But Zhou Xizhi merely glanced at her with an expressionless face, then turned and walked away coldly.
Even if she died, she had brought it upon herself.
Butler Zhou had gotten up early in the morning and discovered the woman lying in a pool of blood in the courtyard, her face completely devoid of color.
Startled, Butler Zhou hurriedly checked her breathing. Fortunately…
When Zhou Xizhi woke up, his heart inexplicably skipped two beats. A surge of alarm rippled beneath his eyes, and for some reason, he thought of the woman who had collapsed the night before.
He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and pulled open the curtains, only to see a pool of blood on the ground—but she was gone. His long legs carried him out with a hint of urgency…
Zhou Xizhi instinctively wanted to call for Uncle Zhou, but as his legs stood on the staircase, he faintly heard Uncle Zhou’s anxious voice: “Mr. Tang, you must save Miss Yan…”
“It won’t do—Young Master Zhou is still resting. Miss Yan can’t go to the hospital…”
Zhou Xizhi’s figure swept past the servants’ quarters, his gaze brushing over the woman lying on the bed.
Tang Jingfeng was tending to the wounds of the person on the bed. On her two fair, slender legs, the flesh around her knees was torn open, blood and tissue seeping out with a faint hissing sound. Below the knees was a patch of red, swollen bruising that looked utterly ghastly.
The quiet room was filled with Butler Zhou’s sighs and pained intakes of breath.
“What are you doing?”
Zhou Xizhi’s voice made both of them turn around simultaneously in shock.
He stood at the door like a specter, his expression dark and brooding as he demanded an answer.
“Young Master Zhou, Miss Yan fainted and is badly injured. I invited Mr. Tang to take a look at Miss Yan,” Butler Zhou said.
Butler Zhou felt that Miss Yan was truly too pitiful, so he had called Zhou Xizhi’s good friend and physician, Tang Jingfeng. Fortunately, Tang Jingfeng had not declined.
“Do not save her.”
Zhou Xizhi commanded with cold eyes.
Butler Zhou looked to Tang Jingfeng for help, confused as to why Young Master Zhou could be so heartless toward Miss Yan.
Tang Jingfeng had arrived in a hurry without bringing a nurse. Hearing Zhou Xizhi’s anger-laced command, he had no choice but to let the blood on Yan Yi’an’s legs continue to spread for the moment, turning instead to deal with the cold-faced man before him.
Compared to Zhou Xizhi, who radiated chilling indifference, Tang Jingfeng in his white coat carried a softer, life-saving warmth.
The two sat facing each other on the sofa. Tang Jingfeng curled his lips, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he glanced at the man’s feet. “In such a hurry you didn’t even bother to put on shoes—rushing down to see her, and now you’re pretending to be cold-hearted and refusing to let me save her. What is this, some kind of tortured love affair?”
Only then did Zhou Xizhi notice the coolness beneath his bare feet. He shot a glare at the teasing man, his gaze sharp. “Check whether she’s dead yet.”
Tang Jingfeng raised an eyebrow and clicked his tongue twice, speaking casually. “Well then, as you wish—she’s not dead yet, but she soon will be. I just examined her inside and out. From head to toe, there isn’t a single spot on her that’s unharmed.”
Tang Jingfeng emphasized the words “inside and out” through gritted teeth.
Meeting Zhou Xizhi’s murderous glare, he still smiled fearlessly and continued, “I won’t even mention the external injuries. She also has a mild concussion. If her knees aren’t treated, and without my miraculous healing hands, she’ll be in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.”
“That’s also her own doing.”
Tang Jingfeng straightened up, his dark eyes rarely turning serious. “Xizhi, we are all grieved and heartbroken that something like this happened to Ruoruo. But the law is just. Why must you go out of your way to destroy someone’s entire life, using her to bear the brunt of your anger and vent your frustrations?”
Zhou Xizhi clenched his fists, his deep eyes gradually freezing over with coldness. Was everyone thinking she was innocent?
“She ran to turn herself in, but on the day of the trial, she produced so-called evidence that sent Ruoruo to prison.”
“She dared to go to the Zhou family’s old residence and make a deal with my grandfather, adding two more years to Ruoruo’s sentence.”
