Chapter 3: Doll III
The sky stretched wide and impossibly blue, the kind that made the world feel endless. A gentle breeze rustled the willow trees, their long, delicate leaves swaying like threads of silk. Sunlight filtered through the branches, glinting against Tang Han Qiu's lashes and making her squint. She blinked and lowered her gaze, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the brightness.
Around her, students and staff were scattered across the lawn. Some carried books or notebooks; others had phones raised, snapping discreet photos of the scene she had just left behind.
Curious, confused, judgmental — she felt the weight of their stares, but it was distant, insignificant compared to the storm she had endured inside herself.
No wind whipped. No rain lashed. No cold, hissing voice whispered in her ear: "You are really a disobedient doll."
Tang Han Qiu froze.
For years, her life had felt like a relentless tide, each moment crashing over her, stripping away her control, forcing her to obey invisible strings she could never see. And now… disobedient doll?
Her hand rose instinctively, pressing against her throbbing forehead.
"Hiss —!"
A sharp pain stabbed through her skull. Not a dream. Not imagined. Her fingers trembled as she flexed them in disbelief, twisting and turning them in the sunlight. Slowly, deliberately, she opened and closed her palms, wiggled her fingers, tested the reality she had long doubted.
She could move.
Her body obeyed her — not an unseen force, not a puppet master — but her. Her heartbeat surged with a sudden, exhilarating rhythm. She yanked her phone from her small, delicate handbag, snapping a photo of the top of her head.
The silver chain — gone.
Her jaw dropped. She had control. After years trapped in a body that had never been entirely hers, she was finally free.
Dong Bo, the Tang family housekeeper, noticed her sudden shock and stepped closer, concern etched in every line of his middle - aged face. "Miss? Are you all right?" he asked, cautious, his voice gentle but alert.
Tang Han Qiu met his eyes, a spark of joy lighting her gaze. She allowed herself a small, calm smile. "Dong Bo… I'm fine. Really. Don't worry."
He hesitated, pointing at the reddened mark still faint on her forehead. "But your —"
She waved him off. Her body tingled with the strange, liberating thrill of autonomy. For years, some invisible force had manipulated her every movement, forced her into humiliating, dangerous, or morally impossible situations.
Now… she could choose. The possibility of reclaiming her life — long buried under obligation and obsession — suddenly felt tangible, urgent, alive.
Her relief was interrupted by Dong Bo's sharp, controlled voice. "Young Master Qiu, you were rude! You pushed people around — do you understand that?"
Qiu Yun Li's voice followed, firm but measured. "Dong Bo, please, figure it out. She hit first!" He turned to Tang Han Qiu, his gaze serious, yet not cruel. "Tang Han Qiu, explain yourself — why did you strike someone?"
Tang Han Qiu's breath caught. Her body stiffened as a strange recognition stirred deep inside her. The scene was familiar — like a fragment of memory she had glimpsed but never fully grasped. As soon as she heard the voices, the exhilaration she had felt moments ago faded, replaced by a sharp austerity.
And then she saw her.
Yu Ru Bing. Delicate, fragile, like a little white flower trembling in the wind. Her wide eyes glistened with unshed tears, confusion and fear etched on her pale face. She retreated instinctively behind Qiu Yun Li's protective frame, as though she could disappear behind him. Tang Han Qiu's gaze lingered on Yu Ru Bing, every nerve taut, every heartbeat aware of her.
The red mark on Yu Ru Bing's cheek stopped her cold. Pain flared in her own forehead again, and memories surged like a tidal wave, vivid and unrelenting.
She remembered.
A few days ago, she had returned from abroad, her heart full of hope for her engagement to the man she loved — Qiu Yun Li. And she had found, to her horror, that Yu Ru Bing — a senior in the drama faculty, seemingly innocent, gentle, pure — had drawn unusually close to him. Jealousy had ignited in Tang Han Qiu like wildfire.
Driven by that all - consuming envy, she had rushed forward, hand raised, and struck Yu Ru Bing across the face. She had demanded answers, accused her of trying to steal the man she loved.
