Chapter 73: Distance

Jiang Ya froze at the mockery curling Qi Yu’s lips—all words stuck. She remembered why she came, swallowed the hostility, spoke evenly: “I’m serious. I just want to talk. There’s still so much we never cleared up.”
“Can I come in? When we’re done… I’ll leave…”
Qi Yu’s gaze flickered—only a flash—then she pushed the door forward, looked away. “I don’t want to talk. Go home.”
What was there to talk about?
Nearly three months since the breakup. All that time, all those chances—Jiang Ya had begged, demanded an explanation—and she’d walked away without a word.
Now one line—“I’ve thought it through”—was supposed to erase the pain, let her sit down calm as if nothing happened?
Sorry. She wasn’t that magnanimous. She was petty.
“Wait! Didn’t you want an explanation? I’ll tell you everything—please, let me in—” The door was closing. Jiang Ya braced both hands against it, urgent.
Qi Yu seemed set against seeing her. She ignored the struggle, flat: “I don’t want to hear it now. We have nothing to say.”
Her face dark. She peeled Jiang Ya’s hands from the frame and slammed the door shut.
She didn’t expect—at the last instant—Jiang Ya’s hand again. Qi Yu’s pupils shrank. Too late to pull back.
The door crushed down on Jiang Ya’s palm.
“Ahh—” Pain like shattered bone spread from her hand. She forgot to pull back, stood trembling. Pale skin bore a deep blood-red stripe.
Qi Yu instinctively caught her wrist, lifted it. The welt swelled before her eyes—a horizontal gash across the palm like a crack, almost obscene.
A little more force—hairline fracture. Worse, a break.
Qi Yu didn’t dare touch the injury. She lowered the hand gently, frowned, met Jiang Ya’s watery eyes—stiffened, looked away, voice finally softening.
“Are you stupid? The door was closing and you didn’t move… I only have bandages here. Go home and get it treated.”
“No…” Jiang Ya stepped forward, blocked the doorway with her body, forced Qi Yu back. “This is fine. We talk first, then I go. Okay?”
“…” Qi Yu stared deep. Emotions tangled in her eyes.
She didn’t understand. At the worst of it Jiang Ya hadn’t kept her. Now, each settled in their own life—why this stubbornness?
Her lips pressed tight. She saw Jiang Ya tuck the injured hand slightly behind her. A pause. A quiet sigh inside.
She yielded, stepped aside. After closing the door she turned. “What do you want to say? Say it.”
Jiang Ya stood awkwardly, looking at the face she’d missed for so long. Slowly: “That day… you asked me for a reason, didn’t you?”
“I wanted to tell you. I thought I couldn’t—I was afraid if I said it we’d both get hurt, the relationship wouldn’t last. You understand? It wasn’t that I didn’t want to explain. I’ve been thinking—should I tell you? If I do, will my family pressure me again… I…”
“Wait.” Qi Yu cut her off.
She lowered her eyes, sighed without sound, looked up. One question only. “I don’t want the rest. I know your parents won’t agree. So—who do you choose?”
“I’ll tell you—I didn’t sleep that night. Next day I went home and told my mom. She still opposed. So I tore with her—hard—for you. So I wouldn’t give up that easily.”
She stepped half a pace closer, eyes locked on Jiang Ya’s flickering gaze. Low and heavy: “What can you do for me?”
“Would you fight your family again? Aren’t you afraid of shame? Of being cut off?”
The words sank into Jiang Ya’s chest. Still reeling that Qi Yu had already broken with her family, she stared blank, speechless.
Qi Yu read the fear too well hidden in that lost look.
As expected. Good thing she hadn’t hoped too much.
“You’re still afraid, aren’t you?” She struck clean. “Jiang Ya, you’re so smart—why don’t you get it? What we need to solve isn’t how many misunderstandings we have. It’s what you choose. How you choose.”
“Yes, I said before this wasn’t multiple choice. Turns out I was wrong. I was stupid. You have to choose. Give something up. Nothing is perfect—right?”
Under the pressure Jiang Ya forced herself steady, drew a breath. “Yes. I know. I hear you. But give me a little time—how to balance, how to hurt people least… Give me time. I can handle it. Believe me—please?”
Speaking hot, she moved closer without thinking, gripped Qi Yu’s arm—and didn’t let go.
Qi Yu watched the whole time. Eyes cold and tired, as if even feeling was too much work.
She removed Jiang Ya’s hand quietly, put distance between them. “Why should I believe you?”
“Do you even know what we are now?”
“We broke up. This isn’t a cold war. It’s over. Do you know what over means?”
Each sentence like a blade across Jiang Ya’s chest. “Over” echoed in her ears, wouldn’t fade.
Her lips moved—nothing left. Everything she’d prepared turned pale.
It was over.
No chance?
Qi Yu didn’t love her anymore?
Three months—how could she not love her—how dare she—
A meter apart. Felt like opposite ends of the earth.
Jiang Ya’s eyes reddened as she stared. Tears broke free, blurred the face before her.
Qi Yu still said nothing.
She wanted to wipe her face—one move of the injured hand and pain shot from palm to heart. She looked down, hid the mess, eyes darting nowhere.