“Jingfeng, you will never know what a sinister heart lies beneath an innocent face.”
“But you’re right—she can’t die. If she dies, who would prove Ruoruo’s innocence? Who would bear the brunt of my wrath?”
“I’ll keep her alive until she’s willing to tell the truth about the car accident. And I’ll torment her day after day—whatever suffering Ruoruo endured, she will bear a hundredfold, a thousandfold.”
Zhou Xizhi’s cold voice echoed through the empty hall.
Tang Jingfeng felt as if he had stepped into an ice cellar; the chill of those words pierced through the walls, seeping into Yan Yi’an’s heart.
When Tang Jingfeng entered, he noticed the person on the bed was awake. Though her eyes were tightly shut, her damp lashes trembled, and two trails of clear tears soaked the corners of her eyes and the strands of hair at her temples.
He didn’t call her out on it, but his slightly cool fingers brushing against the wound on her knee made the person in bed flinch slightly.
“Cleaning the wound will hurt quite a bit. Crying it out might help.”
Tang Jingfeng’s voice was warm and pleasant to the ear.
But Yan Yi’an kept her jaw clenched, making no sound at all. It wasn’t until Tang Jingfeng finished dressing the wound that his gaze drifted to her face, and unbidden, Zhou Xizhi’s words surfaced in his mind: “You will never know what a sinister heart lies beneath an innocent face.”
Tang Jingfeng gradually withdrew his softening gaze. True enough—a woman who could stay by Zhou Xizhi’s side for two years and send Zhao Ruoruo to prison—could she really be simple?
After Tang Jingfeng left, Butler Zhou secretly prepared a bowl of rice porridge for Yan Yi’an, saying that since she hadn’t eaten in a long time, she should have something soft and warm to soothe her stomach, and that once Young Master Zhou left, he would make her some nourishing dishes.
For the first time since she’d returned, Yan Yi’an curved her lips into a smile, a glimmer of warmth in her eyes. She thanked Butler Zhou several times—her stomach had long been burning with unbearable hunger.
Tang Jingfeng never came again. Instead, he arranged for a young nurse to visit daily and check on Yan Yi’an’s injuries.
Yan Yi’an’s leg wound was healing poorly, and with the weather turning colder, she couldn’t walk far before a bone-deep, piercing pain shot through her. Even if it healed, faint scars would likely remain.
She lived in the villa like a ghost. Whenever Zhou Xizhi appeared, she would hole up in her room, doing her best to stay out of sight.
As for Zhou Xizhi—whether he was plotting new ways to torment her or had truly forgotten she existed—he didn’t come looking for trouble.
But then, one day, Zhao Jinjin appeared at the villa without warning. She was as radiant as ever, decked out in designer labels, a long dress draped with a small Chanel-style jacket, light brown curls cascading over her shoulders, nearly ten-centimeter heels on her feet, and flawless makeup.
Yan Yi’an was sitting on the swing in the courtyard, lost in thought.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over her, blocking the light above.
Yan Yi’an looked up to see undisguised mockery and hatred in Zhao Jinjin’s eyes.
“A sinner atoning for my sister’s crimes—how dare you sit here swinging so peacefully?”
Zhao Jinjin was haughty and arrogant. Why should this woman still be able to sit here without a care?
“It’s your sister who’s in prison. Tell me, who do others see as the sinner?”
Yan Yi’an raised her beautiful eyes, her voice soft yet infuriating Zhao Jinjin to no end.
Zhao Jinjin clenched her manicured nails, her face twisting with rage. This woman showed not a shred of remorse.
It was all this bitch’s fault that her family had fallen apart and couldn’t hold their heads up in public. Everywhere she went now, people pointed and whispered…
“Bitch.”
The freshly done manicure flashed brilliantly in the sunlight, poised to land on Yan Yi’an’s face, only to be firmly caught by a pair of slender fingers.
Yan Yi’an’s pale face bore both anger and contempt. “I am not a trash can for your Zhao family to vent your anger on, at your mercy to bully.”
With that said, she viciously flung Zhao Jinjin’s wrist away.