Chapter Seven: Yu Zao Beat Fu Shiyong Up!

Ointments and fever reducers scattered all over the floor.

Hearing the noise, Yu Zao rushed out, stumbling, her heart nearly suffocating in her chest.

Watching Yang Chen lose ground, Fu Shiyong’s ruthless intensity was unmistakably aiming to beat him mercilessly.

She couldn’t afford to think twice. With a sudden burst, she darted forward, standing between them, shouting, “Enough! Fu Shiyong, get lost! Don’t interfere with my business and my money-making! Get out!”

The box of fever medicine was crushed underfoot.

The cap of the ointment snapped off, splattering its sticky, bright yellow-orange contents across the crumbling earthen wall—an eye-catching mess.

“Xiao Yu, you…” Yang Chen showed clear disapproval.

But Yu Zao stared straight into Fu Shiyong’s fiery phoenix-like eyes, which threatened to ignite at any moment!

Deliberately, she kicked the medicine box to his feet.

“Mr. Fu, if you give me gold, silver, jewels, or luxury goods when I’m doing business, I’ll definitely prefer that. But cheap medicine like this? Save it for another time!”

With that, she grabbed Yang Chen’s hand and entered the house, closing the door firmly behind them.

The hallway fell into a silence so deep it seemed one could hear a pin drop.

And the fragile calm Yu Zao had forced herself to maintain shattered the moment the security door closed.

When she saw the eruption of disgust and disdain blazing in Fu Shiyong’s eyes,

she crumbled, covering her face, her body limp as she slid down against the door.

Her tears had dried up.

In her mind echoed uncontrollably the choked sob of a boy forever trapped three years ago.

He would blame himself, clutching cheap fever medicine, eyes red and brimming with tears.

“Xiao Yu! My wife! Don’t worry, I, Fu Shiyong, won’t be poor forever. Sooner or later, I’ll make sure you and our son live well.”

“Xiao Yu, I swear, no matter what fate throws at us, I, Fu Shiyong, will take care of you. I won’t let you get hurt, nor shed a single tear!”

Thunder rumbled—

A storm intensified outside.

Jagged, bruised lightning repeatedly tore through the heavy black clouds.

Inside the house, Yu Zao’s fever surged again; her muscles trembled uncontrollably in chaotic spasms.

Yang Chen couldn’t hold her down.

She pounded against the wall, relentlessly, until her body was battered and bloody, yet she couldn’t stop.

Unconscious, biting her bloodied lips, she muttered to herself, “Fu Shiyong, hate me. The more you hate me, the more at peace you and Yiyi will be the day I truly die.”

Crash!

Another bolt of lightning split the sky.

Outside in the courtyard,

a tall, imposing man stood drenched, soaked through from the rain.

He struck the rough tree trunk over and over, as if venting some anguish, but tragically to no avail.

Yang Chen administered anesthetic to Yu Zao. When she lost consciousness, he carried her to bed and laid her down.

Casting a glance out the window,

Fu Shiyong’s Rolls-Royce sped away like a bolt of lightning.

Under the dim streetlamp, layers of bloodstains were faintly visible on the tree trunk.

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