Chapter 41: The Submissive, Obsessive Top Student

Jiang Zhiyi was missing a leg and couldn’t carry her out, so it was Shi Qingyi who, after recovering a bit, dressed herself and pushed Jiang Zhiyi out of the bathroom.

The pajamas must have been prepared by Jiang Zhiyi in advance—loose-fitting, exposing just a bit of skin at the neckline. Even in the deep autumn chill, they didn’t feel cold. Shi Qingyi must have had a severe cold; her head ached terribly. Jiang Zhiyi called someone to bring medicine upstairs, then continued reviewing documents in her wheelchair.

The water was warm, soothing as it slid down her throat. Shi Qingyi propped herself up at the table for a good while before finally closing her eyes heavily, as if falling asleep.

Jiang Zhiyi couldn’t focus on her documents anymore. Moments later, she tossed them onto the table and wheeled herself over to the sofa.

Her wheelchair was custom-made; it glided over the wooden floor with only a faint friction sound, not enough to wake anyone.

The woman slumped over the table was young, but her face was haggard beyond measure—dark circles under her eyes, cheeks deeply sunken, thin to the point of heartbreak.

Jiang Zhiyi watched her for a long time before daring to reach out gently, touching her loose long hair, then tracing along the damp strands to her eye corner, rubbing lightly.

As if afraid that even the slightest bigger movement would startle her awake.

The scorching heat burned her heart like flames. Jiang Zhiyi’s hand trembled subconsciously, and she suddenly pulled it back—but it didn’t retreat. Shi Qingyi’s heavy eyelids lifted, her wet gaze brushing over Jiang Zhiyi’s fingertips. Her voice was hoarse: “Are you done with work?”

Jiang Zhiyi’s heart burned hot. For some reason, she went along with it: “Yes, done.”

Shi Qingyi seemed dazed for a moment before standing up to steady the wheelchair: “Then I’ll push you to bed.”

Jiang Zhiyi didn’t even have time to protest before being wheeled into the bedroom. Due to her leg, the study and bedroom walls had been knocked through. Shi Qingyi pushed her to the bedside, then squatted down. In Jiang Zhiyi’s stunned state, she gestured for a moment before bending to lift her onto the bed.

Shi Qingyi’s body temperature was alarmingly hot. The terror of having only one leg dangling in the air made Jiang Zhiyi instinctively cling tightly to Shi Qingyi’s neck. Shi Qingyi’s already foggy, feverish mind reeled from the stranglehold, and the two of them tumbled onto the bed together.

By sheer coincidence, Shi Qingyi’s head landed right at Jiang Zhiyi’s chest. Jiang Zhiyi’s eyelashes fluttered, and for a long while, she didn’t dare move.

Shi Qingyi, after feeling the soft warmth, struggled valiantly to climb up: “I’ll go to the guest room…”

Jiang Zhiyi’s face darkened instantly. Her hand shot out to grab the wrist of the one trying to leave, but something startled her. The not-quite-lucid woman yanked free.

Jiang Zhiyi’s hand grasped at empty air, her face turning stormy, her voice like iced steel: “What’s this? So unwilling to stay with me?”

Her heart seethed with hatred. She wanted to crawl up and lock the woman in the room, nowhere to go—but her amputated limb made any such actions impossible.

“It’s not that,” Shi Qingyi sneezed, her voice nasal. “I…”

“Then get back here.” She was practically gritting her teeth.

Shi Qingyi: “…”

Caught between provoking an emotionally unstable person in the dead of night and getting a good sleep, Shi Qingyi hesitated less than a second before lying down right there.

Her compliance was too swift, leaving Jiang Zhiyi momentarily stunned. The woman had already curled into a ball and burrowed under the covers.

Jiang Zhiyi: “…”

That night, Jiang Zhiyi barely slept at all. Every ten minutes or so, she’d open her eyes and glance sideways, afraid it was a dream, afraid she’d vanish if she closed her eyes.

She had no sense of security whatsoever. Three years of endless torment had eroded it all.

It had been exactly three years since she’d last seen this person. In those years, she’d dreamed of her countless times, only to wake and find it all false—a collapse no one could understand. She wasn’t strong enough, so anyone could take her away.

Even if she wanted to leave, she could at any time.

This uncertainty made her increasingly frantic. Before, she’d thought she could follow Shi Qingyi anywhere. But after losing a leg, she realized many things didn’t go as planned.

She couldn’t chase her to the ends of the earth, but she could use everything Shi Qingyi cared about to force her back, trap her in a tiny space.

She wanted to reach out and hold her, mustered her courage, but only felt scorching heat.

In the middle of the night, Shi Qingyi started burning up with fever. Fortunately, Jiang Zhiyi wasn’t asleep. Panicking at how high it was, she wanted to hold her downstairs, but her legs had no strength.

“Uncle Xiao, have Doctor Chen come over—”

Due to her poor health, there was always a phone by her bed. After the call, she fumbled messily to tuck the covers around her. Shi Qingyi’s forehead beaded with cold sweat; the towel was still in the bathroom. Propping herself on the bed’s edge with both hands, Jiang Zhiyi tried to maneuver onto the wheelchair for medicine and towel. The startled Shi Qingyi pressed her right back down.

She struggled a couple times, but Shi Qingyi’s leg pinned her stump—she couldn’t break free.

Gazing up at the ornate crystal chandelier, Jiang Zhiyi suddenly felt a wave of despairing helplessness.

She was utterly crippled, useless. No wonder Shi Qingyi didn’t want her. She couldn’t even care for herself, let alone stay by her side forever.

The feverish woman mumbled incoherently, instinctively hugging whatever she’d latched onto tighter. After a moment, she seemed to realize and pulled back a bit.

