Transmigrated As The Villainous Scumbag Wife Of A Disabled Tycoon - Chapter 79

79

The funeral for the old lady was scheduled for the end of the month.

Those were the coldest days of the year in Jianggang, where stepping outside felt like frost might form on your eyelashes.

But in reality, it didn’t.

Jianggang’s winters had no snow, but the dampness was heavy, easily creating that illusion.

Cheng Zimo, as always, remained composed. Not only did he prove his indispensability to the Cheng Group with the annual financial report at the board meeting, but he also managed to orchestrate the old lady’s funeral with ease.

Unlike Xu Zhaozhao, the old lady had once been a formidable figure in the tumultuous world of business.

But her strength, over time, had placed her on a pedestal, where she could no longer tolerate defiance.

In the end, she didn’t find peace.

Her funeral, however, couldn’t be as simple as Xu Zhaozhao’s. It came at a time of great upheaval, just after Cheng Zimo and his uncle had concluded a silent battle.

Even though no major incidents arose, rumors swirled outside.

The old lady’s funeral was the perfect social occasion to dispel all rumors and confirm who the new head of the Cheng family truly was.

Cheng Kunshan had no comments on the matter.

Since the day the old lady passed, when Cheng Kunshan lashed out at his younger brother in the hospital, he hadn’t spoken up, no matter how things escalated.

The guest list for the funeral took two days to finalize, and during discussions, Cheng Kunshan’s opinion was sought. He would sit there, belatedly glancing around, and nod dully, “I have no objections.”

Guan Linmin was a loyal person. To uphold Cheng Zimo’s position as the new head, she checked out of the hospital despite her surgical wounds not being fully healed and busied herself with preparations alongside Qin Zhiyun.

The entire Cheng family came together for the old lady’s funeral.

Cheng Xing occasionally visited but didn’t say much. During breaks in the discussions, she would check on Guan Linmin’s condition, taking her pulse and offering some medical advice.

Guan Linmin’s eyes would linger on her, asking if she wanted to become a traditional Chinese medicine doctor.

Cheng Xing: “…”

“I’m a bit interested,” Cheng Xing replied casually. “I’ll think about it.”

It was as if, if she said she wanted to, Guan Linmin would immediately enroll her in a medical school for formal training.

Having lived a structured life from childhood to adulthood, Cheng Xing had never experienced such extravagant “privileges.” But her time here was limited, and she couldn’t commit to systematic study or take on a formal title.

Cheng Xing could only say she was a blind cat stumbling upon a dead mouse—pure luck.

Still, she enrolled in an offline course on traditional Chinese medicine, covering only the basics. She kept it a secret from Guan Linmin and the others, treating it as a way to quietly reflect.

With so much happening at home, she first handled Jiang Ciyi’s hospital discharge, ensuring she was fine before letting her return to work at the lab.

Meanwhile, Cheng Xing took a half-month leave.

During that time, she received a concerned message from Daisy, asking if something was wrong.

Cheng Xing didn’t hide the truth, explaining that an elderly family member had passed away, and she needed to attend the funeral. She also mentioned her mother’s recent surgery.

Daisy quietly sent her 500 yuan, which Cheng Xing didn’t accept.

But she remembered the kindness.

In their office, aside from Daisy, who showed some warmth, Cheng Xing didn’t have a good impression of the other two male colleagues.

Her half-month leave, however, gave her some much-needed peace.

In the evenings, after Jiang Ciyi came home from work, they’d eat and wash up. Cheng Xing would then give her acupuncture and massages before taking a shower herself.

By the time she came out, Jiang Ciyi was often already asleep, her face turned to the side.

Her leg wasn’t fully healed, so she couldn’t lie on her side. But after book club meetings, she always read. So, Cheng Xing bought a bedside book holder to clip her books in place.

She also got an e-ink tablet, downloading over a thousand e-books for Jiang Ciyi to read.

Since that day, the atmosphere between her and Jiang Ciyi had been delicate, but neither addressed it.

Cheng Xing became more attentive to her, and Jiang Ciyi didn’t resist her closeness.

That day, Jiang Ciyi had lightly bitten her ear and whispered, “I’ll try.”

Cheng Xing wasn’t sure if that counted as a confession.

Probably not.

There was no formal “I like you” or “Let’s be together, will you be my girlfriend?”

She only said she occasionally crossed the line.

