Naughty Puppy Will Be Eaten by a Bad Woman - Chapter 3

Gu Xianyue took out the collar, her fingertips gently tracing the soft, textured lining.

Gu Xianyue and Gu Yu shared the same surname. Throughout the Yunqing Group, Chairman Gu Yu held the largest share of the company.

Compared to her mother, Gu Yu resembled a strict teacher more than a maternal figure.

Gu Xianyue’s childhood was meticulously scheduled by her mother, with a timetable precise to the minute. Beyond school lessons, her days were filled with social etiquette classes, various music lessons, business strategy courses, and finance classes, leaving almost no time for rest.

One of the few comforts in her childhood was the little dog that had accompanied her growing up.

At the time, she was too young to name the dog herself, so she simply called it “Little Dog,” following her mother’s example.

The little dog was quiet and well-behaved, silently keeping her company as she grew. It would obediently lie at her feet while she did her homework, practiced the piano, or read books.

In her monotonous childhood, the little dog was one of her few sources of solace.

Later, the little dog ran away. When it was finally found, it had lost one of its hind legs.

It was around this time that the Yunqing Group began developing its line of assistive medical devices. The first product they developed was used on her little dog.

For her sixth birthday, she wished her mother would help her little dog walk again.

Her mother agreed.

A perfectly fitted prosthetic leg was attached to the dog’s missing hind leg. However, the effects of the disability couldn’t be so easily erased. The dog’s health deteriorated rapidly, plagued by frequent illnesses, until it finally passed away that winter.

She remembered that winter as bitterly cold. She sent the dog for cremation and personally buried its ashes.

She kept a portion of the ashes. Years later, she sealed them into a ring, which she wore on her hand.

After that, she never kept another pet.

After graduating from a domestic university, she was accepted into a prestigious business school in the capital of the United States for her master’s degree. Upon graduation, she joined the Yunqing Group, starting with rotational assignments at the grassroots level before gradually rising to the position of General Manager.

Gu Yu was a successful and shrewd businesswoman. Influenced by her mother, Gu Xianyue always prioritized maximizing profits in her work.

Yunqing was a massive machine, and she constantly calculated how to make it operate more efficiently.

Although both she and her mother were astute businesswomen, they often clashed on decision-making.

However, her mother was the chairman, and Gu Xianyue had no power to influence her decisions.

In Gu Yu’s eyes, every resource around her—including her own daughter—was to be exploited to its fullest potential. According to her plans, Gu Xianyue would marry someone who could further strengthen her business empire at the perfect moment in the future.

Gu Xianyue couldn’t agree with this arrangement. But after weighing the pros and cons, she decided there was no need to openly clash with her mother.

Instead, she secretly built up her own power base while subtly avoiding the “social engagements” her mother arranged for her.

She had assumed her life would continue on this predictable path until one day, she saw Lu Zhao on the screen of the Capital TV station.

Lu Zhao was sitting in a wheelchair, her leg still in a cast. Her slender frame and delicate face bore bruises and cuts, the injuries not yet healed.

Even without makeup, Lu Zhao’s face remained striking on camera as she gave an exclusive interview.

Gu Xianyue’s attention was immediately captured.

Lu Zhao’s peach-blossom eyes were clear and bright, their innocence enhanced by her delicate features, giving her a strikingly docile appearance.

For some reason, she was reminded of the little dog that had left her forever in a distant memory.

Just looking at this still somewhat frail and slender person, Gu Xianyue noticed that when certain topics were discussed, Lu Zhao’s gaze burned with the unwavering intensity of a wildfire sweeping across a prairie.

Coincidentally, Yunqing’s newly developed product needed a high-profile launch event. Gu Xianyue immediately considered making Lu Zhao its spokesperson.

Before making a decision, Gu Xianyue thoroughly investigated Lu Zhao, leaving no stone unturned.

The more she learned, the more her curiosity about Lu Zhao grew.

A graduate of a prestigious media university with a bright future ahead, Lu Zhao had reportedly received numerous job offers from renowned internet companies. Yet she rejected them all to become a reporter in the declining television industry.

Even then, she abandoned her comfortable reporter position to become an investigative journalist. Unsatisfied with that, she even ventured into the Sarawi War Zone as a war correspondent.

The decline of traditional media was an undeniable reality. As a graduate of a top media university, Lu Zhao couldn’t possibly be unaware of this.

Moreover, investigative journalism was grueling, thankless work, and potentially life-threatening.

Yet Lu Zhao still made that choice.

Gu Xianyue frowned, unable to decipher Lu Zhao’s motives.

In truth, not even Wei Ning could understand what Lu Zhao was thinking.

Wei Ning had repeatedly urged Lu Zhao against entering this industry, both when she was choosing her major and when she was graduating and seeking employment.

