Chapter 83: Missing

She glanced out the window several times in succession, but Lu Jia never returned.

An inexplicable unease stirred in Sheng Shubai’s heart.

Without time to think further, she immediately dialed her number.

The moment she heard the shutdown prompt, Sheng Shubai froze in place. Panic surged unexpectedly, and her fingertips lost their strength.

She let the phone slip from her hand and crash to the floor. The screen shattered from the corner, splintering into a spiderweb of cracks.

Almost simultaneously, the sound of the restaurant door being forcefully shoved open echoed through.

The bodyguard surnamed Liu dragged a mother and daughter pair before her, reporting that Xiao Yu had knocked out Miss Lu in public and abducted her.

Sheng Shubai didn’t believe it.

She braced herself against the edge of the table and stood, positioning herself squarely before the mother and daughter.

The tall, elegant woman crouched down, meeting the young child’s eyes on her level. In the language of Country A, she asked what had happened, her tone as gentle as possible, though her gaze was sharp enough to make the mother instinctively pull her daughter closer.

Sheng Shubai asked again, receiving the exact same response.

She heard it once more: “The tall sister next to her knocked the big sister out and took her into the car.”

The fingertips she had clenched in her palm tightened further, pressing into her skin. But they were neatly trimmed at the edges—no matter how hard she squeezed, it couldn’t compare to the dull ache nearly suffocating her chest.

Sheng Shubai closed her eyes briefly.

When she opened them again, she stood tall. Her first action was to contact the Sheng Family’s people in Country A to pull the surveillance footage, then call Sheng Shuyun.

“Lu Jia’s been kidnapped. The tracker is offline.”

She got straight to the point. “Forget that Liu-surname bodyguard for now. I’m sending you the surveillance and license plate now. The local police have been notified too—we need to track that car’s whereabouts as soon as possible.”

At this point, investigating the traitor’s background wouldn’t help much; that was a problem for later.

The top priority was finding Lu Jia.

Sheng Shubai hung up and swept her gaze over the three bodyguards beside her, pausing for a few seconds. “Let’s go. We’ll head to the police station first to assist with the investigation.”

She wasn’t sure anymore which among them were reliable.

But at least it wasn’t likely all three were untrustworthy—otherwise, they would have taken her and Lu Jia together long ago.

Sheng Shubai needed to ensure she stayed in a safe environment.

Otherwise, if something happened to her too, how could she possibly get Lu Jia back?

Twelve hours later.

Having applied in advance for this window to fly to Country A, Sheng Shuyun disembarked her private jet and headed straight for the police station where Sheng Shubai was. Liu Zhao accompanied her, along with several bodyguards.

She had just received the call in the domestic early hours, when they were about to rest.

Hearing the forced calm in her little sister’s voice, Sheng Shuyun’s heart sank: the worst had happened.

Especially since Sheng Shubai mentioned that one of the carefully vetted bodyguards had been bought off by Song Lan in advance.

What was meant to be a safeguard for protecting her sister and Lu Jia had become the chief culprit in abducting the girl.

In the end, it was her fault Lu Jia had been harmed.

On the plane, Sheng Shuyun hadn’t even bothered trying to nap or adjust to the time difference.

She had mobilized every contact she could reach in Country A, along with the subordinates she had cultivated over the years, in an attempt to locate Lu Jia.

But nothing.

It was as if she had vanished into thin air.

The black MPV had sped all the way to the city outskirts until it entered a surveillance blind spot.

After reaching a weed-choked riverbank, everyone on board—Lu Jia, that bodyguard, and who knew how many accomplices—disappeared without a trace, leaving only the smuggled, abandoned vehicle behind.

There was almost no way to trace them.

Sheng Shuyun had reexamined the bodyguard’s background, combing through the past thirty years of her life, but found no leads.

Arriving at the police station’s break room.

Sheng Shuyun signaled Liu Zhao and the accompanying bodyguards to wait outside. She knocked lightly, waited a few quiet seconds, then slowly pushed the door open.

She was met with a pair of eyes exhausted to the extreme, their gaze calm and devoid of any ripples.

Sheng Shubai called out to her, “Sis.”

Her lips were pale, her eyes threaded with bloodshot veins, her hair unkempt.

