Sheng Yu’s gaze fell on Zhao Zifeng, who had crawled to him, cold fury simmering in his expression.
“Where are her things?”
Zhao Zifeng immediately fumbled into his pocket and pulled out the ring, offering it with both hands.
Sheng Yu didn’t take it. One of his bodyguards stepped forward, and Sheng Yu’s cold voice instructed:
“Clean it first. Then bring it to me.”
“Yes, Sheng Sanye.”
Turning his icy gaze back on Zhao Zifeng, Sheng Yu asked flatly, “Which hand touched her?”
Zhao Zifeng shivered, every hair on his body standing on end. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead. Without a hint of bravado, he obediently raised his right hand.
Thud.
Zhao Zifeng’s eyes widened in terror as Sheng Yu casually grabbed a fruit knife from the platter nearby and tossed it in front of him.
The meaning was clear, no words necessary.
Sheng Yu watched Zhao Zifeng’s expression, seeing him immediately bend to pick up the knife, fully aware he should punish his own hand that had touched Qin Sang.
Zhao Zifeng knew that if he acted first, he might still have a chance to save himself. If Sheng Yu struck, not only would his life be in danger, but it could also ruin all of his family’s business dealings.
He had heard of Sheng Yu’s ruthlessness: the man had once crushed his own uncle’s knees to powder—and the uncle was still in a wheelchair.
In a flash, Zhao Zifeng steeled himself, eyes shut, and drove the knife into his own wrist. He was about to proceed further, intending to chop off more of his own hand, when a boot suddenly swept his knife aside.
A bodyguard had intervened, scolding harshly:
“Sheng Sanye didn’t want to see too much blood today. You’re ignorant, so this is the last time. Next time, even if you keep both arms, it won’t be enough to calm him.”
“I—I would never dare again! Never, never!” Zhao Zifeng trembled, gratitude and terror mingling. “Thank you, Sheng Sanye! Whatever you need in the future, just say the word!”
He had always feared this man. The stories about Sheng Yu, the family’s living reaper, were terrifying—ruthless, unflinching, impossible to bargain with.
Today, he had walked away alive, and with his hands intact. He thought his ancestors must be smiling upon him.
Sheng Yu hadn’t been overly brutal this time. He had only wanted to test if Zhao Zifeng dared to act deceitfully in front of him.
He toyed with the jade ring on his finger, watching Zhao Zifeng’s blood drip to the floor, then slowly rose. Towering over him, he issued a warning:
“From now on, when you see her, stay out of her way.”
And with a final, sharp remark:
“Also, don’t boost your worthless ego by bullying women.”
“Yes… yes… I’ll never dare again, Sheng Sanye. I promise!”
Only after Sheng Yu and his bodyguards vanished from sight did Zhao Zifeng dare release a pained groan.
This was his first direct encounter with Sheng Yu. It was far more terrifying than the rumors. Sheng Yu had spoken only five sentences, yet his casual, lazy presence carried an oppressive weight, piercing and suffocating, like knives pressing into Zhao Zifeng’s very spine.
Sheng Yu’s clothes reeked of blood and filth from Zhao Zifeng. Disgusted, he discarded them and took a shower before returning to the bedroom.
After a passionate encounter with Qin Sang, he hadn’t bothered to dress her. Now, watching her sleep soundly, curled up and vulnerable, all traces of rage evaporated. His lips lifted in a faint, unconscious smile—though not much humor touched it.
He held the ring, now cleaned by the servants: a simple platinum band.
So it had been because of this ring…
Fortunately, she hadn’t suffered too much.
Otherwise, he couldn’t imagine how she had endured life’s hardships.
He knew all too well that beneath her gentle exterior lay a fiercely stubborn heart.
Sitting at the edge of the bed, he casually brushed his fingers across her pale, rosy cheek. His voice, low and thick with feeling, rumbled:
“Why didn’t you explain when you were misunderstood?”
A self-mocking smile tugged at his lips. “You didn’t want any entanglement with me, so you didn’t bother explaining.”
Once, when they had been lovers, a boy had handed her a love letter. Sheng Yu had seen it, and the girl had dashed over to him, clinging to his arm and explaining everything in painstaking detail, fearing his jealousy.
Now, she didn’t explain—not out of fear, but perhaps even hoping he would misunderstand.
Sheng Yu slid the ring back onto her finger, cradled her hand in his palm. After a moment, his gaze darkened, sharp and cold:
“This… isn’t your wedding ring, is it?”
His eyes clouded with meaning as he removed the ring from her finger.
Dawn broke, light spilling through the windows.
Qin Sang woke in the evening, exhausted, sore all over. Every movement was a struggle.
Rubbing her eyes, she sat up, realizing the thin blanket had slipped away. She was completely naked. Memories of the night’s events surged into her mind, overwhelming her. Her cheeks burned crimson, and she murmured in frustration:
“You… bad man!”
Quickly covering herself, she grabbed her phone and saw multiple messages from Jiang Yue, along with a few missed calls—thankfully only from half an hour ago.
She quickly called back, reassured her friend, and concocted an excuse about being unable to sleep in a strange environment. Jiang Yue believed her.
After washing up, Qin Sang remembered her clothes had been torn beyond wear. She fretted over how to leave the villa when she noticed a fresh set of clothes Sheng Yu had left on the bedside table.
He had destroyed her clothes, but at least she had something to wear now. That was… some kind of twisted courtesy.
As she messaged Jiang Yue about her dilemma, a notification pinged. Her bank account had received a deposit that morning—five million two hundred thousand yuan.
Qin Sang had never seen that much money. Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she even counted the digits one by one.
“Did Sheng Yu give this… because of last night?” she whispered to herself, clenching her fists.
Breathing deeply to steady herself, she took the bank card from her bag, wrote down the password on a piece of paper, and placed both the card and the note on the bedside table.
She would not take his money.