Qiu Yun Li had acted instinctively, protectively. He had pushed Tang Han Qiu away — not delicately, not softly, but with decisive firmness that had sent her stumbling backward. She had hit the willow tree, leaving a lingering headache that pulsed even now.
The memory weighed on her chest like iron. Tang Han Qiu's lips pressed together. The image of Yu Ru Bing's fearful, bewildered eyes — the same eyes she had almost hurt — pressed against her heart, drawing a tight line of regret across her ribs.
Yet her mind, free of the invisible strings that had once controlled her, began to think clearly. She could act. She could breathe. She could choose. That choice, for once, did not have to involve obsession, envy, or violence.
She stepped forward slowly, her gaze locked on Yu Ru Bing. The little white flower trembled, but there was no malice there — only fear and confusion. Tang Han Qiu's lips curved faintly, carefully, softly.
"Yu Ru Bing," she said, her voice quiet, carrying over the still lawn, "I… I'm sorry."
The apology startled even herself. The words sounded foreign in her own ears, but warmth rose in her chest, making her hands tremble slightly. For the first time, she spoke from herself — not from obligation, fear, or invisible control, but from her own heart.
Yu Ru Bing blinked up at her, hesitant, caught between instinctive retreat and the desire to trust. Her lips parted, but no words came immediately. Behind her, Qiu Yun Li remained tense, protective yet curious, watching every subtle interaction, every flicker of expression.
Tang Han Qiu exhaled, letting the breeze sweep through her hair. The sunlight fell on her face, warming her skin. For the first time in years, she felt alive. Not a puppet. Not a disobedient doll. Not an instrument of someone else's desires. Herself.
And then came the thrill, the sensation more terrifying and exhilarating than freedom itself: she wanted to understand Yu Ru Bing. Not to claim her. Not to hurt her. Not to be jealous. Simply — to know her.
Her pulse quickened, not with obsession, not with rage, but with something warmer, slower, entirely unfamiliar. Possibility. Curiosity. Life.
"Can you… forgive me?" she whispered, hesitant but sincere.
Yu Ru Bing's eyes softened, fear still flickering beneath a fragile layer of trust. "I… I don't know," she said gently. "But… I want to try."
Tang Han Qiu's chest twisted — not with jealousy, not with anger, not with the old, consuming obsession — but with a strange, new hope. She stepped closer, careful, deliberate, allowing the warmth of her body to bridge the distance, yet leaving space for Yu Ru Bing to breathe, to choose.
Yu Ru Bing's hand lifted tentatively, brushing a strand of wet hair from Han Qiu's face. "I… I've been worried about you," she admitted softly, voice shaking. "After… everything. I just… wanted you safe."
Tang Han Qiu swallowed, the sound harsh in her throat, and allowed herself a small, genuine smile. "I'm safe. Thanks to you… and to me."
A laugh escaped Yu Ru Bing, light and fragile, a sound that carried relief, fear, and delight all at once. It was like a bell ringing in Tang Han Qiu's chest, clearing away decades of fog, of control, of torment.
The sun continued to shine, casting long, golden patterns across the lawn. The air smelled of fresh grass and warmth, entirely ordinary — and yet, utterly extraordinary. Tang Han Qiu's heart, once trapped, beaten, and manipulated, now throbbed with something new: agency, freedom, and a tentative connection that might — just might — be love.
For the first time, Tang Han Qiu understood that dolls could cut their strings. That even those who had been controlled, coerced, and broken could reclaim themselves.
And that, perhaps, the first step toward understanding Yu Ru Bing — and, maybe, something more — was simply being brave enough to meet her gaze.
For the first time, Tang Han Qiu smiled fully, not bitterly, not cautiously, but with the thrill of possibility.
And Yu Ru Bing — delicate, fragile, yet infinitely resilient — met it with one of her own.
The world stretched wide and alive around them, endless, bright, and waiting. And for the first time, Tang Han Qiu felt that she could truly step into it — not as a doll, not as a shadow, but as herself.