Chapter 82: May I Choose Not to Speak?

Qin You never imagined in her wildest dreams that she would receive photos of her son being humiliated by three or four burly men.

Fu Ting Shen was pinned to the ground like a fish on a chopping board, his body covered in bruises. The hair he usually kept meticulously groomed was now tangled and messy. He wore prison clothes, kneeling on the ground and pleading in pain, crushing his own dignity with his bare hands.

With trembling hands, Qin You flipped through one photo after another. By the end, her tears were nearly spent. She screamed hysterically, “Who sent these photos! Who was it! Was it Fu Wen Zhou? Where did he take my son? Where did he take him!”

The servants shrank back timidly, speaking up, “It wasn’t Young Master Fu. It was… it was Miss Song.”

Though Song Qing You had been bullied by the Fu family for three years, walking on eggshells, she had never treated the servants harshly. Despite the vast difference in status, she always showed respect and courtesy.

In their hearts, Song Qing You was the true mistress of the house; Lin Niao Niao was nothing more than a homewrecker.

So even though Song Qing You had left the Song family, it was hard for them to change how they addressed her.

Qin You clenched the photos into a ball, her eyes burning with hatred, grinding her teeth, “Song. Qing. You!”

She had known all along that this woman was not as simple as she seemed. She should have realized it when Song Qing You took half of their fortune!

Without delay, Qin You ordered a car to take her to the infamous No. 12 Prison in the capital.

No. 12 Prison stood atop a desolate mountain, overgrown with weeds and devoid of human presence. For miles around, only one lonely building stood. High walls and electric fences encircled it, making escape impossible.

But as soon as she stepped out of the car, two strong men rushed forward and bound her. Qin You shrieked, but no one paid her any attention. Even the bodyguards she brought were subdued.

Dragged to a dark, damp place, Qin You shivered violently, but her mouth was relentless, cursing, “Do you know who I am? I’m from the Fu family! How dare you treat me this way—I won’t let you get away with it!”

The bodyguards glanced at her, then withdrew. Qin You finally saw a woman hidden in the shadows.

“Song Qing You, you wretch! What are you doing here?” Her eyes widened as she struggled to lunge forward, but before she could rise, she was pinned down.

Song Qing You covered her mouth, coughing softly, her gaze indifferent, “Qin You, the show is about to begin.”

Qin You didn’t understand, about to curse her again, when a familiar voice suddenly blared from the monitor beside them.

“Please, spare me, I beg you, don’t hit me anymore. I’ll do anything… just let me go!”

Qin You froze, slowly turning her head to the source of the voice.

She saw her beloved son, kneeling like a dog on the floor, begging a group of men for mercy, emitting sounds so humiliating she could hardly bear to listen.

Something snapped in Qin You’s mind.

For a moment, she heard nothing else; all that echoed in her ears was her son’s miserable, agonized screams.

How could her son… end up like this?

Qin You stared blankly at the screen, gradually sensing something was wrong—the sounds weren’t coming from the monitor, but from beyond a wall.

Qin You let out a piercing scream and looked sharply at Song Qing You.

The woman’s features were exquisite under the light, her porcelain skin tinged with a hint of pink, breathtakingly beautiful. Yet her eyes were pale, imbued with a cold and distant indifference.

Qin You felt as if she was facing a demon, terrified as though meeting Song Qing You for the first time, her fear coursing from heart to eyes.

This woman had lured her here with photos, then forced her to witness her son’s inhuman torment—nothing could be more devastating.

Qin You’s gums nearly bled from biting them, “Why are you doing this?”

Song Qing You replied calmly, “I only want to ask you one thing: who gave you my flight information?”

Qin You still tried to feign ignorance, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Song Qing You coughed twice again—the air was damp and hard to breathe, “Qin You, my patience is limited.”

Fu Ting Shen’s cries grew ever more wretched, tormenting Qin You, anger and heartbreak twisting within her, until she finally broke down, pleading, “It was Song Wei. Song Wei told me, she had me send reporters after you, and all the rumors about you and Fu Wen Zhou lately were her idea. If you want revenge, go after her. Why are you doing this to my son? What did the Fu family ever do to you?”

