novelraw Chapter 182 is not me
Chapter 182 is not me
Lu Xiran's words were like a knife, stabbing into Gu Yanshen's heart, stirring it around, and then pulling it out.
She handed him the blade, she gave him the force, and he inflicted the wound himself.
He should explain.
He was the one who replied to those emails, he was the one who kept her company late into the night, he was the senior. He should have told her that Xin Mubai knew nothing, that he wasn't the senior.
He opened his mouth.
But he didn't make a sound.
He looked into the light in her eyes, the light borrowed from Xin... Mubai, the light that had rekindled her spirit. If he told her the truth, what would she do? Would she stay? Would she continue to wait for him? Would she continue to be drawn into those dangers?
he can not.
"That's good." His voice was very soft, as if he were talking about something unrelated to himself. He took the milk; the cup was very hot, burning his fingers, but he didn't let go. "He's better than me."
Lu Xiran looked at him. He sat by the island counter, holding the glass of milk in his hand, his eyes lowered, his eyelashes casting shadows beneath them. His face was expressionless, but his hand was trembling. The trembling started from his fingers and went down to his wrist, causing tiny ripples to spread across the milk in the glass.
She suddenly didn't want to look at his face anymore.
She turned and went into the bathroom, turning on the faucet. The sound of the running water was loud, drowning out her breathing. She squatted down to test the water temperature, dipped her finger in, felt the burn, pulled it back, and then dipped it in again. She didn't know what she was doing; she was just mechanically repeating these actions, like a machine executing instructions.
He walked over, and she put his feet in the water. She didn't look at him once.
"Ranran," he called to her.
She did not respond.
"sorry."
Her fingers paused in the water for a moment. Just a moment, then she continued splashing water on his calves. "You don't need to apologize," she said softly, as if she were talking about something unrelated to herself. "It's not your fault you don't like me."
He looked at her downcast eyes. The mist blurred her face, and fine droplets clung to her eyelashes—he couldn't tell if they were splashes or something else. He wanted to reach out, to touch her face, to know if it was water or tears. But he couldn't lift his hand.
"What if," his voice was terribly hoarse, "what if Xin Mubai wasn't my senior?"
She looked up at him.
"What do you mean?"
"If he weren't that senior, would you have accepted him?"
How do you know he isn't?
He watched the light gathering in her eyes, her slightly furrowed brows, and her fingers gripping the towel tightly. That light was something she had finally found, borrowed from Xin Mubai, something that had rekindled her spirit. If he told her the truth, that light would be extinguished. She would know that he had replied to those emails, that he had kept her company through those late nights, that he had said "Have a safe trip" to her. She would know that he had always been there, always lying to her.
He swallowed it back.
"It's nothing," he said. "I don't know."
He couldn't let her break again.
He stopped speaking. She stopped speaking as well.
After soaking his feet, she continued to massage him.
But the more I thought about it, the more wronged I felt.
Why was she so upset when she found out she was Song Zhihe's stand-in, while Gu Yanshen acted like nothing had happened?
Sure enough, she was insignificant in his heart.
Did he even feel relieved, as if a burden had been lifted? Lu Xiran's movements unconsciously became heavier and heavier, so heavy that Gu Yanshen's skin turned red, and so heavy that her own fingers began to tremble.
But he remained silent, his eyes closed, like a shell devoid of pain.
She finally couldn't hold back anymore.
"Aren't you in pain?"
He shook his head slightly.
"Masochist."
He opened his eyes and looked at her. Her eyes were red, and her lips were pressed tightly together, as if she was holding back something. He suddenly smiled, a very light smile, carrying a hint of helplessness, a hint of indulgence, and a hint of doting affection that she herself was unaware of.
"It's quite comfortable," he said.
She wasn't very strong. No matter how hard she tried, it wouldn't make a difference to him. Compared to the bullet she took for him, compared to all the grievances she had swallowed over the years, compared to her stubbornness in massaging him with red eyes—what was this little pain?
She didn't speak again. He didn't speak again either. The lights were off, except for the dim yellow lamp by the bedside, which cast their shadows on the wall, overlapping and then separating.
The night passed in silence.
The next day at noon, Lu Xiran arranged to meet Xin Mubai at a coffee shop near the company.
When he arrived, she was already there, sitting by the window, her coffee already cold. She held the cup, looking out the window, lost in thought.
"Why did you call me so urgently?" Xin Mubai sat down opposite her, taking off his coat and draping it over the back of the chair. "What's wrong?"
Lu Xiran turned around and looked at him. He was looking down at the menu, muttering, "What do you want to drink? Americano again? Never mind, you don't seem to be doing well today, I'll get you something hot—"
Xin Mubai.
He looked up. Her expression was serious, so serious that he dropped his nonchalant attitude.
"What's wrong?"
"Are you a senior student?"
His finger hovered over the menu.
The air was still for a few seconds.
"What senior?" he asked.
"That senior who helped me revise my design for three years and answered countless questions." Her voice was soft, but every word was clear. "Was it you?"
Xin Mubai looked at her. He looked at her slightly furrowed brows and her fingers gripping the cup tightly.
"Do you wish it were me?" he asked.
"I'm asking you if that's right."
He remained silent for a long time. Looking at her earnest expression, the importance of that senior to her was self-evident. He knew that if he said "yes," she might open her heart to him, might give him a chance, and perhaps—perhaps those fireworks, roses, and river-view restaurants would no longer be just a one-man show for him.
For a moment, he wavered.
He wanted to admit it.
But he didn't.
Being someone else's stand-in isn't his style. His pride wouldn't allow it either.
"It wasn't me," he said.
Lu Xiran's shoulders relaxed. It was a very subtle change, like a string that had been stretched for a long time finally being released, carrying a sense of relief that she herself was unaware of. She even slightly curved the corners of her mouth.
"Do you really want to be like this?" Xin Mubai leaned back in his chair, his tone returning to its usual nonchalant manner, but his eyes remained fixed on her. "So afraid of me?"
Lu Xiran was stunned for a moment.
"Are you also a little bit attracted to me?" He tilted his head, as if asking a very casual question, but his fingers were clenched tightly under the table.
Lu Xiran smiled.
The smile was gentle, carrying a hint of apology and a touch of relief.
"You chose the wrong person," she said. "If it were someone else, they would be with you by now."
"Then why can't you?"
"Because I love him."
Xin Mubai's smile vanished.
"Didn't you decide to go to Switzerland?" His voice lowered. "Weren't you going to start a new life?"
"I can only decide where I am," Lu Xiran said, looking down at the coffee in her cup. "But I can't decide whether I love him or not."
"Xin Mubai," she looked up, "I was actually thinking all yesterday, if you were my senior, could I love you?"
He didn't speak.
"And the conclusion?" he heard himself ask.
"I just want to know if he loves me." Her voice was soft, as if she were admitting something shameful. "But I can't imagine living with anyone else."
But yesterday, besides Xin Mubai, who else did she see?