Having worked in the field herself, Wei Ning knew firsthand the harsh realities of the profession.

Looking at Lu Zhao’s resume, Gu Xianyue chuckled softly, seeing her as the complete opposite of herself.

But when Gu Xianyue secretly obtained Lu Zhao’s birth information through private channels, she was secretly shocked.

Lu Zhao’s birth date was the very day Gu Xianyue’s puppy had died.

It was only then that Gu Xianyue suddenly remembered her puppy had actually died in spring. That year’s winter had been unusually harsh, with repeated cold snaps and a lingering chill that made her feel like winter would never end.

However, Lu Zhao’s place of birth remained unknown. She had been abandoned at the orphanage’s doorstep, the basket containing her accompanied only by a note with her birth date and name.

What a coincidence? Gu Xianyue made a mental note and continued reading.

An orphan of unknown parentage, she later exposed the dark secrets of the orphanage to the Provincial Television Station, dropping a bombshell that shook the entire nation.

As Gu Xianyue reviewed Lu Zhao’s file, she began to understand why Lu Zhao had fearlessly become a war correspondent.

Without parents or close relatives, Lu Zhao seemed to have no earthly ties. This allowed her to recklessly pursue her ideals, even to the point of burning her own life as fuel.

Of course, this was just Gu Xianyue’s speculation. She had no idea what Lu Zhao truly thought, nor did she particularly care.

Gu Xianyue clicked on Lu Zhao’s exclusive interview video. The interviewer posed a pointed question: “Reporter Lu, some believe you accepted this interview before fully recovering from your injuries as a publicity stunt to gain sympathy and boost your viewership. What are your thoughts on this?”

Lu Zhao smiled calmly and replied, “My injuries are a result of the Sarawi War, but they represent only a fraction of the war’s true horrors. If more people can learn about the war’s brutality through my experiences, it will be worth it.”

Gu Xianyue watched the woman on the screen deliver a flawless answer, her smile poised and gracious. Yet, for a fleeting moment, Gu Xianyue caught a glint of mockery in Lu Zhao’s eyes.

Her fingertips tapped rhythmically against the desk edge, and a faint smile tugged at her lips.

The phone rang, and Gu Xianyue answered.

“What’s the progress on promoting the new product?”

It was Gu Yu’s voice. The decisive chairman preferred direct, efficient communication via phone.

“I’m considering a disabled spokesperson to attend our launch event,” Gu Xianyue said, leaning back in her office chair.

“Do you have someone in mind?”

“Lu Zhao.”

A moment of silence hung in the air.

Gu Yu: “You’ve done your research, right? She exposed many companies’ scandals years ago. Can you control someone like that?”

Gu Xianyue’s gaze drifted to a glass-encased collar on a shelf in her office bookcase.

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,” Gu Xianyue assured him, sensing Gu Yu’s apprehension toward investigative journalists. The shrewd businessman always sought to eliminate any factors that could harm his interests.

But what was unfavorable to Gu Yu wasn’t necessarily unfavorable to Gu Xianyue.

She approached the cabinet against the wall, opened the glass cover, and gently stroked the leather of the collar with her fingertips.

“Good. Don’t disappoint me,” Gu Yu said before hanging up, decisive and without hesitation. She had always been confident in her daughter’s abilities.

Though Gu Xianyue occasionally clashed with her over decisions, entangled in naive fantasies about “conscience” and “morality”—trivial details, in her mother’s eyes—overall, Gu Xianyue’s performance had been satisfactory.

She was a sharp blade, ready to be wielded when necessary.

After hanging up, Gu Xianyue took out the collar, her fingertips tracing the soft, textured lining.

Many years had passed, and the collar no longer carried the scent of her little dog.

After a moment’s contemplation, she returned it to its place.

Even if her little dog had remained safe and healthy, free from illness or misfortune, it would have long since succumbed to the natural rhythm of life and death.

After work, Lu Zhao returned to her apartment.

It was a tidy two-bedroom unit located near the Provincial Television Station. One room served as her bedroom, while the other had originally been intended as a guest room. However, Lu Zhao soon realized she never let anyone stay overnight, except for Wei Ning, who occasionally visited.

So she simply removed the bed, turning the spare room into a storage space for her collection of cameras.

Blackout curtains hung at the window. A few years prior, she had become fascinated by the documentary-like realism of film photography and had converted the room into a darkroom for developing film.

But after her disability, this hobby was abandoned, and the darkroom reverted to a storage space for miscellaneous items.

Now, Lu Zhao still felt the two-bedroom apartment was too large, only increasing the cleaning area.

She had recently been discharged from the hospital. Although the apartment was neatly arranged, it was covered in dust.

Leaning back on the sofa, Lu Zhao, who had always been hands-on with cleaning, found herself browsing shopping websites for a robot vacuum.