By accident she saw Qi Yu’s hand—almost covered in bandages. Brow knit. She reached—
Qi Yu dodged, obvious.
Jiang Ya’s hand hung midair, curled back inch by inch. Sad gaze. “Your hand…”
“Bumped it by accident.”
Qi Yu tightened her fist, looked up. Better not to mention it.
She wanted to demand—who was that man, what were they, why argue at her building—but what right did she have now?
She was tired.
Weariness on her face, she turned and opened the door. “Go. Please go. More talk is pointless.”
“How is it pointless?” Jiang Ya didn’t move. She grabbed Qi Yu, pulled her close. “I’m solving things now—can’t we talk properly? Why do you always act like this?”
“What attitude?” Qi Yu let herself be pulled, glared. “What did you solve? You’re theorizing on paper.”
“You say you can balance—how? If your parents can’t accept it and do something extreme—will you bow to them again? That filial guilt kicks in and you do what they say.”
“They tell you to break up with me—you did. If they tell you to marry a man and have kids—are you going to—”
“Qi Yu!”
Anger stopped the words.
Jiang Ya let go, brow tight, eyes churning. “I’m selfish! I’m cowardly! I admit everything you said! But I’m not that low!”
“I just want one more chance…”
“Then why didn’t you give me one back then?” Qi Yu shot back.
“Did I want this? Did I cause this? Jiang Ya—be honest. From school till now—when did I ever wrong you?”
“I went along with you—afraid you were cold, afraid you were hot—your joy was mine, your pain worried me… At the end I sent messages. Did you reply to even one?”
“Not even a period.” She laughed at herself.
Beneath the dim eyes, grief buried deep. She pointed at her chest, voice heavy. “At this point—I have a clear conscience toward you.”
“I don’t want to make it harder for you either. It doesn’t have to be a choice. We’re fine like this now—aren’t we?”
“Go. We end here.”
Jiang Ya was pushed out in a daze. The door shut—cut them off completely. She stood before it blank until thought slowly returned.
The motion-sensor hall light went out.
Alone in the dark she finally unclenched her bitten, shaking lips. Silence tasted salt and bitter.
Behind the door Qi Yu didn’t leave either.
Back against the wood, hearing the faint sob outside, she stared at the ceiling. Dry eyes slowly wet—but when tears brimmed, not one fell.
.
Qi Yu timed her trip to avoid the holiday rush—mid-May, open-ended. She didn’t know if she owed anyone a real goodbye, so life went on as usual.
Late April, cleaning the bedroom, she found an old photo hidden in the cabinet—a family portrait from years ago. Four of them: Qi Li and Qi Wenping in the center, Qi Xuan beside her mother, all bright smiles. Qi Yu stood by Qi Li, mouth stiff and shy.
She stared a long time. Decided to go back that night for one look.
Months away—the old neighborhood still familiar. Greeted neighbors on the stairs.
Key in the lock. Empty living room. A daze.
Qi Wenping hurried out of the bedroom, froze seeing her.
Shock. She came close, eyes traveling up and down, then touched Qi Yu’s face. “Xiao Yu… how did you get so thin?”
Acid rose in Qi Yu’s chest. She looked down, arched a brow, breathed deep, smiled. “Shop’s busy. Sometimes skip meals when work piles up.”
“This isn’t a little! You’re skin and bones!” Qi Wenping scolded with heartache, pulled her to the sofa, asked and worried and scolded by turns.
Qi Yu answered everything. After ten minutes of small talk she glanced casually at the dark bedroom.
“Aunt… is it… just you at home?”
Qi Wenping paused, looked at the empty room, sighed. “Xuan’s at school. Your mom… your mom’s not here.”
“Where is she?” One more question.
“She…” Casual ask—but Qi Wenping choked, stammered half a reply.
Finally she looked at Qi Yu, gripped her hand harder, sighed straight. “She told me not to tell you. I think there’s no point hiding it.”
“She’s in the hospital. Been there a while. I just came back from there…”
“Hospital?” Qi Yu’s chest tightened, brow locked. “Why? What is it?”
Qi Wenping patted her hand. “Uterine fibroids. Benign. Minimally invasive surgery. Still recovering… At our age something always turns up. Don’t worry.”
Qi Yu’s eyes dropped. Silence. “I’ll visit another day.”
Qi Wenping: “No need. She’ll be out soon. And your mother’s proud—that’s why she didn’t tell you…”
Another long sigh.
She squeezed Qi Yu’s hand, trying to warm cold fingers, looked at her with weight. “Your mother—this isn’t the only thing she kept from you. She’s always afraid of being trouble, pressure, a burden—so she swallows everything. You’re the same as her in that.”
“Your situation… I know. My view hasn’t changed. Your life is yours.”
“But your mother’s opposition has her reasons.”
“All these years I can see—you still hold a grudge about her leaving back then. That’s normal.”
“But she had her reasons. I’ve told her for years to explain to you. She still won’t…”
“But I think—however you fight, you’re her daughter, she’s your mother. That doesn’t change.”
“So… you’re grown now. Some things… you should know.”
“She won’t say it. I’ll be selfish once—for her—and open my mouth.”