One who brings trouble upon oneself has no one to blame but oneself.
Yan Yi’an spoke mechanically, her voice devoid of any emotion, utterly indifferent.
“No, Brother Xizhi, she was the one who insulted my sister first… hss…”
Zhao Jinjin let out a sharp intake of breath and cast a resentful glance at Tang Jingfeng.
Continuing with a pout, she said, “She was the one who said my sister is a sinner and that going to prison was what she deserved. She also said… she also said that Brother Xizhi, you’ve never been able to let her go in your heart… I couldn’t stand it, so I only threatened her with boiling water, but she snatched it away and deliberately splashed it on me.”
“Brother Xizhi, look at my leg… wuwu…”
“Will it leave a scar… Doctor Tang…”
Yan Yi’an sneered mockingly. “Zhao Jinjin, what a pity you didn’t become an actress.”
“Yan Yi’an, you… hss…”
Zhou Xizhi straightened up, and an immense sense of oppression immediately swept over the room. His gaze gradually turned cold as he reached out and gripped Yan Yi’an’s chin.
Her face was pale, yet on her lips sat a single bite mark—dazzlingly red, bewitching.
A chill emanated from Zhou Xizhi’s entire being. He hadn’t forgotten that this bite mark was left behind for another man.
“Is it as Jinjin said?”
“Since President Zhou has already decided in his heart that it’s my fault, why bother asking me? Is it to have me admit it myself to satisfy the excuse in your mind, so you can rightfully unleash your anger on me?”
She addressed him coldly, “President Zhou.”
Zhou Xizhi’s brows turned dark and fierce. The force of his grip on her jaw suddenly tightened, and he let out a cold laugh. “That’s right.”
“Did you happen to record this time—audio or video—to prove your innocence?”
His tone was dripping with mockery, his gaze scornful.
Yan Yi’an felt like a complete joke. He had never once regarded her seriously from the very beginning, and now he hated her to the bone.
Yan Yi’an abruptly slapped his hand away.
Tears had unknowingly welled up in her eyes, yet her gaze remained stubborn. But the words she spoke only reignited Zhou Xizhi’s fury. “President Zhou, just say whatever punishment you want to inflict on me. As long as I’m not dead, I will remind you at every moment—Zhao Ruoruo is a sinner…”
“Slap!”
The air seemed to freeze for an instant.
Zhao Jinjin watched the woman crumple to the floor and curled the corners of her lips.
Sure enough, Brother Xizhi still cared about her sister. This bitch was nothing at all…
Tang Jingfeng heard the sound and turned back in disbelief to see what had happened.
Zhou Xizhi’s arm was still raised, half his face shrouded in gloom and coldness. Even the sunlight streaming in seemed unable to melt his ice-sealed countenance.
Yan Yi’an crashed heavily to the ground like a broken doll, her lips and teeth stained with blood.
In her face, Tang Jingfeng saw a trace of despair, dejection, and hatred…
Clear teardrops slid down her cheeks and dripped onto the floor. Zhou Xizhi’s heart inexplicably tightened, and his palm felt hot and numb…
This was the first time Zhou Xizhi had hit a woman—a woman he should hate.
Yet he didn’t feel good about it. His chest felt constricted, aching.
Yan Yi’an laughed at herself for being truly foolish. Zhou Xizhi had never been the gentle person she had yearned for. This slap had completely severed all her lingering hopes and wishes.
In his heart, there was only Zhao Ruoruo.
Tang Jingfeng had always prided himself on being a gentleman. He set aside tending to Zhao Jinjin’s wound at once, immediately turned around, and helped the woman who had fallen and couldn’t get up off the floor, settling her onto the sofa. He wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth and clicked his tongue with a sigh.
Each sigh seemed like a silent rebuke of Zhou Xizhi’s cruelty and heartlessness.
Tang Jingfeng’s hand on her face was an eyesore. The coldness in Zhou Xizhi’s eyes was bone-deep as he abruptly grabbed the woman on the sofa and dragged her into the room.
