Chapter 62: Gu Pingsheng, How Shameless Can You Be?

No woman can fail to cherish her own appearance, but though Wang Haiqiong was not unrecognizable, her face at first glance was nonetheless frightfully disfigured. She had all but destroyed half her face.

When the doctor reapplied medication and wrapped her wounds with gauze, Wang Haiqiong kept her eyes closed throughout, yet even so, the intense pain caused tears to spill forth. When the salt in her tears touched her wounds, the doctor could only disinfect her again.

“Tears will make your wounds hurt more and do nothing to help them heal. Try to bear it, it’ll soon be over,” the doctor said.

Wang Haiqiong murmured assent, but her tears could not be controlled, so the doctor patiently wiped them away again and again.

Wen Zhixia watched quietly from the side, her heart heavy.

After the doctor left, Wang Haiqiong leaned against the hospital bed, taking a long time to recover from the pain, her entire face numb.

“…What do you plan to do now?” Wen Zhixia asked.

Wang Haiqiong let out a cold laugh. “What? Do you pity me? Or are you here to mock me?”

Such hostility in her words was not something that could change overnight; standing on the opposite side of Wen Zhixia had somehow become a habit.

“Your current situation is already enough for me to laugh at.” In other words, she was neither idle nor interested in following up on Wang Haiqiong’s subsequent misfortunes.

Wang Haiqiong clenched her fists. “You really are as odious as ever.”

Wen Zhixia’s lips curled faintly, her voice calm. “You’re not particularly likable yourself.”

Turning her bandaged face toward Wen Zhixia, Wang Haiqiong gazed at her for several seconds before taking a deep breath. “Wen Zhixia, I truly despise you, ever since you effortlessly snatched that project from me the first time…”

But more than that, perhaps, it was envy.

Envy for her perpetual purity, sincerity, passion—envy that she would never walk the same path.

Since Wang Haiqiong first lay in a man’s bed, there was no turning back. Once a woman sheds her clothes, there is a second time, a third, and countless times thereafter, so long as men remain interested in her body and she still needs money—she cannot escape this whirlpool.

From the very first meeting, Wang Haiqiong had a fondness for Wen Zhixia. It was as if a person fallen into the abyss looked up at the light on the sea; even if she herself was sullied, there was someone utterly spotless, and seeing her, she felt the world was not entirely filthy.

But do you know what it’s like when that fondness is built on comparisons—when someone says you’re only good for sleeping with, while she’s someone to be loved?

The men who slept with Wang Haiqiong, whenever Wen Zhixia was mentioned, would wax poetic: painting, subtle intoxication, pure background, just looking at her would give rise to countless stories…

After hearing it a few times, disgust and resentment inevitably took root.

“There are plenty who dislike me; you don’t need to announce it,” Wen Zhixia said. If she had to heed every voice of contempt, it would be exhausting.

“Go. I want to rest.”

Wang Haiqiong pulled the blanket over herself, unwilling to speak further. She stretched out her fist, but each punch landed only on soft cotton, leaving her drained.

Watching Wang Haiqiong close her eyes, Wen Zhixia took a bank card from her bag and set it quietly on the table. “Take painkillers when it hurts. If you don’t want to see anyone familiar, go abroad with Song Mingze. Death solves nothing. Just as you don’t like me, I can’t bring myself to like you, so we probably won’t meet again.”

She rose and walked toward the door.

“Wen Zhixia.” Wang Haiqiong, now lying with her back to the door, suddenly spoke. “Keep an eye on your man. If you lose to another woman, I’ll look down on you.”

Wen Zhixia said nothing. For if there comes a day when love must be won by struggle and schemes, it has already lost its meaning.

When the sound of footsteps faded from the ward, Wang Haiqiong slowly opened her eyes. She looked at the sky outside, and the corner of the rooftop, her legs suddenly weak.

The urge to die was fleeting—she didn’t really wish for death. As Wen Zhixia had said, she still had ties, and could not bear to let go.

“…Xiao Qiong.” Her phone rang, and Song Mingze answered. “The doctor says my leg is improving. In at most a year, I’ll be able to get out of the wheelchair and walk a bit.”

He had intended to wait until she finished work to share this good news, but as soon as he answered her call, he could not help but say it.

Wang Haiqiong sat up. As she opened her mouth to reply, she caught sight of the card Wen Zhixia had left, its password stuck to it.

Her pupils contracted sharply; she picked up the bank card, her fingers trembling.

“Xiao Qiong, what’s wrong?” Song Mingze heard her sobbing through the phone.

Wang Haiqiong tried to lift her chin, forcing herself to swallow the moisture brimming in her eyes, but a sob escaped her lips. That’s why she always said Wen Zhixia was truly infuriating.

After leaving the hospital, Wen Zhixia sat in her car, massaging her temples, a weary expression on her face.

“Madam, are you feeling unwell?” The driver, seeing her rush to the hospital and now so exhausted, asked with concern.

Wen Zhixia shook her head. “Let’s go home.”

Lanhu Manor.

When Wen Zhixia returned, she saw Gu Pingsheng seated in the living room, holding a thick album, studying it intently.

Hearing her footsteps, he beckoned her over. “The driver said you went to the hospital? Are you feeling alright?”

Wen Zhixia did not notice the album in his hands, her voice weighted with fatigue. “Wang Haiqiong was attacked with acid in the hospital.”