Despite outwardly appearing unaffected and continuing her work routine, the impact of her disability was immeasurable.

Beyond the psychological trauma of war, phantom pain in her amputated limb tormented her day and night. The missing part felt as if a million ants were gnawing at her bone marrow. During waking hours, she could force herself to focus on other things, but at night, when she tried to sleep, she was plunged into a hellish state of wakefulness.

Moreover, the prosthetic socket constantly rubbed against her residual limb, causing redness, swelling, and irritation after even short walks.

To compensate for the missing limb, her intact side bore the brunt of her movements. Without careful attention, this could lead to muscle fatigue and joint strain.

Unlike before, the friction on her residual limb wasn’t as severe. The new prosthetic Gu Xianyue had given her truly could intelligently adjust her gait, significantly reducing the strain on her leg.

After resting briefly, Lu Zhao retrieved a resistance band and began strength training exercises for her residual limb.

The purpose of this training was to strengthen the muscles on her amputated side, preventing atrophy from disuse and preventing spinal compression and curvature due to uneven weight distribution.

She had always maintained a fitness routine; otherwise, during her days as a war correspondent in the Sarawi War Zone, she might have lost more than just a leg.

Silently counting repetitions and sets, Lu Zhao focused on controlling her body as she performed the exercises on the yoga mat.

In the silent air, Lu Zhao’s breathing grew increasingly rapid. Her slender body, usually concealed beneath layers of clothing, now revealed taut muscles, their tense lines glistening with fine beads of sweat.

After finishing her workout, she exhaled deeply and collapsed onto the yoga mat.

Her aching muscles suddenly relaxed as she stared up at the ceiling, slowly regulating her breathing. Her usually expressive, peach-blossom eyes now held an unnerving stillness.

Her physical stamina was far from what it used to be. Even a few sets of exercises left her gasping for air.

The lingering effects of her injuries were overwhelming, and she hadn’t fully adjusted to her new reality.

She clenched her fist weakly, then released it, a wave of helplessness washing over her.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day after her recovery, when she had been fitted with her prosthetic leg. Wei Ning had asked her about her future plans.

“I’m going back to Sarawi,” Lu Zhao had said, still catching her breath after a grueling rehabilitation session, her body drenched in sweat.

“What?”

As expected, Wei Ning erupted in fury, pointing her finger at Lu Zhao and unleashing a torrent of insults in front of the rehabilitation doctor, showing no restraint whatsoever.

Lu Zhao’s rehabilitation doctor had intended to intervene with professional advice, but Wei Ning cut him off before he could speak.

Finally, Wei Ning’s voice trembled with rage. “You’ll stay put at the Provincial Television Station and go nowhere else! No other organization would hire a cripple like you, let alone the Sarawi War Zone!”

Wei Ning was clearly furious, her words tumbling out without restraint. The hurtful words had already been spoken, but she couldn’t bring herself to soften them. The sight of Lu Zhao’s calm face only fueled her anger, and she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Despite having watched Lu Zhao grow up, Wei Ning still couldn’t understand what the younger woman was thinking.

On the surface, Lu Zhao seemed approachable and friendly, and they interacted frequently. Yet Wei Ning always felt she barely knew her adopted daughter at all.

The door slammed shut with a bang, shaking the floor. Wei Ning rarely lost her temper so dramatically.

Lu Zhao didn’t argue. After her rehabilitation, she was drenched in sweat, beads trickling down her gaunt jawline to splatter on the floor.

Her gaze unfocused, she stared blankly at the ground, silent.

The doctor beside her had been about to offer some comforting words, but seeing Lu Zhao’s state, he closed his mouth.

If she had to do it all again, she would still make the same choice. She would still go to the Sarawi War Zone.

She never regretted her decision.

Of course, she knew her physical condition made returning to the war zone impossible. But she understood Wei Ning’s temperament well: to open a window, you first had to threaten to tear down the roof.

If she wanted to return to the First News Channel as an investigative reporter, she had to declare her intention to become a war correspondent in Sarawi. Only then might Wei Ning agree.

Wei Ning didn’t fall for her trick and simply reassigned her to the People’s Livelihood Channel.

Back in college, all her classmates and professors had advised her against joining the declining television industry, given her outstanding academic record. But she stubbornly insisted on joining the Provincial Television Station, which everyone considered a dead end.

She loathed the sensationalist, attention-grabbing tactics of new media. While she was perfectly capable of writing sensationalized reports, conducting sensationalist interviews, and producing short, punchy, and provocative promotional materials, her instincts rebelled against such methods.

Of course, there were other reasons too…

Although her salary was significantly lower than what she could earn in a comparable position at a top-tier internet company, the work was grueling and exhausting. The industry was in decline, the Provincial Television Station suffered high turnover, and she often found herself doing the work of several people, with late-night overtime a daily occurrence.