Jiang Zhiyi’s gaze darkened completely, her fingers slowly clenching the quilt.

Even fever-delirious, unwilling to stay with her?

Jiang Zhiyi gave a cold laugh; that trace of pathos was quickly overtaken by unwillingness. She wouldn’t let her have her way.

Shi Qingyi, fever-muddled, pushed at the warm body, but the more she pushed, the closer it got. Finally at her limit, she yanked up the quilt and buried herself inside, snapping angrily: “You’ve got a cold, and you’re still snuggling up…”

You’ll catch it sooner or later.

Her voice was terribly hoarse, ending in a touch of helpless indulgence.

Before Jiang Zhiyi could react, the door creaked open. The old butler stood there with the impeccably dressed doctor, frozen in awkward indecision—advance or retreat?

The two people, usually so unapproachable, were wrestling over the quilt.

It seemed the one inside was quite annoyed, having shouted “stop messing around” just before the door opened.

Jiang Zhiyi: “…”

Heart attack in an instant.

Doctor Chen, a woman in her twenties who’d been Jiang Zhiyi’s private physician for years due to her condition, hooked up an IV for Shi Qingyi right on the bed. At the end, she glanced worriedly at Jiang Zhiyi, who was draped in clothes nearby.

“President Jiang, should I check your leg?”

Shi Qingyi either didn’t hear or was disturbed, frowning.

Jiang Zhiyi’s heart softened instantly, lowering her eyes: “No need, thank you.”

Doctor Chen dimmed the lights almost completely when leaving, leaving just a few on. Jiang Zhiyi watched the IV on Shi Qingyi’s wrist, and when time was up, laboriously propped herself up to remove it.

Doctor Chen had given instructions, and after three years, she was practically an expert.

After that, Shi Qingyi’s temperature finally dropped. Jiang Zhiyi kept vigil, one hand on her forehead. Having stayed up most of the night, she finally drifted off.

The next morning, no one came to wake them. Jiang Zhiyi stirred first. She often had nightmares, but this time was different—upon waking, she turned her head and saw the person sleeping soundly beside her.

She stared fixedly for a long while, a flicker of disbelief crossing her face. Only after tentatively reaching out to feel her forehead—normal temperature, and she hadn’t shattered—did she slowly exhale.

Shi Qingyi slept restlessly, rolling around until her pajamas gaped open wide, exposing her rounded shoulder and collarbone—and a purplish bruise on the shoulder.

From where she’d bitten her the night before, holding it in her mouth for ages, wishing she could devour her whole. But as soon as Shi Qingyi winced in pain, she’d let go.

Now it was badly bruised. Jiang Zhiyi’s fingers curled, then she extended one to lift the pajama edge for a look. Halfway, a hand stopped her.

Half-asleep, Shi Qingyi shrank back with a heavy nasal sigh, covering her collarbone. Her stuffy nose made her voice weak: “Wait till my cold’s gone…”

—Or you’ll catch it.

Thinking she’d been caught with ill intentions, though Jiang Zhiyi truly only wanted to check the injury with no other thoughts: “…”

Do I really look that much like a beast?!

She silently withdrew her hand, something flashing in her eyes. Leaning close to Shi Qingyi’s ear, she declared righteously: “Fine, when you’re better, as you said.”

Shi Qingyi blinked in confusion. By the time she opened her eyes, Jiang Zhiyi had already propped herself onto the wheelchair and wheeled into the bathroom to freshen up.

She flopped back on the bed, her deep gaze fixed on that frail, self-reliant figure. After watching for a long time, a pang hit her, and she quickly closed her eyes.

Jiang Zhiyi was a woman of her word. With Shi Qingyi willingly offering herself as atonement, the Shi Family finally caught a breath—no longer constantly fretting over bankruptcy. Father Shi messaged Shi Qingyi to rest easy and stay put.

Shi Qingyi set down her phone, heart clenching. Rest easy? What did that mean?

Had they sold their daughter with after-sales service?

She scoffed. Jiang Zhiyi wasn’t mistreating her. A private doctor tended her during recovery. Aside from staying in the villa, she went nowhere. Jiang Zhiyi, on the other hand, was swamped—able to return for five hours of sleep in twenty was good. Naturally, no time for anything else.

Her phone buzzed. The pinned message from Jiang Zhiyi: “Remember to take medicine tonight: two pills, warm water, after dinner. Take your temperature.”

Shi Qingyi replied “Got it” and nestled contentedly into the covers. After ten days nonstop, she could finally breathe. If she’d known, she’d have come to Jiang Zhiyi sooner.

In the office across town, Jiang Zhiyi signed documents while watching the computer feed. Still uneasy, she’d installed cameras at home.

The woman on the monitor burrowed into the covers, not even showing her face. Jiang Zhiyi’s signing hand shook, her pinky scraping the paper faintly.

Nearly a week confining Shi Qingyi to the villa—probably bored stiff. But without her there, she couldn’t bear imagining her leaving—

She grew restless. With a slash, she finished signing. She’d entered the company at nineteen, a disabled parachuted “crown princess.” Most looked down on her until she ruthlessly purged a batch of old-timers, cultivated her own loyalists, and things improved. But her reputation for being cold and impersonal spread far.

Rumors said she disregarded bonds, doomed old veterans who pulled rank—no good ends under her. To retaliate, they’d spread filth: lesbian, ungrateful to her adoptive family—wiping them out.

The secretary waited tremblingly nearby, took a call, and finally spoke.

“President Jiang, your aunt’s causing a scene at the company again…”

The woman’s pen paused. Faintly, wails echoed from the elevator.

“Zhiyi, save your uncle—”

“Sis, move aside, let me see my sister—”