Chapter Twelve

“What could possibly trouble someone so much? Sigh.”

“Haven't you heard? The one who died was the company's accountant. They say she committed a financial crime.”

“Suicide out of fear of punishment? That's terrifying…”

People clustered together, whispering in hushed voices. At the center lay a man, face down in a pool of blood. Suddenly, a middle-aged woman burst from the crowd, throwing herself onto the man's body, her wails echoing through the air.

A young girl stood to the side, her face drained of color, her naive eyes fixed on the vivid red blood. A ringing filled her ears. She crouched down, clutching her little head tightly with both hands.

In an instant, the world around her went pitch black. Only the red liquid continued to seep from beneath the man, spreading rapidly toward her, as if imbued with a life of its own.

Until it reached her feet.

Her eyes widened in terror. One thought filled her mind—run, as far as possible!

But just as she tried to move, the red liquid climbed up her calves, and, to her horror, transformed into withered, decaying hands. They moved faster and faster, rising from her legs to her shoulders, to her head, all within seconds.

“No!”

Shen Huaiqing jolted upright in bed, her forehead beaded with sweat, her chin and lips trembling uncontrollably. Her hand was clutching Fu Chen’s sleeve in a death grip.

They locked eyes in silence.

Ever since she’d seen Mu Jinghuai that day, nightmares kept haunting her—memories she could never erase.

Embarrassed, Shen Huaiqing quickly released Fu Chen’s sleeve and turned her head away. Her hoarse voice escaped her lips: “I had a nightmare.”

Fu Chen glanced at the damp spot on his sleeve where her hand had been. What sort of dream could frighten this woman enough to drench her palm with sweat?

In that moment, Fu Chen felt an unexpected sense of kinship with her.

He pulled a couple of tissues from the vanity, sat beside her, and gently wiped the sweat from her brow. Then, he took her hand, carefully cleaning each finger, as if tending to a fragile porcelain doll.

Shen Huaiqing looked at him anew. Only then did she notice he was wearing a pure white tracksuit today. His hair was still damp, carrying a faint woody scent, and in his deep eyes lingered a rare warmth.

For a moment, she was dazed. Her hand, as if acting on its own, reached up to touch his cheek. Only when she felt the prick of his stubble did she snap back to herself and withdraw her hand.

“Shall we play tennis?” His voice was gentle as ever, his slender fingers tracing the lines of her delicate palm.

She lightly brushed his hand away, regaining her usual willful air. “Alright,” she replied breezily.

The villa complex where they lived was equipped with every amenity: a swimming pool, gym, basketball and football fields, tennis courts—everything one could need.

By the time they arrived at the tennis courts, all the courts were taken. A father and daughter told them there would be a spot in about ten minutes, so with nothing better to do, they sat on the sidelines to wait.

As soon as her mind quieted, Shen Huaiqing’s thoughts drifted elsewhere. Watching the others play, she asked casually, “You know Lin Yiqing, don’t you?”

Fu Chen’s scrolling thumb paused. He answered unhurriedly, “Why do you ask?”

“It’s strange. She offered to do illustrations for the magazine, and didn’t ask for payment.”

The moment she spoke, Fu Chen’s large hand gripped her shoulder tightly, as if he might crush her bones.

“Ow!” She winced, frowning at him. He seemed utterly changed.

His once-dark eyes now brimmed with bloodlust, cold and venomous as a viper’s, his face drawn taut with a barely concealed grief.

“She contacted you?” The words were squeezed out from between his teeth.

She wrenched free, rubbing her shoulder as she replied nonchalantly, “No, her assistant reached out to someone at the magazine.”

Before he could say more, she leaned close, her voice icy and detached: “Fu Chen, we’re in the same boat. You’d best keep your personal affairs in order—I’m tired of groveling before your mother for your sake. If this ship goes down, we’re both finished.”

“I’m not in the mood anymore. Play by yourself.”

With that, she turned and left the court. Her words sounded carefree, but inside, she was deeply uneasy. Fu Chen was more complicated than she’d ever imagined. The Fu family was like an ancient tree with roots tangled deep underground—one could only ever glimpse a fraction of its entirety.

She had only intended to test him with Lin Yiqing’s name, yet his reaction revealed a side of him she’d never seen: ruthless, brooding, like a serpent coiled in the dark, ready to strike.

In that moment, Shen Huaiqing realized she didn’t know him at all.

She had nearly been swept away by the world he constructed around her.

She had almost forgotten that they were only partners, and that, in his heart, there was always someone else—a memory he could never let go.

Stay clear-headed, she reminded herself over and over.

Thump… thump… thump…

The tennis ball slammed against the wall again and again. Fu Chen’s arm moved mechanically back and forth, sweat tracing down his jaw, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Not a word escaped his lips—he poured every emotion into the game.

At last, he collapsed onto the ground, his vacant eyes lost in distant memories.

“Ah Chen, are you really leaving? Will you never come back?” A girl in a white dress stood in the sunset, the flaming clouds dyeing her skirt orange-red.

“Yiqing, you must take care of yourself. I’ll pray for your happiness until the day I die.” The boy stood with his back to her, several steps away. He spoke evasively, unwilling to answer her question—because there was no answer, or rather, none he could give.

She hurried over, gently hooking his cold fingers from behind. After a pause, she said brightly, “When I grow up, I’ll come find you. You must wait for me.”

His body stiffened. He wanted nothing more than to hold her hand and never let go, but he did not respond. Silently, he boarded the black car waiting before him.

Bzzz… bzzz…

The vibration of his phone pulled Fu Chen back to reality. He rubbed his temples and answered the call.

“You’re going to work tomorrow. Don’t disappoint me again. Otherwise, I have every right to take everything you have.” The old man’s voice was firm and commanding, brooking no argument.

“Yes, I understand, Dad.”

“Shen Group is crucial to us. Keep Shen Huaiqing close!” Each word landed with the weight of authority, so much like Ke Jing.

“Understood.”