Gu Pingsheng’s deep gaze flickered briefly. “Is that so? How is she?”

“Her mood isn’t good, her face is ruined, her job lost. Anyone in her place would need time to come to terms with it,” Wen Zhixia replied.

“Hmm.” Gu Pingsheng’s eyes lingered on her tired face. “She’s always been hostile toward you. Do you pity her?”

Wen Zhixia replied, “Not quite pity, but I do feel somewhat sorry… She’d do anything for money, schemed for projects, but all to save someone. Her intentions weren’t wrong, just her methods—and the price she paid was too steep.”

“You’re good in every way, except your heart is too soft. Do you know who was behind the videos and photos about you circulating online recently?” Gu Pingsheng stroked her long hair as he spoke.

Wen Zhixia paused. “…It was her?”

“She got them from encrypted files on Zheng Xuancheng’s computer, all to ruin your reputation. Such a person doesn’t deserve your sympathy. She’s lucky to still be alive,” Gu Pingsheng said, his eyes darkening.

Learning that Wang Haiqiong was the source of the online storm, Wen Zhixia’s feelings grew complicated. She turned to Gu Pingsheng, and noticed something else. “Was it you who played that video of Wang Haiqiong at the celebration banquet?”

“Fighting fire with fire. I merely destroyed her reputation as she tried to destroy yours,” Gu Pingsheng replied.

It had only been intended as a starting point, but since Wen Zhixia said Wang Haiqiong was now disfigured and unemployed, Gu Pingsheng would not pursue her further, nor leave himself open to criticism.

In response, Wen Zhixia fell silent, but ultimately said nothing.

After all, Gu Pingsheng had merely opened the door to malice; the consequences were all Wang Haiqiong’s own making over the years.

“Don’t waste your energy on irrelevant people. Look at these,” Gu Pingsheng placed the thick album in her hands, its substantial weight instantly drawing her focus back.

Wen Zhixia lowered her head and flipped through a few pages, realizing they were all finished photos of wedding venues. She turned to him in surprise. “Is this…?”

“A wedding redo,” he said. “I promised, once the group stabilized, I’d make up for what I never gave you. The venue is chosen, by the sea. The planner is set, the dress nearly finished. All that’s left is for you to select the style…”

Wen Zhixia’s eyes shimmered. “When did you start preparing?”

Gu Pingsheng replied, “Three months ago.”

Three months ago—roughly their third anniversary.

“…Why didn’t you mention it before?” she asked.

Gu Pingsheng’s thin lips curved as his broad hand caressed her neck. “Now isn’t too late.”

Wen Zhixia earnestly studied the album, page after page, her attention never wavering from the images.

Gu Pingsheng went to pour two glasses of water. After drinking most of his, he found her still absorbed. “Is it that nice?”

Wen Zhixia pointed to one page. “This one.”

“Alright.” Gu Pingsheng suddenly swept her up in his arms, striding upstairs.

Wen Zhixia hurriedly wrapped her arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“There’s something upstairs you need to decide on,” he said, his eyes deep and shadowed.

She assumed it must be something like the wedding dress, but when the door opened and she saw the sexy lingerie laid out on the bed, her cheeks instantly flushed. She wriggled out of his embrace, glaring at him as she turned to leave.

Gu Pingsheng’s long arm pulled her back, his lips brushing her ear. “Go on, try it.”

Wen Zhixia tried to pry his hands off, mortified and angry. “Gu Pingsheng, do you have any shame? Where did you get these?”

She was light; with a little force, he pinned her to the bed, teasing, “What are you imagining? I’m not asking you to wear them now, just to try them on. On the wedding night, there should be something special.”

Wen Zhixia grabbed his tie, glaring. “Then why don’t you wear something special too?!”

She was easily embarrassed; wearing such things was even more shameful than not wearing them.

Gu Pingsheng pinched her delicate chin, his lips curving in a half-smile. “If you’d like, I have no objection.”

Competing with him in shamelessness in bed, Wen Zhixia was clearly no match. She braced her arm against his chest, feigning annoyance. “If you go too far, you’ll be sleeping in the guest room!”

With that, she took her nightgown and headed to the bathroom, but before entering, she turned back and commanded, “You brought these things? Clean them up yourself.”

She didn’t want to see them again at home.

Gu Pingsheng watched her slender waist, his fingers idly twirling the “clothes” on the bed.

News that Gu Pingsheng, the powerful CEO of the Guxia Group, was planning a wedding redo for his wife spread quietly but widely.

Naturally, it reached Zhao Fuhe’s ears.

The wedding preparations were in full swing, and when she went shopping, she happened to run into the staff. From their conversation, she learned that every flower and blade of grass for the venue had to be selected weeks in advance, to ensure they’d be at their peak on the day.

“I only found out a few days ago—Gu always had this wedding in the works for three months now,” Li Yueting said, appearing behind her.

Zhao Fuhe turned abruptly. “Three months?”

“That’s around the time he brought you back from Junyue. Even your pregnancy and miscarriage didn’t change anything,” Li Yueting whispered. “Looks like I overestimated your standing with him. In Gu’s heart, Wen Zhixia is always the cinnabar mole.”

Zhao Fuhe clenched her fist, staring at Li Yueting. “If Wen Zhixia mattered so much, he wouldn’t have been with me.”

Li Yueting replied, “So… tell me, if the groom doesn’t show on the wedding day, wouldn’t Wen Zhixia be utterly humiliated?”