Amnesia Trap (GL) - Chapter 58

The soft tissue paper was pinched into wrinkled marks.

Sheng Zhi listened to Jiang Wanyin’s question, unable to understand why she was suddenly forcing her to make such a choice. It was so irrelevant it bordered on the absurd.

Jiang Wanyin’s current state made her feel both like a stranger and utterly out of her depth. This, mixed with her own confusion from being left out of the loop, left her with a look of singular vacancy as she stared at Jiang Wanyin. Aside from asking “What’s wrong?”, she had no other answer.

“Is it so difficult to choose?” Each word seemed to be squeezed out from between gritted teeth. Whether it was an illusion or not, Sheng Zhi inexplicably detected a hint of something like panic in Jiang Wanyin’s voice—as if she wanted Sheng Zhi to make a choice, yet was simultaneously terrified of what that choice might be.

She looked at Sheng Zhi with bloodshot eyes: “Have you known me longer, or have you known Ji Qingfan longer?”

Compared to the previous question, the answer to this one was glaringly obvious. It required no thought to provide the most definitive response.

“You, obviously,” Sheng Zhi replied. “But why do I have to choose? You and…”

She paused for a split second here, glossing over Ji Qingfan’s name. “…You and her aren’t the same thing.”

Suddenly, Jiang Wanyin lowered her head and wiped away a tear, her voice dropping into a low, self-muttering murmur: “Yes. She has your affection. Of course she isn’t the same as me.”

“It’s only been how long? And you’ve already fallen for her,” she said, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. “Zhi Zhi, would it kill you to look at me for once?”

There was too much suppressed emotion in that sentence, an outlet for a helpless venting of feelings. Sheng Zhi caught the implication behind her words, and her entire being froze.

Her lips parted as she heard Jiang Wanyin’s voice tremble violently: “You probably don’t know, but I actually don’t even like racing. Becoming a racer was just so you would look at me more. At the moment I cross every finish line, you’re the only thing on my mind… I truly believed that if I just stayed by your side like this, one day I would finally walk into your sight. But you never saw me.”

There were only the two of them in the private room. Jiang Wanyin stood up and walked over to her side, her voice low and dejected: “Zhi Zhi, what exactly is it about Ji Qingfan that you like?”

“Whatever she does, I can do too.”

Her voice was so low it almost vanished. She braced her hand on the side, leaning closer as she poured out her feelings, her breath nearly touching Sheng Zhi’s skin.

Sensing the intent behind Jiang Wanyin’s movements, Sheng Zhi bolted upright from her seat, stumbling back a step in a flustered retreat. “Wait, you… don’t do this.”

Her avoidant movement contained a clear and intense sense of rejection, causing Jiang Wanyin to freeze on the spot. Her frame swayed as she withdrew.

Then, she called her name, seemingly trying to force a smile, but the tears only fell more fiercely: “Zhi Zhi, you can accept her, but you can’t accept me, is that it?”

“Why? I don’t understand. You just told me a while ago how much you hated her…”

Sheng Zhi’s fingertips tightened; she couldn’t find the words to answer immediately. Everything happening made her feel lost; Jiang Wanyin looked as though Sheng Zhi had deeply wounded her.

If anyone else had done this, she might have bluntly snapped back: “Just because you like me, does that mean I have to like you back?”

But the person baring her heart before her was her best friend—the irreproachable kind.

Chaos, confusion, and helplessness. Upon realizing Jiang Wanyin liked her, she felt no joy, only an instantaneous psychological burden.

The atmosphere fell silent.

After a long pause, Sheng Zhi spoke with difficulty: “I’m sorry…”

Besides that, she didn’t know what else to say. Jiang Wanyin didn’t approach her again. The last sliver of hope in the depths of her eyes was extinguished by those words.

She repeated the “I’m sorry”—

“So that means… you’re choosing her?”

The tissue in Sheng Zhi’s hand had been mangled beyond recognition. She met Jiang Wanyin’s gaze, wanting to say something, but in the end, nothing came out.

Silence. Like a pantomime.

After Jiang Wanyin left, Sheng Zhi sat back down and remained there alone for a long time.

She had never imagined Jiang Wanyin would have these feelings for her. From beginning to end, she had viewed the other woman as her best friend, never once detecting this during the years they spent together.

When did Jiang Wanyin start liking her? For how long?

…Was it that Jiang Wanyin hid it too well, or was she so dense that the thought had never even crossed her mind?

Sheng Zhi had once believed they simply had endless common topics and identical interests, but hearing Jiang Wanyin say she wasn’t interested in racing—that she only became a racer because of her—Sheng Zhi was forced to wonder: how many of those overlapping resonances were manufactured by the other woman in the name of love?

Not knowing was one thing. Now that she knew, and it was labeled as “love,” it was difficult to view those memories with the same candidness.

After processing her emotions, she knew she had to give a clear answer. Although a rejection would mean losing a friendship and a bond of several years, from the moment she received the confession, they were destined never to be just friends again.

After all, she was very clear that she didn’t like her in that way. The affection she felt was strictly within the bounds of friendship; she had never developed feelings beyond that, not in all these years.

It was also just now, when she sensed Jiang Wanyin wanted to kiss her, that Sheng Zhi realized how much faster her physical reaction was than her conscious mind. It was a complete, instinctive evasion. There was no “freezing up”; even if her mind was dazed, her body wouldn’t just stand still and let the other person kiss her.

