Chapter 47: The Submissive, Obsessive Top Student

Jiang Zhiqing jumped down from the building, like a white bird spreading its wings and gliding downward, the empty hospital gown fluttering in the wind, more like a white kite plummeting to the ground.

Jiang Zhiyi watched wide-eyed as she jumped. At the moment the bird-like figure landed, someone covered her eyes from behind. Through the gaps in the fingers, she could only see swaying green trees. Shi Qingyi reached around from behind the wheelchair and hugged her tight, her trembling eyelashes brushing against her palm one by one.

Gu Chuanjing clung to the railing, roaring Jiang Zhiqing’s name.

The weather in May or June had already turned oppressively hot ahead of schedule, like a terrifying steamer.

Whether Jiang Zhiqing was lucky or not, the third floor wasn’t high, and below was just a flowerbed. She broke her arm and ribs on impact, with the fractured ribs nearly piercing her organs. She needed a minor surgery.

A familiar nurse arranged a temporary room for them. Jiang Zhiyi’s back was completely soaked. Shi Qingyi used hot water to wipe her back, but her muscles were tense. Halfway through, she gripped Shi Qingyi’s hand.

Understanding, Shi Qingyi went over and held her ice-cold hand, gently patting her rigid back. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered softly.

The trembling woman buried her head in her embrace, her breathing heavy. Sitting in the wheelchair, she clung desperately to Shi Qingyi’s waist, as if some terrifying memory had been triggered.

Like the car accident three years ago, or that rainy night three years ago when her heart had turned to ash and she’d once wanted to leap from the rooftop—

Shi Qingyi gently patted her shoulders and back, half-coaxing, half-tricking her into lifting her head so she could wipe her forehead. Just then, the door was twisted open.

The middle-aged woman outside stood rigid, her eyes fixed on the scene before her, her face turning ashen. Shi Qingyi instinctively wanted to pull away to spare Jiang Zhiyi embarrassment, but as she shifted just a little, the person beside her gripped her arm firmly.

She gripped so tightly that it hurt, but Shi Qingyi only frowned slightly and said nothing.

“Auntie—”

Her hoarse voice emerged. Tears instantly rolled from the woman’s eyes, sliding down the furrows of her face, faintly revealing the toll of the years. She wore faded blue clothes and pants washed white at the knees. She dropped to her knees right there.

“Zhiyi, save your sister and your uncle…”

“Your uncle was harsh to you before, but he’s gotten his retribution now. Three years ago, the gas poisoning left him half-paralyzed; he can’t move on his own—he’s a useless shell. Now with liver cirrhosis, he’s not long for this world. Your sister has slaved away caring for her dad these past few years, and now this happened. She was still calling for you in her room yesterday, asking why you wouldn’t visit. Zhiyi, how can you bear it…?”

The woman in the wheelchair sat against the light, sunlight streaming in from behind, obscuring her expression. She looked both compassionate and ominous as she silently watched the kneeling woman. Her hand quietly touched her own severed limb.

The woman’s tears seemed endless, her life’s bitterness unspent. Her home had scattered like leaves in the wind, her husband waiting in agony for death, her daughter losing her child and descending into madness, her niece crippled by a car accident.

“Zhiyi, you know… your uncle and your dad, you know how they were…”

“Auntie—” The silent woman suddenly spoke, her voice low and tense, her body stiffening even more as she leaned forward slightly.

The sunlight burned fiercely for an instant.

…

The renowned doctor finally had an opening. Shi Qingyi pushed Jiang Zhiyi down the empty corridor. Sunlight filtered through the railings in grid-like patterns. Jiang Zhiyi held her hand in an awkward position. “Do you think I’m heartless?”

She had gently helped up the woman who’d suffered her whole life, stopping her from continuing. In a mild voice, she’d told her: Auntie, I cherish the kindness you showed raising me. I’ll provide for you in your old age, ensure you want for nothing. But the man who abused me? I won’t pay a cent for his surgery.

The woman’s eyes widened gradually, hot tears soon falling, splashing onto her hand. She began describing in detail how agonizingly her uncle lived now.

She’d listened quietly, gradually helping the woman to her feet with steady force, saying nothing more.

She knew it was miserable—paralysis meant a lifetime of suffering, compounded by long-term alcoholism’s aftereffects. He couldn’t move, living worse than death. She knew it all too well; after all, this hospital had her investment in it.

But she still remembered cowering in the corner as a child, trembling in fear and pain from the beatings. Those shadows from the years lingered, never leaving.

Shi Qingyi didn’t answer. They walked a long stretch of hallway. As Jiang Zhiyi’s expression grew darker and more restless, she leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Did I ever tell you that the gambling debt your uncle racked up three years ago… I arranged for it?”

See? I’m not as good as you think. I have a dark side too, just like you.

Jiang Zhiyi’s fingers curled unconsciously. The nurse emerged, glancing surprised at the intimate pair, and coughed. “Doctor Chen says Miss Jiang can come in.”