The computer screen before her displayed the police-provided surveillance footage.

Even though the technicians had confirmed the car vanished after entering the blind spot, Sheng Shubai refused to give up.

For a full twelve hours, she had stared at the screens almost without blinking.

Even as her vision blurred and she had to look away now and then to refocus, she clung to faint hope, only to be worn down endlessly by disappointment.

“Little Bai.”

It had been years since Sheng Shuyun had seen her little sister so utterly drained. Her voice caught. She didn’t know how to begin. “…I’m sorry.”

The moment the words left her, she saw Sheng Shubai’s eyes redden in an instant.

Sheng Shubai quickly tilted her head back, forcing the tears away.

She steadied herself with a deep breath. “Can we apply directly to investigate Song Lan?”

“She was in the judging committee’s office when it happened during the day. All the judges, including the surveillance, can vouch for her innocence.”

Sheng Shuyun shook her head. “Without sufficient evidence and materials, we can’t submit the application. The police won’t approve it.”

“But Lu Jia is definitely with…” Sheng Shubai cut herself off.

She understood what Sheng Shuyun meant.

They would have to handle it themselves.

Some of the information the Sheng Family had previously uncovered still needed verification, but there was plenty worth digging into—not just about Song Lan, but also Shen Zhiwei’s past.

Sheng Shuyun had brought reliable personnel this time precisely to verify these leads overnight.

Her personality had always been decisive and swift. Back when she took over the company young, it was her iron-fisted methods that had steadied her position and seized control.

Now Song Lan had brazenly abducted her sister’s fiancée—the student the old lady cherished for so long—in broad daylight.

She couldn’t afford to probe cautiously anymore.

On the way over, they had already pinpointed potential breakthroughs; they just needed confirmation and evidence.

“Since Song Lan went to all this trouble, she won’t harm Lu Jia easily.”

She knew the reassurance rang hollow, but it was all she could offer her sister right now.

Sheng Shubai understood that logic, of course.

But no one knew what that island was really like.

The Sheng Family’s plants had probed several times, but every student allowed on the island remained tight-lipped about it.

Over a dozen hours had passed. Lu Jia could be anywhere, in any condition, and as her lover, Sheng Shubai knew nothing.

All she could do was discuss possibilities repeatedly with Sheng Shuyun, searching for cracks in Song Lan’s plans.

Just past one in the morning, Sheng Shubai finally finished reviewing the last section of surveillance—predictably fruitless.

Only then did Sheng Shuyun forcibly drag her to the car, intending to take her back to a nearby residence to rest.

Liu Zhao drove, with Sheng Shuyun in the passenger seat, leaving the back for her sister alone.

Leaning against the seatback, Sheng Shubai closed her eyes briefly.

Back when Sheng Ling passed away, the family had confined her in the country; she had sat blankly before the tombstone all day.

Now with Lu Jia taken, she was… still just as powerless.

The tears she had held back for so long finally trailed from the corners of her eyes. Streetlights caught them in a fleeting gleam before they shattered.

She had never believed in gods or Buddhas, but Sheng Shubai wanted to pray.

Whether the temples back home or the faiths of Country A, she would kneel at them all.

As long as Lu Jia returned safely.

–

Click, click, click.

The footsteps grew closer again.

With her arms bound behind her back in the same position for too long, Lu Jia’s arms had long gone numb.

The hemp ropes binding her were cleverly knotted—any struggle only made them tighten further.

Using her body to shield the movement, Lu Jia had tried twisting her wrists several times in the surveillance blind spot, only to end up even more immobile.

The rough hemp scraped continuously against her skin, the friction pain now almost familiar.

No need to guess: her wrists were probably red and swollen, maybe even skinned in spots.

Fortunately, it had been a long time since Song Lan left. She had restarted her silent count from the beginning and reached nearly four thousand when these footsteps arrived.

The heels differed from Song Lan’s.

“Lu Jia, long time no see.”

Through the bars, Shen Zhiwei’s voice carried a delighted lilt. “All the messages I sent you sank without a trace. It really hurt my feelings for a while.”

The door opened again, and the familiar figure stepped in, stopping before Lu Jia.

Under the bright light, the girl’s smile remained as ever.

