Scarred Hearts — A Girls' Love Tale - Chapter 5

Grandfather would probably scold me for being so useless if he saw me like this, right? Yan Shuangfei gritted her teeth, burying her head into the pillow, afraid her heavy breathing might disturb Luo Qinghan’s rest.

She knew full well it was Qinghan behind the scenes, orchestrating the four great families to oppose the Yan family. And yet, she turned a blind eye and played deaf. Qinghan truly hated the Yan family.

Feeling the warmth of Qinghan’s hand on her cold skin, Yan Shuangfei sighed in relief. To her, she was only Qinghan’s Shuangfei, and to hell with being the leader of the Yan family.

At least Qinghan, even knowing she was plotting against the four great families, still graced her with warmth.

Sunlight poured gently onto the ground as Yan Shuangfei dragged her sword along the road, the ear-piercing sound of it scraping echoing in the air.

Hearing that sound, Luo Qinghan knew Yan Shuangfei’s spirits were back—like an indestructible cockroach. It pleased Luo Qinghan greatly.

But she seemed to forget that no matter how tough a cockroach was, there would always be a breaking point.

“Your clothes are filthy,” Luo Qinghan muttered.

Once Yan Shuangfei was back to her usual self, she couldn’t sit still, like someone with a severe case of hyperactivity, and wouldn’t stop until she was covered in dirt.

Yan Shuangfei glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Luo Qinghan stood behind her, helping her change clothes.

They’d already seen each other countless times like this, so Yan Shuangfei felt no embarrassment. Instead, she boldly let her gaze wander to Qinghan’s chest. Qinghan, ever meticulous, didn’t notice Yan Shuangfei’s daring stare.

Helping Yan Shuangfei dress had become second nature to Luo Qinghan. That woman didn’t know a thing about fashion. As long as her clothes covered the essentials, she’d head out the door. If that was the case, how could Luo Qinghan ever dream of holding hands and strolling down the street with her without feeling utterly embarrassed?

Yan Shuangfei turned back to the mirror. What she saw was Luo Qinghan, busily and happily fussing over her, her face carrying the faintest trace of a smile. Yet, occasionally, there was a flash of something cold and bloodthirsty in her eyes.

Yan Shuangfei was infatuated with Luo Qinghan—her gentleness, her calm grace, and even her ruthless cruelty.

“Brother Shaoqiu,” Yan Shuangfei rarely addressed anyone so affectionately.

Sitting by the window of a café, Yan Shuangfei spoke to the man across from her, whose face always bore a gentle smile.

Yan Shaoqiu had grown up with Yan Shuangfei and was familiar with Luo Qinghan.

After hearing the whole story, Yan Shaoqiu said, “Isn’t Luo Qinghan always gentle?” He had already noticed the faint bloodstains on Yan Shuangfei’s neck and could easily guess their source. In this world, aside from Luo Qinghan, no one else dared treat Yan Shuangfei that way. Even Yan Huaiyuan, when reprimanding her, would stop at a scolding. To everyone else, Yan Shuangfei was the golden child—a source of envy.

Yan Shuangfei didn’t order anything and ignored Yan Shaoqiu’s comment.

“I see,” Yan Shaoqiu mused, nodding thoughtfully. “Could it be that you lacked motherly love as a child and developed a maternal complex, which is why you fell for someone mature and intellectual like Luo Qinghan?”

The theory seemed plausible. Yan Shaoqiu was quite pleased with his own quick thinking.

Yan Shuangfei’s parents had been killed in an attack when she was three. Being the ruler of the underworld came with its costs. Though people called it fate, it was more a cruel inevitability. Survival depended seventy percent on skill and thirty percent on luck.

Yan Shuangfei rolled her eyes weakly, tapping her fingers on the table to change the subject. “Keep a close eye on Yan Qi’s every move for me.”

Yan Shaoqiu hummed in agreement, finishing the last of his coffee.

As they stepped out of the café, the bright sunlight contrasted sharply with the shadows inside, making Yan Shuangfei squint against the glare. Just then, a bullet grazed her hair.

Unfazed, Yan Shuangfei calmly took out a napkin, wiping the scratch on her ear before turning to Yan Shaoqiu. “Why haven’t they caught him yet?”

“They,” of course, referred to the bodyguards hidden nearby.

“How many times have you been attacked now?” Yan Shaoqiu asked teasingly. “Once? Twice? Three times?”

“No, the fifth.”

“And how do you plan to deal with this one?”

“Just make sure his hands can never hold a gun again.” Yan Shuangfei’s tone was steady, though her brows furrowed slightly as if in thought.

“That’s a bit light, don’t you think? Aren’t you going to interrogate him?” Yan Shaoqiu asked curiously.

“No need.”

Because there was no need. Lazily basking in the autumn sunlight, Yan Shuangfei thought how comfortably warm it felt.

As long as my body still works and I’m not dead yet, I’ll play this assassination game with you, Qinghan, if that’s what you like.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

“Hello?” Seeing the caller ID, her voice softened considerably, losing its earlier coldness. Glancing around guiltily, she was relieved no one noticed her acting like a lovestruck fool.

“Are you okay? If nothing’s wrong, come home early. I’ve learned a new recipe recently.” Luo Qinghan spoke quickly, and it took Yan Shuangfei a moment to catch up.

For some reason, Yan Shuangfei thought she heard worry in Luo Qinghan’s voice. In that brief pause, she caught the faint tremble in her breathing through the phone. Was it her imagination?

After all, Qinghan hated her—hated the Yan family to the core. And the Yan family was her inescapable destiny.

Yet Qinghan wanted her to stay alive, using her love as chains, binding her to a life worse than death.

Wait, what had she just said? Go home? Home?

Our home.

Yan Shuangfei’s heart raced as she grabbed her sword, its cold hilt pressing against her warm skin. She jumped into the car without hesitation, speeding off and leaving Yan Shaoqiu standing there, waiting for his ride with a sulky expression.

“You’re sure this is edible?” Yan Shuangfei hesitated, chopsticks hovering as she seriously considered getting a silver needle to test for poison.

“Does it look that bad?” Luo Qinghan pushed the stray strands of hair from her face, inspecting the dish carefully.

“My dear Miss Luo,” Yan Shuangfei sighed, flipping an egg on the plate with her chopsticks. “Can you at least make something that looks decent on both sides?”

Luo Qinghan blushed slightly. She wasn’t used to chores, much less cooking. The only things she bothered with were Yan Shuangfei’s personal affairs.

Her fingers were riddled with tiny wounds, concealed as best as she could until one day, during an intimate moment, Yan Shuangfei accidentally discovered them.

“You’re so difficult.”

Yan Shuangfei gently pulled Luo Qinghan into her arms, grabbing her wrist and asking, “What happened here?”

Luo Qinghan lowered her head, lips pressed tight in silence.

Several small cuts lined her fingers, some still bleeding faintly. The neglected wounds were starting to whiten at the edges. Yan Shuangfei bent down and placed the injured finger in her mouth.

Sitting on Yan Shuangfei’s lap, her waist encircled, Luo Qinghan leaned against her chest obediently. The sting in her fingers faded, replaced by the soft, numbing sensation of Yan Shuangfei’s tongue gently lapping at her wounds. Luo Qinghan couldn’t help but let out a soft moan.