Chapter 71: Dead, Dead?

Wen Zhixia awoke amidst a jarring tumult; she hadn’t inhaled much of the sedative, so her consciousness returned swiftly. Yet regaining awareness was of little use. Flanked by two burly men, with the driver up front—a total of three—she dared not let on that she was awake, keeping her eyes tightly shut.

With her hands bound behind her back, she began to wriggle them gently. She recalled, from her university safety courses, how to loosen bindings in such situations. Though years had passed, her memory was sharp. Calmly, she retraced the steps in her mind—it was not an insurmountable problem.

A violent lurch tossed Wen Zhixia from her seat. The two men in the back were jostled as well. “Damn, what kind of driving is that?” one cursed.

“Look at this stretch of road,” the driver retorted. “Who the hell insisted on coming to this godforsaken place?”

“But tell me,” one mused, “the employer’s a cripple. Even if he wants to do something to this little beauty, I doubt he’s got the ability. In the end, wouldn’t it be us three who benefit?”

“Second, mind your urges,” the man who seemed to be the leader barked. “Just look at where this woman lives—clearly a place for the rich. Aren’t you afraid of getting burned?”

“Big brother, just look at her. We pay for women, but never get ones like this. She’s already here—why let that cripple have her?” Second grumbled.

“We’re in this for the money,” the leader warned. “You’ve got a record with security—leave any evidence on her, and you’ll never see daylight again.”

Listening to their exchange, Wen Zhixia quickly weighed her options. She didn’t yet know who their employer was, but since they were after money, things hadn’t reached their worst.

“Screech—Thunk—” The car continued over gravel-strewn roads, bumping and jolting. As the driver heard odd noises, the tire pressure warning light blinked on. “It’s no good. This next stretch we’ll have to walk—the warning light’s on, push it further and we might blow a tire,” he snapped.

“Third, can’t you do anything right? Trouble right now?” Second had just brushed Wen Zhixia’s hair aside, his hand barely touching her face before nearly losing his balance.

“Like I wanted this—there’s glass and rocks everywhere. Making it here was the limit. Get out, it’s not far now. Any further and we’ll have to walk back,” the driver said.

The leader got out first and hauled Wen Zhixia from the car. Still feigning unconsciousness, she was yanked so quickly her ankle twisted with a crack, landing at a grotesque angle, forcing a muffled groan from her lips.

Her sound immediately drew the leader’s attention. He grabbed her face and snarled, “Trying to play dead with me?”

The ropes slipped from her wrists. Wen Zhixia pushed his hand away, but didn’t resist further. Three men, in the wilderness—she had no chance to escape.

“Damn, Second, what kind of knot did you tie?” the driver cursed, seeing the rope on the ground.

Second was sure his knot was secure; he hadn’t expected her to free herself so easily. As he viciously moved to retie her, Wen Zhixia looked at the leader. “How much did the employer offer you? I’ll give you double. If it’s just money you’re after, there’s no need for risk. Kidnapping is a criminal offense—you’ll be wanted nationwide, never at peace.”

Second spat, “You—”

“Think carefully. If I die en route, you won’t get a cent from the employer, nor any benefit from me.” Wen Zhixia pressed a dagger against her throat.

The leader felt for his own knife and realized, in dragging her out, she’d filched it.

“Threatening me? I don’t believe you dare,” he sneered, narrowing his eyes. He didn’t believe a pampered woman would have the guts to kill herself. “Second, Third, tie her up properly!”

The two men moved, but Wen Zhixia was faster, pressing the blade to her chest. Her gaze was cold as she faced the leader; though she wouldn’t deal a fatal blow, it was enough to intimidate them.

They wanted quick money, not trouble. Wen Zhixia was certain, for now, they wouldn’t do anything truly vicious, nor watch her die and walk away empty-handed.

“The bracelet I wear cost one hundred and fifty thousand—it’s now worth two hundred thousand. Let me go, I’ll leave it here, and won’t pursue today’s events. If I die, you get nothing. Besides—you know where I live. If I disappear, the housekeeper will call the police. The authorities will blame you for my death.

My husband is the president of Summer Group. Do you think you’ll escape?”

Her words made Second and Third glance at the leader.

Half-truths and half-lies, but enough to confuse.

The leader narrowed his eyes. “You’re threatening us.”

The tension thickened. Wen Zhixia stood among three burly men, her expression unwavering, confronting them as snow began to fall—a surprise, the first snow of the year, swirling in the desolate outskirts, casting a veil between autumn and winter.

The wind still carried autumn’s chill, bleak and heroic.

“It’s not a threat—it’s negotiation. You want money; you can get it from your employer or from me, without more risk. Isn’t that better?” Wen Zhixia said quietly, her gaze never ceasing to scan her surroundings after leaving the car.

A short distance away was a slope—she couldn’t judge its height. Normally, if it was within reason, she could leap without hesitation. But not now. She thought of the child in her womb; once tethered, one cannot gamble freely.