She paused, then smiled to dispel any misunderstanding. “I’m just surprised. Miss Jiang always came alone before.”

She was ashamed of her disability, harboring natural hostility toward anyone’s approach.

Shi Qingyi handed the wheelchair to the nurse and winked. “I’ll be coming with her from now on.”

The blatant show of affection stunned the nurse, who laughed after a moment and shut the door without mercy.

Inside sat an older female doctor wearing thick glasses. Seeing Jiang Zhiyi enter, she pushed her frames up mildly. “Miss Jiang, your condition seems much improved lately.”

The woman in the wheelchair pulled her reluctant gaze from the door, closing her eyes briefly. Even a moment’s separation, and she began missing her—wondering what she was doing outside, who she was meeting…

Her possessiveness and control grew stronger, just like three years ago—maybe even worse.

This isn’t right, she admonished herself over and over. But I can’t help it. I just can’t.

If this continues, I’ll scare away the person who finally came back…

—

Jiang Zhiyi’s check-up took a while. Shi Qingyi followed her memory to a certain ward.

Two beds inside, both for liver patients. One old man was surrounded by concerned juniors, with fruit and flower baskets; his children chatted with him. The other bed was desolate.

Jiang Zhiqing hadn’t emerged from surgery yet; her mother had gone to wait. No one tended to him.

The man who’d once looked fierce and menacing had lost a full circle of weight. His eye sockets were sunken, tear stains uncleaned on his face, drool trickling from his mouth. No trace remained of his former brutality.

In just three short years, he’d gone from a vigorous middle-aged man to a dying old one.

Shi Qingyi watched the contrast through the thin window and suddenly asked, “Was the gas poisoning a year ago really an accident?”

The system, which had been playing dead for ages, hesitated long before responding. “You don’t believe her?”

Shi Qingyi: “…”

The system poked its head out. “Starting to think the villain’s in the wrong?”

“Wrong how? Does his liver cirrhosis have anything to do with her?” The woman glanced up, her eyes emotionless. She touched the glass lightly with her right hand—icy cold, devoid of warmth.

When Jiang Zhiyi emerged, she didn’t see anyone, just emptiness. Her heart clenched instinctively; nails dug into her palm inch by inch. Where would Shi Qingyi go if not here? Is she leaving me?

Before the mounting terrifying suspicions could overwhelm her, footsteps approached in the corridor. Shi Qingyi came over carrying soy milk and millet porridge, looking surprised. “Out already? How’d it go? I was worried you’d be hungry, so I grabbed some food. Want a bite?”

Jiang Zhiyi said nothing, reaching out to pull her close, her face pale. Shi Qingyi let her lead the way, hand in hand out of the hospital and into the car.

Prolonged wheelchair use harmed her back badly. Boarding the car, Shi Qingyi lifted her—it wasn’t hard; she was so slim. Jiang Zhiyi wrapped her arms around her shoulders and spoke muffledly.

“Next time you go anywhere, tell me. Don’t just leave without a word.”

And the unspoken part: I’ll be scared, and then I won’t let you leave.

“But you were inside; how could I tell you?” The excuse was perfectly reasonable. Jiang Zhiyi deflated instantly and let go.

“I’ll tell you wherever I go from now on.” Seeing the pitiful look, Shi Qingyi sighed. “Promise made—now eat something.”

Soy milk reached her lips. The someone sneaked glances, feigning restraint as she took the cup—and her hand along with it.

That night, Jiang Zhiyi had a nightmare again. The dream was bizarre and chaotic: endless black night and torrential rain. Someone approached her through the downpour, reeking of alcohol, stick in hand chasing from behind. She ran alone for what felt like forever, crying and fleeing. Someone pulled her from the mire, a hand extending from the sunlight.

She reached desperately to grab it, but a sobbing voice came from behind. Jiang Zhiqing clutched a rag doll, crying and coaxing. “Sis, where are you going? Aren’t you coming home? Come home with me…”

She jolted awake from the nightmare, biting Shi Qingyi’s finger, a faint metallic tang at her nose.

She used to bite the flesh of her own cheeks during nightmares; Shi Qingyi would offer her finger instead. Heartbroken, she’d quit the habit.

As for the relapse later—

The finger bore bite marks. Beneath loose sleepwear, a section of pale arm showed, faintly bruised. Jiang Zhiyi’s pupils shrank; she lifted the sleeve to reveal marks from her own grip that morning.

“Does it hurt?” She held that hand, touching the injury. Shi Qingyi dodged slightly—she hadn’t realized she’d bruised her arm so badly.

“Doesn’t hurt.” Shi Qingyi shook her head, leaning in to wipe sweat from her forehead. “Nightmare again?”

The woman stayed silent for a long while, then nestled into her arms, hugging her waist.

Shi Qingyi didn’t press if she didn’t want to talk. The phone on the nightstand buzzed.

Shi Qingyi picked it up—a long-unseen name.

—Mother.

Jiang Zhiyi leaned over to peek, but Shi Qingyi pressed the screen dark.