Making Three Heartless Woman Go Crazy for Me - Chapter 44

When news of Qi Lanshi’s death reached them, Gu Jingshu expected Luan Hua to lose her mind. She rushed to visit, only to find… Luan Hua was perfectly normal.

In fact, she was so normal it was almost unsettling.

After losing Qi Lanshi, Luan Hua’s daily life remained completely unaffected. Even her chronic insomnia, which had plagued her for years, had vanished. If it weren’t for Luan Hua’s insistence on the kidnappers and Bai Jiao’s deaths, Gu Jingshu might have believed she was completely unaffected.

“Some things, once they’ve happened, can’t be changed,” Gu Jingshu said carefully, choosing her words with care. “You were able to find a substitute for Bai Jiao back then, so now…”

Her remaining words were swallowed back under Luan Hua’s piercing gaze.

Gu Jingshu’s heart pounded violently. She realized she had angered Luan Hua and tried to backtrack, but under that icy stare, she couldn’t utter another word. Cold sweat trickled down her forehead.

I’m done for, I’m done for, she wailed inwardly. Yet, to her surprise, Luan Hua showed no sign of erupting.

“What nonsense are you spouting?” Luan Hua retorted coldly. “Don’t say such foolish things again. She’s already angry with me. Hearing your drivel will only make her refuse to see me.”

Luan Hua’s expression remained calm, her tone measured, and her demeanor so unnervervingly natural that Gu Jingshu felt a chill run down her spine, her scalp prickling with dread.

She finally understood why Luan Hua seemed normal on the surface yet radiated an unsettling aura of abnormality.

The absurdity of the situation struck her, but seeing Luan Hua’s unwavering expression, Gu Jingshu swallowed her questions and retreated.

“Another self-proclaimed genius,” Luan Hua murmured to the empty air after Gu Jingshu left, her gaze fixed on the void. “They all think I’m mad.”

Fools, all of them, deceived by lies. Qi Lanshi wasn’t dead; Luan Hua was absolutely certain of it.

Qi Lanshi had simply vanished to one of her usual unknown destinations, just as she had before.

Luan Hua had angered her, and that was why Qi Lanshi refused to see her—nothing more.

Qi Lanshi had always been prone to sudden departures in the dead of night and disappearing for weeks in broad daylight. This was merely another one of her games.

Shortly after Gu Jingshu left, Luan Hua’s parents arrived. They had been visiting frequently these past few days, but as always, they were denied entry.

“So annoying,” Luan Hua muttered.

Why do they keep bothering her? Qi Lanshi was already angry, and these irrelevant people just made things worse. She’d never show up now.

“They’re all interfering with us,” Luan Hua said as she returned to the room. She lay down beside the quietly sleeping Qi Lanshi. “I told you long ago that you have a terrible temper and are always so hard to appease. Yet they insist on disturbing us.”

A week had passed since the kidnapping. Qi Lanshi had been sleeping in Luan Hua’s room the entire time.

Luan Hua personally took care of her daily hygiene, sparing no expense to preserve her in perfect condition.

Luan Hua knew that, though Qi Lanshi never said it aloud, she cherished her face. If she woke up to find any scars, she’d be even angrier.

“Last time you were gone for a full half-month. How long will it be this time?” Luan Hua murmured, then shook her head, forcing herself not to dwell on it.

The duration didn’t matter. Qi Lanshi would always return.

Luan Hua desperately tried to hypnotize herself, forcibly ignoring the unsettling signs and weaving a comforting illusion she needed to believe.

In those late nights, though she felt Qi Lanshi was gone, “Qi Lanshi” always lay beside her. But Qi Lanshi’s two disappearances had been complete vanishings from the world, followed by sudden, inexplicable reappearances.

She had never been injured before, let alone lying motionless with her eyes closed, her breathing, heartbeat, and body temperature all gone.

Qi Lanshi’s body was daily coated and soaked in medicinal solutions, yet her skin continued to turn pale and bluish, and the wound on her neck showed no signs of healing. The fact that she was a corpse became increasingly obvious, but Luan Hua stubbornly refused to acknowledge it, clinging to the hope that Qi Lanshi would return.

Everyone thought she had gone mad, yet in all other matters, she remained perfectly rational, even her insomnia had eased considerably.

The secretary once subtly tried to persuade her to stop working so relentlessly, but Luan Hua calmly dismissed her concerns.

“I know you’re worried about me,” Luan Hua said with a smile. “I’m aware of my limits. Don’t worry. When she comes back and sees how much my assets have grown, she’ll be so happy. Half of everything I own will be hers.”

The secretary swallowed back all her words of persuasion, finally sighing inwardly.

Luan Hua was going mad with clear-headed, icy composure, but… perhaps letting her continue down this path wasn’t such a bad thing. Madness was better than collapse.

Aside from work and waiting for Qi Lanshi to wake up, Luan Hua’s final concern was making the kidnappers and Bai Jiao pay the price.

In simple terms, she wanted them dead.

