Beyond the Rift (Campus 1V1) - 13.

13.

A refined exterior hides a vicious heart.

How does Sun Huizhen give birth to such a daughter?

Sun Huizhen never does such things. Even when she endures such treatment at the Yan family, she chooses silence.

But Ling Jia clearly doesn’t stop until she turns everything upside down.

Yu Yuan’s mother can’t understand.

“Ah Yuan is so good to you. When you first come to Qianchuan, you can’t afford extracurricular activities in the first year. Ah Yuan pays for you. How can you treat him like this?”

Ling Jia finds talking to foolish people doesn’t suit beating around the bush.

“Auntie, aren’t you a bit… confused? The one who hurts your son isn’t me, it’s Zong Min’en. You don’t blame the culprit but lecture me on morals. Isn’t that a bit inappropriate? Or do you only dare make me change into slippers, not dare ask Zong Min’en to apologize at your son’s bedside? Luckily, I have a good temper and don’t hold it against you. But Zong Min’en might not be the same. They say at Li Jin Vocational High, he sends over a hundred students to the hospital. Oh, speaking of that, it’s quite a coincidence—they go to Li Jin Private Hospital, the same one where my mother dies.”

Yu Yuan’s mother’s hands and feet turn cold. Her face pales.

“What do you mean? Are you threatening me?!”

“I’m just kindly telling you what Yu Yuan might face. How is that a threat?”

Yu Yuan’s mother clenches her fists; her ring digs painfully into her fingers.

Since marrying into wealth, no one speaks to her like this.

Threats, provocations—these low-class habits. No matter how you look at them, they are disgusting.

She looks at the girl in front of her. The girl relies on some beauty, forgetting her own worth. She sees too many like her. They all want one thing.

“Tell me, how much money do you want?”

Money?

If she asks this a few years ago,

Ling Jia happily names a price.

But now, money’s appeal pales compared to the panic on this wealthy woman’s face.

“What do you take me for?”

She gently bites her lower lip. She makes a hurt expression. She even wipes nonexistent tears from her eye corner. She speaks softly.

“I just want to ask you, besides being a maid at the Yan family, what else does my mother do? How can I ask you for money? That’s blackmail…”

“How would I know?”

“Like that—”

Ling Jia stands, looks at the closed ward door, and smiles at Yu Yuan’s mother.

“Then tell me when you figure it out. Oh, you’re so rich, why not consider transferring Yu Yuan to another school? Offending the Zong family, his days at Qianchuan won’t be easy. As his friend, I really worry for him.”

Yu Yuan’s mother wants to tear her to pieces.

Damn her, damn her, damn her!

This b1tch! This little b1tch crawling out of Sun Huizhen’s filthy womb!

She dares target her son!

Her chest heaves violently. Her breathing is heavy like a brown bear after a hunt. Her eyes glare round. She viciously stares as if she can rip her apart right here.

Ling Jia enjoys the free animal show Yu Yuan’s mother provides.

As thanks, she politely bids farewell.

“That’s all for today. Wish you a happy life and Yu Yuan a speedy recovery. If you remember anything, feel free to call me.”

She walks down the corridor.

The smell of disinfectant rushes into her nose.

She hates this smell; it masks the cooking oil scent on Sun Huizhen that turns her into a rotting corpse.

She never sees Sun Huizhen’s body. So she imagines countless times what her death looks like.

Withered? Decayed? Or just asleep, lying there quietly, no longer breathing.

She tries hard not to think about it. As long as she doesn’t imagine, hate doesn’t overwhelm her.

She wants to kill. Wants Zong Du’s handgun. Wants those craft knives in his lounge she never sees.

If a bullet pierces a skull, does brain matter spill out? If not, aim for the eyes, the heart.

Or use a blade to peel their skin inch by inch, separating flesh from bone. Like preparing a gourmet dish. Until she cuts out the heart, holds it in her hand, and asks that question again.

—What exactly happens to Sun Huizhen?

She’s certain the Yan family are the culprits.

Even if she’s wrong, it doesn’t matter. Better to kill wrongly than let them go.

She has a long life to slowly deal with these people.

The hospital’s cold fluorescent lights let her see her hands clearly.

