Zhou Qishen's face changed instantly, his mind went blank, and a buzzing sound rang in his temples.
Meng Weixi's words were like sharp blades, piercing through the deepest, most sensitive, and most regretful veil in his heart. They stripped away his skin and tendons, leaving him bloodied and bone-deep. Meng Weixi grabbed his collar and pulled him forward violently, his fists filled with hatred, resentment, and the youthful anger that poured out in his fists.
Zhou Qishen's last thread broke, and his will crumbled.
"Are you a man? Are you fucking a man?! If you're tired of her and don't love her anymore, don't hurt her! Give her back to me! Give Xiao Xi back to me!" Meng Weixi's voice was hoarse, and he lost his composure. His thin, light-colored shirt was stained with blood of unknown origin.
He repeated over and over, "I'll give you anything you want, but can you give Xiaoxi back to me?"
With a sob in her voice, Meng Weixi's eyes also reddened.
A man uses toughness as armor, yet reveals his vulnerability to his lifelong enemies.
Zhou Qishen's soul seemed to fly to the heavens, but he came to his senses in that instant.
There was no further fighting or using violence to outmaneuver him. He was gloomy and deep, his expression defeated and dejected. He only said one sentence: "I'm going to have this woman."
The empty parking lot seemed to be a net woven from heartbreak, where the two people were tearing each other apart, wallowing in pain and despair, both of them losers.
Zhou Qishen propped himself up and staggered to his feet.
Meng Weixi's eyes were sharp, delivering the most fatal blow, "Zhou Qishen, Zhao Xiyin should never have been yours. You know in your heart how you stole her away from me back then. She was a blessing you didn't deserve. You ruined her life, aren't you afraid of retribution?"
After saying that, Meng Weixi clutched his injured right shoulder and stepped into his white sports car.
Zhou Qishen stopped in his tracks; his back was ragged, but his spine remained straight.
After a few seconds of silence, Zhou Qishen slowly turned his head, his expression solemn, and calmly returned to the car.
The clamor subsided, the car lights shone brightly, as if everything had returned to dust, and the confrontation just moments before was nothing but a dream.
Zhou Qishen even lit a cigarette, holding it between his fingers without smoking, his elbow casually resting on the windowsill. Then he reversed, turned the steering wheel with one hand, stepped on the gas, and the massive Land Rover, like a wild beast out of control, crashed directly into the rear of Meng Weixi's car with a sharp screech of tires scraping the ground.
A loud bang startled the nearby vehicle alarms, causing chaos and disorder.
Meng Weixi was sitting in the car when she was hit and thrown forward. Fortunately, the seat belt held her up and she didn't lose half her life.
Zhou Qishen's jawline tightened, his eyes devoid of emotion, revealing a murderous intent.
He held a cigarette in his mouth, repeated the reverse gear action, and then crashed into it again.
The Bugatti Veyron was no match for the Land Rover's crushing force. Zhou Qishen accelerated, pushing Meng Weixi's car forward as if they were going to die together. Meng Weixi slammed on the brakes, and the top-of-the-line luxury car, solid as a rock, managed to bring it to a stop.
Zhou Qishen got out of the car, walked over, and kicked Meng Weixi's car door hard. He didn't fight back, just stood outside the window, looking at Meng Weixi, and said, word by word:
"Once we're married, Zhao Xiyin is my wife, she's registered under my household registration. You have no shame! If you had any shame at all, you wouldn't be playing these lingering ties and acting like you can't let go after she's married!"
Zhou Qishen's eyes were bloodshot, indistinguishable between tears and blood. His last words were like a mountain collapsing in defeat, bringing back all those old grudges and leaving him utterly devastated.
Zhou Qishen sneered, his laughter vicious and cruel. "Male mistress? Very good. It's a back-and-forth, neither of us loses. You and I have both been mistresses, so it's a draw. President Meng, Young Master Meng, Young Master Meng, neither of us is more noble than the other. We're both heartless and have both done beastly things."
The situation here is tense and chaotic.
Zhou Qishen suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest without warning, so intense that he had to grab the car door to steady himself. As if by telepathy, he instinctively turned around, and the elevator doors not far away swayed and closed again.
The indicator lights show floors upwards: -1, 1, 2, 3...
The distance between them is growing.
Chapter 40 You're a real scoundrel (1)
You're a real piece of trash (1)
Zhou Qishen quickly realized what was happening, and despite his injuries, he got into the car and drove the Land Rover, which had half its front end destroyed, at breakneck speed, chasing it toward the ground as if it were his life.
The wound on his brow bone hadn't stopped bleeding, and blood kept gushing out, stinging and burning his eyes. His vision was blurry, making him almost blind, and he knocked over a bunch of signs and roadblocks.
Zhou Qishen wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his face covered in blood. He saw Zhao Xiyin running out of the brightly lit east gate.
Zhou Qishen accelerated, jerked the steering wheel, and the car spun almost ninety degrees, blocking Zhao Xiyin's path. He got out of the car, covered in blood, a horrifying sight. With each step forward, Zhao Xiyin took a step back.
What is there to say? What is there to say?
Zhao Xiyin heard everything that was said in the garage. She reopened the wound, sprinkled some salt on it, and finally threw it into the boiling oil. All the new flesh and blood that had been growing back in the past two years exploded again.
"Lingering attachments," "Inseparable," these words crashed through her mind like a rollercoaster. Looking at Zhou Qishen's bloodshot eyes, Zhao Xiyin almost instantly collapsed.
Even now, Zhou Qishen still doesn't believe her.
The fleeting warmth and eagerness after their reunion were merely a fig leaf, using time as a pretext. Ultimately, Zhou Qishen hadn't truly convinced himself. Zhao Xiyin felt that the phrase "whitewashing" was practically tailor-made for the two of them.
Zhou Qishen turned back and walked towards the car.
He opened the passenger door, took out the champagne roses, and stuffed the flowers and gifts into Zhao Xiyin's arms.
The man's eyes were bloodshot, and the gash in his brow bone made him look like a suicide soldier who had crawled out of a battlefield. Neither of them uttered a single word throughout.
Zhou Qishen showed no emotion; his body was covered in blood.
After delivering the gift, he returned to the driver's seat, his face expressionless and frozen, but his right hand trembled uncontrollably as he fastened his seatbelt. The Land Rover, worth over three million yuan, looked like a pile of scrap metal, teetering on the verge of collapse.
Zhao Xiyin rushed forward and threw all the roses and gifts back at Zhou Qishen.
"What do you want to do in this state? Are you trying to kill yourself by driving on the road? You can be reckless, but don't drag innocent people down with you!"
The thorns on the flower branch scratched Zhou Qishen's wound, adding fuel to the fire. He turned his head and grinned mischievously, "Who's innocent? The one surnamed Meng? If you want to feel sorry for him, just say so. He's still in the garage. Tell him later that he better learn a lesson. It's lucky I didn't kill him today."
When a man is truly unruly and ruthless, no one can stop him—no one can stop his arrogance, no one can stop his hurtful words. Yet, he still looks at you with open and honest eyes, his aura rising like the wind, suppressing his disheveled appearance, as if he is the only one who matters.