When they came out of the restaurant, Ding Weidong was already dead drunk—so woozy he couldn’t tell north from south. With just Zhang Wenyue and Lin Aiyun, two slender women, there was no way they could handle him on their own. Thankfully, the Xu father and son helped carry him all the way home.
In the Ding family’s living room, Xu Hongjian had also drunk quite a bit but was still fairly clear-headed. He leaned back on the sofa, sipping water to rest. Qi Shuhong chatted with Ding’s parents nearby, occasionally joined by the laughter and playful shouts of the two children. The atmosphere was warm and relaxed.
Leaning against the kitchen doorframe, Xu Fengyang rubbed his sore shoulders and looked up at Lin Aiyun, who was busy pouring water for everyone. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to her the whole way back—would it be awkward to speak up now?
After a moment’s hesitation, he didn’t want to let the opportunity slip, so he stepped forward and said: “Next time, I’ll bring that book over for you?”
Lin Aiyun paused mid-motion, caught off guard. It took her a moment to realize what he meant. But she had neither the time nor the inclination to read, so she politely declined: “Everyone’s busy with work. It wouldn’t be right to trouble you to make a special trip.”
“It’s no trouble—really, no trouble at all.” Xu Fengyang cut her off eagerly, then regretted his overly direct tone. Clearing his throat, he added: “It’s on my way anyway.”
“Thank you, but truly, there’s no need. Please, have some water—I’ll go check if my aunt needs any help.” Lin Aiyun quickly handed him a cup, then hurried toward the bedroom.
If she still couldn’t read his intentions after such obvious signs, all those years of life experience would have been for nothing. But she genuinely had no desire to develop any relationship with any man other than Xiao Cheng.
If they couldn’t just be friends, then it was best not to have any further contact.
“Auntie.”
Inside the room, Ding Weidong had just been laid down. Lin Aiyun handed Zhang Wenyue a damp towel. Her aunt smiled appreciatively, took it, and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Looking at the man sprawled on the bed like a puddle of mud, she gritted her teeth and sighed: “I knew I shouldn’t have let him drink so much.”
Lin Aiyun didn’t know what to say, so she just smiled.
Zhang Wenyue’s eyes darted around. She glanced outside the door, then lowered her voice: “Why did you come in? Weren’t you having a good chat with the Xu boy?”
“Huh? Was I?” Lin Aiyun frowned.
Sensing something off, Zhang Wenyue probed carefully: “Did he do or say something to upset you?”
“No, he’s a nice person.” It’s just that he seemed to have developed unwanted feelings for her, making things awkward.
Seeing that Lin Aiyun didn’t seem to be lying, Zhang Wenyue changed her approach and asked more directly: “Since he’s nice, are you interested in taking things further with him?”
Each word hit Lin Aiyun’s ears like a thunderclap. Her expression shifted—her earlier suspicions were now confirmed. She never imagined tonight’s dinner was actually a blind date.
“The Xu family’s standing is among the best in the county. Fengyang himself has a bright future ahead of him—good-looking, gentle, and well-mannered. You’d be hard-pressed to find a better match even with a lantern.”
When Lin Aiyun didn’t respond for a long time, Zhang Wenyue grew anxious.
Thinking of Zhang Wenhua’s instructions, and worrying that her niece was still hung up on that poor boy from Fengyuan Village, she quickly added: “Don’t be foolish—this young Xu is much better than that Meng fellow, isn’t he? They came with sincere intentions too. From the look of it, this is almost certainly going to work out.”
“What does Meng Baoguo have to do with anything? I have no feelings for him anymore.” Lin Aiyun shook her head, then asked what had been puzzling her: “Auntie, so tonight was specifically for a blind date? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Why keep it from her?
At that, Zhang Wenyue looked momentarily uncomfortable. “Your mother asked me not to say anything—she was afraid you’d refuse because of that Meng fellow.”
She probably would have refused, yes—but the reason had nothing to do with Meng Baoguo!
“Aiyun, I’ve watched you grow up. In my eyes, you’ve always been a smart, sensible girl. I’m sure you understand what we elders are thinking—we just want what’s best for you. Do you see me meddling in other people’s families?” Zhang Wenyue took Lin Aiyun’s hand and sighed.
“Let me be frank with you—before you even arrived, your mother asked me to find a good match for you in the city. She doesn’t want you to stay in the countryside, facing the soil with your back to the sky, only to marry into a similar family and spend your life scratching a living from the earth.”
“Living here in a clean brick house, having a respectable job—isn’t that better than enduring wind and sun in the village? Don’t you agree?”
Lin Aiyun understood these truths better than anyone. In her previous life, she’d stubbornly refused to believe it and insisted on marrying Meng Baoguo. She’d been oppressed for most of her life, nearly ending in misery. If it hadn’t been for her children’s success and Xiao Cheng’s love, she might have drifted through life numbly until the very end.
So in this life, she would never choose a similar path again. Whoever wanted to suffer could go ahead.
If Xiao Cheng weren’t in the picture, she might have followed her mother’s and aunt’s wishes and chosen Xu Fengyang. They could have built a comfortable life together—not necessarily perfect, but certainly steady and enduring.
