Chapter 17

Zhang Nianqing’s body went rigid, her heart pounding so loudly it seemed to echo in her ears. Yet in the next second, she forced herself to turn around and, for the first time, looked straight at him, her gaze filled with desperate pleading.

“I’ll give you five percent of Shenglian’s shares. If you’re unclear about the exact value, I can have an accountant calculate it for you…”

“Xiang Zuo!” Zhang Nianqing never imagined the first words he’d speak to her would be so cold, so final. His eyes were merciless and indifferent; yet suddenly, the warmth he had shown on Momo’s face just moments ago flashed across his features, draining the last traces of color from Zhang Nianqing’s own cheeks, leaving only numbness behind.

“Do you really think I’m clinging to you shamelessly just for your money?”

Xiang Zuo shook his head with a hint of apology. “Think of this money as a token of goodwill from Momo and me to you. I can’t let Momo be put in a difficult position any longer. No matter what, all of this began as my fault.”

His words, calm and steady as always, were each more deeply wounding than the last.

“Your fault?” She lifted her head, locking her eyes on his, a faint and bitter smile curling her lips. “Was it your fault for asking me to dance at that party? Your fault for wanting to meet me? Just because you spent eight months with Momo, does that erase everything that happened before? Can you really sweep all of it away with a simple ‘my fault’? If you knew it would come to this, why did you choose me to begin with? Since you chose me, how can you now say it was all a mistake? Xiang Zuo, don’t you think that’s too cruel?”

Without realizing it, her hand was clenching tightly over her chest, the once smooth fabric crumpling under her grip, suffering inch by inch, just as her heart was.

“Five years ago, from the first time I saw you in a magazine, I never forgot you. The awards you’ve won, the achievements you’ve made, even the appendix surgery you had three years ago—aren’t all of those things carved into my memory? Five years—do you know what that means? Yes, maybe I was foolishly attached. If you’d never noticed me, I would never have disturbed your life. But why did you have to draw me in? Why toy with a devotion five years in the making? You only see your own heart—have you ever looked at mine?”

With tears trembling in her eyes, she struggled to maintain her pride; her voice, in the quiet corridor, grew steadily louder. Xiang Zuo glanced toward the door of the hospital room, a subtle frown crossing his face, his expression unreadable.

“All I can do now is offer my regrets. The misunderstanding has already happened—now, we just need to resolve it.”

“Misunderstanding?” Zhang Nianqing’s voice rang out, real and raw; in her agitation, her lips had lost all color. “The real misunderstanding is Momo! She never should have pretended to be me!”

“Zhang Nianqing!” His cold voice cut through, and Xiang Zuo checked the hospital room again for any noise. “I think you’d better go home first. The lawyer will contact you.”

“Wait!” Zhang Nianqing, not even noticing the deep furrow of his brow, grabbed his sleeve in desperation. “I won’t agree to a divorce! Even if you give me all of Shenglian, I won’t! Xiang Zuo, think about how Momo got close to you—she pretended to be me while I was unconscious, without my consent! Does a marriage built on deceit really not bother you? Am I any less worthy than Momo? At the very least, you owe us a chance to get to know each other. Don’t forget—the one you first fell for was me! It was me!”

“Enough!” Xiang Zuo’s stern rebuke echoed as he shook off her slender hand. Stumbling from the force, Zhang Nianqing fell onto the nearby waiting bench. The man before her remained cold and unmoving, not the slightest intention to help her up; his heart, colder than ice.

“Whether you sign or not,” Xiang Zuo enunciated each word clearly, “the divorce is inevitable.”

His tall, unyielding figure grew more distant with each step. Zhang Nianqing, heedless of her disheveled hair, forced herself up from the bench. “Impossible! I will never agree!”

Her hysterical cries gradually faded between her fingers, dissolving into hoarse sobs. She slowly crouched down, the cold, lonely stone floor offering no warmth at all.

Until, at last, two warm hands settled on her shoulders. “Nianqing…”

She spun around abruptly, but in the very next instant, the last glimmer of hope in her desolation was mercilessly snuffed out in a tide of unknown disappointment—it was Tang Hao who held her shoulders. He gazed at her, eyes rimmed red with heartache. Having rushed here overnight after learning of Momo’s accident, his hair was still a little rumpled. But even amid the shock, he hadn’t expected to witness a scene that tore at his heart even more.

“Don’t do this,” Tang Hao managed, lips pressed into a rigid line, forcing the words out. This man, always gentle and steady, now seemed at a loss for what to say. “Why can’t you… learn to care for yourself?”

“I don’t need your concern!” Zhang Nianqing shoved him away and staggered to the end of the corridor, leaving behind only the solitary, resolute figure of a man.

When Dong Fei received word that Zhang Momo had regained consciousness, she was drinking porridge. Startled, she spit it all over the table, barely stopping to clean up before dashing out. She hurried to H.gen to buy a tub of ice cream and made a special trip to the South Second Ring to pick up a steaming bowl of lotus-leaf porridge.

These two things were Momo’s usual favorites. Dong Fei thought, bringing flowers is too perfunctory; real friends do something practical! Carrying her hot and cold offerings, she raced to the hospital and flung open the ward door with joy. “President Zhang, you’re awake—” But before she could step inside, she was stopped short by the strange, inexplicably tense atmosphere in the room.

In the clean, spacious ward, there were four people.

Zhang Momo’s handsome brother-in-law sat in a solid armchair, his gaze complex and inscrutable; Dong Fei instinctively fell silent, not daring to steal a glance.

By the window, leaning slightly, stood Zhang Momo’s sister. Even with all the commotion at the door, she acted as if she couldn’t hear, not even lifting her head—her gaze fixed blankly on the floor, as if lost in some meditative trance.

But what truly left Dong Fei gaping in astonishment were the remaining two people.

Zhang Momo, half-reclined on the hospital bed, was happily eating apple slices fed to her by the man sitting at her side, her face radiant. As for the man himself…

How could a man look like that?

Dong Fei stared in disbelief, her mouth hanging open for a long moment, unable to close it. She prided herself on years of watching idol dramas and considered herself immune to good looks, but faced with this man, she couldn’t help the urge to squeal in excitement! Especially those alluring, mischievous eyes—they seemed to reach right into her heart, sending tingles she couldn’t resist.

At that moment, he glanced up at her, eyeing the hot and cold items she was carrying, a playful smile curling his lips. That alone made Dong Fei fumble, dropping both bags to the floor! For no reason at all, she felt foolish, like a dumb goose—facing this man, she felt an inexplicable sense of closeness mixed with inferiority.

“Hey!” As the embarrassed girl at the door averted her gaze, Zhang Momo called out from the bed, utterly blunt, “Who are you? Why are you staring at my boyfriend? What do you want?”