I Redeemed Him, But Who Will Redeem Me? - Chapter 6

When Lin Xicai absentmindedly arrived at the bus stop, the bus she needed had just pulled away.

There weren’t many people waiting. She sat down on the bench by the signpost, head lowered, gaze unfocused on some spot on the ground, her thoughts looping endlessly around that man’s inexplicable words: “Is that how people study?”

For a moment, she even wondered if she’d misheard—maybe he’d been talking to someone else. But no, those eyes, faintly tinged with anger, had been looking straight at her.

Just as she was stunned, that person had given her a cool glance, then drifted away like the wind, leaving his seat again…

Lin Xicai was baffled, then annoyed—
Were they close or something? What did her study methods have to do with him? Did he know her learning strategy? Did he even understand?

After the incident with the little note, she had secretly checked his grades. She thought he must’ve been a top scorer. But after seeing his report card—she was floored. Dead last. Absolutely at the bottom.

A total academic disaster, no better than her, just because he could scribble out two formulas, he dared to look down on her?

Lin Xicai actually laughed. She very seriously suspected—this guy only knew those two formulas, and finally found a chance to show off.

Show off…
A flash of inspiration hit her, finally solving the riddle that had been bothering her. Yes. Show off. That was the plain and simple motive behind that note.

Lin Xicai felt a weight lift from her chest—

“You can provoke me if you want. But fall in love with me? That’s suicide.”

…

While she sat quietly daydreaming at the bus stop, she didn’t notice the private car gliding past. The vehicle slowed noticeably as it passed, but she was too lost in thought to register it.

Inside sat a young man and woman. The driver was a sharply dressed youth in his twenties, with deep features, fine brows and eyes, exuding unusual poise and aristocratic air. Yet his maturity wasn’t fully natural—more like premature gravitas overlaying lingering youth.

In the passenger seat was a fresh-faced, doll-like girl. She glared at the figure at the bus stop and huffed:
“Zhong Fei! …Brother, you saw that, right? I told you she’s been acting weird lately.”

“First she bombs an exam, claims she’s lost her memory, that her brain’s broken. Then she volunteers to transfer to Class Z. She doesn’t hitch rides or meals with us anymore, just locks herself in her room after school. Every day she takes the bus! She used to be so vain—back then, she’d rather die than take public transport…”

“And lately, she doesn’t even ask me about you anymore. Before, if she knew you were coming to pick me up, she’d definitely find some excuse to show up…”

Fu Xuefan rattled on. Fu Yanxiu pressed his lips into a thin line, dark eyes fixed through the glass on that unusually quiet figure at the stop. His brows knit, as if by habit.

Deep in those eyes lay raw distaste, undisguised aversion.

“Stay away from her,” he said curtly, withdrawing his gaze. Then, as if remembering something, a shadow crossed his expression, heavy and oppressive—though he quickly veiled it again.

He paused, glanced at his sister.
“That person will use whatever means necessary to get what she wants. That’s not something someone like you—with only half a mind to your name—can even imagine. Don’t try to play smart and end up doing something stupid. I’ll deal with her, one step at a time.”

As the Fu family’s carefully groomed heir, Fu Yanxiu had dealt with all sorts of people since childhood. He’d seen much, learned much. His mind ran deeper than most; his emotions were always concealed. Even in the face of loathing, he could weigh the pros and cons and remain perfectly composed.

Fu Xuefan was shocked—her brother rarely lost his temper. Since his 20th birthday banquet last week, he hadn’t returned home. She sensed something different about him this time—the pressure rolling off him was faintly frightening. And she was almost certain—it had something to do with Zhong Fei.

Could she have pestered him again behind her back?

Fu Xuefan’s mother had died not long after giving birth to her. A servant, who had also just had a child, became her wet nurse. She and Zhong Fei had grown up together. She knew exactly what feelings Zhong Fei harbored toward her brother.

All those pretentious tricks, all those clumsy, blatant attempts at seduction.

Fu Changmin, grateful for Zhong Ping’s care of his daughter over the years, had treated the mother and daughter generously. Especially Zhong Fei—raised under his watch, nearly like half a daughter. With such resources, such an environment—yet instead of striving for her own future, she chose shortcuts.

Fu Xuefan curled her lip in disdain. Of course—relying on oneself meant hard work, and hard work was… hard. If she could just climb into the position of “Mrs. Fu,” everything would be effortless.

And beyond that—her brother himself was exceptional, a once-in-a-generation man.

