Transmigrated As The Villainous Scumbag Wife Of A Disabled Tycoon - Chapter 60

60

Jiang Ciyi was sleeping deeply.

A single bedside lamp cast a faint glow. In its dim light, Cheng Xing cautiously lifted the blanket, rolled up Jiang Ciyi’s pant leg, and reached for her numb legs.

Her legs were cold, just as they had been before. Cheng Xing patiently warmed them with a hot towel.

In the soft light, Jiang Ciyi’s legs appeared slender and fair, her natural pale skin almost translucent, with every vein visible under the lamplight.

It was as if one could see the bl00d flowing beneath her skin.

But when the towel, soaked in hot water, was placed on her legs, the contrast made them seem less pale.

They took on a warmer tone.

Cheng Xing tried to focus on the task as she always did, but it was hard to remain completely detached.

Her eyes kept drifting toward Jiang Ciyi, checking if she was awake.

If she was awake, how would Cheng Xing handle it?

She hadn’t considered this before, as she was certain Jiang Ciyi was deeply asleep in the past. But tonight, Jiang Ciyi hadn’t taken any sleeping pills—she was simply sleeping.

Even though her legs were numb, she couldn’t be entirely unaware of something unusual happening to her body.

Yet, Jiang Ciyi slept as soundly as if she had taken medication.

Her breathing was identical to the previous nights—steady, gentle, and even.

It seemed she had only teased Cheng Xing by bringing it up, enjoying her nervous and flustered attempts to hide her embarrassment.

Then, magnanimously, she had said, “Do whatever you want.”

Cheng Xing: “…”

How could she possibly “do whatever she wanted”?

In the beginning, Cheng Xing struggled to stay calm. Her mind raced with thoughts: What was Jiang Ciyi’s purpose in doing this? Was she teasing her? Getting revenge?

…

The overthinking made her movements more frantic than usual. Finally, she sat down, took a few deep breaths, and forced herself to stop dwelling on it.

That helped a lot.

By the time she finished, it was already two in the morning. Cheng Xing wasn’t sleepy at all.

Just then, Xu Jingcheng sent a message saying she was coming to Jianggang next week. She hadn’t found a renowned doctor, but she was bringing the general manager of a pharmaceutical company who might have access to more medical resources. By pulling all her connections, there might be a way to cure Jiang Ciyi.

Cheng Xing thanked her and asked if anyone was picking her up after her flight, offering to arrange someone if needed.

Xu Jingcheng sent a heart emoji: [I knew I didn’t misjudge you.]

Cheng Xing replied with a perfunctory period.

She knew the person Xu Jingcheng was bringing wouldn’t help.

Either she would change the course of events and cure Jiang Ciyi within two and a half months,

Or she would have to rely on the key character from the original story—Shen Qingxue—to help Jiang Ciyi recover.

Xu Jingcheng’s role in the original story wasn’t significant; she was just a supporting figure for the protagonist later on.

But since Xu Jingcheng was making an effort, Cheng Xing saw value in building a closer relationship with her and was more approachable.

Not long after putting down her phone, sleepiness hit. Cheng Xing lay on her side, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

A while later, Jiang Ciyi, lying on the other side of the double bed, opened her eyes.

The room was so quiet that only their breathing could be heard. Jiang Ciyi turned her head to look at Cheng Xing, who was sleeping with her back to her.

Though she had guessed Cheng Xing was treating her this way, seeing it with her own eyes felt different.

When Cheng Xing massaged her legs, her expression was serious, and her technique was practiced. She knew every acupuncture point on the body with precision. Especially when inserting the silver needles—one after another, in the blink of an eye, a neat row of needles stood uniformly in her leg.

Jiang Ciyi couldn’t feel her legs, but watching Cheng Xing’s movements made something stir in her heart.

Especially how she massaged her legs, over and over, with such care.

…

What secrets was this person hiding?

Why did she have a dual personality?

Jiang Ciyi couldn’t figure it out. She had already researched papers on dual personality disorder and read scholars’ discussions, gaining some understanding of the condition.

