70: Chapter 70 Why Don't You Dare to Cry?

"Teach me... how to cry." This sentence sent waves through Lee Qri's heart. The moment she said it, she regretted it. Her cheeks burned, and she wished she could dig a hole and crawl into it.

It was too shameful, and too... weak. She, Lee Qri, the visual of T-ara, known as the "Madam" for her elegance and composure, was actually begging the president to teach her how to express the most basic emotion, just like a helpless little girl.

But the wall standing in her heart, freezing all intense emotions, was simply too thick and too hard.

She had tried countless methods: watching tear-jerker movies, listening to sad music, recalling painful memories... but when the crucial moment came, her tears seemed to be frozen; there was only dry pain, with no outlet for release.

Next week's audition for Kim Tae-hee's project was too important to her. It was a role with depth and explosive potential, a key step in her transition to acting. She couldn't mess it up because of a ridiculous reason like "not being able to cry."

Song Tianhao looked at the woman in front of him, her eyes red-rimmed, her fingers tightly clutching his sleeve, trembling slightly from shame and despair. The mark left by the red string on her wrist was particularly striking against her fair skin.

The sunset's afterglow shone through the blinds, casting light and shadow on her face, making her look both fragile and stubborn.

He didn't immediately answer "yes" or "no," nor did he pull his hand away. His gaze swept calmly over her eyes, which were filled with tears but stubbornly refused to let them fall, then over her bitten, pale lower lip, and finally landed on that red string.

"Why are you afraid to cry?" he asked, his voice calm, as if discussing the weather.

Lee Qri shuddered. Her fingers, gripping his sleeve, loosened, then immediately tightened again, as if it were her only lifeline.

She lowered her eyes, avoiding his gaze that seemed to see through everything, her voice barely audible: "I... since I was a child, my mother said that a pretty girl shouldn't cry. If you cry, you're not beautiful anymore, and no one will like you."

Lee Qri spoke very slowly, every word seemingly dragged with difficulty from the depths of her memory. "Later, we debuted, and the company gave me the image of an 'Ice Princess' and an 'Elegant Goddess'... so I couldn't cry even more. I had to always smile, be elegant, be composed, be..."

She paused, a tremor of self-mockery in her voice. "Even in private, I seemed to have gotten used to it. When I was sad, I would tell myself that it was no big deal, that if I just endured it, it would pass. After enduring too much, I... I really couldn't cry anymore. I tried, President, I really tried. But..."

Lee Qri looked up, tears swirling in her eyes but stubbornly hanging there, refusing to fall. "I'm afraid... I'm afraid that once I really cry, I... won't be able to stop."

"All the grievances, all the pressure, all those things I thought were 'no big deal,' would rush out like a flood, and I would collapse... I can't collapse. I am the unni, I am Lee Qri..."

She was incoherent, her logic chaotic, but Song Tianhao understood. It wasn't a technical problem; it was a psychological barrier formed by years of self-repression. She had tied "not crying" to "strength," "beauty," and "responsibility." Crying meant weakness, meant collapse, meant dereliction of duty.

She used a thick, elegant, perfect shell to tightly wrap her true, fragile emotional core. It had been wrapped for so long that the shell and the core had almost grown together; a slight touch made her fear being ripped open, flesh and all.

The acting classroom was extremely quiet, with only her suppressed, choked breathing audible.

Outside the window, the faint sound of traffic from the street below could be heard, and further away, the distant, vague laughter of other trainees at the company finishing practice and preparing to leave.

Those vibrant, carefree sounds only made the silence in the empty classroom feel even more suffocating.

The sunlight cut stripes of light and shadow across the floor, like an invisible cage trapping her and her secrets inside.

Song Tianhao listened silently, his face expressionless, showing neither sympathy nor reproach.

It wasn't until Lee Qri finished speaking and looked at him with those red-rimmed eyes filled with helplessness that he spoke slowly. His voice remained calm, but his words made Lee Qri freeze in place:

"Then don't stop."

"..." Lee Qri looked at him blankly, doubting she had heard correctly.