“Damn, we’ll take the jewelry. You can hand it over. Big brother, don’t listen to her nonsense. Tie her up and we get double the money,” Second leered. “Maybe even have some fun.”

The leader seemed to weigh his options, but Second and Third exchanged a look, preparing to tie her up. Why negotiate? Tie her up and the money’s theirs—her ring was worth even more than the bracelet.

“Go!” Second shouted.

Sensing danger, Wen Zhixia lashed out with the dagger, slashing and running.

A line appeared on Second’s face. “Damn!”

The leader, seeing his two brothers, steeled himself and advanced on Wen Zhixia.

Scholar against soldier—no matter how clever the plan, it’s useless. The difference between a merchant and a thug is that the merchant weighs risks, while the thug, reckless, wants everything.

Wen Zhixia wielded the knife but could only retreat, until one foot teetered on the edge of the slope.

“Run, then. There’s nowhere to go. Let’s see how far you get,” Second said menacingly.

She had no choice—falling down the slope or being taken, neither promised a good outcome.

Her gaze lowered; the place was desolate, no hope for rescue.

Self-rescue seemed a fantasy.

“Who is your employer?” she asked.

Second spat, “Go there yourself and find out. If you’re smart, walk over. Don’t force us!”

Wen Zhixia gripped the dagger tightly. Second thought she’d surrendered, grinned, grabbed her wrist, and reached for her face. “That’s better—ah! My eye! Bitch! My eye!”

Wen Zhixia’s blade struck his eye. He howled in pain, clutching his wound in rage.

But in the next moment, he kicked Wen Zhixia, sending her tumbling down the slope.

“Die, bitch!”

The leader and Third tried to stop him, but it was too late.

“Ah!”

Wen Zhixia rolled down the slope, hands instinctively clutching her abdomen.

Wild slopes, withered shrubs, jagged stones and unknown debris battered her. Her insides seemed to shift with every blow.

Her hands protected her belly, torn and bloodied, but never relinquished their hold.

Her forehead struck a stone; consciousness faded.

Above, the leader and Third stared at one another. “Dead—is she dead?”

“Good—if not, I’ll finish her!” Second clutched his eye, blood seeping through his fingers, his visage twisted and terrifying.

The leader clenched his fists, wanting to curse but restraining himself. “Third, go check.”

Third circled around, reached the bottom, saw the blood on Wen Zhixia’s head and her motionless form. He checked her breathing, his face stiffening.

When he reported Wen Zhixia had stopped breathing, the leader’s expression grew dark. They’d staked out for two days, finally captured her—now she was dead.

“What now? The employer—”

“We leave. Pretend we never took the job. Delete the employer’s contact. Leave the province tonight. If security starts investigating, none of us will escape,” the leader decided.

Snowflakes thickened overhead, covering the ground in a cold white blanket in mere hours.

Wen Zhixia was awakened by the cold.

In her hazy state, she seemed to see red lights flashing. Long ago, in elementary school, she’d heard a story from a blind fortune-teller by the roadside: that before death, the mind drifts through a red mist, glimpsing one's life in a swirl of memories.

But Wen Zhixia saw nothing. Only regret lingered—if this was her last moment, she’d not said goodbye to Gu Pingsheng, instead leaving with unresolved conflict between them.

She also regretted failing to protect the child in her womb, unable to show him the world.

As consciousness faded, she thought she saw white doves circling her, then lifting her from the ground.

“...The patient’s vital signs have stabilized. Exposure was prolonged, but skin condition has improved... However, based on the full-body exam, Director, please look at this…”

The director took the report, glanced at Wen Zhixia in the hospital bed. “This condition…”

“Director, do you think she learned about her illness and tried to kill herself, or is there some other cause?” the young doctor speculated.

The director replied, “The police will determine that…”

“What illness do I have?” Wen Zhixia asked, eyes opening.

She’d begun to regain consciousness as they spoke, but was still dazed, unsure if it was a dream or reality, or where she was.

She tried to sit up; the director closest to her pressed her shoulder. “You’re still very weak. Don’t get up yet.”

Her head was bandaged, no other obvious wounds, only bruises from the fall. The concussion had caused temporary blackout, but also let her escape disaster.

“What illness do I have? Will it affect the child…” Wen Zhixia’s first thought was of the child, but then her eyes froze, tense. “My child—is he still there? Is he all right?”

When she fell, she’d curled protectively around her abdomen. Surely the child was safe—wasn’t he?

The director and young doctor exchanged a glance. “You… have a child?”

His question stunned Wen Zhixia. “Yes, I’m pregnant. I just used a test stick recently. Why do you ask?”

The director paused. “It must have been a faulty test. When you were rushed in, we ran a full check—you are not pregnant.”

You are not pregnant. Not pregnant…

The news crashed down on her, leaving her dazed, her voice hoarse: “Not pregnant?”

The director saw her disappointment and tried to comfort her. “You’re young. There will be other chances. Besides, in your current condition, pregnancy would only burden your body.”

