Transmigrated As The Villainous Scumbag Wife Of A Disabled Tycoon - Chapter 53

53

Jiang Ciyi slept deeply, especially since her legs were numb and unresponsive no matter how Cheng Xing moved them. There was even a faint stiffness in her legs. If treatment wasn’t administered in time, she might never stand again.

Cheng Xing tried to ignore the dazzling whiteness of Jiang Ciyi’s legs, focusing intently on pressing along her slender limbs to assess their condition. In the past, when performing acupuncture on patients, Cheng Xing had never experienced this kind of racing heartbeat. To a doctor, patients were neither male nor female—merely bodies. She had treated supermodels, celebrities, and even high-profile figures from politics and business who sought out her grandfather for treatment. During physical therapy, she was always by his side, so she had seen countless bodies. To her, they were not flesh but maps of meridians.

Her friend always teased her about living a bland life, like a cup of plain boiled water—kept in a thermos with goji berries, no less. She had never been in a relationship, not because no one pursued her. On the contrary, during university, guys would approach her on the street to ask for her WeChat, but she’d politely add them and then decline with excuses like preparing for graduate exams. She had never confessed her sexual orientation to her friend and simply let their friendship carry on naturally. Truthfully, she had never met anyone she liked—except for the fleeting thrill she felt across sheets of paper, with someone nicknamed “Wa Pian.”

Her friend had called it an early form of online romance, mocking her for falling for someone without even knowing if they were male or female. Cheng Xing didn’t argue, only smiling and saying, “Maybe my fate hasn’t arrived yet.”

But now, she found it hard to calm her mind as she placed her hands on Jiang Ciyi’s legs. Previously, Jiang Ciyi wore nightgowns for convenience, but since Cheng Xing started sharing a bed with her, Jiang Ciyi, wary of her, had been wearing silk pajama pants. With the pants pulled up to her thighs, her long, straight, pale legs were fully exposed before Cheng Xing.

After a quick examination, Cheng Xing looked up, and a drop of water fell straight onto Jiang Ciyi’s leg—it was sweat from Cheng Xing’s forehead. Cursing herself for being so pathetic, she grabbed a glass of ice water to quell the tightness in her throat. Once her emotions settled, she returned to the bedside, rubbed her hands to warm them, and placed them back on Jiang Ciyi’s legs.

The slender, pale legs showed no response, but Cheng Xing didn’t slack off, applying herself with utmost seriousness. Her palms were slightly sweaty, and every few minutes, she wiped them dry with tissue, warmed her hands again, and continued massaging Jiang Ciyi’s legs—from the tops of her thighs to her delicate ankles and the acupuncture points on her feet. She followed the same process for both legs. To stimulate the nerves, she had to use full effort.

After just twenty minutes, Cheng Xing was drenched in sweat, but this was only the beginning. Initially, her mind wandered, but as exhaustion set in, she relied on sheer willpower and became fully focused. After two hours of massaging, her hands felt like they might give out, trembling uncontrollably when she lifted them. But for Jiang Ciyi’s sake, this was necessary.

After a brief rest, Cheng Xing tested her hands and found them steady enough to hold the acupuncture needles. She disinfected the needles and began inserting them into specific points with precision. Acupuncture appeared less taxing than massaging but required intense concentration. Each needle had to be inserted into the correct point, at the right depth, within moments—a skill that demanded decades of experience. Fortunately, Cheng Xing had been handling needles since she was a child, and with her natural talent, even her grandfather relied on her for acupuncture when he was in pain. Her graduate studies focused on this, combining experience with systematic learning, which gave her the confidence to treat Jiang Ciyi’s legs.

In truth, Jiang Ciyi’s condition hadn’t worsened to an irreversible point. Her inability to stand was partly due to the original host’s actions. To manipulate and control Jiang Ciyi, the original host had hidden her true condition, claiming to hire the world’s best doctors while sabotaging her surgeries with “accidents” and colluding with doctors to lie, effectively sentencing her legs to a “death penalty.”

By the time Cheng Xing finished removing the needles, it was past 2 a.m., when people sleep most deeply. Sweating profusely, she hurriedly tidied up, pulled Jiang Ciyi’s pajama pants back down, covered her with a blanket, and took a quick shower. Though she wasn’t sleepy before, after the shower, she yawned three or four times as exhaustion hit. She collapsed onto the bed without even pulling up the covers and fell asleep.