"Cry until you're dehydrated, cry until you pass out," Song Tianhao continued in that calm, almost cold tone. "I'll send you to the hospital. IV drips, hospitalization, the company will cover the costs."

Lee Qri was completely stunned. She had imagined many kinds of responses: gentle comfort, stern reprimands, or practical technical guidance.

But she had never imagined this kind of almost cruel "permission." It wasn't encouragement or guidance, but a direct statement: You can collapse, you can lose control, you can even fall because of it, and I will bear the consequences.

There was no "be strong," no "don't cry," only a cold, yet strangely powerful "Then don't stop."

She looked at him, at his deep, calm eyes. There was no teasing, no joking, only an almost cruel sincerity. It was as if in his eyes, crying until dehydration and ending up in the hospital was just a solvable, ordinary matter, like eating or drinking water.

Absurd, it was too absurd.

But for some reason, the heavy stone that had been blocking her chest and making it hard to breathe seemed to loosen a crack because of this absurd permission. The nerves that had been tightly strung, fearing the leakage of any weakness, also relaxed for a moment because of this overly "outrageous" solution.

Then, she made a reaction she hadn't even expected herself.

She tugged at the corners of her mouth, seemingly wanting to laugh, yet also wanting to cry, ultimately forming an expression even uglier than crying. Then, she actually let out a very slight, short scoff.

As Lee Qri laughed, the tears that had been hanging in her eyes, stubbornly refusing to fall, finally lost control, slid down her cheeks along her upturned lips, and dripped onto the floor.

"Ha..." she laughed, but the tears flowed even harder, her voice broken. "President... you really are... really..."

She couldn't find the adjectives, just crying and laughing like a fool.

Song Tianhao let her cry and laugh, not interrupting, not comforting, just watching quietly. Until that brief emotion, mixed with absurdity and relief, passed, Lee Qri's smile froze on her face, and her tears, like broken beads, gradually ceased their flow.

She annoyedly raised her hand and wiped her cheeks hard with the back of her hand, rubbing her skin red, but the dryness returned to her eyes, with only the lingering dampness proving that the previous loss of control wasn't a hallucination.

"It still doesn't work..." she lowered her hand, her voice filled with frustration and deeper self-loathing. "It was just... just for a moment. I'm..."

She couldn't go on; that familiar, frozen feeling had returned, even worse than before. The brief release just now felt like a hallucination, or worse, it just proved that she couldn't even sustain a breakdown.

The laughter outside the window seemed clearer now, mixed with a few blurred conversations; it must have been members of other teams finishing practice, agreeing to go eat or go home. Those vibrant sounds belonging to "normal people" were like thin needles pricking Lee Qri's heart.

She subconsciously turned to look towards the window. Through the gap in the blinds, she could see a few young figures walking away in the street below, laughing and joking, the sunset gilding their silhouettes with a warm gold rim.

In that instant, clear, almost undisguised envy appeared in her eyes. She envied them for being able to laugh recklessly, cry without burden, and not have to maintain a perfect facade every moment.

But when she turned back to face Song Tianhao and her own red-swollen, disheveled self in the mirror, that envy was quickly drowned out by deeper despair. She didn't belong there; she was trapped here, trapped in this beautiful and cold shell named "Lee Qri."

Song Tianhao took in all her emotional changes. He didn't comment on her current despair, but instead turned and walked to the audio equipment on the side of the classroom, operating it for a few moments.

Soon, a noisy intro with strong electronic synthesizer effects and an exaggerated singing style rang out in the empty classroom.

Lee Qri's body visibly stiffened. This song... was her ex-boyfriend's favorite track, and also the song she personally hated the most, one that could even be said to cause her physical revulsion.

Her ex-boyfriend was keen on playing it at maximum volume, in their small rented apartment, when she was trying to rest or read a script.

That harsh sound, mixed with the memory of that short, terrible relationship, had almost become a conditioned reflex trigger for her pain.

How could Song Tianhao know? Why would he choose this song?

[part:gemini-3.5-flash]

"If you can't cry," Song Tianhao said as he walked back to her, his voice still clear over the noisy background music, carrying a cold composure, "then do what you hate. Do it until you cry."