“In the spring of the first year, you scalded me with boiling water and forced me to greet you at dawn every day. The next month, you brought Lin Niao Niao to humiliate me. On the winter solstice, you locked me outside the Fu house in the snow all night. In the following February, you spread rumors that I was infertile, hogging the marriage but not producing an heir. In June, you insulted my mother…”

“Your son, Fu Ting Shen, nearly killed me.” Song Qing You’s lips curled faintly, her voice icy, “I’ve kept track of every wrong your family has done to me. If I haven’t settled the score, it’s not out of mercy—it’s just because the time wasn’t right.”

She looked at the stunned woman on the ground, “Now, the time has come.”

Qin You collapsed, feeling inexplicably that the woman before her was even more terrifying than the Fu family’s mad dog.

Song Qing You adjusted her coat, her voice calm, “Don’t worry, your family will be reunited soon.”

With that, she turned and left without a second glance.

Behind her, Qin You’s curses echoed hoarsely, but Song Qing You seemed not to hear a thing.

The warden waited outside, asking as she emerged, “Qing You, should we keep this woman here?”

Song Qing You looked up, her voice gentle, “No need. Send her back to the Fu family—I have other plans.”

The warden, knowing his niece always had her own ideas, nodded, “Alright, I’ll have her sent back shortly.”

Song Qing You took a bottle of medicine from her bag, “Uncle Bai, this is for rheumatism. Take one pill a day—it’ll ease the pain. And you’re getting older now; there’s no need to handle everything yourself. Let Brother Li take over where he can.”

Bai Yan chuckled, “You’re the only one who dares to boss me around.”

His tie had come loose, so Song Qing You reached out to straighten it, “My grandfather always said you were his dearest friend in this world. I have to look after his old companion, don’t I?”

Bai Yan’s gaze was full of affection, a far cry from his usual stern and reticent demeanor, “Li will retire from the military next week. Come over for a meal then.”

Song Qing You nodded, “Alright.”

Bai Yan escorted Song Qing You all the way to the car before heading back.

Song Chang started the engine, “Miss, what’s next?”

Song Qing You propped her chin, gazing at the rows of poplar trees outside, “Uncle Liang Mu Chuan is about to audit Fu Chang Lin’s company, isn’t he? Let’s add some fuel to the fire.”

She spoke casually, but Song Chang knew what she meant.

It was time to expose Fu Chang Lin’s crimes, laying all the evidence collected over the years on the table.

Fu Chang Lin had done plenty of dirty deeds—this was only justice.

As for the Fu Ting Shen family, Song Chang wished all three would end up behind bars.

When they arrived home, Song Qing You glanced at the clock—three hours and fifteen minutes. Perfect timing.

She went inside, changed clothes, washed her hands, then looked up at the door.

The next moment—

“Welcome home to Song Qing You and Fu Wen Zhou’s house.”

The door opened.

Fu Wen Zhou entered, covered in wind and snow, a fish in his left hand and a box of strawberry Napoleon pastries in his right.

“Would you like the fish steamed?” Fu Wen Zhou walked into the kitchen, placed the fish in the sink, then returned to hand her the Napoleon. When their fingertips touched, he frowned, “Why are your hands so cold?”

Song Qing You withdrew her hand, took a piece of Napoleon and bit into it, savoring the crispness, “Fu Wen Zhou.”

Fu Wen Zhou’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he avoided her gaze, “I’ll make the fish first—it needs to be killed fresh, takes time.”

He turned away, not giving Song Qing You a chance to speak.

She watched his tall figure, amused, “I just wanted to say…”

“You don’t like ginger or garlic, right? I’ll use less.” Fu Wen Zhou’s brows were furrowed, gripping the knife tightly, his palms sweating, “You rest. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Song Qing You started, “I…”

“Don’t speak.” The man’s eyes reddened, his voice low and hoarse, tinged with a hint of pleading, “I don’t want to hear it, Qing You. Can you not say anything?”