The next morning, Cheng Xing woke to the sensation of a slap across her face. Her mind was foggy, as if the world had just begun. Groggily opening her eyes, she saw Jiang Ciyi’s face looming before her.

“Sleep a bit more,” Cheng Xing mumbled, trying to bury her face in the blanket, only to press against something soft.

Her drowsiness vanished instantly. She shot up, stammering, “I… you… I…”

She couldn’t form a complete sentence, her face flushing rapidly. Jiang Ciyi remained lying flat, her expression calm and clear, as if the person whose chest had just been pressed wasn’t her. “I was trying to move you aside,” she said coolly.

Cheng Xing touched her face. “You really hit me?”

Jiang Ciyi replied, “…It was the blanket.”

In truth, when Jiang Ciyi woke up, Cheng Xing’s poor sleeping posture had her sprawled across the blanket, rolling herself up like a yoga mat with her head nestled against Jiang Ciyi’s side. Jiang Ciyi had tried to nudge her head away to get up, but the force was off, and the blanket ended up smacking Cheng Xing’s face.

“Well,” Jiang Ciyi paused, explaining, “it was probably a beautiful misunderstanding.”

Cheng Xing lowered her head, yawning. “Alright. My sleeping posture is terrible.”

She knew this about herself and didn’t blame Jiang Ciyi. “You didn’t cover yourself with the blanket last night,” Jiang Ciyi added. “Maybe you were too cold.”

Cheng Xing: “…”

She had already let it go, yet Jiang Ciyi was still making excuses for her. What a good person.

Cheng Xing shrugged. “It’s fine, I’m used to it. Um…” She glanced at Jiang Ciyi, coughing lightly. “Sorry about that.”

Jiang Ciyi didn’t mind. Despite the two layers of blankets, she felt a bit squeezed, but it wasn’t about that specific spot—it was just the general sensation. She pointed outside. “The film crew is probably here.”

Cheng Xing hadn’t heard anything, and the room was lit only by faint light seeping through the curtains, making it hard to gauge the time. She pressed a button by the bed, and the curtains slowly opened, letting sunlight flood in. The bright sun gave her a sense of time. Checking her phone, she saw it was already 9:30 a.m.

She was still exhausted, having slept less than seven hours and missing her optimal rest window. It had been a while since she pulled an all-nighter, and the physical fatigue was hard to shake.

Jiang Ciyi got out of bed, and by the time Cheng Xing snapped out of her daze, Jiang Ciyi had emerged from the bathroom, her face radiant and clear. Suddenly, Cheng Xing recalled the slender, pale legs from the night before. She looked away, casually asking, “Want to have breakfast?”

“No,” Jiang Ciyi said. “Let’s wait a bit and have brunch instead.”

Cheng Xing nodded. “Sounds good.”

As Jiang Ciyi applied skincare at the vanity, she asked lightly, “What time did you go to bed last night?”

“Huh?” Cheng Xing froze, feeling guilty for a moment before lying, “Not long after you fell asleep, I did too. But I woke up in the middle of the night and played on my phone for a bit.”

“And…” Jiang Ciyi caught Cheng Xing’s reflection in the mirror, glancing at her casually. “You changed into a different set of pajamas before bed?”

Cheng Xing: “…”

Last night’s pajamas were soaked with sweat, so after her shower, she had grabbed a new set from the wardrobe. She hadn’t expected Jiang Ciyi to notice such a small detail.

“I changed in the middle of the night,” Cheng Xing said, steadying herself. “I think I had a slight fever last night. I woke up sweaty, so I took a shower and changed.”

She wasn’t good at lying, so she looked out the window while speaking. The view outside Tinglan Mansion was beautiful—not as vibrant as the garden at the Cheng family villa, but surrounded by green hills and a river, it had its own charm, especially from the master bedroom. However, the scene was now crowded with cameras and a film crew of at least a hundred people, making the spacious mansion feel cramped.

When Jiang Ciyi didn’t respond, Cheng Xing’s heart raced. She quickly changed the subject. “When did they get here? It looks like they’ve already started shooting.”

“No idea,” Jiang Ciyi said. “I just woke up too.”

Sitting down, she rubbed the back of her neck. “I slept really deeply last night.”

