Her words hit the mark perfectly—Wang Yurou’s expression shifted instantly, panic flaring as if her true thoughts had been laid bare.
“And let’s add this: if carrying someone’s luggage counts as seduction, then in your eyes, does saying one extra line basically equal sleeping together?”
“By that logic, me and Fu Shixuan…”
Shen Zhaozhao counted on her fingers: “One, two, three, four… we’ve done it plenty of times already. You claim I’m ‘damaged goods’ just because I was with Gu Shichuan—so wouldn’t Fu Shixuan be damaged beyond repair?”
“And you still want to marry a man like that? What does that make you? Less than trash?”
Shen Zhaozhao spoke with a smile that cut like a thorn, her words and expression piercing straight through Wang Yurou.
Humiliation and fury welled up in Wang Yurou’s face; her eyes blazed red as she reared back her hand, screaming:
“Shen Zhaozhao, you’re shameless! I’ll teach you a lesson right now—”
Before she could finish, Shen Zhaozhao moved fast.
She caught Wang Yurou’s wrist with one hand, wound up with the other, and slapped her hard across the face.
Crack. The sound rang out sharp and clear.
The force was so strong Wang Yurou’s whole head snapped sideways. A faint click echoed from her neck—she couldn’t tell which hurt more, her face or her neck.
Bright red handprints bloomed instantly on her fair skin, swelling visibly by the second. She clutched her neck then her cheek, tears stinging her eyes as she stared at Shen Zhaozhao in shock and terror.
“Shen Zhaozhao, you…”
Shen Zhaozhao’s face had turned cold as ice. She grabbed Wang Yurou’s pointing finger, bending it slowly back, towering over her with a cold smirk.
“I haven’t settled the score for last night, and you came right to my door. Looks like you’re itching for a beating—let me help you out!”
Wang Yurou’s eyes streamed with tears, yet she still refused to back down.
“Who gave you the right to hit me? You’re the one who drugged him! If you didn’t have such dirty thoughts about Fu Shixuan, you wouldn’t have messed things up like this!”
“You’re just jealous I’m the one marrying him now, while you’re stuck with that useless son of the village party secretary! It doesn’t matter if you’re so jealous you spit blood—Shixuan will never look at you!”
“Go ahead and kill me if you dare—we both know you don’t have the guts. Instead of threatening me, you’d better treat me nice and suck up to me!”
“Maybe if I’m in a good mood after we marry, I won’t hold a grudge. I might even remember we went to the countryside together, throw you a scrap of food, and get Shixuan to find you a job!”
“Let go of me right now—or I’ll make Shixuan destroy you later!”
Shen Zhaozhao almost laughed out loud.
Even now, Wang Yurou still thought she could threaten her with a man’s status, acting like she had the upper hand. She couldn’t believe how warped this story’s values were—someone like Wang Yurou, who hid behind weakness, schemed nonstop, and thought a good husband meant a good life, was written as the heroine.
Meanwhile, the original Shen Zhaozhao—someone who never meant harm, who never hurt anyone, who was only a little selfish and easily manipulated—was labeled the vicious villainess, and given such a terrible end.
Even the so-called “vicious acts” of the original owner didn’t strike her as vicious at all.
What they called “selfishness” was just her putting herself first—and because her choices clashed with the heroine’s, she was painted as greedy and cruel. But when the heroine sacrificed others to get what she wanted, or used any means necessary, it was called “smart” or “justified.” Even Wang Yurou’s petty, scheming rivalry was framed as something noble.
If anyone deserved to be called vicious—it was Wang Yurou.
Shen Zhaozhao burned with anger, and Wang Yurou just kept running her mouth, spewing threat after threat. She’d had enough. Another slap landed hard.
Crack. Louder than a radish being snapped clean in two.
Whether it was the force or how caught off guard she was, Wang Yurou saw stars spinning before her eyes. She staggered like a top, barely steadying herself before lunging forward, teeth bared.
“I’ll—fight you—!”
She grabbed Shen Zhaozhao’s collar, fist raised to strike.
Shen Zhaozhao tilted her head with a half-smile.
“Aw, looks like one slap wasn’t enough—you’re sticking your face right back out for more?”
Before Wang Yurou could swing, another slap hit her.
“You dare hit me tw—”
Smack—smack.
Wang Yurou lifted her hand again, but Shen Zhaozhao pinned her wrist first, landing two crisp slaps in quick succession. She tilted her head mockingly and clicked her tongue.
“Your reflexes are terrible—even an old grandma would be faster.”
“Probably spent all your time pretending to be helpless so the male educated youth would do your work for you. Slacked off so much your muscles gave out? Tsk tsk—reap what you sow.”
“That’s not true!” Wang Yurou bit out.
Smack. Another slap landed before she could finish.
Wang Yurou stared at her in disbelief.
Shen Zhaozhao smiled sweetly. “Sorry—bit of a perfectionist. Your face was a little lopsided from the swelling.”
“All fixed now.”
“SHEN—ZHAO—ZHAO!” Wang Yurou shrieked, completely unhinged.
She couldn’t win with her hands—so she shifted her gaze to her feet.
“I’ll—kick your—!”
She lashed out, confident she’d connect this time, putting extra force behind the blow. But before her foot could make contact, Shen Zhaozhao sidestepped, reached out—and caught her ankle in an iron grip.
Wang Yurou was left hanging in midair, one leg stretched high, unable to kick, pull back, or balance. She was stuck completely.
“Let go of me, Shen Zhaozhao—or don’t blame me for what I do!”
“What are you going to do exactly?”
Shen Zhaozhao tugged her leg a little further forward.
“Like this?”