Wen Zhixia turned her neck stiffly, as if struggling to grasp his meaning.

Seeing her fragility, and her recent brush with death, the director asked, “Where is your family? It’s best to have relatives here for what comes next.”

“…What illness do I have?” Wen Zhixia hadn’t recovered from the blow of losing the child, but sensed from the director’s hesitation that something was terribly wrong.

He handed her the report. “…According to this, has anyone in your family—say, in three generations—had this disease?”

The director tried to soften her mood; after years in medicine, he’d seen many lose their composure upon learning of a serious illness. Yet the instant Wen Zhixia read the report, her mind went blank, unable to hear anything.

Leukemia.

It was the same illness that had haunted her for years. She’d watched her beloved grandmother tormented by it, reduced to skin and bone, transformed into a shadow before despairingly surrendering to death.

For years after her grandmother’s passing, Wen Zhixia would awaken from nightmares, haunted by memories of her once gentle grandmother with bloodshot eyes staring into the void, fingers clutching the bed, making eerie sounds—an indelible terror in her mind.

She’d even needed psychological counseling.

Wen Zhixia said nothing, but as the two left, she rasped, “…Why did the test stick show two lines if I wasn’t pregnant?”

They seemed surprised that her concern was not for her illness, but for the nonexistent child.

“…If you took medication containing HCG, or if the test stick was improperly stored—humidity or temperature errors—those factors could cause false positives. Of course, a quality check would be needed for certainty,” the young doctor replied.

She lowered her lashes, voice barely audible. “Thank you.”

Even now, her ingrained grace revealed itself.

The young doctor, before closing the door, couldn’t help but glance at her again.

She clutched the report, turned stiffly to gaze at the snow outside—her figure frail and thin, a silent scene that tugged at the heart.

Wen Zhixia didn’t know how long she sat like that. After a long, long time, maintaining her posture until her body stiffened, she finally came to herself.

She lay in bed, arms wrapped tightly around her body, curled up, a small bundle under the covers—hard to imagine she was a tall woman, nearly one meter sixty-eight.

The doctor had said she was not pregnant, that no new life would be born.

The doctor had said she was ill—with the same disease as her grandmother.

“…No, don’t go on. Let me die. Let me be freed.”

“I give up treatment. I don’t want it…”

“Ah! I don’t want it anymore. Let me die, let me die!”

Her once loving grandmother, now twisted with pain, clutching the nurse’s hand, eyes bulging and bloodshot, like a skeleton wrapped in skin, frightening the children passing by the ward.

She had become a stranger, a figure of terror to Wen Zhixia.

Back then, Wen Zhixia was still young, not understanding illness or death—only knowing her loving grandmother was gone.

Transformed by illness and madness into a “witch.”

One day, her grandmother really died—by suicide. Before her death, she had told the nurse she was old and had suffered enough, didn’t want to burden her family.

She hid a shard of glass from a broken cup, went alone to the bathroom at night, and slit her wrists.

Beside her was a note untouched by blood: Sorry for dirtying the floor and troubling you to clean up.

Wen Zhixia, still in her hospital gown, holding the test report, walked out of the hospital.

The guard dozed, not noticing her departure.

Wen Zhixia didn’t know where she was going, but she wanted to see Gu Pingsheng.

Snow covered the city, turning day into night—lamplight dimmed beneath the white.

Every step left a print in the snow.

Occasionally, passing drivers would glance curiously at the slender woman, bandaged and dressed in patient attire, walking slowly by the roadside.

Wen Zhixia didn’t know how long she walked, only that the two hospitals were not far apart—two bus stops on the same road.

She saw the Bugatti; a man and a woman got into it, and the woman was Zhao Fuhe.

Snow clung to Wen Zhixia’s lashes, fluttering. She flagged down a taxi. “Follow that car.”

The taxi stopped at Cheng Yaju; Wen Zhixia halted some distance behind.

In front of the Bugatti, the man, his arm hanging limp, could still embrace another woman.

The woman draped herself over him, bone-deep, the two locked in passionate embrace by the car, impatient even to wait indoors.

No. 73 Xiangshan Road—Wen Zhixia didn’t know if it belonged to Gu Pingsheng, but she knew Cheng Yaju.

Her fingers clenched on her lap; the sound was not of bones, but of paper crumpling.

Wen Zhixia looked down at the test report in her hand. The curve of her mocking smile had barely formed when tears fell, blurring the results.

Her vision clouded with tears; she tore the report to shreds, as if also tearing apart years of affection.

He didn’t want a child—perhaps he simply didn’t want her child. So be it.

“Driver, take me to Lanhu County.”

The taxi turned around; paper scraps fluttered from the window, blending with the falling snow.

Wen Zhixia didn’t know that as the taxi left, the man entering Cheng Yaju turned his head.

He saw the drifting scraps, but was soon entwined by slender arms, intoxicated and obsessed. “Senior… give me another child, won’t you?”