Shen Fuyao, who killed four people and then committed suicide, spent more than twenty years serving her sentence in the underworld.
Every day, she wandered aimlessly through the desolate darkness, shackled and alone.
When she finally saw the light again, she came face-to-face with the mighty King of Hell, who said:
“Do you want to be reborn? Return at age 20 and rewrite your destiny.”
Shen Fuyao didn’t answer immediately. She recalled the events leading to her death, weighing whether rebirth was even necessary.
Before dying, the twins she had raised appeared before her.
“Mom, hurry up and sign the divorce papers with Dad. The day after tomorrow is my real mother’s birthday, and she wants to have a wedding with Dad on that day—a double celebration!”
Wang Zhuoer pushed a divorce agreement toward Shen Fuyao, impatiently tossing a branded pen at her.
Wang Caifeng crossed her arms, scowling. “Hurry up and sign. I have plans to go shopping with my classmates.”
Shen Fuyao ignored them, calmly scanning the document. Her well-maintained index finger paused on a clause, and she laughed:
“Haha, the company is about to go public. Estimated value over 80 billion yuan—and you’re giving me just 80,000?”
“Shen Fuyao, don’t take advantage of us,” Wang Caifeng snapped, her arrogance clear.
“Giving you 80,000 was already generous. If not for my intercession, Dad wouldn’t have given you a single penny. Don’t forget, three months ago, you gifted all the company shares to Dad as his birthday present—and had it notarized.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Shen Fuyao said, sipping a hand-crafted coffee.
“Your father doesn’t know business, so I sent you both to study for MBAs, but you insisted on singing and dancing. Now, none of the three of you understand business. You’ll regret it once I sell everything.”
“What do you mean?” Wang Zhuoer’s face darkened. Nervous, he downed a cup of coffee in one gulp. His twin sister, also thirsty, quickly poured herself a cup.
Shen Fuyao explained patiently: “Before transferring the shares to your father, I secretly sold most of the assets—over 10 billion yuan—and donated it all to military research institutions. Also, for the IPO, I signed a performance guarantee agreement.”
Six months ago, Shen Fuyao saw on TV the lifetime achievement award winner of a dance competition, Xia Yulan, whose features resembled the twins’ daughter, Wang Caifeng. Curious, she investigated and discovered that the twins were actually Xia Yulan’s children—her husband Wang Chaoying’s first love and true children.
Despite their deceit, Shen Fuyao held no anger. Her marriage to Wang Chaoying had been purely to secure 500 yuan to treat her grandmother, and he had claimed his injuries made intimacy impossible to preserve loyalty to his first love.
The twins were not hers by blood, so she had raised them out of responsibility rather than love. They were always rebellious, and she had left their upbringing mostly to their grandparents.
Once Shen Fuyao uncovered the truth about Wang Chaoying and Xia Yulan, she sold the liquidatable assets and signed the guarantee agreement. On Wang Chaoying’s birthday, she transferred all shares and the legal ownership to him as a gift.
The twins were bewildered. Even after losing over 10 billion, wouldn’t the company still be worth hundreds of billions post-IPO?
“You don’t understand,” Shen Fuyao said. “If the IPO fails, the company collapses, and you’ll owe hundreds of billions.”
“Die!” Wang Caifeng screamed, swinging a chair at Shen Fuyao.
Having trained in martial arts, Shen Fuyao dodged effortlessly and kicked her down.
Wang Zhuoer tried to help his sister. “Don’t worry, Mom and Dad are in Hong Kong to ring the IPO bell—they’ll succeed. As for Shen Fuyao, I’ll sell her to Liu, the local underworld boss. He’s wanted her for a long time.”
Shen Fuyao, only 39 but maintained like a 25-year-old, had trained in self-defense and employed bodyguards over the years.
Wang Zhuoer was confident. “She has no shares, no money, no bodyguards—how can she fight him?”
Shen Fuyao made no move, merely checking the TV for news. Just then, the announcer’s clear voice cut through:
“On December 12, 1996, Wang Chaoying, chairman of Yinglan Group, and famed dancer Xia Yulan were shot under unknown circumstances. Both have been confirmed dead by rescue teams.”
The twins froze as they watched the scene: their parents being carried into ambulances. With the chairman dead, the IPO would fail, and their fortune vanished.
“Shen Fuyao, I’ll kill you!” Wang Zhuoer roared, grabbing a golf club—but suddenly, blood poured from his mouth and nose, and his internal organs gave out. He collapsed.
Before Wang Caifeng could reach him, she too began bleeding from all orifices and fell. They both realized too late—they had been poisoned.
Shen Fuyao took only a sip of coffee. She hadn’t died and didn’t want to go to prison. After killing four people, one more death—hers—was no big deal. She pulled a gun to her temple and fired, arriving in the underworld.
Unexpectedly, even escaping human justice, she still had to serve time in the underworld.
“I don’t want to,” she said, recalling everything, and refused the King of Hell’s offer.