“Maybe you’ve been too tired lately,” Cheng Xing said quickly, forcing a laugh. “You can rest well these next few days.”

Jiang Ciyi looked at her with a scrutinizing gaze and called out coldly, “Cheng Xing.”

“Yeah?”

“You seem nervous.” Jiang Ciyi said.

Cheng Xing’s palms grew sweaty. Uncomfortable with the atmosphere, she tried to stay calm. “Do I? Maybe I didn’t sleep well last night.”

The room was bathed in warm sunlight, but Cheng Xing felt a chill down her spine, perhaps because she wasn’t used to doing things like this. Every word from Jiang Ciyi seemed loaded with meaning.

“I’ll go wash up and get ready. Let’s head downstairs to check things out.” Cheng Xing said, heading to the bathroom. “Wait for me—I’ll be quick.”

Jiang Ciyi gave a faint “oh” in response.

After Cheng Xing entered the bathroom, Jiang Ciyi lifted the hem of her skirt. There were tiny needle marks on her legs, barely noticeable unless examined closely. She had spotted them in the bathroom while changing, thanks to the angle of the light. Normally, no matter how tired she was, she wouldn’t sleep so heavily. Last night, she felt almost comatose, a stark contrast to normal sleep, which left her feeling refreshed. This morning, her mind was foggy.

After some thought, she suspected it might be related to the milk she drank last night. Comparing the marks on her legs, they resembled acupuncture needle pricks, densely scattered across her legs—a hallmark of traditional Chinese medicine acupuncture. Jiang Ciyi wasn’t an expert in this field, so her knowledge was limited. Initially, she wasn’t certain, but Cheng Xing’s morning behavior confirmed her suspicions.

Cheng Xing had definitely done something while she was asleep. Whether she brought someone into the room or did it herself was unclear. But why? Jiang Ciyi couldn’t figure it out.

Was it really because Cheng Xing liked her? …Such cheap affection.

Jiang Ciyi believed Cheng Xing would scour all of Jianggang for a diamond for Su Manchun, but she couldn’t believe Cheng Xing would go to such lengths for her. Emotionally, she leaned toward the idea that the current Cheng Xing wasn’t the same person as before. Perhaps there was something to the transmigration stories like in Spring Court Evening. But her rational mind quickly dismissed the notion.

Could dissociative identity disorder explain different skills? Jiang Ciyi lowered her gaze and scrolled through her WeChat contacts, finding a psychiatrist she knew from university.

[Dr. Fang, hello. I have a question. Besides having different personalities, can someone with dissociative identity disorder also have different talents or skills?]

Dr. Fang replied almost instantly: [Theoretically, yes. Different personalities may have different interests, so Personality A might enjoy films and learn filmmaking, while Personality B might like parkour and practice it when in control. When A takes over, they might not recall B’s parkour skills, and B might not know how to make films. But it depends on the case—not everyone shows these symptoms.]

Jiang Ciyi stared at the screen, deep in thought.

Dr. Fang: [Have you encountered someone with dissociative identity disorder?]

Jiang Ciyi: [Just curious.]

She didn’t share details of her life, only exchanging pleasantries with Dr. Fang. But his words made her lean toward the idea that Cheng Xing might have dissociative identity disorder rather than something as far-fetched as transmigration.

As she pondered, a sharp pain stabbed through her head. She pressed her temple, took a deep breath, and chalked it up to not sleeping well.

Midnight, Interstellar Fate Management Bureau

In a silver spherical space twinkling with countless stars, a purple metallic mechanical arm extended, waving casually in the air. The starry barrier vanished, revealing a room interwoven with blue-green and orange-red hues. A massive space capsule chair sat in the corner, connected to thousands of wires snaking across the floor, linked to a colossal LED screen.

The thousand-inch screen displayed countless real-time human lives in split sections.

“Number 36321,” a mechanical female voice rang out. A woman in a red leather outfit retracted her purple metallic arm, strode toward a man, and gritted her teeth. “Do you know you almost got caught?”

The man, with fluffy black pointed ears and silver-gray hair, wore a black outfit. He raised a silver metallic arm, and the LED screen vanished, revealing a heavy gray metal door.

Number 36321 didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pressed a red button nearby. With a hiss, the metal door opened, revealing a new space.

He walked in first, sat on the bed, and asked, “So?”

“You’re walking a tightrope, understand?” the mechanical voice said.