Despite all this, she had never regretted her decision.

Only occasionally, while reporting on mundane domestic affairs in plain, colloquial language for the People’s Livelihood Channel, would she feel a momentary sense of disorientation.

But these moments were rare. The channel’s relentless demands left her little time for introspection, and over time, she grew numb to it all.

After exercising, Lu Zhao showered and leaned back against her bed, reviewing the documents Gu Xianyue had given her.

Though her current career felt like stagnant water, her professional ethics and dedication to her craft still drove her to approach her work with utmost seriousness.

Lu Zhao skimmed through the documents quickly, then reviewed them again. Her gaze ultimately settled on the section detailing the AI features.

Her professional instincts immediately sensed something amiss. Logically, such an innovative design should have been heavily emphasized, yet Lu Zhao found little substantial description or supporting data, no matter how she scrutinized the material.

She retrieved her prosthetic leg from the bedside and strapped it on. Stepping out of bed, she tested its functionality.

Having already formed her suspicions, she quickly identified the problem. She picked up the report again, carefully comparing it to the physical device.

After a moment, a look of realization spread across her face. She opened the Gu Xianyue’s chat window on Enterprise WeChat.

President Gu, I’d like to confirm some details regarding our collaboration. When would be a good time to meet?

Despite the late hour, Gu Xianyue replied almost instantly.

Certainly, Reporter Lu. When would be convenient for you?

After finalizing the time and location for their next meeting, Lu Zhao removed her prosthetic and settled back into bed.

That night, she had the strange dream again, for the first time in ages.

In the dream, she seemed to have shrunk to an impossibly small size, small enough to be held in a girl’s lap.

The little girl gently massaged her body with her tiny hands, bath bubbles filling her vision.

The girl was bathing her, so she licked the girl’s palm.

“Ah, don’t lick! Shampoo isn’t for eating!” The little girl quickly pulled away, grabbing Lu Zhao’s face.

Lu Zhao had been dreaming from a first-person perspective for many years, on and off.

Sometimes she was playing with a little girl, other times she was simply lying quietly at the girl’s feet, offering her companionship.

She had tried to explain these dreams scientifically, but ultimately concluded they stemmed from her longing for a complete childhood.

Having grown up in an orphanage, she was driven to and from school in a van bearing the orphanage’s logo, often enduring taunts from classmates who called her a “motherless, fatherless orphan.” Later, Wei Ning sponsored her education and became her legal guardian, but due to her demanding work schedule, Lu Zhao was essentially left to raise herself.

Of course, Lu Zhao excelled academically and always presented a positive front, so there was little for Wei Ning to worry about.

Only a few times did teachers subtly hint at Lu Zhao being bullied at school. When Wei Ning earnestly questioned her about it, Lu Zhao brushed it off with vague excuses.

To be fair, Lu Zhao was deeply grateful to Wei Ning and keenly aware of her guardian’s tireless work. She didn’t want to burden her with additional worries.

As for her less-than-“harmonious” relationships with her classmates…

She could endure it and move on.

So, in college, when she heard her roommates from all over the country chatting on the phone with their families, cooing and doting on their mothers, Lu Zhao felt a sense of detachment.

Mother… The closest equivalent to that word in her life was Wei Ning. But Wei Ning was her benefactor, her teacher, her guardian…

She had never regarded Wei Ning as a mother in the traditional sense, and their relationship bore no resemblance to that of a mother and daughter.

Of course, the woman who had given birth to her and then abandoned her was not her mother either.

There was a void in her heart, a drafty emptiness. It wasn’t that she had never longed for a complete family; in her youth, she had yearned to build one herself.

But as she grew older, her studies and work exposed her to a wider world. She realized that family didn’t necessarily equate to happiness; there were countless intact but miserable families.

The gap in her life still let the wind through, but no societal template remained for her to aspire to.

Sometimes she felt life was utterly meaningless. Only uncovering the truth behind a news story could bring her a fleeting sense of accomplishment, and that persistent dream dangled before her, fueling her relentless pursuit of truth.

But… repeatedly dreaming of the same person felt unsettlingly strange. She couldn’t see the girl’s face clearly, yet she knew it was always the same person.

Her journey to Sarawi was partly to ease Wei Ning’s burdens, partly driven by her journalistic ideals and passion, but also fueled by a dark, unspoken desire she couldn’t quite articulate.

At times, she felt she wanted to die there.

The frequency of this dream diminished significantly on the battlefield. After her injury, it vanished entirely, replaced by persistent nightmares she couldn’t shake.

Only today, after meeting Gu Xianyue, did the familiar dream return after a long absence.

Lu Zhao slept soundly through the night for the first time in ages.