Fang Ming hastily threw on his clothes and bolted for the door.
But as soon as he reached it, he froze.
There was a letter stuck in the door lock. He’d been in such a panic that he hadn’t even noticed it until now.
His hands trembled as he tore it open.
Inside, a line of bold, slanted handwriting leapt out at him:
“Thinking about calling the police? Go ahead! I’ll be waiting.
To tell you the truth, I already know about you and Xiao Ai!
The two of you not only fooled around behind my back—you killed my child.
If you dare to call the police, I’ll raise hell at your school.
Let’s see if they won’t punish both of you.
If you don’t want to risk losing your diploma, then keep your mouth shut.
I’ll be waiting back home for you to return and sign the divorce papers…”
Just a few lines—and all the rage that had been burning in Fang Ming instantly deflated.
So that’s what this was about!
No wonder. No wonder gentle, soft-spoken Tang Ran would suddenly turn on him like that! The root of it all was Xiao Ai!
Xiao Ai!
It had to be her. To get him faster, she must have slipped up while he was away—let something slip, or maybe even deliberately provoked Tang Ran. Tang Ran must’ve snapped and done something crazy in retaliation!
That stupid woman, Xiao Ai! How could she be so brainless?
Now what?
Fang Ming paced in agitation.
Judging by Tang Ran’s tone, she clearly had evidence of his affair with Xiao Ai. If that got out, it wouldn’t just ruin his academic career—it would also reach Lu Sitong’s ears!
He’d spent so much time and effort getting Lu Sitong’s attention. He couldn’t let all that go to waste!
So, calling the police was out of the question.
The best move now was to find Tang Ran as quickly as possible.
He reread the letter. “Going back home to handle the divorce”? That meant… she’d gone back to China?
Yes, that had to be it! Where else could she have gone?
The airport! He had to get to the airport—now!
Panic surged again.
Could he still catch her? Once she got on a plane, even if he did call the police, they wouldn’t be able to do anything. And besides, what authority would the police have over a husband-and-wife dispute?
He wouldn’t just fail to get Tang Ran back—he’d lose everything. That would be the ultimate humiliation.
No, his only option was to find Tang Ran before it was too late!
Mind suddenly clear, Fang Ming flung open the door and dashed down the stairs.
He knocked on the landlady’s door.
The landlady looked him up and down, mouth agape in shock. Before she could even ask what was going on, Fang Ming blurted out that he needed to borrow her phone.
And the ridiculous part?
Even when she handed him the phone, he couldn’t remember Tang Ran’s number! The landlady’s astonished expression deepened.
Eventually, he dug through her contacts and found Tang Ran’s number—but of course, when he called, the phone was turned off.
He slammed his fist into his palm. “Knew it! I knew it!”
“Landlady, did you see my wife today?” he demanded.
“Yes,” she replied, nodding.
“When?”
“Early this morning. Two hours ago, maybe more. Did you two have a fight? Ran’s such a good girl…”
“Could you lend me a hundred dollars? I’ll pay you back this afternoon, I swear!”
The sudden plea caught her completely off guard. A husband and wife, both asking her for money on the same day?
The landlady had questions—a lot of them—but since she held several of Fang Ming’s documents as collateral, she wasn’t worried he’d run off.
So she handed him the hundred dollars.
Money in hand, Fang Ming bolted down the stairs and out onto the street.
He was just about to hail a cab when something in the alley caught his eye—a group of homeless men.
Wait… weren’t those his clothes?
He blinked, then looked again.
Yes, they were!
His clothes! His suitcase! One of the homeless men was sitting on it!
If his suitcase was here, maybe his bag and other things were too!
“Put that down! That’s mine—my suitcase! Give it back!” Fang Ming lunged forward, grabbing at one of the men. “And that shirt! It’s mine—bought it from Hans Boutique, three hundred dollars! Hand it over! Where’s the rest of my stuff? Give it all back!”
He was practically hysterical.
It wasn’t until he got closer that he realized all the luxury items he’d bought for the East Coast seminar—every single one—were now on these homeless men.
He’d spent thousands on that trip, secretly using his credit card to build a “successful academic” image for Lu Sitong. From head to toe—even his socks were designer.
And now, all those precious brand-name pieces were draped across dirty vagabonds.
It felt like watching pigs trample the cabbages he’d raised with care.
He shoved a middle-aged man off the suitcase and clawed at the latch.
But that shove was a mistake.
The three homeless men saw it as an attack.
Within seconds, they surrounded him and began to beat him mercilessly.
Fang Ming was pummeled from all sides.
After at least thirty blows, drenched in sweat and tears, he managed to scramble away—limping, bruised, and covered in dirt.
They chased him for an entire block before he finally dove into a taxi and burst into tears.
Why? Why was everything going so wrong?
Through sobs, he begged the driver to lend him a phone.
The driver refused.
And who could blame him? The man he’d just picked up was filthy, bruised, smelled awful, and looked half-mad. The driver already regretted letting him in—there was no way he’d risk his phone too.
But Fang Ming’s pitiful crying started to wear on the driver’s nerves.
“Do you even got money to pay me?” the driver finally asked, skeptical.
“I’ll pay! Just let me use your phone!”
Fang Ming shoved the hundred dollars into his hand.
He was so desperate that when the driver said the hundred would cover the fare, tip, and a “cleaning fee,” Fang Ming just nodded frantically.
With shaking hands, he called the airline to check flights.
There were only two flights back to China that day—one at midnight, and another taking off in just over an hour.
He exhaled in relief. He still had a chance.
Then he started calling Tang Ran again and again.
His hands shook so badly he dialed the wrong number twice, and once he even misremembered the digits he’d just memorized.
After several failed attempts, still no answer.
Frustrated, face red with fury, he kept pounding the buttons.
The driver, growing uneasy, realized his phone was worth far more than a hundred dollars.
He suddenly pulled over, snatched it back, and snapped, “That’s enough. You’re done.”
“I only made two calls!” Fang Ming shouted. “You already took a hundred from me!”
The driver glared at him. “You’re not getting a refund. If you don’t like it, get out and report me.”
Fang Ming sucked in a few ragged breaths, trembling with anger.
But broke and helpless, what other choice did he have?
He sank back into the seat, defeated.