But her heart was already taken, and there was no room left for anyone else.
…
The capital.
Night had fallen. The season was caught between spring and summer, carrying a slight chill. Under the hazy moonlight, no stars were visible. The pure black sky held a touch of deep blue, stretching endlessly into the distance until it faded from sight.
Qiao Er Mazi was walking home, glancing back from time to time. His back was already soaked with cold sweat. Though he had walked this road thousands of times before, today it carried an inexplicable, unsettling strangeness.
He took a deep breath, clenched his fists at his sides, and unconsciously quickened his pace. Finally, just as he felt he might suffocate, he stepped through his own front door.
He bolted the latch and leaned against the door panel, gasping heavily. His taut nerves finally relaxed, and he began to mock himself for being so easily spooked. But just as the corners of his mouth began to lift, something cold and hard pressed against his back.
“Qiao Mao.”
Startled by the sound of his full name, Qiao Er Mazi’s eyes flew wide open. The muscles in his face twitched uncontrollably before turning ashen white—he could no longer smile. It was only when a powerful force grabbed the collar at the back of his head and slammed him to the ground that he finally saw who it was.
His lips moved, but no sound came out. He collapsed in terror, holding his breath, not daring to move. His vision went black, his heart pounding wildly. When had this King of Hell come back? Wasn’t he supposed to be away until the end of the month?
Had things been exposed?
With that thought, Qiao Mao swallowed hard, trembling as he mustered his courage to lift his eyes toward the main seat.
There, a burly man in black was striking a match to light the kerosene lamp. As the only source of light in the room, it was just enough to make out the general scene.
The still-burning match took a detour—the burly man bent respectfully to light the cigarette for the person seated in the wooden chair. The blue flame flickered across a handsome face for an instant. He casually took the cigarette from his lips, and a wisp of white smoke slowly emerged before his cool features, lending them an eerie, otherworldly quality.
He sat there, silent for a long time. The room was so quiet you could hear the wind.
“Brother Cheng, when did you get back? I wasn’t prepared with any good tea or wine—how remiss of me.” Qiao Er Mazi forced a smile onto his face, but his weakened legs refused to cooperate—he couldn’t stand.
Xiao Cheng had no patience for such games. He shot Jiang Yan a look. Jiang Yan understood immediately, grabbed Qiao Er Mazi’s arm, and with a casual twist—crack—before Qiao even registered what had happened, his arm hung limply at his side.
He opened his mouth to cry out in pain, but a wad of cloth was shoved in, muffling everything.
“Where’s the goods?” Jiang Yan cut straight to the point, grabbing his short hair and smashing his head against the floor. This wasn’t a dirt floor—over the past two years, Qiao Er Mazi had made a fortune following Xiao Cheng. His once-dilapidated house had been renovated several times, and even the path outside had been paved with bluestone and cement.
So it was no surprise that blood appeared quickly.
“Where are the goods?”
Qiao Er Mazi shook his head frantically, trying to prove his innocence. But the next second, his pupils dilated in disbelief as he watched Jiang Yan tuck that dark, heavy broadsword behind his back and pull out a sharp little knife instead. Without hesitation, Jiang Yan pinned down Qiao’s injured right hand and carved a deep gash across his skin, down to the bone.
“Ah!”
“Where are the goods?” The words were like a death sentence. No sooner had they fallen than another bloody gash appeared beside the first.
The pain made him struggle instinctively. But the moment he moved, that terrifying young man stomped on his left leg, breaking it. Qiao Er Mazi had no doubt—if he resisted again, it wouldn’t just be a broken leg next time.
Xiao Cheng was a madman, and everyone around him was just as insane.
“The goods are—”
“I’ll talk, I’ll talk, I’ll talk!” Afraid that even a second’s delay would cost him his arms, Qiao Er Mazi rushed out the words, slurred and panicked.
Seeing this, Jiang Yan put away the bloodstained knife and looked to Xiao Cheng for instructions.
The room was dim. Xiao Cheng’s half-lidded eyes blurred behind the smoke rising from his fingertips. He glanced at Jiang Yan, then rested his elbows on his knees, leaned forward, and said slowly, word by word: “I’m giving you a chance to speak properly. I don’t like lies.”
Hearing this, Qiao Er Mazi jolted in fright. His eyes turned bloodshot, a flash of gravity passing over his pale, bruised face. His brows knitted together, and his terror grew thicker by the second. Sweat soaked through his clothes, his limbs trembling like an ant on a hot pan, frantic and desperate.
The moment the cloth was yanked from his mouth, Qiao Er Mazi used the last of his strength to shout: “Please don’t kill me, don’t kill me! I’ll talk, I’ll tell you everything—sob, sob, sob.”
Tears and snot smeared across his face, filthy and pitiful.
Xiao Cheng’s expression didn’t change. He rose from the chair, his black leather shoes striking the floor with a dull, measured thud, and stopped in front of Qiao Er Mazi. Looking down at him from above, Xiao Cheng narrowed his dark eyes, his gaze turning probing and amused: “Do you know what happens to traitors?”
Leave a Reply