Just as she was thinking that, her phone buzzed again.
[Ji Zongting: The company?]
Wen Li rolled her eyes where he couldn’t see. This man has exactly one style. If something can be said in one word, he’ll never type a second. She used to be used to it. Now it grated on her no matter how she looked at it. Most of it, probably, was the resentment of an innocent woman dragged to her death along with him.
Her nails clattered against the screen. [Wen Li: Yes, my family’s company, Qingxin Entertainment. Do you know it, husband?]
The message went out. The other side went quiet for a few seconds, probably stunned by that sudden “husband.”
Their WeChat friendship had been added only three days ago, and the chat history held exactly two messages. Wen Li had sent “Hello, Mr. Ji.” Ji Zongting had replied “Mm.”
That was all. Three days ago, they had been strangers. Three days later, they were husband and wife.
[Ji Zongting: Mm.]
Mm again.
Just looking at the word made her temper flare. This was who Ji Zongting was. Terse to a criminal degree. He never showed emotion in front of anyone. Happy, “Mm.” Unhappy, also “Mm.” She had spent five years married to him in her last life, and he had never once sent her a message longer than twenty characters.
No matter how many mental hoops you jumped through on your end, he stayed the calm sea on his. Like an emotionless auto-reply bot.
Wen Li suddenly remembered something from her last life. It was the second year of their marriage, and she had ridden in Ji Zongting’s car to a banquet. Halfway there, a man had rushed out and thrown himself in front of the car, dropping to his knees and knocking his forehead against the asphalt with a pounding sound, sobbing his heart out, begging Ji Zongting to spare his life.
She recognized the man. He owned some small company. She had seen him once at a cocktail party, in a suit, confident and dashing. Nothing like the tear-soaked, sniveling mess in front of her now.
And Ji Zongting?
He sat quietly in the back seat, the window rolled halfway down, looking down at the kneeling man from on high. Those deep, sinister eyes held nothing but calm, as if he were watching a mime show that had nothing to do with him. Only when the man’s voice had gone hoarse and his forehead had split open did Ji Zongting finally speak.
“Mr. Chen, if you’d known this would happen, why did you do it in the first place?”
The window rolled up. The car pulled away, the bedraggled man left behind in the exhaust fumes. Wen Li watched him in the rearview mirror, still kneeling where he was, like a heap of boneless mud.
A chill had crawled down her back. She understood, then, that Ji Zongting was cold to the core. His world probably had no place for empathy. If she made a scene with him, her fate would not be much better than that man’s. She would be a mess, and he would stand by watching her fall apart.
So she had not made a scene. She had kept her head down and played Madam Ji for five years. And it had worked, more or less. For five years, Ji Zongting had given her whatever she wanted, never said no to a thing.
As for feelings? Forget it. Ji Zongting probably had no feelings to speak of.
But now everything was different. She was reborn. Why should she keep playing nice?
Wen Li took a deep breath, her fingers flying across the screen so fast they practically threw sparks.
[Wen Li: What does “Mm” mean? Husband, you went on a business trip the day we got our certificate and stayed gone for three days. You’re back and you don’t even ask if I’m doing okay? Is this how you act as someone’s husband?]
She felt a rush of satisfaction as it went out. She could almost picture Ji Zongting’s brow creasing when he read it. The noble heir of the Ji family had probably never been questioned in a tone like that.
The other side went silent for a full ten seconds. Wen Li stared at the typing indicator above the chat. It flashed, went dark, flashed again. Then a message came through, nothing but a row of dots.
[Ji Zongting: You seem fine.]
Wen Li’s eyes went wide. You haven’t even seen me. How would you know I’m doing fine?
She was about to fire back when another message popped up. It was a photo. Clearly taken from inside a car, the lighting dim, but the contents perfectly legible.
A physical exam report, the name field reading “Wen Li.” Every metric followed by a green “Normal.” At the bottom, the red seal of Shengxin Hospital’s physical examination center.
In short, very healthy.
Wen Li’s brain short-circuited for a second. Her bluster dropped a notch.
[Wen Li: Husband… how do you have my physical exam report?]
[Ji Zongting: Shengxin is a Ji-owned hospital.]
[Wen Li: I know… but why were you looking at my physical exam report?]
This time, the silence that followed was longer than before. Then came the soft ding of a voice message.
Wen Li hesitated half a second, brought the phone to her ear, and tapped it.
The man’s low, pleasing voice spilled out of the speaker, carrying a rasp so faint it was barely there. It sounded like he had just come off a long meeting, exhaustion still lingering at the edges of his voice, and because of that, it had a texture it would not otherwise have.
“Probably… because I’m concerned about my new wife.”
A short sentence, wrapped in that voice, like a cello in the dead of night, vibrating low against her eardrum. Wen Li felt a tingle spread from her ear all the way down the back of her neck. Her cheeks burned before she could stop them.
She yanked the phone away from her ear as if she had been shocked. Her face, faintly pink, reflected on the screen.
No. No, no, no. This isn’t right. What did he mean, concerned about his new wife? Was that something Ji Zongting could say? Wasn’t he the cold, distant, expressionless sinister villain? She remembered the book’s description of him clearly. A man who could summon clouds and rain with a turn of his hand, ruthless and merciless, cold-blooded to the core, his methods so brutal they made a person’s blood run cold.
So who is this man saying sweet nothings?
Was he possessed?
Wen Li flipped the phone face down on her knee and took two deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down. No more replies. Absolutely none. If I keep this up, how am I supposed to face him with any backbone tonight?
The phone went quiet. The other side sent nothing more.
The Maybach threaded through the lamplit streets and soon entered the hillside villa district where the Ji family lived. The gate read the license plate and slid open. The car pulled to a smooth stop under the portico.
Wen Li pushed the door open and stepped out. The early summer night breeze swept past, carrying the scent of gardenias from the garden. She stood under the portico for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and only then pushed the door open.
The entryway light was on. The housekeeper, Auntie Zhou, was tidying up in the living room. Hearing the door, she hurried out to take the bag from Wen Li’s hand.
“Madam’s home. Dinner will be ready soon.”
“Auntie Zhou.” Wen Li’s gaze drifted unconsciously toward the stairs. “Is the master back?”
“He’s upstairs. Got in a little while ago.”
Wen Li nodded and changed into slippers, heading up. The door to the master bedroom on the second floor was ajar. She pushed it gently. The room was lit by the bedside lamp. A suitcase lay open by the walk-in closet door, and a discarded suit jacket was draped over the bench at the foot of the bed.
From the bathroom came the patter of running water. Through the frosted glass door, the blurred shape of a tall figure moved.