Looking back, Cheng Xing could barely recall the emotions she felt when she said those words.

Her heart had been pounding with nervous anticipation, yet she was certain she was expressing her feelings for someone.

She might not stay by Jiang Ciyi’s side for long.

But as she once told Jiang Ciyi—seize the day.

That’s why she didn’t dare say such things to Jiang Ciyi.

Jiang Ciyi was like a beautiful butterfly, briefly resting with her. But Cheng Xing knew the butterfly would eventually spread its wings and fly elsewhere.

All she could do was ensure the butterfly wasn’t hurt and could take flight bravely.

To soar higher and farther.

It sounded like Cheng Xing was some noble person.

But she knew she was brave yet tinged with cowardice.

Her bravery lay in admitting her feelings when she liked someone.

Otherwise, like her sudden loss of contact with her pen pal years ago, her youthful, innocent affection was stifled before it could see the light of day.

That experience taught her to be honest and brave with her emotions.

But she also knew clearly that Jiang Ciyi’s ultimate destination wasn’t her.

…

If only people didn’t know their fates.

Then they could love recklessly, passionately.

Sometimes, Cheng Xing thought “foresight” wasn’t a good thing.

On the day of the old lady’s funeral, Jianggang’s sky was overcast.

It felt like a big rain was imminent, but the weather forecast predicted no rain.

Jiang Ciyi took bereavement leave from Xu Congshi, who casually said, “No need to ask. We’ll see each other at the funeral.”

As a younger relative close to the Cheng family, Xu Congshi had to attend.

Cheng Xing and Jiang Ciyi wore black, with white flowers pinned to their chests by Sister Zhou.

Cheng Zimo had arranged everything, so Cheng Xing and Jiang Ciyi only needed to arrive on time and stand through the funeral.

Many came to pay their respects. The memorial hall was indoors, with the air conditioning turned up high, a stark contrast to the chilly outdoors.

Looking at the old lady’s photo in its frame, Cheng Xing recalled her harsh demeanor.

When she first heard of the old lady from Guan Linmin, she thought she was some terrifying figure. In the end, she was just a stubborn old woman.

She wasn’t Cheng Xing’s grandmother, hadn’t raised her, and Cheng Xing felt no attachment to her.

Yet, inexplicably, she thought of her own grandmother.

A gentle woman from Jiangnan, with a soft voice, always careful not to startle anyone.

Cheng Xing loved talking with her, snuggling up to read together, bonelessly leaning against her. Her grandmother would poke her forehead, saying, “No backbone.”

Cheng Xing would lazily reply, “Yup, yup.”

And they’d laugh together.

Her grandmother sang many nursery rhymes, her Wu dialect carrying the unique charm of Jiangnan.

It was something Cheng Xing, raised in Beijing, could never master.

She tried learning but couldn’t capture even a fraction of it.

She wondered how her grandmother was doing now.

After her father’s debts, the family’s herbal medicine shop was sold to pay them off, but he still died leaving a mountain of debt.

Since then, Cheng Xing had stayed at school, avoiding her grandmother’s home, perhaps out of resentment.

She wasn’t sure where that resentment came from. Thinking back, it seemed irrational.

But for someone who’d lived in an ivory tower, the sudden upheaval was hard to accept.

Their family had once been so happy.

Now, looking at the square black-and-white portrait by the coffin, a tear rolled down Cheng Xing’s cheek.

The moment it fell, Jiang Ciyi was stretching her hand, worried that her legs’ decline might affect her hands.

Even if she might never wield a scalpel again, she couldn’t lose her skill at eating.

Just in case.

The tear landed on her hand, cool and glistening.

Jiang Ciyi looked up just as Cheng Xing looked down.

Their eyes met unexpectedly.

Cheng Xing crouched down and asked, “Where do you think people go after they die?”

After paying their respects, mourners moved to the banquet hall, which became a social hub.

Even in death, the old lady was nourishing the Cheng family—or rather, the Cheng Group.

Everyone had their place, bustling with purpose.

Jiang Ciyi noticed a strand of hair fall by Cheng Xing’s ear. Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t reach out.

Still, after staring for a moment, her OCD kicked in, and she tucked the strand behind Cheng Xing’s ear.

Then she turned and asked, “What?”

Cheng Xing repeated her question softly.

It wasn’t appropriate to discuss this in the memorial hall, but with so many mourners, it felt like a supermarket checkout line during a sale.

