment," Sun Yiren said with a grin.
"Why?"
"I don't know, it must be something important."
"In that case, I'll go now."
Song Qingluo reluctantly got up. She really didn't like dealing with higher-ups, but the leaders always sought her out.
The director's office was on the third floor.
The door was slightly ajar. She symbolically knocked and pushed it open. "Director Yang, what's the matter?"
The middle-aged man was brewing tea, his toupee shining brightly. He smiled and waved at her upon hearing her voice. "Of course, it's good news."
"Please just get to the point," Song Qingluo bluntly sat down on the sofa.
Director Yang calmly sipped his tea. "After the New Year, there will be a prominent pianist coming to Jiangcheng for a special performance. I'd like you to be the lead and collaborate with him. It's a great opportunity."
Song Qingluo readily agreed, “Okay."
"Why don't you ask who it is?"
"It doesn't matter who it is."
"Okay," Director Yang admired her straightforwardness, "There's one more thing I hope you can consider."
"What is it?"
"Joining the orchestra permanently."
"I'm not considering that," Song Qingluo firmly refused.
"Xiao Song, I know your thoughts. Joining permanently just adds a name; it won't change your current lifestyle. You can still choose which performances to participate in, no obligations, no teaching..." The man tried persuading her fervently, even offering the most favorable treatment.
Song Qingluo impatiently interrupted, "This is the third time, Director Yang. Let me say it again: I won't join any musical group, formally or informally, regardless of the terms offered. Please don't bring this up again in the future."
“Ai..."
Director Yang sighed with regret. From the start of the year until now, he had tried to persuade her, but it seemed impossible to change her mind. While her personality was appealing, at times, it could also be quite exasperating.
"I'll take my leave," Song Qingluo stood up and left.
Back in the lounge, Sun Yiren was wiping her own violin. Seeing Song Qingluo looking gloomy, she greeted her with a smile, "What's wrong, my little princess Qingluo?"
Song Qingluo calmed down upon seeing her and waved her hand dismissively, "He's bringing up the permanent position again. Blathering on about it. I've rejected it twice already. What's the point of negotiating terms? Can't he respect my wishes?"
There were others in the lounge, so she intentionally lowered her voice. Sun Yiren asked with concern, "What terms did they offer you?"
"Freedom." Song Qingluo reiterated Director Yang's words and shook her head disapprovingly. "Old Yang is quite clever. He knows what matters most to me and offers exactly that. He knows I don't lack money; he didn't even mention it. Unfortunately, I have my own plans. His methods won't work on me. Who cares? It'd be better if he stopped nagging."
She vented to Sun Yiren.
Sun Yiren kept her eyes down, her smile gentle as ever, but emptiness lingered in her gaze.
Who doesn't care?
Many people do.
Things she acquired but didn't value were what others worked diligently for and couldn't obtain.
Even if she gained them, they could be easily taken away.
"Oh, he also mentioned that a prominent pianist is coming after the New Year to perform in Jiangcheng and asked me to be the lead. But... why haven't I heard anything about it?" Song Qingluo, immersed in her emotions, didn't keep her guard up.
Sun Yiren raised her gaze, "Arthur Royston? The mixed-race pianist ranked first or second in 'Shostakovich,' 'Chopin,' and 'Elizabeth.' He's quite popular in the classical music scene lately."
Hearing that familiar name, Song Qingluo exclaimed, "Him?"
"What's wrong?"
"When I was studying at Imperial Music Academy, he used to torture me every day, finding ways to pester me, asking me to rearrange scores, making me partner with him. So annoying."
Sun Yiren looked at her in shock: "Do you have a good relationship?"
“Good what? I wish I could chop him!” Song Qingluo said in an agitated manner, her voice raised slightly, prompting others to glance over unintentionally, and she quickly lowered her voice.
“No wonder they wanted me as the principal, they must have colluded, that scheming Englishman.”
Sun Yiren couldn't help but smile.
No, I'm going to go back on my word to Director Yang now. After all, the orchestra isn't something only I can be a part of. Yiren-jie, why don't you go? This is a good opportunity for your future career development.”
"Isn't this... inappropriate? Director Yang has already appointed you."
‘It's fine. Originally, you used to be the principal. On the contrary, I'm just a paratrooper*…”Song Qingluo spoke convincingly, unaware that every word was piercing Sun Yiren's heart.
*空降兵 (kōngjiàng bīng), paratrooper/airborne soldier - a new hire who instantly took over a high position bypassing senior employees that are also eligible for that high position, like falling from the sky out of nowhere. This can be because of influential connections or other special arrangements.
Paratrooper is quite accurate.
Since Song Qingluo arrived, she was forced to step back to the position of deputy principal in two-thirds of the major performances.
Sun Yiren wanted to say something else, but Song Qingluo had already run out.
….
The night fell quietly amidst the cold.
The music hall was brightly lit, and the atmosphere was thick with the spirit of the New Year.
Half an hour before the performance Before the performance began, half an hour earlier, Song Qingluo changed into a long skirt in taro purple, and casually took a selfie in the dressing room, planning to send it to Wen Ruoxian.
Opening WeChat, she found that the other party still hadn't replied.
‘But I want to see you all the time.’
Just a few simple words, no matter how you look at it, it appears ambiguous. It lay alone in the chat box, like falling into a deep, soundless abyss.
She regretted it for a moment.
Maybe she was too rash, too anxious. What if she scared Wen Ruoxian?
Even fierce beasts hunting need time to patiently wait.
But her heart was unwilling.
It's just a joke.
