Chapter 131: The Ex-Wife
Liang Jinshang struggled to control her trembling breath, feeling utterly helpless. What made it worse was that after being so brutally mistreated, she was still expected to apologize. Between sobs, she bowed her head in despair and muttered, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have danced on stage.”
Shang Yucheng grasped her chin, lifting her face—his fingers pressing right against the bruised, purplish mark. She gasped sharply, but he did not relent. Pain was the only way she would remember this lesson.
His dark eyes locked onto hers, allowing no room for evasion. “You shouldn’t have thrown around the word ‘breakup’ so casually. If it happens again, I won’t let you off so easily.”
Suddenly, a loud kick struck the door. Then came the rapid sound of a key turning in the lock.
The kick was merely a warning; Liang Rongzi’s fury had not clouded her judgment completely. Shang Yucheng reacted swiftly, shedding his clothes to wrap her tightly. Yet when Liang Rongzi rushed in, she quickly turned around and, glaring fiercely at the stunned security guards, barked, “Close your eyes!”
At first, Liang Jinshang was taken aback by his dramatic actions, instinctively covering herself where she could. But then she realized — she was perched on the sink, and Shang Yucheng was standing brazenly between her knees. Though their clothes remained intact, the pose was suggestive enough to spark all manner of wild imaginings.
Flushed and embarrassed, Liang Jinshang pushed him away and scrambled down. Shang Yucheng’s brow twitched, but his hand was quick enough to catch her before she stumbled badly. Seeing her unsteady on one foot, he frowned and simply scooped her up in his arms.
The skirt that had barely reached a few centimeters above her knees now rode even higher.
“Take off your clothes,” Shang Yucheng commanded Liang Rongzi without hesitation.
Liang Rongzi, nearly exasperated by him, scolded Liang Jinshang, “Can’t you get down and walk yourself?”
“My foot hurts,” Liang Jinshang mumbled.
Liang Rongzi glanced at Shang Yucheng. If not for the utterly inappropriate timing, he might have asked what bizarre posture could cause foot pain.
He shrugged off his studded denim jacket, tossing it over Liang Jinshang’s shoulders. “Wrap your legs up.”
The sharp studs pressed against her collarbone. Since Liang Rongzi was practically on her side, she couldn’t help but complain, “You hurt me.”
Liang Rongzi couldn’t help but give an exasperated look, her gaze drifting toward Shang Yucheng. He casually shifted his eyes, not seeking any sympathy from the man.
But didn’t Shang Yucheng’s words go too far?
“Can’t you wear something better?”
His jacket was a trendy brand, costing five figures!
A group of big men blocking the women’s restroom was hardly appropriate. In a huff, Liang Rongzi turned and left.
Liang Jinshang watched his retreating figure, a pang of guilt mixing with her anger. She turned on Liang Rongzi, “Why are you saying that?”
“Is it wrong to not want you to get hurt?”
Liang Jinshang choked on the words, retorting sarcastically, “Then your idea of ‘not wanting’ is pretty strange!”
She had resisted so much, yet he kept bullying her!
“Yeah.” Shang Yucheng’s thin lips curled. “Wait until we get back to the hotel, then you’ll see what ‘not wanting’ means.”
Liang Jinshang kicked her legs in frustration, wishing she could smash the studded denim right onto his handsome but wicked face.
Shang Yucheng carried her out with ease.
He didn’t care about others’ gazes, but his appearance and aura naturally drew attention.
Having just boldly ‘claimed’ her, now openly carrying her in front of everyone, Liang Jinshang couldn’t shamelessly ignore the spotlight.
“Shang Yucheng…”
He looked down at her.
“Can you pull my clothes up a bit?”
She felt embarrassed.
Shang Yucheng sneered mockingly, ignoring her request and continuing as he pleased.
Liang Jinshang protested.
“Forget it,” Shang Yucheng bluntly said, “I’m not going to be embarrassed alone.”
He was determined that if he had to lose face, she would too.
Liang Jinshang was still half-drunk, half-awake—her mind sharp but her courage unusually bold.
“Being carried is embarrassing? You’ve already done what many men would kill to do, you know.”
She had hit precisely where it hurt.
In Shang Yucheng’s mind flashed her sultry, fallen figure on stage just moments ago. Veins stood out on his forehead. “Shut up, or I’ll do something to make them even more jealous!”
…
Meanwhile, Liang Rongzi had sent the two “plagues” out the door and returned to the venue, utterly drained.
As she headed upstairs, she suddenly spotted Sheng Xiao lingering by the corridor, accompanied by another tall, slender figure.
The man’s close-cropped stubble, thick dark brows, and sharp features carried a cold, defiant aura that was intimidating.
Yet his demeanor was relaxed, even lazy, as though nothing could ruffle him.
Liang Rongzi froze.
She wasn’t sure when Sheng Xiao and He Xiaoqie had come out, but she was certain they had witnessed Shang Yucheng carrying Liang Jinshang out just now.
She dared not go upstairs.
Sheng Xiao and the other each held a cigarette between their fingers, the flickering flames signaling their conversation.
Sheng Xiao exhaled smoke, “Your rose has been plucked.”
His tone was somewhat harsh; he’d enjoyed the spectacle tonight.
He Xiaoqie smoked silently, the smoke curling from his lips and nostrils. His steely gaze shot Sheng Xiao a sharp look.
“Old He,” Sheng Xiao chuckled lightly, “Your look just now was murderous. We’ve been brothers for so many years, surely not?”
He Xiaoqie replied indifferently, “Not like I haven’t killed before.”
Sheng Xiao laughed, raising his hands in surrender.
The whole “rose” thing wasn’t just him being sentimental.
This woman who had suddenly appeared reminded Sheng Xiao of a photo he once saw years ago in one of He Xiaoqie’s books.
He no longer remembered her exact face; she wasn’t particularly beautiful—certainly no match for his wife.
But he recognized He Xiaoqie’s handwriting on the back.
Written there was a line from Yeats’ poetry: “You are my distant, secret, inviolable rose.”
Over the years, He Xiaoqie had grown from a rebellious youth into a formidable man.
Yet that photo and this girl were the only two glimpses Sheng Xiao had ever caught into “women” — or more sentimentally, “love” — in He Xiaoqie’s otherwise cold life.
After a long silence, Sheng Xiao suddenly added, “But I know that person. I met her in Europe; she was a classmate of my wife’s. Shang Yucheng is worthy of your rose.”
Years ago, in Europe.
He Xiaoqie paused, “Which wife of yours?”
Few knew Sheng Xiao had been married twice; fewer dared mention his ex-wife in front of him.
But He Xiaoqie was fearless. Perhaps to avenge the earlier “rose” remark, he shot back coldly, “If you remember her so well, it must be your ex.”