Zhao Chengye’s mood suddenly turned frantic.
His handcuffed hands slammed hard against the back of the chair.
Lu Zheng knitted his brows tightly, his voice low and stern. “Zhao Chengye, calm down!”
Zhao Chengye’s bloodless lips trembled nonstop. “What an utter fool I was! I thought my wife cooking for me every day, bringing meals to my office even when I was too busy to come home, was just her caring about my health. Who would have guessed—she was trying to kill me!”
“None of those ingredients are harmful on their own, but mixed together they’re toxic. Little by little, over years, they wore my body down. I can’t remember when exactly it started—hair loss, nosebleeds, liver problems…”
“I went to the hospital for check-ups, but they couldn’t find a cause. I just got weaker and weaker, day after day!”
Zhao Chengye let out a hollow, dead smile.
“Until finally, it turned out to be terminal illness.”
He lowered his head, staring at the prominent knuckles on the back of his hands. “Officer, do you know? Every single meal she made and brought me—back then I thought she loved me so much. I hated my own useless body, wondered why I had to be struck down by something incurable so young?”
“I even planned to leave everything I owned to her and the children after I died.”
“Thank heaven the truth came out before I breathed my last!”
Not a cent of his fortune would ever go to them.
Before he killed Qi Sheng, he had already drawn up his will.
His wife and those three children had grown used to lives of luxury and excess. Stripping them of everything would hurt far worse than killing them.
Zhao Chengye’s eyes burned bright red, his whole body shaking violently as his chest heaved. “From the very moment I decided to support him, Qi Sheng was cuckolding me! He made my wife bear him three children! One wasn’t enough—two! Three! Not a single one is mine—they’re all his!”
“I helped him rise to fame, gave him every resource, turned him into a beloved, world-famous positive role model. And what did I get in return? Stabbing me in the back, sleeping with my wife, spending my money, and plotting to take my life!”
He broke into another fit of violent coughing. This time he didn’t cover his mouth; flecks of blood sprayed freely.
Lu Zheng stood up, handed him a tissue, and gave his shoulder a gentle, firm pat.
“That’s why he deserved to die!” Tears Zhao Chengye had held back for so long finally spilled from his bloodshot eyes. “Why did my life have to turn out like this? I can’t accept it—I truly can’t!”
Lu Zheng looked at him with deep, solemn eyes, his voice steady and unyielding. “If what you say is true, your wife and Qi Sheng would face charges of bigamy and intentional infliction of harm. We will investigate this fully by law.”
His tone softened, but carried even greater weight. “But you took a life. No matter how much Qi Sheng may have deserved punishment, it was never your place to kill him. You’re an educated man, an entrepreneur, someone who has helped so many people. You of all people should know—this society runs on rules. Rules exist not just to protect the innocent, but to stop anyone from crossing the line and becoming a criminal.”
“You say you can’t accept what happened—and I understand. Any man in your position would feel the same. But you should never have resorted to violence. You could have been the one reporting the crime, the victim—not the suspect, not the murderer.”
“You were dying, and you wanted to drag Qi Sheng down with you. But have you thought about what comes after? Even when you’re gone, the truth of this crime will remain. Taking a life will follow you for the rest of your days.”
“You did so much good—you were a philanthropist, you funded poor students. But once the word ‘murderer’ sticks to your name, no one will remember any of that. Headlines will read: ‘Prominent Entrepreneur and Philanthropist Zhao Chengye Arrested for Premeditated Murder.’ And you know how fiercely loyal Qi Sheng’s fans are. When their idol dies, they won’t care about what he did wrong—they’ll turn all their rage on you. Even after you’re gone, they might splash red paint on your grave, or harass your family online for years.”
“You could have stood as the victim, pressed charges against your wife and Qi Sheng, and sent them to prison for what they did. But now? You’re the one who’s destroyed everything. Was it worth it?”