In this kidnapping plot, Bai Jiao had crafted a victim’s facade for herself, but she was the true mastermind. She simply hadn’t anticipated that the fool would lose control of everything, nor that… Qi Lanshi would so resolutely take her own life.

The bl00d that day had stained both their eyes crimson. Bai Jiao knew that whether Qi Lanshi lived or died, her remaining years would be haunted by that bl00d-soaked ground.

She had misunderstood Qi Lanshi completely, and she was unworthy of possessing that hairpin.

After the death sentence was handed down, Bai Jiao seemed almost relieved. Her final wish and request was to see Luan Hua.

Luan Hua initially didn’t want to go, but then she thought that if it were Qi Lanshi, she would have wanted to go.

Luan Hua and Bai Jiao’s meeting in prison was brief, their conversation lasting less than ten minutes. Yet after leaving, Luan Hua’s emotions were so turbulent that anyone could see it.

She rushed home, her first instinct to find Qi Lanshi.

She dampened a towel with warm water and began wiping Qi Lanshi’s body as usual. The mechanical, repetitive task gradually calmed her down.

“I saw Bai Jiao today. She’s nothing like she used to be. I can barely remember what she was like before.”

“She’s like a rabid dog, biting anyone she can reach. Now that her execution is near, she’s started cursing you. She not only said you were dead, but even claimed… that you were killed by me and her.”

Luan Hua’s hands began to tremble uncontrollably. “How stupid… no, everyone is stupid. In this world, only I know you’re still alive…”

The rest of Luan Hua’s words caught in her throat.

The gruesome wound across Qi Lanshi’s neck had finally succumbed to the ravages of time, turning black and festering. Qi Lanshi’s once warm, pale skin had become deathly cold and white, mottled with bluish patches that mocked Luan Hua’s self-deception.

Qi Lanshi was dead.

At this moment, Luan Hua could no longer deceive herself.

She hadn’t secretly left, hadn’t deliberately disappeared, and wasn’t just sulking with Luan Hua.

She was dead.

The pain Luan Hua had been burying under layers of self-deception these past few days suddenly erupted. The towel slipped from her hand as she curled up, imagining she could lean against Qi Lanshi’s chest as she used to, but all she felt was icy coldness.

Qi Lanshi was dead. Her warmth was gone, leaving Luan Hua with no response.

The blinding crimson and the pool of bl00d that day had finally stained Luan Hua. She clutched her neck, as if Qi Lanshi’s blade had sliced through her own skin, claiming her life instead.

Luan Hua wanted to cry, but her mind seemed numb, unable to even execute the simple command to release her pain through tears.

“Qi Lanshi…” she called out her beloved’s name, her voice hoarse and strained.

Her body convulsed in agony. Suddenly, she heard a soft sigh from above.

Luan Hua looked up and saw Qi Lanshi’s face, etched with helplessness.

In that instant, all of Luan Hua’s bodily functions returned. Tears streamed down her face as she bit her lip, finally letting out a choked sob.

A gentle hand landed on her head, softly wiping away her tears. Qi Lanshi asked, “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?”

“I missed you,” Luan Hua said through gritted teeth, forcing herself to speak clearly. “Everyone thinks I’ve gone mad. They all say you’re dead.”

“Are you very sad?” Qi Lanshi asked. “But there’s nothing we can do. What they say is true. I am already dead.”

Luan Hua’s bl00d ran cold.

She jolted awake, sitting up in a panic. The room was brightly lit, but only her warmth and breath filled the space.

Qi Lanshi remained asleep, unable to respond or comfort her.

The double agony of dream and reality crushed Luan Hua’s spine. She collapsed beside Qi Lanshi, pleading and wailing.

“I was wrong!” she cried. “I’m sorry, I know I was wrong!”

Holy sh1t, that was sudden! Lanlan slit her throat so fast it scared me!

Me too! I knew Lanlan would go for the bad ending, but I never expected it to be like this.

Did you see the CEO’s face at the end? We were all terrified, let alone her! She’s definitely going to lose her mind.

Qi Lanshi was still reeling from the experience. If she had known slitting her throat would hurt so much, she wouldn’t have hidden the razor blade on her person. She had even retrieved it from a trash can.

Before she logged out, the System had offered a specific explanation:  We typically block out pain, but not for suicide. You must respect life, even in a virtual world.

Such an uplifting sentiment, and strangely logical.

If only the game’s plot weren’t so utterly brain-dead, the message would carry more weight.

After calming herself with a glass of water, Qi Lanshi fully recovered and began answering questions in the livestream chat.

“I couldn’t afford to wait. I could tell Luan Hua was deliberately stalling for time; her reinforcements were already on their way. Any further delay, and I would have been rescued.”

“Besides,” Qi Lanshi said with a smile, “this was the perfect opportunity for a dramatic ending. Now, both Luan Hua and Bai Jiao will believe I died for them, and they’ll have to bear the responsibility for my death.”

“The CEO and his White Moonlight turning against each other over me, the substitute—that’s the true definition of a bad ending.”

The cat is safe and has learned its lesson about running away. I swear on my life I’ll make up the missed update tomorrow. (Full of sincerity)