“Didn’t you cover for me?” Number 36321 replied carelessly. “Besides, I suppressed her brain. She won’t figure it out.”

“But sending someone from the Blue Planet violates the rules,” the woman in red said, standing before him. “If the Commander finds out, you’ll be sent to the Interstellar Five Elements Prison.”

Number 36321 remained silent.

“Hui Gu,” the woman in red snapped, though her mechanical tone lacked menace. “Are you really willing to give up everything for her?”

“The universe operates by its own laws, and Fate Navigators can’t interfere,” she continued. “You’re breaking the rules.”

“But what’s done is done,” Hui Gu said with a smile, revealing two sharp fangs, a mix of roguish charm and defiance. “Good sister, you’ll help me, right?”

The woman in red: “…”

“Plane 7531 has too many meddlers now,” she said. “Even that little demoness from the Gong family has gone there herself.”

Hui Gu’s expression shifted. “The Gong family from Panyu Star?”

“Yes,” the woman in red confirmed. “But she’s using a human identity. She’ll probably return once she’s had her fun.”

Hui Gu’s face relaxed. “Doesn’t matter. As long as she doesn’t interfere with my plans.”

“You’d better fix the world line soon, or I can’t help you,” the woman in red said, shaking her head. “If the Commander finds out, you…”

“Yin Die, I know what I’m doing,” Hui Gu interrupted.

Yin Die frowned, her purple metallic arm swinging to destroy the bed Hui Gu sat on. The bed collapsed with a loud crash, but Hui Gu had already flashed behind her, grabbing her neck. “Yin Die, don’t mess around.”

“Is she really that important?” Yin Die asked. “Hui Gu, you’ll ruin yourself for her.”

“I’m willing,” Hui Gu said.

Yin Die’s metallic fist creaked. “What if I report you to the Commander? Everything you’re planning will be destroyed.”

“Then isn’t the Commander at fault too? The spatial rift was their mistake,” Hui Gu countered. “I’m just fixing their mess.”

Yin Die’s elbow moved, shoving Hui Gu back. A massive purple butterfly materialized behind her, and she leaped onto its back. The butterfly’s wings flapped, carrying her toward the blue sky.

Hui Gu stood still, waving a hand to bring back the LED screen.

Cheng Xing pushed Jiang Ciyi to the filming set. The scene was noisy and crowded. Following Cheng Xing’s instructions, Sister Zhou had the maids prepare refreshing drinks for the entire crew. The director, who had previously clashed with Cheng Xing, came over to greet her.

Cheng Xing chatted with him briefly, her gaze drifting to Gu Qingfeng, who was getting her makeup touched up under a canopy. The shoot was for a modern drama, and Gu Qingfeng wore casual clothes with minimal makeup, crafted to look like flawless “no-makeup” makeup.

The director noticed and smiled. “Is Miss Cheng a fan of our Teacher Gu? I can get you a set of her signed photos.”

“No need,” Cheng Xing said. “My wife and I have both watched Teacher Gu’s Spring Court Evening and loved it.”

“Perfect! Our staff has signed photos from Spring Court Evening. I apologize for last time—consider this a peace offering,” the director said, waving for someone to bring them over.

Cheng Xing had Sister Zhou take them. “Thank you. You guys carry on; we’re just looking around.”

The director hadn’t known much about Tinglan Mansion’s background before, but after the last incident, he understood. The two women living here were, at the very least, financial backers—and at most, they held sway over half the entertainment industry. The Cheng family’s CEO, after entering the industry, acquired Wenxing Media and reshaped much of the entertainment world with decisive moves. Everyone knew you could offend anyone but the Cheng family.

That’s why the director tolerated Xu Zhaozhao’s antics. When Xu Zhaozhao complained about her character’s unlikeability, demanding the script be rewritten overnight, he endured it. Money was hard to earn, and some things were harder to swallow. Xu Zhaozhao even altered the script to add more scenes with Gu Qingfeng, turning the story into a mess.

Today’s scenes were from the newly revised script. Gu Qingfeng had received it that morning, and it included a kiss scene with Xu Zhaozhao.

The director looked at Cheng Xing with newfound respect, partly because she had previously put Xu Zhaozhao in her place. Though it delayed filming, it gave him some satisfaction. The secrets and feuds within wealthy families were endless, and he hoped Cheng Xing would handle the unreasonable Xu Zhaozhao.