Typically, a major traumatic event would cause one personality to want to escape, leading to the emergence of another personality to take over.

In short, a person might develop this condition after a significant shock, and if not handled carefully, it could even lead to schizophrenia.

Since Jiang Ciyi had known Cheng Xing—especially since their wedding day—nothing had happened that seemed traumatic enough to trigger such a change in Cheng Xing.

So, it was likely something from her past that had caused it.

But personality switches in dual personality disorder are time-sensitive. Completely suppressing the secondary personality is extremely difficult.

It’s even possible for the two personalities to fight for control of the body.

Jiang Ciyi hadn’t known Cheng Xing for long, but it wasn’t a short time either. In all that time, she had only encountered one personality.

So… when did this personality emerge?

If she wanted to master a skill completely different from the other personality—especially something like acupuncture, which takes years to learn—it would require at least a decade.

Ten years ago…

That would trace back to Cheng Xing’s school days.

A princess pampered from birth, adored by everyone—what could she not have?

According to the information Xu Congshi provided, aside from Su Manchun, Cheng Xing had never shown kindness to anyone.

She was consistently cold.

There was nothing noteworthy in her records to suggest good behavior.

So, the Cheng Xing from back then was likely the same personality Jiang Ciyi had met before.

Could it be because of Su Manchun?

What happened between her and Su Manchun that night?

Jiang Ciyi had also consulted a psychiatrist, asking if dual personalities could have different dietary habits or even develop allergies.

After all, a person’s personality can be deceptive, but the body doesn’t lie.

The doctor said it was possible.

Under certain psychological influences, the body might react deceptively to certain foods, triggering allergies or other responses.

Most illnesses have traceable causes, but mental disorders are hard to fully explain, let alone treat with scientific precision.

Jiang Ciyi’s mind raced like a slideshow, replaying past events to deduce the truth.

Her thoughts moved quickly, but she still couldn’t unravel the mystery.

Until a sharp, needle-like pain stabbed her head, similar to the pain she’d felt before.

She stopped thinking, pressed her temples, closed her eyes, and went to sleep.

“Hui Gu!” Yin Die waved her hand, forcibly opening the hibernation pod. “If you keep this up, you’ll get caught sooner or later.”

Hui Gu glanced up indifferently, her short ears twitching as she shook her head. “No choice. My master is too smart.”

Yin Die: “…?”

She gritted her teeth. “And you’re proud of that?”

“What else can I do?” Hui Gu raised her hand, summoning a large screen and casually opening a scene—one of an argument, eerily similar to their current situation.

Hui Gu’s head ached watching it, and she promptly shut it off.

The screen vanished, revealing a vibrant, colorful space. Hui Gu stood in place, her mechanical arm extending to grab a bottle of honey from the corner, tossing it to Yin Die without looking back.

Yin Die frowned. “We don’t need to eat this stuff.”

But she caught the bottle anyway.

“Most of the bees I raised are dead,” Hui Gu said. “This is the last bottle.”

“Light-heat meal packs are enough to sustain us,” Yin Die replied. “Worst case, we have nutrient injections.”

“They’re not sweet,” Hui Gu said, pointing at the honey. “Try it. It’s sweet.”

Yin Die: “…”

His interruption nearly made her forget why she was there.

“Fine.” Yin Die remembered, glaring fiercely. “The red light at the machine communication center went off again. Did you know? Can you stop doing such dangerous things?”

“But I’ve already started,” Hui Gu said, pulling a chair from somewhere and sitting down, rocking it lazily. “Yin Die, I’m only doing this once.”

“This once could destroy the entire plane world, don’t you get it?” Yin Die said. “The Heavenly Law won’t allow this.”

“Then don’t let the Heavenly Law know,” Hui Gu said calmly.

Yin Die: “…”

She stared at him, but he continued, “Try a taste. This environment isn’t suited for any living thing. You won’t get honey this sweet again.”

Under his gaze, Yin Die extended her mechanical arm. With a click, it transformed into human-like skin with slender fingers. She dipped her finger in the honey.

