Chapter Thirty-six: Wounded

Wen Rui caught sight of the blood trickling down Rong Qing’s pale forehead, a wicked red gleam flickering in her eyes, cold and solemn as ice. The faint curve of her lips revealed a cruel, mocking smile, and in that instant, a chill seeped through her bones.

Even though she had immersed herself in the entertainment industry and knew its rules inside out, the dead, glacial light in Rong Qing’s gaze did more than shock her—it awoke a deep, visceral fear. She knew that if word of today’s incident on set made it to the tabloids, if the paparazzi got hold of it, her stardom would suffer a blow like never before. All her past efforts would be for nothing.

“No wonder you’re Sister Wen. Unless she’s taught a lesson, she’ll go on thinking she’s a superstar,” Han Xiyun said gloatingly, sidling up with a sharp, sour tone that ignited Wen Rui’s fury.

“Smack!” A slap landed hard across Han Xiyun’s fair face, leaving a clear imprint of five fingers. The staff nearby were too busy tending to Rong Qing to notice the commotion. “Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?” Wen Rui snapped, her eyes filled with contempt. How dare this woman—who’d clawed her way up by selling herself—lecture her?

Tears welled in Han Xiyun’s eyes, and her face swelled rapidly, angry and distorted. Since her debut, she’d never suffered such humiliation. She roared, “Wen Rui, even if you are the top star in the country, you can’t bully people like this!”

“Hmph. Let me tell you now—I’ve hit you, and so what? Try and retaliate if you dare. Aren’t you just a whore?” Wen Rui’s arrogance was unrestrained; people like Han Xiyun disgusted her too much to even acknowledge.

Rage flashed in Han Xiyun’s eyes, but she knew survival in this industry meant never crossing Wen Rui. Forcing down her anger, she mustered a false smile and tried to placate her. “Sister Wen, I was out of line. It’s my fault.”

“Don’t think a little cunning makes you special,” Wen Rui scoffed, her gaze cold and sharp.

Rong Qing was soon taken to the Huo family’s private hospital. The wound on her head was superficial, but the best surgeon was called in, and the sheer luxury of the hospital left people speechless.

Yan Lin kept everyone not directly involved outside, citing the patient’s need for rest, and turned away all visitors. Once everything was settled, he entered the room to find their illustrious star Rong Qing, apple in her mouth, the latest entertainment magazine balanced on her legs, greeting him with a triumphant, conspiratorial smile.

“You shouldn’t have harmed yourself for this,” Yan Lin said, resigned, picking up the fruit knife—ever the dutiful assistant, at her beck and call.

Rong Qing’s eyes sparkled with mischief, showing none of the frail suffering from earlier. She lived by the rule: do not provoke, unless provoked. Even the kindest soul wouldn’t tolerate such bullying. Since Wen Rui wanted to play, she would play along.

“I trust you know what to do. Sell the photos you have to a magazine—I want her reputation utterly ruined,” Rong Qing said, tossing an apple to Yan Lin. She had already shown Wen Rui enough mercy; now she would use her own methods to clear any obstacles from her path to stardom.

He had to admit, following such a clever mistress saved him no end of trouble, though he’d never admit that a Harvard graduate like himself could be reduced to this. Suddenly, Yan Lin’s fox-like eyes narrowed in glee. “Qing, Young Master Huo found out about your injury and smashed three phones on the spot. Better think about how to appease him!”

“Oh my god! Who told you to inform him?” At the thought of Huo Lingtian flying into a rage, bombarding her with relentless calls, her good mood vanished instantly.

Her phone began to ring urgently—Yan Lin answered, helpless. “Yes… she’s resting.”

He handed the phone to Rong Qing, looking utterly powerless.

“Hello?” Rong Qing’s voice was steady but cautious.

“Rong Qing, why the hell is your phone off? Do you know how many hundreds of times I called? I was this close to chartering a plane back! Who the hell dared lay a finger on you? They must have a death wish!” Huo Lingtian’s rage was like nothing she’d ever heard, a lion ready to tear out throats. And yet… beneath it, a strange warmth flickered.

“Qing… are you alright? Does your head hurt? Head wounds are dangerous; domestic hospitals can’t be trusted. Come to America, or Japan if need be…” Huo Lingtian’s worry was palpable, his fury with nowhere to go. The steel door nearby still bore the dent from his last kick.

“Tell me, Huo Lingtian—if I were disfigured, would you still want me?” Rong Qing asked, her tone grave. Silence hung for a moment, as if time itself had stopped.

Then, on the other end, a sigh of relief. “Baby, don’t be silly. Scars don’t matter, your health is what’s important. If you’re left with scars, there’s beauty in that too. With all the plastic surgeons in the world, we could fix it in no time.”

Instantly, light danced across Rong Qing’s face, dazzlingly beautiful. Pressing the phone to her cheek, she asked softly, “Lingtian, when will you be home? I miss you.”

At that moment, it was as if spring burst into bloom. Huo Lingtian had always scoffed at men besotted with love, rendered foolish by a few sweet words. Yet now, those three words—“I miss you”—were like a potent aphrodisiac, intoxicating him body and soul. In that instant, all the women of the world faded into insignificance. All he saw, all he wanted, was Rong Qing.

“My flight’s tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow. Baby, I miss you too.” No business deal, no matter how great, could compare to hearing that his beloved missed him.

“I’ll wait for you.” Rong Qing narrowed her eyes, satisfied as a fox with its prize, and ended the call, her heart content.