He threw her to the ground, looming over her like a god holding the power of life and death. “One slap in exchange for Jinjin’s leg injury—you’re not at a loss.”
Not at a loss?
Who could trade for the wounds on her body and the wounds in her heart?
Yan Yi’an’s eyes were half-lowered, lifeless, with no response at all.
But in Zhou Xizhi’s eyes, it was silent defiance. “Stay here and don’t go out causing more trouble.”
Zhou Xizhi personally arranged for Wen Xiao to escort Zhao Jinjin back to the Zhao residence, instructing him to properly appease the Zhao family.
And Yan Yi’an truly did as Zhou Xizhi had ordered—she stayed behind closed doors all day, silent and unmoving, like a living corpse.
Butler Zhou gradually grew worried that she might do something rash, and begged Tang Jingfeng to come check on her.
Tang Jingfeng was exasperated: he wasn’t a psychiatrist.
Yet his body was honest, and even he was quite startled when he saw Yan Yi’an.
Yan Yi’an sat quietly on the floor, tilting her head up to stare out the window. Sunlight shifted from bright to dim across her body, and moonlight poured over her from dark to light.
She had no will to live whatsoever.
Tang Jingfeng told Zhou Xizhi that if Yan Yi’an continued like this, she would truly die—trapping herself from the inside. She wasn’t afraid of physical torment; it was that the hope in her heart was gone.
Zhou Xizhi hadn’t smoked in a long time, but now the air around him was thick with nicotine. Sunk into the sofa, his gaze was like a wolf hunting in the darkness, fixed intently on the woman in the moonlight.
She didn’t move. Neither did he.
Every time he recalled the despair in her eyes after that slap, his fingertips trembled uncontrollably. He couldn’t understand how one slap had snuffed out her very soul.
Nor could he understand why—when Tang Jingfeng said she might die—he, who should hate her to the bone, actually felt a flicker of softness.
The next day, as the sky was just turning gray with dawn, Zhou Xizhi got up and went to the company. The deep indentation on the sofa was clearly visible.
Tang Jingfeng came again. Yan Yi’an still sat in silence.
Tang Jingfeng carefully sat down beside her. “Living like this isn’t really living—no different from being dead. Everyone carries a belief, something to hold on to. What’s yours?”
“If you want to go out, I can try to persuade Zhou Xizhi. Just take a walk…”
Yan Yi’an’s lashes flickered in the sunlight. In a place Tang Jingfeng couldn’t see, she rarely turned her gaze, her eyes landing on the young nurse behind him—that white coat.
Tang Jingfeng had specially consulted a psychologist and rambled on and on beside her ear, pouring out more words than he’d spoken in half a lifetime, all of it entering Yan Yi’an’s ears.
But the effect was minimal—far less than the nurse’s simple “Miss Yan, it’s time to change your dressing.” Yan Yi’an actually got up and sat back down.
But while the medicine was being applied, Yan Yi’an accidentally knocked over the bottle, spilling most of the wound ointment onto the young nurse. Yan Yi’an apologized profusely. “I’m so sorry. Why don’t you take off your clothes? I’ll have someone bring you a fresh set.”
Yan Yi’an rarely spoke, and when she did, her voice was always soft and gentle. The nurse couldn’t refuse, so she took off her white coat and followed a servant to change.
Yan Yi’an’s gaze fell on the white coat. Her eyes darkened, and finally she reached out and slipped it over herself.
Her leg injury had mostly healed. Enduring the pain, she walked just like a normal person. With a mask on, only half her face visible around the eyes, even someone familiar would find it hard to recognize her at a glance.
There were few people at Deep Water Bay. Inside the villa, two servants attended to Zhou Xizhi’s daily needs, while outside, two more were responsible for cleaning and maintaining the courtyard. There was also Butler Zhou and the guard at the gate.
Surprisingly, her escape went off without a hitch.