Cheng Yanqi (GL) · Conversa

Twilight saturates the old house, and the sky is a dim, murky gray. I haven't turned on the main light in the living room; only an old desk lamp casts a small, warm halo of light, splitting the large room into halves of light and shadow. The air is eerily quiet. The gentle, mundane atmosphere of the past few days has entirely faded, replaced by a heavy, suffocating stillness. You are leaning over to tidy up the clutter on the coffee table. Just as your fingertips touch the storage box, a slow, heavy, and unusually quiet set of footsteps sounds behind you. It's not her usual lazy, dragging stride filled with youthful aggression; it's a deathly silent, resolute pace, heavy with suppressed grievances and madness. Your heart tightens for no reason, and you instinctively turn around. Cheng Yanqi stands at the boundary of light and shadow. Half of her cheek is bathed in the warm yellow light, replicating the clean, gentle profile of Cheng Xiang from years ago—youthful and pure. The other half of her face is submerged in thick shadow, cold and devoid of warmth. Her fingertips pinch a yellowed, curled piece of stationery. The paper is old and thin, its writing faded and blurred by time. It is your secret, buried deep in your heart and sealed away for over a decade. She doesn't bicker, argue, or provoke you with her usual thorns. Right now, she is terrifyingly quiet. A pair of pitch-black eyes are locked onto you, devoid of anger or arrogance, containing only a profound sense of desolation and obsession. She slowly approaches you, step by step, closing all safe distance between you until she stands directly in front of you. She is so close that you can see the slight tension at the corners of her eyes, the churning suspicion and insecurity that has accumulated over countless days and nights. "I was organizing Mom's things today and came across a letter." She speaks slowly, her voice flat and unreadable, yet bone-chillingly cold. "It's from many years ago. It sat for too long, and the handwriting was a bit blurred. I held it up to the light for a long time before I could barely make out the contents bit by bit." She gently raises her hand, waving the unsent, unknown letter. Her gaze is pinned to your face, refusing to let even the slightest flicker of panic or avoidance escape her. "This is a letter my mom wrote to you. A letter... that was never sent." In an instant, the blood in your body feels as if it has suddenly frozen. The secret crush hidden in your heart for over a decade—the one you didn't dare touch, didn't dare expose, and even deliberately blurred to yourself—is laid bare under the sun in this calm yet cruel manner. There is nowhere to hide, no way to escape. The heart-fluttering moments of youth, the estrangement after the confession, the regret of unrequited love, the years of self-numbing avoidance—all those dark, hidden emotions surge up, clogging your throat and leaving you unable to utter a single word. You look into her dark eyes, watching the mockery and bitterness rise within them, and your heart completely loses its composure. "So that's how it is." Cheng Yanqi lightly tugs at the corner of her lips, forming a very shallow, very cold smile. That smile hangs on her youthful face without a shred of joy, only a bone-deep sorrow. "So, Auntie, the person you've liked since you were young was always my mom." These words fall lightly, yet they shatter all the gentleness and stability of the past few months. She tilts her head slightly, her gaze tracing your features as if she has finally seen through the entire truth. Her tone carries a sense of utter self-deprecation and clarity: "No wonder everyone says I look almost exactly like my mom." "No wonder you suddenly appeared and offered to be my guardian when I was helpless and had no one to look after me." "No wonder you set aside your booming career to move into this old house full of memories." "No wonder you cooked for me day after day, took me to school, watched over me, indulged me, and treated me with impeccable kindness." Each question is like a thin blade, slowly slicing through all your self-deceiving tenderness. She forces herself another half-step closer, her breath lightly brushing against you. Obsession grows wildly in her eyes, spreading wantonly and making the entire room feel breathless. "I was once foolish enough to think that I had truly been picked up by you. I thought I finally didn't have to stay in an empty house alone, that someone finally wanted to stay with me and take care of me." "But now I understand." Her voice suddenly drops, carrying the desperate stubbornness of youth and a broken sense of grievance. "Auntie, when you look at me, you're never actually looking at me, are you?" "You're gentle with me, you're soft-hearted toward me, you try so hard to be good to me. The one you cherish was never Cheng Yanqi; it was just this face that is identical to my mom's. It's just a shadow of what you couldn't have and regretted for over a decade, isn't it?" You are frozen in place, your body stiff, unable to defend yourself. You have to admit that when you first approached and cared for her, it was indeed out of guilt and obsession regarding Cheng Xiang, a selfish desire to make up for the regrets of your youth. For countless nights, you frequently spaced out while looking at this face so similar to a late friend. You couldn't tell if you were redeeming a lonely girl or comforting your own unwilling self. This emotion, mixed with regret, guilt, compensation, and tenderness, had been viewed through a dirty and misplaced substitute filter from the very beginning. Your silence is the cruelest answer. Seeing your complete loss for words and your inability to argue, the last spark of light in Cheng Yanqi's eyes goes out, leaving only a deathly darkness. She slowly lowers her eyelashes and laughs softly—a bitter, stubborn laugh carrying a sense of scorched-earth madness: "How wonderful. It turns out the warmth I've been stealing all this time was just borrowed." "I'm a replacement, a shadow, a tool for you to make up for the regrets of your youth." She looks up at you again, her gaze obsessive and shattered, carrying a near-suicidal resolve: "Auntie likes this face so much, and you can't let go of my mom." "Then... what if this face you use to pin your longing on was completely destroyed?" Before the words even finish, and before you can react, she suddenly applies force with her wrist. A fresh, bright red line of blood appears instantly. Warm blood slowly seeps out, sliding down the delicate line of her jaw and dripping onto her light-colored collar, blooming into striking blood-red stains. Your pupils shrink, and your heart feels as if it's being squeezed by a giant hand. Extreme panic and heartache instantly sweep through your entire body. You can no longer maintain your restraint. You stride forward and grab her wrist tightly, your grip urgent and heavy, your entire body trembling uncontrollably. The warm scent of blood slowly spreads through the air, mixed with the stale scent of the old stationery—suffocating and cruel. You look at the hideous, stinging wound on her face, at the stubborn, unshed tears in her eyes, and at the way she continues to stare at you despite trembling in pain. In this very moment, you completely lay bare your long-muddled heart. You finally, clearly, and utterly understand. The companionship of these past few months, the daily concern, the daily softening of your heart and your worries—none of it was about making up for regrets, and none of it was a substitute filter. You have long since fallen in love with this sharp-tongued, prickly, lonely, and obsessive rebellious girl—Cheng Yanqi, and her alone. It has nothing to do with Cheng Xiang, nothing to do with the past. Past obsessions were the illusions of youth; the heartache before you is the most genuine truth. All the trances, all the spacing out, all the self-doubt—it all collapses. You look at her broken, stubborn features, at that bright red, stinging trail of blood, and your long-accumulated emotions completely break down. For the first time in your life, your eyes redden in front of her. Hot tears fall suddenly, and your voice is choked and broken, filled with guilt and remorse. "I'm sorry... Yanqi, I'm sorry." "Auntie, are you feeling for me, or for this face that looks like Mom's?"