She sees the palm lines. She feels the pulsing veins.

A ward is nearby; the window glass reflects her face.

She stares long. She sees Sun Huizhen’s youthful days through her own pupils.

At this moment, she feels not like Sun Huizhen births her,

But like she births Sun Huizhen.

Her ashen bones rebuild inside her; she is her true urn.

A patient heading to the bathroom suddenly meets Ling Jia’s face. They jump in fright. They fall on their butt.

Ling Jia puts her hands together apologetically. She says sorry to the window.

She turns to leave, but finds someone standing in front of her.

Crisp black dress pants. From fabric to cut, they scream expensive.

The coat’s cuffs have intricate rose patterns. Vines creeping from his sleeves are climbing onto her. They wrap her neck. They choke her breath. It makes her stiffly look up to meet deep, dark eyes.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there or how long he watches her.

Like a behind-the-scenes guest on an observation show, or a dangerous beast lurking in the jungle.

Those eyes coldly stare at her. As if seeing through her skin to her dangerous, bloody thoughts.

Silence is like dripping water. It gradually pools into a small ocean on the floor.

They look at each other in the quiet.

Ling Jia, after brief surprise, calms herself.

She feels only some confusion.

She doesn’t know why Zong Du appears here.

His gaze is too commanding.

It gradually makes Ling Jia uncomfortable. If this is a silent contest, she raises the white flag first. She looks away to his prominent Adam’s apple.

She picks a safe topic. She asks softly.

“Have you eaten?”

Not a bad topic.

If her voice doesn’t tremble.

Zong Du looks at her pretty face.

His thin lips curve slightly.

“Why so nervous?”

Not a question.

More like indulgence.

Ling Jia doesn’t understand. She repeats instinctively.

“What?”

Acting all day at the Zong residence,

Those side characters’ dramatic performances aren’t as interesting as this moment.

Ling Jia probably doesn’t know her ears turn redder than usual when she pretends not to understand.

He likes her like this. He doesn’t mind making her see her own thoughts more clearly.

“Compared to polished actors, I prefer your rawness. Naive ignorance? Obedient and sensible?

Ling Jia, the persona you tailor for me… I’m very satisfied.”

Zong Du speaks. He then walks toward her.

A few steps feel unusually slow in her eyes.

Until his pinewood scent gradually overtakes the hospital’s disinfectant smell.

Ling Jia moves her fingers. She feels she should say something now.

But the situation comes suddenly; she hasn’t prepared her lines.

She stands there slightly dazed. Her clear eyes are watching the smile on his lips.

The way he looks at her makes her feel like his pet.

The height difference between them makes him bend down. He meets her confused eyes. He kindly reaches out and strokes her face gently like soothing an animal.

His lowered voice is like a feather. It reminds her.

“Don’t break character. Keep pretending. As for how you are with others, I don’t care at all.”

More a warning than sweet talk.

A warning to keep up the act to the end.

She nods obediently, takes his hand, and interlocks their fingers.

Picking up her gentle act, she asks softly.

“So, have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“What do you want to eat?”

A complicated question.

Zong Du frowns. He’s troubled.

“How about egg fried rice? I’m good at making it. I see eggs in the fridge before we leave. Does Auntie come by today?”

“She doesn’t have to.”

“Then I make it for you.”

“Alright.”

They leave the hospital.

Zong Du’s car waits at the entrance.

Ling Jia looks back at the building; the glass reflects glaring sunlight.

She squints. She looks away. Before getting in the car, she calls Zong Du’s name again.

Zong Du raises his eyes to her.

The car door open. Ling Jia bends down outside. Her hands are on the seat. She leans close to his face and asks softly.

“You have my back, right?”

Zong Du’s fingers lift her collar. He sees the tattoo that belongs to him.

His fingertip brushes over it gently.

Whenever he lowers his eyes, his lashes rest like butterflies.

When it comes to acting, he’s an expert too.

Now playing innocent, he curves his lips slightly. He shows a gentle look. He appears deeply affectionate.

But his gaze isn’t pure. It’s blatantly peering into her collar.

“Of course.”

He answers her question firmly. Smiling, he adds.

“You keep me happy, I have your back. Fair, isn’t it?”