Zhao Chengye buried his face in his arms, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
After a long silence, he lifted his head again. “If I’d known you police were this capable, that you’d crack the case this fast… I would have called you first.”
He hadn’t gone to the authorities because he’d feared his time was too short—that he’d never live to see Qi Sheng and his wife face justice.
But now it was too late.
The next day.
While Ming Tang was still asleep, Wen Qingli took a taxi back to Jingyuan to pack a few changes of clothes to bring with her.
As she walked past the guest bathroom, the door suddenly swung open from inside.
She flinched and looked away instinctively—then caught sight of the scene before her, and her breath hitched sharply.
Lu Zheng had just finished showering, and stood bare-chested before her, every line of his powerful frame laid bare.
His chest muscles were clearly defined—not the overinflated bulk of someone who only trains for show, but solid, chiseled strength, sharp and symmetrical as if carved from stone.
Water droplets trailed down his chest, over eight distinct, firm abdominal muscles.
He wore a pair of dark grey casual trousers; the sharp cut of his obliques peeked out just above the waistband, like some dangerous signpost pointing somewhere she had no business looking.
Wen Qingli’s heart hammered against her ribs like a war drum—again and again, hard enough to burst right through her chest.
“I—I just came back for clothes. I didn’t know you were…” She whipped her head away, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear to hide the fiery flush rising up her neck.
“It’s fine.” Lu Zheng dried his short black hair with a towel, strode into the bedroom, and pulled on his usual army-green T-shirt.
As he dressed, Wen Qingli watched from behind him—his shoulder blades shifted like two elegant wings, his waist narrow and strong, the classic broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted build.
The sharp, warm scent of him filled the air.
She dared not look any longer. Lowering her lashes, she hurried toward the walk-in closet.
She was folding clothes when Lu Zheng stepped inside.
“How’s Ming Tang holding up?” he asked quietly.
Wen Qingli turned to face him. “A little better.” She noticed the dark circles under his eyes and frowned slightly. “Did you not sleep at all last night?”
Lu Zheng hummed in confirmation.
“You must be exhausted,” she said softly.
Lu Zheng watched her—her long lashes fluttering like little fans as she spoke—and took a step closer.
Wen Qingli backed up until her thin shoulders pressed against the wardrobe. She looked up at him, her clear eyes bright with confusion. “What is it?”
His lips parted slightly, his dark gaze drifting over her bare, fair face—from her dewy almond eyes and straight nose, down to her soft pink mouth.
Feeling his eyes linger on her lips, she remembered what he’d said the night before: that the first step in getting to know each other would be a kiss.
Was he… about to kiss her now?
The fresh, clean scent of his shower wrapped around her—warm, familiar, and making her heart race all the faster.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, determined not to look shy or cowardly.
She closed her eyes, lifting her chin as if she were perfectly calm.
“Lu Zheng… go ahead.”
She even pushed her lips out just a little.
One second. Two seconds. Three.
Nothing happened. No touch, no warm breath—nothing at all.
She cracked one eye open, round and damp.
He hadn’t moved an inch. A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his usual stern mouth.
Seeing her peeking, he reached out with long fingers and plucked a single leaf from the top of her hair.
“I just wanted to get this for you.”
Wen Qingli’s mind went completely blank, burning with embarrassment.
Oh no.
She’d actually thought he was going to kiss her!
She spun around so fast her cheeks flamed bright red. She wanted nothing more than to vanish on the spot.
Her skin was pale and thin—every flush showed clearly.
Lu Zheng placed his hands gently on her shoulders and turned her back to face him.
“Teacher Wen… did you want me to kiss you?”
Wen Qingli pressed both hands against his chest, pushing him away in flustered indignation.
“No! I didn’t think that at all—you said last night… we’d start with a kiss.”
Lu Zheng narrowed his eyes slightly. “I thought you weren’t ready yet today.”
Wen Qingli bit down softly on her lower lip. “I… I’m not, actually.”
At least, not right now—not after making such a fool of herself.