Hui Gu asked leisurely, “Sweet, right?”

“Yeah.” Yin Die paused. “I’ve forgotten what it used to taste like. Living here, sweet or bitter—it doesn’t mean much.”

“That’s why you’re all so boring,” Hui Gu said, fiddling with a potted plant on the floor that had sprouted green leaves. Yin Die asked what he was growing now.

Hui Gu said, “A seed I got by chance. I don’t know what it’ll become.”

Yin Die asked where the seed came from and how long the leaves would stay green.

Hui Gu didn’t know.

Yin Die said, “You’re so dull.”

Hui Gu reached out from a distance and tapped her arm. Yin Die glared at him in pain, and he reminded her, “Put away your fake limb. If someone sees, they’ll report you to the Speech Bureau.”

“It’s just for a moment,” Yin Die said. “I’m safe as can be here.”

Hui Gu lay back in the hibernation pod. “Then keep being safe. I’m resting.”

Yin Die suddenly remembered she came to confront him, but his constant interruptions had defused her anger.

Now, the tension she felt when she saw the red light at the machine communication center was mostly gone. She could finally speak calmly. “Hui Gu, you need to stop what you’re doing.”

Hui Gu’s eyelids drooped. “Why?”

“If the commander finds out, you’ll be sent to the Interstellar Five Elements Prison,” Yin Die said. “You might even lose your status as a Fate Navigator.”

“So what?” Hui Gu was unmoved.

“Are you really willing to give up everything for her?” Yin Die asked. “Is she that important? You’re already a Fate Navigator, not the…”

“Yin Die!” Hui Gu suddenly shouted, cutting her off.

In her memory, Hui Gu rarely called her by name, usually lazily saying “hey” or “sister.”

When he first arrived, Yin Die had been fooled by him plenty.

Now that the boy had grown into a teenager, she realized how stubborn he was.

In the Interstellar Fate Bureau, no one bothered to keep bees for honey or grow flowers and plants. With special agents, they could make flowers bloom across the bureau in an instant if they wanted.

In this dazzling, colorful, cold mechanical world, they faced endless scrolling data and system-assigned tasks daily. No one ever gathered to do anything together.

Except Hui Gu. He seemed determined to prove he wasn’t just cold machinery.

He didn’t care about being a Fate Navigator or living forever.

He did as he pleased, carrying a trace of the human warmth he’d once cherished, which Yin Die couldn’t understand.

Stunned by his shout, Yin Die felt her eardrums ache from his mechanical voice. “Without her, there wouldn’t be the Hui Gu of today.”

“Besides,” Hui Gu said softly, “if it weren’t for Commander Wopus, why would I do this? Wopus fears higher civilizations, but I don’t.”

“The Gong family…”

“I know Gong Qingwu went there. So what?”

Yin Die froze.

Hui Gu said calmly, “My master shouldn’t be anyone’s pawn. She deserves the best.”

Yin Die was stunned, then roared, “Hui Gu, you’re insane!”

She summoned her mount and stormed off.

Hui Gu sat in the hibernation pod, opening his palm to reveal a photo.

In the photo, a girl lay on an old wooden table under dim yellow light, her hair tinged with its glow. Tears lingered at the corners of her eyes, and a letter lay under her hand.

The letter read: [He Miao, why did you suddenly stop replying? I miss you so much.]

In an instant, Hui Gu tucked the photo away, lay back in the pod, closed his eyes, and shut the pod’s door.

He thought calmly: I’ll make sure you get everything you love, Master.

Even if it costs me everything.

The next morning, Cheng Xing sent Jiang Ciyi off as usual. The coffee Sister Zhou had prepared was swapped for milk by Jiang Ciyi.

She didn’t say anything or ask anything.

She gave Cheng Xing enough face.

But Cheng Xing couldn’t shake a lingering unease, fearing some storm was brewing beneath Jiang Ciyi’s calm exterior.

Yet, the days proved otherwise.