Zhong Fei’s coveting of him had grown unbearable, and in the past two years, utterly shameless.

She’d “help” clean his room, then purposely leave things behind to make excuses to return. She’d deliberately wear revealing clothes around him, say ambiguous, suggestive things…

Frankly, if someone told Fu Xuefan that Zhong Fei had climbed into her brother’s bed at night, she wouldn’t even be surprised.

Same age, yet capable of such despicable behavior. Fu Xuefan loathed her, but also marveled at her audacity.

Fu Yanxiu was a man of propriety, but with her—his patience was long gone. He despised her to the core. Because of her, he rarely stayed at home after starting university, preferring his small apartment near campus.

Both siblings were sick of Zhong Fei, but couldn’t truly expel her—because of her mother. That kind, dutiful woman had genuinely cared for them for over a decade. In the absence of their own mother, she had practically been one.

Especially for Fu Xuefan, who’d been nursed through every illness, every milestone by Zhong Ping—even given her first sanitary pad by her.

That woman had taken care of them both. No matter how much they despised Zhong Fei, they couldn’t disregard her mother and cast her out.

—And Zhong Fei herself probably knew that. That’s why she acted so brazenly.

…

Lin Xicai returned home nearly an hour after the Fu siblings. She had just sat down when the doorbell rang.

At the door stood a kindly, motherly woman—her mother’s former colleague, who usually tended to Fu Yanxiu’s daily life.

“Aunt Qian?”

“Zhong Fei, you’re back? Is now a good time?” The woman smiled. “The young master asked you to come to the movie room.”

Lin Xicai frowned, half doubting her ears. Fu Yanxiu? Asking for her?

Her instincts screamed it wasn’t good.
“What for?”

The woman seemed surprised by her tone, then smiled again.
“That I don’t know.”

The movie room was on the villa’s top floor. It was Lin Xicai’s first time there—her first time meeting the infamous young master in person.

It was dim inside. In the vast theater sat only one figure.

Fu Yanxiu occupied a seat in the third row to the left, posture poised, elegance unmistakable—yet to her eyes, it looked more like an interrogator’s stance.

She approached, standing at his side, gaze lowered to his unreadable, handsome face.
“You wanted to see me?”

“Watch a movie,” he said.

Her lips pressed together, eyes flickering with guarded caution. She did not sit.

When she stayed rooted, he gave a cold laugh.
“Weren’t you always begging to watch a movie with me? Even dragged Aunt Ping out to persuade me. What now—you’ve lost interest?”

His voice dripped with disdain, barbed with mockery. Lin Xicai instinctively frowned.
“Is that so? I don’t remember. I don’t feel like watching a movie—at least not today.”

She paused.
“I still have homework. If there’s nothing else, I’d like to go do it.”

When he didn’t answer, she gave a polite nod and turned to leave—only for a heavy hand to clamp her shoulder, forcing her down into the seat. She stumbled, unable to resist.

That slender white hand might as well have been iron, pressing her down without an inch of escape.

“Watch. Maybe you’ll recognize someone.”

She twisted toward him. His refined features were split by the flickering light—half veiled in shadow, half illuminated, a highborn contradiction.

The screen lit up.

A banquet scene appeared, dazzling lights, glittering jewels.

Lin Xicai stared, soon recognizing familiar faces—stern Fu Changmin, Fu Xuefan radiant in her princess dress, Fu Yanxiu mingling with practiced grace. At the center stood a towering birthday cake.

She realized—it was footage of Fu Yanxiu’s 20th birthday banquet.

But she had no idea why he’d want her to see this. Surely not just to flaunt his lavish life and make her jealous?

As she pondered, the scene cut.

This time the image was grainier, inside a room. The lights were on, but the room eerily empty, quiet to the point of wrongness. The camera angle was odd, low, facing directly toward a large bed.

Lin Xicai watched, frowning. Then—the door opened.

And she saw herself walk in—no, the original Zhong Fei.

The girl entered, went straight to the bedside table, picked up a glass of red wine, and sprinkled white powder into it from a packet clutched in trembling fingers.

Her expression was flustered, her hand shaking. After drugging the drink, she didn’t leave. She hesitated—then slipped into Fu Yanxiu’s wardrobe to hide.

Lin Xicai’s scalp tingled, her heart seized like a fist had clamped around it. She stared at the screen, horrified.

In her mind, a voice screamed:

Are you insane?!