“Miss Cheng, call me if you need anything,” the director said. “I’m off to prepare the next scene.”

Cheng Xing nodded.

She had brought Jiang Ciyi here to show her face to Gu Qingfeng, hoping Gu might recognize her. In the original story, it wasn’t clear how the Gu family realized Jiang Ciyi was their daughter—only that she was taken away from the attic near death. Now, with the timeline nearing that point, there was no sign of a reunion. Cheng Xing was trying her luck. Even if they didn’t reunite, getting Jiang Ciyi out for a change of scenery was worthwhile.

The crew cleared the set. Lighting technicians, cinematographers, the director, and actors took their places. Xu Zhaozhao, dressed in a chic outfit, walked side by side with Gu Qingfeng, stealing glances at her. After a few looks, she stopped in front of Gu Qingfeng, gazing up at her with affection. “Lin Jing, I… I like you.”

Gu Qingfeng played along. “Sorry, I already have someone I like.”

Her face was strikingly elegant, different from Jiang Ciyi’s features but with a similar cold demeanor. For a moment, Cheng Xing felt as if she were seeing the Jiang Ciyi she met when she first arrived.

“Who do you like?” Xu Zhaozhao asked.

“That’s not your concern,” Gu Qingfeng said, lowering her lashes. “I’ve always… seen you as a sister.”

“But I don’t want to be your sister,” Xu Zhaozhao pressed closer. “I want to be your lover, to sleep with you, to…”

“Stop, Miaomiao,” Gu Qingfeng stepped back.

Xu Zhaozhao advanced. “Why can’t I say it? I don’t just want to say it—I want to do it.”

Suddenly, she stood on her toes to kiss Gu Qingfeng. Gu Qingfeng raised a hand to block her, frowning at the director.

“Cut!” the director called.

Cheng Xing knelt beside Jiang Ciyi. “This scene’s pretty good, don’t you think?”

“It’s alright,” Jiang Ciyi said. “Not as good as Spring Court Evening.”

“How many episodes of Spring Court Evening have you watched?”

“Eighteen.”

“This doesn’t have the same emotional intensity as Spring Court Evening?”

“No,” Jiang Ciyi paused. “I don’t get it. I prefer stories where the female lead dominates and takes revenge. This… it’s boring.”

Cheng Xing pressed her temple, thinking she was bad at understanding emotions, but Jiang Ciyi was even worse.

Nearby, Gu Qingfeng confronted the director and writer with a cold expression. “The script changed again? How many versions is this? You don’t need to inform me before making changes? If so, you can replace the female lead.”

The set’s atmosphere grew tense. Cheng Xing asked if Jiang Ciyi was thirsty and suggested leaving the tense environment, but Jiang Ciyi declined. Noticing her dry lips, Cheng Xing went to fetch warm water, telling her to wait.

The crew continued arguing. Xu Zhaozhao took the blame, saying she thought the changes were good. Gu Qingfeng didn’t hold back. “Miss Xu, are you the writer? Does funding the project make you untouchable? If you like these clichés, write your own script instead of forcing them into a story they don’t fit.”

The director tried to mediate, but Gu Qingfeng walked away. “Sort it out. If the script isn’t fixed, either replace her or me.”

The director panicked—investors were there for Gu Qingfeng, not Xu Zhaozhao. Gu Qingfeng stepped aside, and Sister Zhou handed her a drink. “This is from Miss Jiang to help you cool off.”

Gu Qingfeng froze, unsure who that was. Following Sister Zhou’s gaze, her eyes met Jiang Ciyi’s. Jiang Ciyi nodded slightly, and Gu Qingfeng stared, stunned.

She looked so familiar.

For a moment, Gu Qingfeng thought she saw her mother in her youth. Jiang Ciyi gave a faint smile, and Gu Qingfeng couldn’t look away.

Suddenly, a worker carrying equipment passed by, a steel pipe wobbling dangerously. Without thinking, Gu Qingfeng moved toward Jiang Ciyi. As she approached, the pipe fell. Gu Qingfeng lunged, shielding Jiang Ciyi with her body.

The pipe struck her back with a loud bang. Her drink fell two steps away, shattering.

Cheng Xing, emerging from the house with a thermos, witnessed the scene. For some reason, her heart ached.