The old-fashioned truly doesn't understand flirtation.
Not replying for so long, deliberately avoiding her, she would hold a grudge.
Once she holds a grudge, it's hard to get rid of it!
Thinking this, Song Qingluo's resentful thoughts surged, dispelling the idea of sending the photo. After all, in half an hour, she would be able to see Wen Ruoxian in the audience.
Wen Ruoxian would also see her.
Dressed up carefully and dazzlingly.
Fifteen minutes before, the orchestra members began entering one after another.
As the lead, Song Qingluo needed to wait first. Around seven o'clock, she would take the stage, signaling to the audience that the concert was about to begin.
She stood by the backstage door, peeking through the gap at the audience seats.
As time passed, the audience gradually entered and took their seats, filling the previously empty space quickly. The front rows were almost full, with a vaguely visible empty seat.
The familiar figure did not appear.
Is she late?
Frowning, Song Qingluo felt doubtful, but it was time for her to take the stage. She had to cast aside her thoughts and focus on the performance.
The double doors swung open.
She ascended the stage gracefully, lightly lifting the hem of her skirt.
With a slow pace and graceful movements, the long skirt brought a fragrant breeze.
Warm applause filled the hall.
Song Qingluo smiled, shook hands with the conductor, bowed to the audience, and then turned to sit in the lead position, preparing her violin.
Quickly, she glanced at the audience seats.
Empty.
That seat was empty.
"..."
Without much time to ponder, as the conductor's hand signaled, she became like an automated machine, entering performance mode, immersed in the ocean of music.
During the intermission, the empty seat remained unoccupied.
Song Qingluo sat upright on stage, emotions shifting from perplexity to worry, from uneasiness to anger. Her mood swung like a roller coaster, her expression growing colder. Yet, she constantly reminded herself to focus, not to make any more blunders.
The second half smoothly concluded amidst her cold demeanor.
Acknowledgments, bows, exiting the stage, she wore a forced smile.
No one noticed anything amiss.
With her violin in one hand and gently lifting her skirt with the other, Song Qingluo swiftly walked in high heels. She rushed back to the dressing room, placed her violin down, and quickly retrieved her phone from her bag.
Old-fashioned.
Promising but breaking it.
You're finished!
Before opening WeChat, Song Qingluo's grievances turned into rage, glaring fiercely at her phone.
The next moment, she saw Wen Ruoxian's message—
Prude: [Qingluo, I'm sorry. I might not be able to make it tonight. Miss Cheng had a car accident and is in the hospital. There's no one around her temporarily, I need to stay with her.]
The message was sent at 7:10.
Two hours ago.
Song Qingluo stared at the words blankly, her anger dissipating considerably.
But the feelings of disappointment and grievance intensified within her.
She spent an hour on makeup, meticulously styled her hair, wore the taro purple dress personally chosen by Wen Ruoxian for this once-a-year New Year concert, and sat in the highly visible lead position among the masses.
She had been looking forward to it since last night.
Now, due to an accident, all her anticipation, thoughts, and everything was in vain.
The dress will only be worn once.
Wen Ruoxian would never see her in this dress again.
A tremendous sense of exhaustion surged, engulfing her, as if plummeting rapidly from a great height into a cliff, with only the sound of wind in her ears, surrounded by the panic of weightlessness.
Out of courtesy and politeness, Song Qingluo knew she should inquire about CEO Cheng's condition.
But she couldn't.
She was so selfish, selfish to the point where she only wanted to claim Wen Ruoxian as her own, not allowing her to divert even a fraction of her energy, even in matters of life and death. She even went to the extreme of thinking, what if the person lying in the hospital was herself...
Song Qingluo startled herself.
Footsteps and laughter came from outside; others were returning one by one. She hastily put down her phone, and regained her composure, pretending to be calm as she packed up.
Then silently, she went to the dressing room.
"Qingluo, are you coming for late-night snacks?" Sun Yiren approached her, full of joy. "Vice Captain Guo invited everyone for New Year's Day."
Song Qingluo had changed back into her own clothes, pretending everything was fine, smiling and shaking her head. "No, I have something at home. You guys go ahead, eat a bit more for me."
As expected.
She wouldn't go.
Sun Yiren didn't say anything more.
At 9:17, most of the orchestra had left. Some went home, some for supper. Only Song Qingluo sat in the dressing room, holding her violin case, lost in thought.
The vibration of her phone sounded especially harsh in the silence.
It was from Wen Ruoxian.
Tagged as "Old-fashioned."
For a brief moment, Song Qingluo's eyes lit up, then quickly dimmed. She casually dismissed the call and was about to put her phone away when another call came in.
She simply turned off her phone.
If she was supposed to accompany someone, she should do it properly, not play with her phone or make calls.
After all, they were just ordinary friends.
Feeling gloomy, Song Qingluo suppressed the bitterness in her heart, lifted her bag, carried the violin case, and left the dressing room.
The sky was dark, the moon buried beneath clouds, its faint silver light diluted by the city's scattered lights. Exiting through the side door of the hall, a cold wind cut through her like a knife.
"Qingluo..."
A woman stood in the chilly wind, leaning against the dim light of the streetlamp. Her black hair was slightly disheveled, her plain face looked pale, a hint of worry in her smile.
"What are you doing here?" Song Qingluo froze, and her eyes dimmed.
"It's all over."
Wen Ruoxian whispered: "I'm sorry."
Author’s Note:
Xiao Qingluo: Oh, you can’t coax me (cold)
ps: I’m late again, giving red envelopes to the little cuties-3