Lee Qri looked at him in disbelief. The music was like invisible needles, constantly irritating her eardrums and nerves. The intro faded, and the chorus hit with even higher decibels and more exaggerated vocals, every note dancing on her taut nerves.

Disgust, annoyance, and the forcibly evoked, unpleasant memories surged into her heart like a tide. She instinctively raised her hand to cover her ears, but her fingers froze as they touched her earlobe. Instead, she just clenched her hands tightly into fists, her nails digging deep into her palms.

After saying that, Song Tianhao really stopped looking at her. He walked over to the wall, dragged a folding chair over, unfolded it, and sat down a few steps away from her. Then, he pulled his phone from the inner pocket of his suit, lit up the screen, swiped his finger quickly, and began to focus on... processing emails.

He even took out a pair of ordinary black-rimmed glasses from another pocket and put them on, partially obscuring his gaze, making him look even more intensely focused.

He just sat there, his back perfectly straight, staring intently at his phone screen, occasionally typing replies with his long, slender fingers. The music, noisy enough to drive anyone crazy, filled the entire space, yet he seemed to be in another, quiet world, completely unaffected.

Only the fading light outside the window and the pale light of the classroom outlined his calm profile.

Lee Qri stood where she was, forced to listen to the sickening singing while watching the culprit process his work as if none of this had anything to do with him.

A sense of absurdity washed over her again, but this time, beneath the absurdity was a sharper sting and an anger with nowhere to vent.

Was the president humiliating her? In this way? Or was this his so-called "teaching"?

Minutes and seconds ticked by. The music played on a loop—the second time, the third time... The familiar, annoying melody and lyrics repeatedly washed over Lee Qri's eardrums, also repeatedly dragging up the miserable memories she had tried to forget.

The cramped room, the pungent smell of smoke, the endless arguments, and her ex-boyfriend's smug face when he played this song...

Lee Qri's negative emotions snowballed, her heart beating heavy and fast, her temples throbbing with pain, and her stomach tightening in waves.

She clenched her teeth tightly, her body tensed like a stone, as she struggled to fight against the dual discomfort of body and mind.

She couldn't admit defeat, nor could she yield under this absurd "punishment." She was Lee Qri, she had to...

*Thud!*

A dull sound rang out; it turned out Song Tianhao had casually placed his phone on the low table beside him. He took off his glasses and rubbed the space between his eyebrows, seemingly finished with his work.

Then, he raised his head and looked at Lee Qri, who was still standing stiffly in place, his gaze calm and rippleless, as if assessing the state of an object.

"Ten minutes," he stated flatly, glancing at the time on his phone. "Your limit of endurance is ten minutes. After that, efficiency drops sharply, pain intensifies, but the threshold for emotional release actually rises. It's not worth it."

Lee Qri snapped her gaze to him, her lips trembling, wanting to say something, but she couldn't make a sound.

He... was timing her? What did he take her for? A test subject?

Just then, Song Tianhao suddenly pulled something else out of the suit pocket where he had kept his phone—a small, delicately printed pack of tissues.

He pulled one out with a natural and casual movement. But in the last ray of light from outside the window and through Lee Qri's blurry, tear-filled eyes, she seemed to catch a glimpse of a faint, cherry-blossom pink lipstick mark on the corner of the tissue package.

That color... she was very familiar with it. It was the color of the limited-edition lipstick Park Hyomin had been using lately.

This subtle discovery, like an even finer and more venomous needle, caught Lee Qri off guard and stabbed into her extremely fragile and sensitive heart. An indescribable, complex emotion mixed with grievance, resentment, jealousy, and self-pity violently shattered the defense line she had been struggling to maintain.

Why?

Why did she have to endure this kind of torture here while others could...

The music was still playing, her ex-boyfriend's sickening singing, Song Tianhao's cold attitude of timing and assessing her, the tissues in his pocket bearing another woman's mark, the crucial audition next week, the pressure accumulated over a long time, the fear and despair of "not being able to cry"...