For several days, Jiang Ciyi went to bed early, as if deliberately leaving Cheng Xing time to “work.”

Once, Jiang Ciyi woke up in the middle of the night and sat up, saying helplessly, “It’s too early. I really can’t sleep. Why don’t you give me a pill?”

Cheng Xing: “…”

“Who asks to take pills willingly?” Cheng Xing said helplessly. “If you can’t sleep, watch some TV.”

Jiang Ciyi said, “I noticed you’re not used to me watching you.”

Cheng Xing pursed her lips. “But if you want to watch, I can’t stop you.”

“I don’t want to interfere with your treatment,” Jiang Ciyi said. “Do what you think is best.”

“How are you so sure I’m treating you?” Cheng Xing teased deliberately. “What if I’m just poking needles randomly to make sure you never stand again?”

“I’m already never going to stand,” Jiang Ciyi said. “Poke away. I can’t feel the pain anyway.”

Her casual tone made Cheng Xing’s heart twinge, as if pricked by a needle. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth,” Jiang Ciyi said, sitting on the bed and turning on the projector to play Spring Court Evening. It was nearing the end.

She watched the time-traveling female lead return to the modern world, busy but aimless, staring blankly at certain places. The barrage was filled with comments like “heartbroken.”

But Jiang Ciyi didn’t feel much.

The drama was good, and people loved the romance, but she didn’t quite get it.

The barrage was flooded: Heartbroken. Go back. Find your wife!

Jiang Ciyi couldn’t relate to these sentiments.

But she respected the audience’s feelings.

Cheng Xing had inserted all the needles into her legs and asked if she felt anything. Jiang Ciyi shook her head. “Nothing.”

“This process takes time,” Cheng Xing said. “Traditional Chinese medicine focuses on treating the root cause, slowly. Since you know now, we’ll start medicated baths tomorrow. I’ll get the herbs.”

“Won’t that trouble Sister Zhou?” Jiang Ciyi asked.

Cheng Xing: “…I’ll handle it myself.”

Jiang Ciyi didn’t say anything more.

But Cheng Xing felt she was implying something. “Sister Zhou doesn’t know I can do this. My family doesn’t either.”

“So I’m the only one who knows?” Jiang Ciyi raised an eyebrow.

Cheng Xing nodded.

“Then I’m special.” Jiang Ciyi said.

Cheng Xing: “…”

Her tone was casual, but Cheng Xing couldn’t shake the feeling she was being subtly sarcastic.

Trying not to overthink, Cheng Xing glanced at the screen. It was Gu Qingfeng’s solo scene, standing in a museum, touching the glass case around a celadon vase, tears streaming down her face. No dialogue was needed—just the background music was enough to make the audience cry along with her.

The barrage went wild:

[Please, let them be together!]

[This isn’t hurting them, it’s hurting me!]

[What did I do to deserve this? No bad ending!]

[Go back!]

[My heart’s shattered like broken glass.]

[…]

Not knowing the context, Cheng Xing asked casually, “What’s this about?”

“She time-traveled to ancient times, met a princess during her revenge, and fell in love.” Jiang Ciyi said. “They watched fireworks together, rode horses, shot arrows. After her revenge, she returned to the modern world. The audience is heartbroken.”

“Hm… the princess didn’t go back with her?” Cheng Xing asked.

Jiang Ciyi shook her head. “The princess is from ancient times. She has her emperor father, her empress mother, and she has to marry for an alliance, or her dynasty will fall, and her family will be slaughtered.”

“What?” Cheng Xing was surprised. “Are they setting up for a second season?”

“Don’t know. There’s five minutes left until the end,” Jiang Ciyi said, pausing. “Isn’t it normal for her to go back?”

Cheng Xing nodded. “It is.”

“But does she have parents in the modern world?” Cheng Xing asked.

“She does,” Jiang Ciyi said. “And a fiancée.”

Cheng Xing: “…”

“So they’re definitely setting up a second season,” Cheng Xing said. “It’ll probably be about her going back to save the princess from the marriage and defending her country.”