The hall wasn’t noisy, but it wasn’t quiet either.

Their whispered conversation wouldn’t be overheard.

Perhaps the funeral was too dull, or maybe in such a solemn setting, one’s heart couldn’t remain unmoved.

But when someone is quiet for too long, their thoughts wander.

That’s why Cheng Xing asked.

Jiang Ciyi paused and said, “Heaven?”

Cheng Xing burst out laughing, her tone lazy. “A’Ci, that’s so unoriginal.”

“Then where do you think?” Jiang Ciyi asked.

Cheng Xing squinted, leaning close. “I also think it’s heaven.”

Jiang Ciyi: “…”

Cheng Xing’s head was right by her hand, and Jiang Ciyi couldn’t resist tapping it.

Cheng Xing turned to look at her, her expression a bit aggrieved.

“Watermelon’s ripe,” Jiang Ciyi said.

Cheng Xing: “…It hurts.”

Jiang Ciyi reached out to rub it. “Won’t hit so hard next time.”

Cheng Xing: “?”

“There’s a next time?” Her eyes widened.

Jiang Ciyi said, “Your words were too sweet. Couldn’t help it.”

Cheng Xing fell silent, then said seriously, “Because I think we’re both unoriginal.”

“Because we haven’t died,” Jiang Ciyi said, coldly shattering her slightly unrealistic romanticism. Her clear voice stood out in the hall.

For some reason, amid the crowd’s noise, Cheng Xing could always pick it out.

Jiang Ciyi added, “I’ll tell you after I die.”

Cheng Xing: “.”

Brutal.

“No need,” Cheng Xing said. “Maybe to another world.”

Jiang Ciyi followed her lead. “Have you died?”

Cheng Xing: “?”

Coincidentally, she had.

“A’Ci,” Cheng Xing glanced outside. “It’s raining. The forecast was wrong again.”

Since that day, she’d grown used to calling her A’Ci, as if they’d known each other forever.

Spending every day together created that illusion.

It had only been a little over a month, but it felt like they’d been partners for ages.

Cheng Xing pointed outside. The mourners were elites, accompanied by bodyguards and assistants, their hair and shoes untouched by rain. But the staff holding umbrellas for them weren’t so lucky.

Through a door, Cheng Xing saw an assistant soaked, hair dripping.

Jianggang’s winter rain carried a chill, easy to catch a cold in.

Cheng Xing squinted, realizing her eyesight had worsened lately, possibly nearsighted.

Even Jiang Ciyi noticed, asking if she was becoming nearsighted.

Cheng Xing rubbed her eyes. “A bit.”

She saw the assistant standing rigidly in the cold wind, shivering.

Cheng Xing patted Jiang Ciyi’s shoulder. “A’Ci, wait here. I need to handle something, okay?”

Jiang Ciyi glanced at her, understanding with one look. “They’re doing their job. Leaving their post could cost them their work.”

A gentle reminder not to be overly kind.

Cheng Xing nodded. “Got it.”

As she stood, she wanted to ruffle Jiang Ciyi’s hair in revenge for the earlier tap. But under Jiang Ciyi’s cautious gaze, her hand veered, half landing on Jiang Ciyi’s face, half on her head.

Jiang Ciyi gave her a faint glance. Cheng Xing flashed a sly grin.

But that smile wasn’t off-putting.

Jiang Ciyi kind of liked it—it was… unique.

As Cheng Xing stepped out, she ran into Xu Congshi, told her Jiang Ciyi was waiting, and hurried off.

As the young miss, she didn’t need to do everything herself.

She instructed the Cheng family’s butler to handle it.

The butler was briefly stunned, looking at Cheng Xing with surprise, but quickly complied.

Since it was the old residence’s butler, Cheng Xing wasn’t familiar with him and didn’t say much.

When she returned, the mourners’ staff had been moved to a temporary rain shelter. The gray canopy clashed with the grand building’s elegance, looking cheap, but it served as a refuge from the rain.

Inside were a makeshift cloakroom and shower area.

The showers were basic but had hot water.

The butler had prepared new black clothes in various sizes.

In the banquet hall, elites clinked champagne glasses, while outside was another world.

The butler followed Cheng Xing’s instructions precisely, also providing ginger tea and heating pads for warmth, available for self-service.

Cheng Xing occasionally checked outside, impressed by the butler’s efficiency.

