163 The Gentle Qiao Jing
“Big Brother, I’ll go back to my room first. I’m a little tired.” Qiao Yue said softly, her voice a hoarse tremble.
“Alright, I’ll send you back,” Qiao Xuan said.
“No, that’s alright. I’m fine, Big Brother. I-I want some time alone…” Qiao Yue wheeled herself around and left the study. Qiao Xuan wanted to follow but stopped.
Outside her room, Qiao Yue met Qiao Jing. He was waiting by the door. Qiao Yue subconsciously turned away to hide her sorry state from him.
“What’s wrong?”
Qiao Jing’s question hung in the air, not as cold as it usually was. Warmth emanated from Qiao Yue’s heart, and she felt a sting in her eyes.
“It’s nothing.”
Without looking at Qiao Jing, Qiao Yue slowly rolled her wheelchair into her room. Just as she was about to close the door, a hand reached in, stopping her. Fortunately, Qiao Yue had not forced the door shut; otherwise, Qiao Jing’s hand would have been clipped by accident.
Qiao Yue huffed in annoyance, asking, “Brother, what are you doing?”
With his hand through the door, Qiao Jing squeezed in through the narrow gap. Qiao Yue would have been impressed on any other day, but she was not in the mood today.
Since Qiao Jing was already in her room, Qiao Yue did not bother trying to stop him. She manoeuvred her wheelchair over to the bookshelf and picked a book to read.
It was a habit Qiao Yue developed whenever she faced things she found too difficult to handle. While reading, few people would interrupt to get her attention.
She was the sort to brute force solutions to her problems, even if it meant driving her further to a dead end. Hence, she developed this coping mechanism.
Qiao Yue knew it was not the healthiest solution, but it was the best she could manage when all others seemed to reaffirm the prickling thorns that wound their way around her heart.
A hand relieved the token shield she bore, stealing the book from her hands. Qiao Yue looked up and met Qiao Jing’s dark eyes, regarding her in solemn silence. A word came unbidden to her lips, “Brother.”
“If something is bothering you, don’t bottle it up. Speak. Let it all out.” Although Qiao Jing appeared calm, concern lined his features and came through in his words.
Qiao Yue clenched her fists, digging her nails into the palm of her hands. She just wanted to be alone. She never asked for anyone’s sympathy. So why did Qiao Jing have to force his way into her world when she wanted nothing more than some time to herself?
Qiao Jing knelt, coming eye-level with Qiao Yue, and gently covered her eyes in his large hands.
“If you want to cry, cry. Don’t hold it in.”
Qiao Jing wore down Qiao Yue’s psychological defences again and again. Finally, Qiao Yue could no longer hold it in. Her eyes went dark, and hot tears drew rivulets down her parched cheeks.
As she cried, Qiao Jing’s hand remained a firm fixture over her face. Only when Qiao Yue pulled away did Qiao Jing turn around to get a few pieces of tissue paper.
Qiao Yue felt much better. She had always been alone, wondering if her father had passed away like her mother, the fear bred by uncertainty a constant in her life. Still, she held onto the illusion, that tiny ember of hope, only for it to be crushed mercilessly. The pain and sadness she had repressed for years reared their head and lashed out with reckless abandon.
Qiao Jing patted Qiao Yue on her head, asking softly, “Do you feel better?”
Qiao Yue flushed in embarrassment, recalling how she had broken down earlier. She cleared her throat and levelled a question back at him. “Brother, aren’t you going to ask me what happened?”
“You’ll tell me if you want to,” Qiao Jing replied.
Qiao Yue pursed her lips and said, “I heard about my mother and father.”
Qiao Yue looked at the floor as she spoke, so she did not see Qiao Jing’s frown upon hearing her mention her father.
“Your father?” Qiao Jing echoed.
“Yes… My father is too mysterious. Qiao Xuan said he’s never met my father, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t, have you?” Qiao Yue asked.
Qiao Jing hummed in agreement and did not say anything else. He merely listened as Qiao Yue recounted her childhood.
Qiao Yue was thankful for the listening ear. She had buried so many things in her heart over the years that they spilt over in an unceasing torrent. What was left was numbing exhaustion that reached into her bones.
While she spoke much about her past, there were some secrets she did not reveal. Still, what little she shared of her childhood managed to ease the burdens she had shouldered alone for so long.