For a split second, Lu Jia felt transported back to the C University Academy of Fine Arts studio, where Shen Zhiwei knocked and entered to discuss printmaking topics with her.

Even knowing full well Shen Zhiwei wasn’t a good person.

Seeing her greet her so casually now still filled Lu Jia with disgust.

“Come to Country A for a few days—settling in okay?”

Shen Zhiwei spoke on her own, in the tone of old friends catching up. “If not, no worries. We’ve got plenty of time ahead; you can take it slow.”

Spotting the aroma diffuser Song Lan had left, she raised a brow and held it up before Lu Jia’s eyes. “Did the teacher introduce this to you?”

Lu Jia turned her head away. “Please keep that away.”

“Don’t like it? I spent ages thinking of this idea. The bottle I gave you before, I made by hand.”

Shen Zhiwei furrowed her brow in mock distress. “If you don’t like this scent, we can try others next time?”

Lu Jia finally couldn’t hold back. “You’re so young—why touch something like this?”

She had interacted with Shen Zhiwei and knew the girl’s talent wasn’t low.

By Song Lan’s account, she was reluctant to let Lu Jia near those substances right away. So why expose Shen Zhiwei, who had equally outstanding talent?

Shen Zhiwei let out a low chuckle, her gaze lingering on the floral-letter S on the diffuser’s outer bottle. She said nothing.

The aroma diffuser had indeed been her initial idea, but in truth, Song Lan had since used her identity to release it publicly.

S could stand for Shen Zhiwei’s Shen—or Song Lan’s Song.

No matter how carefully cultivated, one could only earn the woman’s true trust by dragging every aspect of oneself onto the same sinking ship.

Shen Zhiwei looked up and calmly set the diffuser back on the table.

As Lu Jia tried to struggle, she pulled a syringe from her bag, her movements practiced, and slowly injected the milky-white liquid into her vein.

The anesthetic took effect quickly. The dose wasn’t large; its effects would last only about ten minutes.

When Lu Jia regained consciousness, her perspective had shifted: she was farther from the bed now, and a coil of hemp ropes lay scattered on the previous chair.

This time, all her limbs were restrained.

Her wrists were shackled, her arms forced upward, and even her ankles bore matching cuffs.

Lu Jia realized she had been chained to the cross-shaped wooden frame in the corner of the wall.

Shen Zhiwei stood with her back to her, rummaging in the bag on the table.

Lu Jia quietly assessed her surroundings, pondering why Shen Zhiwei had suddenly acted.

When the girl turned, she held Lu Jia’s all-too-familiar carving knife. Under the overhead fluorescent light, the blade gleamed blindingly white.

She approached step by step.

She waved the knife before Lu Jia’s eyes, occasionally brushing it so close it nearly grazed her cheek, severing two strands of hair.

Shen Zhiwei’s tone was gentle, but every word dripped with threat:

“You’re so pretty— it’d be a real shame to cut you. How about begging me nicely?”

Lu Jia closed her eyes, her long lashes trembling slightly. She said nothing.

“Tch, no fun.”

Shen Zhiwei used the carving knife to slice open a blood pack, pouring the contents into her palm, forming a small, sticky puddle of crimson.

Lu Jia furrowed her brow.

Seeing her revulsion, Shen Zhiwei curved her eyes in a smile. “Don’t worry—it’s fresh and healthy.”

She rotated her wrist, letting droplets fall onto the girl’s cheek one by one. The liquid trailed downward with gravity, streaking her neck in vivid red.

Next, she drizzled lines onto the exposed wrists and forearms. She measured the remainder carefully, sprinkling a few drops onto the floor, where they bloomed into dark red blossoms.

The metallic tang of blood filled the air, growing thicker by the moment.

Lu Jia couldn’t help retching.

Tears welled from nausea, mingling with the splattered blood on her face and arms. She looked like someone who had just endured brutal torture—wretched yet defiant.

Click.

The shutter snapped, flashbulb blazing.

“What are you doing?”

Shen Zhiwei adjusted the lens from a distance, feigning surprise. “Can’t guess?”

“Of course, I’m sending it to that fiancée you pine for. So she can watch you break down in tears, utterly shattered.”

As if envisioning the scene, Shen Zhiwei’s eyes narrowed in delight.

“I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”