Once, I said to Qin Yao, "Qin Yao, without you, I could never have earned this money. Honestly, I should give you a share as a token of gratitude."
By then, we had become the closest of friends, sharing everything without reservation.
That day, as usual, she came over to my home, cooked a sumptuous feast, and played cheerfully with my daughter.
Upon hearing my words, she immediately replied, "Don't even think about it—not a single cent. If you ever give me anything, our friendship ends right there."
I was puzzled and pressed further, "Why?"
What I truly wanted to ask was why she had gone to such lengths to help me.
She didn't answer directly. Instead, she placed some food on my plate and smiled, saying, "If I want to help, I help. Don't ask so many questions—just try this."
Lowering my head, I ate in silence, occasionally glancing up at her elegant, flawless face. A fleeting thought crossed my mind—could she possibly have feelings for women?
To be honest, Qin Yao had always been an enigma to me. I knew she came from a wealthy family, but as to where her money came from, I had no clue.
I'd once seen the address she registered at work, but later discovered it was just a rented apartment, often unoccupied.
She was so exceptionally kind to me that I had neither the time nor the inclination to probe into her life. Over time, it began to feel natural, as though having such a devoted friend was simply my due.
It wasn't until six months later that I saw her true face.
We had planned a trip abroad together. But shockingly, just half an hour's drive from our homeland, she buried me alive.
In that moment, it all became clear—she had been meticulously orchestrating this from the very beginning.
She, too, earned her living from the dead. The only difference was that this time, the life she intended to claim was mine.