Jiang Ciyi laughed. “You’re doing the writer’s job now?”

“It’s the usual trope,” Cheng Xing shrugged. “If they want a second season, they’ll go for an open ending.”

As they chatted, the drama reached its climax. Gu Qingfeng’s character dreamed of the princess, embracing her, but woke up just as they were about to kiss.

At the same time, she saw a celestial phenomenon in the sky.

The scene shifted to a bustling 21st-century street. The princess, in her ancient wedding attire, appeared, mistaken for a cosplaying influencer as people snapped photos.

Gu Qingfeng saw the news and rushed to the scene.

Across the crowd, their eyes met.

The drama ended.

Jiang Ciyi turned off the projector. “Sorry, Miss Cheng, you guessed wrong.”

Cheng Xing had bet on a second season set in ancient times, but the writers chose a modern setting.

“So it proves one thing,” Cheng Xing said solemnly.

“What?”

“I can’t be a screenwriter.”

“…”

“I can only be a traditional Chinese medicine practitioner,” Cheng Xing said, checking the time and washing her hands to remove the needles.

She pulled the needles out quickly. Jiang Ciyi watched her intently, her eyes conveying much but saying nothing.

Occasionally, when Cheng Xing looked up and met her gaze, she wanted to say, Just ask something already!

Jiang Ciyi, true to her word, never asked a single question.

The room grew quiet, and Cheng Xing awkwardly said, “Should we talk about something?”

Jiang Ciyi hummed and started a topic. “Do you think Gu Qingfeng should’ve gone back?”

“She should,” Cheng Xing said. “But I don’t think the princess should’ve come to the modern world. You?”

“I agree.” Jiang Ciyi said.

The conversation stopped.

It was an easy topic to discuss—barrages were filled with comments daily. Even before Jiang Ciyi watched it, Zheng Shuqing would rave about it, always with new praises.

But for some reason, with them, it ended in two sentences.

More awkward than having no topic at all.

Probably because they agreed too much.

Fearing the silence and Jiang Ciyi’s intense stare, Cheng Xing tried again. “A lot of viewers think she should’ve stayed in ancient times, right?”

“Yeah,” Jiang Ciyi said. “Maybe because they think love is important.”

“It is important.” Cheng Xing said.

But not more important than other things.

Jiang Ciyi suddenly asked, “If you were the princess, would you leave your family to find your lover in a strange place?”

Cheng Xing paused. “Probably not.”

“I imagined it: my emperor father toiling on the throne, my elder sister guarding the border with her spear, my empress mother soothing the court officials’ families in the palace, and thousands of citizens facing displacement from war. But if I marry for an alliance, my father, mother, and sister would be free of this burden, the kingdom would stand, and the people would be safe. Why wouldn’t I do it?”

“But you have a choice. You don’t have to sacrifice.”

“You need to know where you come from and shoulder your responsibilities before talking about love.”

Jiang Ciyi stared at her. “So love can be abandoned?”

Cheng Xing, immersed in the scenario, shook her head faintly. “Isn’t love for your country and family also love?”

After a pause, Cheng Xing asked, “What about you? What would you choose?”

“I’d stay in ancient times, but I wouldn’t marry,” Jiang Ciyi said.

Her answer was both expected and surprising. Cheng Xing asked, “Why?”

“Being revered and supported by the people but abandoning them at a critical moment makes you unworthy of being a princess,” Jiang Ciyi said. “But I also wouldn’t betray my heart or the lover I swore to. So I’d choose to fight on the battlefield to protect my country.”

Cheng Xing: “…”

A path she hadn’t considered.

Cheng Xing finished up, put away the needles, and went to the bathroom for a quick shower. When she returned, Jiang Ciyi was scrolling on her phone.

Cheng Xing climbed into bed and asked casually, “What are you looking at?”

Jiang Ciyi frowned, pausing before saying, “Gu Qingfeng and Xu Zhaozhao are together.”

Cheng Xing nearly fell off the bed, her jaw dropping. “What?”