—Because her body was repelling and resisting a contact that crossed the boundary.

She unconsciously touched her lips with her fingertip, and Ji Qingfan’s silhouette surfaced in her mind.

…But speaking of crossing boundaries, she realized she had never had a similar reaction toward Ji Qingfan.

This point hadn’t been particularly vivid before, but in contrast to her reaction toward Jiang Wanyin’s proximity, Ji Qingfan appeared far too special. Like the first time Ji Qingfan suddenly kissed her in the hospital ward—there was surprise, but…

Regardless, her body hadn’t repelled Ji Qingfan’s proximity like that.

This realization made her a bit uncomfortable, as Sheng Zhi quickly linked it to Ji Qingfan’s skilled kissing and flirtatious techniques. She was far too adept at seduction and used it bluntly to achieve her goals. At least to Ji Qingfan, she likely wasn’t anyone special; perhaps Ji Qingfan felt anyone would do, as long as they were useful.

At this thought, Sheng Zhi’s expression soured.

While she knew they weren’t in a relationship where she could obsess over such things, since Ji Qingfan was currently trying to woo her “amnesiac” self and acting so devoted, loyalty was expected. If Ji Qingfan dared to find someone else behind her back…

She lowered her hand and touched the ring on her finger.

However, Ji Qingfan was smart; she likely wouldn’t do that. If she just wanted to climb higher, the Sheng family was her best option. Shares, property, fame, and fortune—she could give her all of it.

Her thoughts drifted further and further away, until they were finally interrupted by her phone ringing.

Sheng Zhi looked at her phone. The caller ID “Bad Woman” was flashing on the screen, followed by a ridiculous dog-head emoji. She realized she had somehow jumped from thinking about Jiang Wanyin’s confession to thinking about Ji Qingfan.

She swiped to answer.

“Jiao Jiao, it’s raining.”

Ji Qingfan’s voice over the phone held a warmth even softer than in person. Sheng Zhi heard her ask: “When are you coming back? When you’re ready, may I come pick you up?”

Raining?

Given the soundproofing of the private room, she indeed couldn’t hear the outside world, let alone the rain. Sheng Zhi took her phone and stood up, ending her pointless sitting in the room.

She didn’t answer Ji Qingfan first. Instead, she asked: “Didn’t you say you’d wait for me at home?”

“I didn’t expect it to rain. And… I really miss Jiao Jiao.”

Hearing her clingy tone, Sheng Zhi paused for a few seconds, gave her a location, and said with a stifled voice: “Ji Qingfan, it’s only been how long since you saw me and you already ‘miss’ me? Look at a watch next time before you speak.”

Upon hearing this, Ji Qingfan replied with a figure precise down to the second: “Every moment, every minute, and every second I don’t see you, I miss you intensely.”

Even though she knew in her heart that Ji Qingfan wasn’t telling the truth, thanks to her blunt expression, it always sounded so natural and sincere.

“Incredible,” Sheng Zhi scoffed, not particularly impressed. “You make it sound like you literally can’t function without me.”

She didn’t know if Ji Qingfan caught the underlying meaning in her words, but she simply followed along. “That’s why I really don’t want Jiao Jiao to leave me. I really want to be with Jiao Jiao forever.”

She used the word “really” twice, stressing the second one a bit more than the first. Ji Qingfan seemed to be moving while talking; Sheng Zhi heard the thin sound of rain and the sound of someone getting into a car.

The rain continued to fall. Neither of them hung up, in a silent understanding.

Sheng Zhi held her phone and looked out into the distance. All colors became hazy in the rain—the green of the trees, the roadside billboards, the hurried steps of pedestrians, and the speeding cars. It was as if everything was being melted into this moist thread, turning into trickling streams on the ground, creating tiny, splashing ripples.

The drizzle in the phone went from muffled to clear, gradually merging with the curtain of rain before her eyes—

Ji Qingfan appeared before her, separated by the floor-to-ceiling window.

She was holding an umbrella, her eyes shimmering. Although the dark color of her clothes was similar to most pedestrians, she somehow stood out far more prominently in Sheng Zhi’s vision.

She didn’t ask why the gathering with her friend had ended so quickly. Instead, as Sheng Zhi approached, she tilted the umbrella closer to her side, looking as though she didn’t want a single drop of rain to touch her.

The only thing slightly off was that she didn’t come forward to take her hand as she usually did.

“My hands are too cold.” When their eyes met, Ji Qingfan smiled at Sheng Zhi, as if knowing what she was thinking.

In the brief moment she had been out of the car waiting for her, her hands had become icy.

Sheng Zhi didn’t say anything, but took the umbrella from her hand. At the moment their skin brushed, she was reminded of flower petals that had cooled overnight and were covered in morning dew. Perhaps that was the temperature.

“They really are cold. I bet if I hold your hand for a bit, mine will turn cold too,” she said with her usual tone of feigned disdain.

Sheng Zhi held the umbrella with one hand and took Ji Qingfan’s hand with the other, walking toward where the car was parked.

But her hand was different from Ji Qingfan’s. Even on a rainy day, it was the opposite of icy—it was very warm.

Once she took it, she didn’t let go.