Zhao Wenchun hung his head, his heart pounding wildly, each beat feeling like it would burst out of his chest and leap out of his throat. He subconsciously raised his hand, quietly pressing his palm against his chest, trying his best to regulate his increasingly erratic breathing.
Ding Yahe sobbed, her soft, fragmented cries both jarring and heartbreaking.
Zhao Wenchun suppressed his discomfort and spoke, his voice dry, but still kind and gentle: "Xiao west, what's wrong with Xiao west?"
"What's wrong? What more do you want from her!" Ding Yahe suppressed her sobs and gritted her teeth, saying, "She's abandoned all basic morality and shame in order to become the lead actress and get ahead. She's only been dancing again for a few days, and she's already eating with this producer and socializing with that big boss every day. She's really made something of herself. Your Zhao family's child has really made something of herself."
Zhao Wenchun's face turned ashen in an instant, and his body trembled. At that moment, his emotions finally snapped, and he grabbed Ding Yahe's arm in a fit of rage, "You're not allowed to talk about my daughter like that! You're insulting her!"
"Zhao Wenchun, what's wrong with you? Let go, let go of me!" Ding Yahe was in pain from his grip, and she broke out in a cold sweat. "The teachers in the troupe have all talked to her. A girl should respect herself. You, as her father, can't even teach her such a basic principle. If I had known this would happen, I should have taken her with me when we got divorced."
"Shut up, shut up." Zhao Wenchun's eyes were unfocused, his body was obviously unsteady, and his steps were unsteady, but his hands were pressing harder and harder on Ding Yahe's body, as if branded.
Ni Rui, who was standing nearby, rushed over in a panic and tried to pry his hands off, shouting, "Let go of my mom! How can you be so barbaric? Let go, let go, let go!"
Unable to pry them apart, Ni Rui frantically punched and shoved Zhao Wenchun.
Zhao Wenchun had aged; his withered face was etched with weariness. Standing opposite the two vibrant women, he appeared all the more forlorn and forlorn. Unlike Ding Yahe, who had cut her losses in her youth, ruthlessly abandoning him—a path she saw as devoid of promise—he remained steadfast, raising his young daughter and living a simple, stable life in the mundane world.
His home was no longer a home, and he was like a fallen leaf without roots, relying solely on his daughter for survival.
Zhao Wenchun was just an ordinary man—timid, mediocre, and law-abiding. His ordinariness became a grave grain of sand, a heinous crime, in the eyes of his former lover.
Ni Rui was just like a second Ding Yahe, with the same temperament and expression. Having been influenced by what she saw and heard, she also looked down on this type of man. Zhao Wenchun, as if possessed, clung to Ding Yahe tightly and wouldn't let go for a second.
Ni Rui raised her foot high and stomped hard on his instep, she was really anxious, "Let go of my mother."
Before her foot could land a second time, she was knocked away by a powerful force.
Zhao Xiyin rushed in from outside, crashing into Ni Rui as if determined to die together. The force was so great that the two of them knocked over the coffee table, scattering a set of teaware across the floor. The porcelain shards shattered into a mess, the sharp cracks resembling the bloody cuts of a knife.
Zhao Xiyin grabbed Ni Rui by the neck. Ni Rui instinctively resisted, and the two wrestled, tumbling from the coffee table to the floor. The sharp, shards of porcelain pierced the girl's thin clothing and skin. After rolling a few times, Ni Rui screamed in pain, but Zhao Xiyin remained unmoved, straddling her and gripping her neck tightly.
At first, Ni Rui was able to struggle violently, kicking her arms and legs wildly, but gradually, her eyes rolled back as she was pinched.
"You're crazy! Are you crazy?! This is your sister!" Ding Yahe was shocked and angrily dragged Zhao Xiyin to the ground.
The first kick failed to move the door, but when Ding Yahe lunged for a second one, the door was kicked against the wall with a loud bang and bounced several times. Zhou Qishen's kick was so forceful, it was as if someone had dug up his ancestral grave to seek revenge.
He walked in and blocked Zhao Xiyin's side, his eyes filled with hostility, "Try touching her again."
Ding Yahe screamed, "She's killing someone!"
Zhou Qishen sneered, "So what if she kills me? She can pinch me if she wants, hit me if she wants, pinch me until she's happy. If my hand gets tired, I'll take over. If I get tired of hitting her, I'll help her continue. If she doesn't tell me to stop, you just keep a close eye on her!"