Xu Congshi wasn’t suited for such social settings, so when her mother entered the banquet hall, she stayed with Jiang Ciyi.

Chatting with a friend made the boredom bearable.

About three hours later, most guests had arrived.

The banquet hall was crowded, with people socializing beyond consoling the family. Business deals were often discussed here.

Cheng Zimo’s guest list included old elites and new figures from politics and business.

It was a prime networking opportunity.

Worried Jiang Ciyi might be hungry, Cheng Xing had candies and chocolates in her pocket.

But Xu Congshi was the first to complain of hunger, asking where to find food.

Cheng Xing pointed to the banquet hall. “There’s dessert inside.”

“Don’t want to go in,” Xu Congshi said casually. “Too crowded.”

Cheng Xing: “…”

She glanced at Jiang Ciyi, pulled out a chocolate, and handed it to Xu Congshi. “Here.”

Xu Congshi took it, biting into it despite the setting. “Pretty sweet.”

Cheng Xing offered Jiang Ciyi a candy. “You should refuel too.”

Jiang Ciyi hesitated. “Is that okay?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Xu Congshi said nonchalantly. “You’ve dissected how many bodies? We deal with this stuff daily.”

Jiang Ciyi: “…”

Fair point.

While Jiang Ciyi hesitated, Cheng Xing popped the candy in her mouth.

Jiang Ciyi gave her a look.

Xu Congshi, used to it, tsked. “Dog food.”

Cheng Xing chuckled. Having grown close to Xu Congshi, she found her less cold than she seemed—just a research nerd.

Cheng Xing was used to such people.

So she bantered easily. “Didn’t I give you some too? Fair share.”

“Hm?” Jiang Ciyi’s tone rose, carrying a faint threat.

Cheng Xing quickly backtracked. “Forced to give it.”

“No way,” Xu Congshi said, still hungry after the chocolate. She’d been dragged out of bed that morning without eating, starving enough to devour a cow—but not this “dog food.” “Junior, you’re even jealous of this?”

Cheng Xing thought Jiang Ciyi wouldn’t respond, but she said, “Yes.”

Her clear, cool voice floated like an ethereal fairy, yet her words were grounded. “She speaks without thinking. I have to remind her.”

Cheng Xing: “.”

Schooled again.

Cheng Xing and Jiang Ciyi’s role was to stand in the memorial hall, essentially greeting guests as hosts.

They kept their voices low, only chatting briefly.

It was like slacking off at work.

You had to seem diligent while sneaking in your own business.

It was a skill.

But with Xu Congshi there, the task got trickier.

They thought she was quiet, but she and Jiang Ciyi had plenty to talk about—lab matters, not gossip, just data.

Cheng Xing’s head spun listening. Without paper records, Xu Congshi’s brain was like a computer, recalling numbers perfectly.

More impressively, Jiang Ciyi kept up.

Fearing they’d head straight to the lab for experiments, Cheng Xing intervened. “Alright, no more guests should be coming. Let’s head inside.”

Xu Congshi stretched. “Any water?”

Cheng Xing: “…There’s wine.”

She pointed to the banquet hall. “In there.”

Xu Congshi shook her head, eyeing the gray canopy. “That ginger tea looks good. I’ll chat with my sister.”

Her sister?

As she moved to leave, Jiang Ciyi grabbed her jacket, shaking her head.

Xu Congshi pressed her temples. “What’s up, Miss Jiang?”

“Go inside,” Jiang Ciyi said. “That’s not your place.”

Xu Congshi laughed. “Who says where I should or shouldn’t go? I don’t do socializing.”

“But today, you’re at the Chengs’,” Jiang Ciyi said. “Give them face.”

Xu Congshi: “…”

She came back. “Fine, lab tomorrow.”

She even set terms with Jiang Ciyi.

Later, Cheng Xing asked why she stopped Xu Congshi. Jiang Ciyi said calmly, “In settings like this, people judge the Chengs’ capability from multiple angles—guest reception, cooperation, all of it. If Senior went out there, it could make the Chengs seem incompetent.”

Xu Congshi’s “sister” wasn’t her real sister but a Xu family staff member.

Xu Congshi lacked the airs of a young miss.

During her research days, she was scolded for data errors but never lost her temper.

At graduation, her advisor learned she was the Xu heiress who’d donated two lab buildings.

