Chapter 64: An Incident Occurs
In the middle of the night, Fu Tingshen drank himself into a stupor while entertaining a client. The man slung an arm around his shoulder, leaning in with the camaraderie of drunken brothers, and sighed, “President Fu, the people in your family really know how to have fun, huh? Your wife ended up in bed with your crazy nephew! Hahaha, with how Song Qingyou looks, how could you bear to give her up?”
Though the photo circulating online was too blurry to reveal faces, those in the capital’s inner circle all knew the truth. The man was clearly drunk and speaking without thinking. The others noticed Fu Tingshen’s expression darkening to an ominous shade and tried to intervene, but the man blathered on, oblivious.
“Oh, what’s it matter, anyway? Sooner or later, the family’s assets never leave the clan…”
Fu Tingshen let go of him, sending the man sprawling to the floor. He feigned concern, stooping to help him up. “President Chen, look at that—my hands go weak when I drink too much, I’m terribly sorry.”
The fall sobered President Chen considerably, and he waved his hands, insisting it was nothing, not daring to utter another word. He hurried his people into the car and left.
Such salacious gossip was usually kept to private whispers, but now that it had been spoken in front of one of the parties involved, offending Fu Tingshen was risky enough—if it ever reached Fu Wenzhou, that mad dog…
That would spell true disaster.
Once everyone had gone, Fu Tingshen slammed his fist into the wall.
“Fu Wenzhou. Song Qingyou…”
He practically ground the names out through clenched teeth. The memory of those mocking, thinly-veiled looks burned in his chest, fanning his rage like a roaring fire.
Everyone was laughing at him—trading a jewel for a pebble, abandoning a beautiful heiress like Song Qingyou for Lin Miaomiao, a woman of humble birth with no status. Since his divorce from Song Qingyou, he had become the butt of every joke in the capital.
He refused to believe Song Qingyou and Fu Wenzhou hadn’t fanned the flames behind the scenes.
A glint of resentment and malice flashed in his eyes. “Song Qingyou, no one humiliates me like this and gets away with it…”
…
Night deepened.
Song Qingyou curled up on the sofa, sifting through documents sent by her assistant. Before long, drowsiness crept in.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
She was in no mood to move, but the bell kept ringing relentlessly.
With a sigh, she wrapped her thick shawl around herself and checked the clock—it was just about the time Fu Wenzhou said he’d be home.
She opened the door, a gentle smile already on her lips. “Don’t you know the code?”
Before she could finish, Fu Tingshen appeared in her line of sight.
He reeked of alcohol and the cold night air, the chill hitting her so hard she shivered.
His eyes were bloodshot, his smile twisted with menace as he stared her down. “Who are you waiting for—Fu Wenzhou, that illegitimate brat?”
This woman had been married to him for three years, always lifeless and cold, never smiling so sweetly. Clearly, he’d been right—she had planned all along to divorce him for Fu Wenzhou, playing him for a fool.
Song Qingyou sensed something wrong and frowned, stepping back to close the door. But Fu Tingshen slammed into it with brute force.
Unprepared, she lost her balance and fell hard to the floor.
Her vision spun. She heard the door slam shut, followed by the click of the lock, and a heavy sense of dread settled over her.
“Fu Tingshen, what do you want?” she demanded, gripping the entryway cabinet to stand, her voice sharp. The effort made her choke on a gasp of cold air, setting off a fit of coughing.
Seeing her so frail and beautiful, he could only picture her tangled with Fu Wenzhou. The alcohol clouded his mind until only one thought remained.
If Fu Wenzhou could touch her, why couldn’t he?
Just as she steadied herself, a sharp pain seared her scalp—Fu Tingshen yanked her by the hair and threw her onto the sofa.
Her phone, left within reach, lit up with a message from Fu Wenzhou: Honey, I might be a little late, love you.
Song Qingyou’s eyes widened. She reached for the phone, but Fu Tingshen, anticipating her move, seized it and hurled it against the wall.
With a crash, the phone shattered into pieces.
“How many times have you slept with Fu Wenzhou?” he spat, yanking her hair and striking her across the face. “You whore!”
She had never been hit so brutally before. Her ears rang.
There was no time to recover. He pressed his mouth toward her, and she recoiled in disgust, mustering all her strength to slap him hard.
“Fu Tingshen! Are you insane? Let me go!”
Her defiance enraged him. He flipped her over, tearing her cotton pajamas with a vicious rip, his crude voice hissing in her ear: “Three years of marriage and you played the virtuous wife, refusing to let me touch you. I’ve kept you all this time, and now when I demand my rights as your husband, you protest?”
“Let’s see if Fu Wenzhou will still want you after I’m done.”
He pinned both her wrists with one hand, tugging at her pants with the other.
Song Qingyou struggled and screamed, but her sickly body was no match for a drunken man.
The moment his hand touched her bare waist, fear, anger, and panic tangled inside her, overwhelming her in a violent surge. Blood welled up in her throat, and she coughed it out in a crimson spray.
“Fu Wenzhou…”
She murmured his name, her eyes flicking one last time to the shattered phone on the floor, tears of despair sliding down her cheeks.
Her body went limp. Consciousness slipped away.
Fu Tingshen seized her hair, furious. “Song Qingyou, don’t play dead with me!”
But her head lolled, her face drained to a ghastly gray-blue. Even the fresh blood couldn’t hide the frightening pallor of her lips.
A cold shiver ran through him, his rage ebbing as reality set in. He let go of her in panic, but then, unwilling to believe, reached out to check her breathing.
Nothing.
His face went ashen. Staggering backward, he stumbled into the coffee table. He stared in terror at the lifeless woman on the sofa, then bolted from the apartment in a frenzy.
He only meant to punish her!
He never intended to kill her!
She brought this on herself—it had nothing to do with him!
—
More than ten minutes later, the fingerprint lock beeped.
“Welcome to the home of Song Qingyou and Fu Wenzhou,” the smart system chimed.
The door opened, and Fu Wenzhou’s cheerful voice followed. “Honey, look what I brought you—your favorite peach blossom pastries…”
His words stopped abruptly, the smile freezing on his face.
The living room was in chaos, the air still tinged with the scent of alcohol.
On the sofa, his Qingyou lay in disarray, her face drained of all color, looking like a beautiful doll robbed of life.
For a few seconds, Fu Wenzhou’s mind went blank.
“Qingyou!”
His anguished cry pierced the dark night, startling the birds perched in the trees below.
That voice, full of terror and despair, was the howl of a beast mourning its lost mate—a sound of unbearable pain, echoing through the silent night.