Zhou Qishen was never a refined young nobleman. His childhood was twisted, and his youth was filled with hardship. There was never a gentle and kind side to his personality; he had quite a few dark sides. This was his inherent flaw, the kind of character that Ding Yahe despised the most. Yet, he managed to survive in the cracks, ride the wind and chase the moon, his arrogance justified, his haughtiness justified.
Ni Rui rolled her eyes a few times, while the veins on the back of Zhao Xiyin's hand bulged. She was truly bloodthirsty, until Zhao Wenchun called her name in a trembling voice: "Xiao west".
As if waking from a dream, reason saved my life.
As the grip loosened, Ni Rui struggled to turn over, crawling toward Ding Yahe with a hoarse voice, her words incoherent, gagging constantly, filled with extreme fear, "Mom, Mom."
Zhao Xiyin stood with her back to everyone, remaining silent for a few seconds.
Seeing that Zhao Wenchun's expression was really bad, Zhou Qishen reached out to help him up. When he turned to look at Zhao Xiyin again, he was completely stunned.
Zhao Xiyin's profile was breathtakingly beautiful, her expression unwavering, calm and wooden, the only thing alive was the two lines of clear tears silently welling up in her eyes.
Ding Yahe hugged Ni Rui from behind, comforting her with heartache: "Sweetie, sweetie, Mommy's here, Mommy's here."
Zhao Xiyin instantly broke down. She turned around, her face pale, and cried out, "I'm your daughter too!" Then, she screamed hysterically, "I call you 'Mom' too!"
Ding Yahe subconsciously trembled, her expression showing a momentary hesitation.
Zhao Xiyin saw Ni Rui as a thorn in her side, wishing she could devour her alive. She rushed over, grabbed Ni Rui's hair, and dragged her to the ground. She was truly desperate, and her strength was so great that no one could stop her. She pressed Ni Rui down in front of Zhao Wenchun, pressing her face against the ground.
"My dad is fifty years old, a man past his prime. Don't you have any respect for him? You're surnamed Ni, I'm surnamed Zhao. This is my Zhao family. What right do you have to come here and act crazy? You hit my dad, you pushed my dad. Don't you have any shame? Ni Rui, I'm telling you this: from now on, if I ever try to advise you on anything, I'll be hit by a car and die tomorrow. If I acknowledge you as my sister, I'll never have a good end. Listen to me carefully: even if I really do eat, drink, and sleep with people, it has absolutely nothing to do with you. Do you hear me? Absolutely nothing!"
Zhao Xiyin's oath was extremely vicious; she was rarely so ruthless.
After speaking, she forcefully grabbed Ni Rui's hair, pulled her neck back, and then pressed her down sharply. A sound was heard—
"Thump." "Thump." "Thump."
Three loud thuds followed by the heavy thud of Ni Rui's forehead hitting the ground at Zhao Wenchun's feet.
Ni Rui cried her heart out, her face flushed with humiliation. The house erupted in chaos, the commotion drawing the attention of neighbors who peered out from their doors. Zhao Xiyin was completely overwhelmed, her blood boiling, her eyes bloodshot.
In the struggle just now, shards of porcelain had left her shoulders and neck covered in tiny, bloody cuts. A swipe of the back of her hand spread the blood, making her look incredibly alluring.
Zhou Qishen stepped forward, standing behind her, then reached out his right hand and pulled her into his arms. His other hand moved from behind, his broad, warm palm gently covering her eyes. The chest behind her was hot, hard, and powerful. It was a haven, a small refuge, the last warm home after a bloody battle.
Zhao Xiyin's armor went limp almost instantly.
Zhou Qishen's deep, calm voice lingered in her ears, heavy and powerful, tender and affectionate, "Xiao west, lean on me."
Then there was a loud bang, so unexpected that no one could react—
Zhao Wenchun collapsed to the ground.
——
In late November, as the days grow shorter in late autumn, it gets dark before six o'clock.
After waiting another two hours, the doctor performed a second re-examination on Zhao Wenchun. Upon leaving the ward, the doctor told Zhou Qishen that Zhao was fine. He explained that with age, cardiovascular and cerebrovascular diseases are prone to relapse. He advised the patient to rest more, and most importantly, to avoid getting too anxious or stressed, and to maintain emotional stability.
Zhou Qishen patted the doctor on the shoulder, "Thanks, I'll treat you to dinner another day."