Everything twisted into a massive, invisible force, slamming hard against the icy wall in her chest.

*Crack...*

Lee Qri seemed to hear the sound of something shattering deep in her heart.

Her back, which had been held perfectly straight, finally bent under the overwhelming weight. She stopped trying to fight the annoying music, stopped forcing her so-called decency and strength. Slowly, as if all her strength had been drained, she slid down the mirrored wall behind her and sat on the cold floor.

She didn't hug her knees like before; her hands just hung limply at her sides. Leaning against the wall, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

Lee Qri's tears finally stopped flowing in small, controlled streams. Instead, they poured silently and violently from the corners of her closed eyes, quickly soaking her hair and collar.

Her shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably, slightly at first, then with increasing intensity, causing her entire upper body to shake slightly.

Lee Qri's lips trembled, her chin trembled, but her throat felt as if it were being choked tightly by something, unable to make any sound. Only her tears streamed wildly in the silence.

She cried so hard, so desperately, yet without a single sound. It was like a tsunami in the deep sea—calm on the surface, but a world-shattering cataclysm within.

Song Tianhao watched her for a few seconds. Then, he walked over and turned off the looping, annoying music.

The sudden silence was even more startling than the previous noise. There was only the sound of Lee Qri's extremely suppressed, uncontrollable trembling, and the soft patter of tears hitting her clothes and the floor.

Song Tianhao walked over to her, squatted down, and brought his gaze level with hers.

Lee Qri didn't open her eyes. Her tears were still flowing, her shoulders still trembling.

Song Tianhao reached out. He didn't touch her shoulder, nor did he try to hug or comfort her. He simply wiped away a tear that was about to fall from her chin.

His fingertips were slightly cool. When they touched her wet skin, Lee Qri's body flinched almost imperceptibly.

"Crying with sound: ten points," Song Tianhao's voice rang out in the silence, as calm as if he were reviewing a dish. "Silent crying: zero points."

Lee Qri's eyelashes trembled, wet with tears. She finally opened her eyes slowly. Her vision was blurred by tears, and she could only see Song Tianhao's face close at hand, his outline somewhat hazy.

She wanted to speak, to argue, to explain, but her lips trembled, and her throat felt as if it were stuffed with soaked cotton. She could only make short, breathy sounds, unable to utter a single complete syllable.

In her anxiety, her tears flowed even faster. She raised her hand, wanting to grab onto something, her fingers clawing weakly at the air twice before finally clutching her own collar in vain.

Song Tianhao's gaze fell on the lines of her neck, which were tense from her struggle to speak, and then moved back to her eyes, which were filled with tears, pain, and pleading.

"Your vocal cords are locked up?" he asked softly, his tone betraying no emotion. "Then I'll help you pry them open."

He leaned forward slightly, instantly closing the distance between them. It was close enough that Lee Qri could clearly see every single one of his eyelashes, close enough that she could feel his warm breath gently brushing against her cheek, close enough that she could smell the faint, crisp scent of his aftershave mixed with a very subtle hint of tobacco.

His face loomed large in her tear-blurred eyes, and those eyes, always deep and calm, now clearly reflected her wretched reflection.

The distance between them was still shrinking—ten centimeters, five centimeters...

Lee Qri's heart pounded wildly in her chest, almost jumping out.

She forgot about crying, forgot about the audition, forgot about the sickening music and the cold assessment. All her senses seemed to focus on the approaching man, who carried an irresistible aura.

What was he going to do? What did he mean by "pry open"?

She instinctively wanted to step back, but behind her was the cold wall, with nowhere to retreat.

Lee Qri could only widen her eyes, watching his face get closer and closer, so close that their noses almost touched. Her breath caught, her blood seemed to rush to her head, and the only thing left in her ears was the deafening sound of her own heartbeat.

Just as her consciousness was about to be scrambled into a mess by this extreme proximity and ambiguous words, Song Tianhao's phone, which was placed on the low table nearby, vibrated abruptly.

*Buzz... Buzz...*

The screen lit up, displaying a name: Park So-yeon.