The advisor’s look was dazed, but Xu Congshi just said, “Teacher, didn’t I pass my thesis? What’s that look? Want to scold me again?”

Advisor: “…”

Cheng Xing realized Jiang Ciyi was helping maintain appearances.

She gave Jiang Ciyi a silent thumbs-up. Uncomfortable with overt praise, Jiang Ciyi bent her thumb down.

But when she let go, Cheng Xing’s thumb popped back up.

Jiang Ciyi glared, and Cheng Xing retracted it playfully, her fingers brushing Jiang Ciyi’s palm lightly.

Like a feather, it tickled, making her want to hold on.

Jiang Ciyi grabbed at air.

Cheng Xing flashed another thumbs-up in front of herself.

Jiang Ciyi: “…”

She laughed, her lips curving briefly.

“Enough, it’s a funeral.” Xu Congshi reminded.

Cheng Xing said calmly, “Don’t you come from a pile of corpses? Scared of this?”

“I’m scared,” Xu Congshi said frankly. “Scared of your dog food.”

“Then get married.” Cheng Xing teased.

Xu Congshi: “…”

Silence was her best reply.

“Senior’s never been in love,” Jiang Ciyi chimed in.

Xu Congshi: “Hey, don’t rub it in.”

Cheng Xing glanced outside. The rain was heavier, and no more mourners were expected, so she prepared to lead them to the banquet hall.

But then, Cheng Zimo emerged, adjusting his suit, looking serious.

Cheng Xing asked, “Big Brother, why’d you come out?”

“An important guest is coming,” Cheng Zimo said.

Even Jianggang’s deputy mayor and police chief had attended, but Cheng Zimo hadn’t greeted them personally—Cheng Zijing had.

Now, he was here himself…

Soon, a black car pulled up. Cheng Xing craned her neck.

The guest held a black umbrella, walking alone in the rain, calm and unhurried, without staff.

Cheng Xing’s heart tightened, her brows furrowing.

The umbrella lifted as the guest reached the eaves, revealing a familiar face with a gentle motion.

Cheng Xing blurted out, “Su Manchun?”

Su Manchun looked at her, her eyes carrying the weight of years, like a pool of water. She smiled. “Long time no see.”

The greeting felt like it spanned decades.

Cheng Xing: “…”

She felt the original host’s emotions stirring, an unfamiliar surge.

Her brows knitted tightly as she resisted. Anyone could see her agitation. Suddenly, a cool hand covered hers.

Jiang Ciyi’s voice was clear and calm. “Greet the guest, Xingxing.”

Cheng Xing steadied, exhaling softly. “Pay your respects.”

Su Manchun nodded, bowed to the coffin, and greeted Cheng Zimo with a nod. He frowned slightly, noting she’d grown steadier.

But that wasn’t important. She wasn’t the one he was here to meet.

Soon, another black car arrived.

This guest had two attendants. She was tall, in black leather shoes, with mid-length hair and a black suit.

As the attendants closed the umbrella, her face was revealed—a classic oval face, slightly thin, with bold black brows. Cheng Zimo didn’t relax but politely shook her hand.

Cheng Xing knew this was Lu Xishi, whom Cheng Zimo had mentioned.

Lu Qi’s sister.

Because beside her was Lu Qi.

After introductions, Lu Xishi said, “There seems to be a misunderstanding between my sister and yours. I brought her to clear things up.”

Cheng Zimo raised a brow. “Perhaps?”

“We’ll know after talking,” Lu Xishi said.

But such talk wasn’t fitting for a funeral. She offered condolences politely. “Old classmate, my sympathies.”

Cheng Zimo glanced behind her. “More coming?”

Lu Xishi asked alertly, “Who else?”

“Jiang Yuxi,” Cheng Zimo said, pausing. “Or rather, Gu Qingqiu.”

As he spoke, a stretched black Lincoln stopped at the entrance. The guest stepped out alone with an umbrella, followed by two burly bodyguards.

Black leather boots splashed in the rain, a slender, pale hand gripping the umbrella handle, each step steady.

Hearing the name Gu Qingqiu, Cheng Xing couldn’t help staring at the entrance. The scene felt like a TV drama protagonist’s entrance—no BGM, but it might as well have had one.

Like a crime thriller.

But the next second, she saw the person beside Gu Qingqiu—Shen Qingxue.

More precisely, half a step behind her.