Chapter 50: Entangled with the Movie Queen

Yang Feifei was in the process of tying up a thug’s hands behind his back when the man suddenly regained consciousness and fought back, gripping Yang Feifei’s hand with a vice-like hold. It had already taken all of Yang Feifei’s courage just to come over and help; now, being attacked by a bloodthirsty criminal, it was no wonder she let out a piercing scream instead of collapsing on the spot.

Su Tong was sitting nearby. He wasn’t frightened by the thug who still had the strength to resist, but nearly had a heart attack because of Yang Feifei’s shriek. That voice of hers was so powerful it might as well have been a sonic attack—no, a soul attack—utterly bypassing any form of physical defense. At such close range, Su Tong’s eardrums nearly ruptured.

With a dull thud, Su Tong landed a punch on the back of the thug’s head.

The most effective way to free Yang Feifei from her soul-rending attack was to knock the thug out again. As the thug slumped over, Yang Feifei’s face was streaked with tears. She threw herself into Su Tong’s arms, sobbing and trembling violently.

Ahem… Su Tong felt as if he’d been hit by a train; his ribs ached as though they might break. Was this girl an undercover agent or what?

When the others saw a delicate-looking young woman like Yang Feifei daring to help subdue a thug, a few men had come over as well. But before they could do anything, her “soul attack” had them all fleeing in terror.

In the end, it was a male train attendant who came to the rescue, tying up all the thugs. Meanwhile, the train pulled into the nearest station. On the platform, a squad of armed police stood ready and waiting.

The rest of the day left Su Tong in low spirits. After the train had been stopped for more than an hour, it continued on its journey, but his name was no longer on the passenger list—he had to stay behind for medical treatment and to give a statement.

Yang Feifei, her bodyguard, and a few others also remained.

“If there’s anything else you remember for your statement before you leave tomorrow morning, let us know and we’ll follow up,” said the policewoman who had taken Su Tong’s statement, speaking to him before she left. She and her colleague had come to the hospital after all his wounds had been bandaged.

“Officer, will you be reimbursing my travel expenses? Do I have to buy my own ticket?” Su Tong was most concerned about the fare. The country was so wealthy; surely it should cover his costs. After all, being put out was putting out his whole family.

If you can’t manage your own household, how can you care for the larger community?

“Don’t worry, the state will reward you in due course…” The policewoman—a northern beauty, Su Tong estimated she was over 1.7 meters tall—looked striking in her uniform, though she was stern and unsmiling, almost icy.

Three hours after the incident, the news broke, sending shockwaves throughout the Great Qin Empire.

It was another terrorist attack—the fourth that year.

Compared to the previous three, casualties this time were much lower: nine dead, sixteen injured.

The first attack had claimed forty-five lives and injured eighty-seven. The second, thirty-four dead and twenty-six injured. The third, thirty-five dead and eighteen injured.

The news reports described the incident only briefly, noting that the disaster was prevented from escalating thanks to the actions of train police, crew, and two courageous passengers. Some reports mentioned that one of the two brave passengers was a student.

For their own protection, neither Su Tong nor the bodyguard’s faces appeared in the media—not even their silhouettes.

This news sent a chill through a few people.

Su Tong’s father called immediately, having seen that Su Tong was on the very train where the attack occurred.

Su Tong reassured his father that he was fine and nearly in Yandu, though in reality he was still in the hospital halfway to his destination.

Gao Litong and Li Wen, both frequent users of social media, saw the news quickly and called to check on him. Su Tong brushed them off with a few casual words.

“I’m really fine. I haven’t reached Yandu yet. Roaming charges are expensive, so stop calling already. Don’t you know how poor my family is? Haven’t you seen me hustling for a living?” Su Tong was already annoyed by the situation, and these calls only made it worse.

Whether his annoyance was genuine or feigned, neither Gao Litong nor Li Wen could tell. Even Yang Feifei, right by his side, couldn’t see through him.

“I didn’t expect you to be so considerate, but you lie so convincingly. Not the mark of a good man,” Yang Feifei, still shaken and now hospitalized herself, showed her true colors as soon as she started to recover. Her words were as sharp as Li Wen’s, destined to offend.

“Man?” Su Tong snapped, “To tell you the truth, I’m still just a boy. If I were a bad man, who knows how many girls would have suffered at my hands.”

Yang Feifei glanced around the ward; there was no one else—just the two of them. She kicked Su Tong. “Women are angels. If you ever dare hurt a woman, I won’t let you get away with it.”

Su Tong gritted his teeth. “You’re lying with your eyes wide open. I refuse to believe the girl before me is any kind of angel. Besides, I don’t like women—I like girls. Don’t bother me; you’re too young, there’s a generational gap between us.”

Yang Feifei, no longer carrying herself like a goddess, gave Su Tong another kick. “How am I young? I’m older than you—call me ‘big sister.’ And you still owe me for running off when I told you to wait for me at the Golden Jade Garden Villas.”

Su Tong shot her a glance, then looked at her chest, thinking to himself: “Not much there, either.”

What kind of logic is that? She’s not my girlfriend or my wife; why should I listen to her?

But he was too lazy to argue with a girl whose mind raced in every direction. When a woman throws a tantrum, reason goes out the window.

“Nian Nu Jiao, write me a song,” Yang Feifei abruptly changed her tone, as if steeling herself, and sat beside Su Tong’s bed with a pitiful, pleading expression.

Yang Feifei’s fame came from the film industry, not from music. Though known as a “diva,” her singing was not technically trained, and she lacked hit songs—so she’d never stood out at the major music awards.

Her team was powerful and extensive, but good songs were hard to come by. Without a few decent hits, she would remain only a film queen; her title as songstress would always ring hollow.

Su Tong waved his hand. “Love is the eternal theme for the young. Most fans are kids with little life experience. They yearn for love, and if they get their hearts broken, it’s the end of the world. That’s why they love love songs. It’s this energy that keeps the market alive—pop songs have to have an audience, so they cater to these emotions. It makes it hard for any other genre to become popular. I’ve never even been in a relationship—what kind of love song could I possibly write?”

Yang Feifei was surprised. She hadn’t expected Su Tong to be so insightful. Most talented people were either taciturn or too glib, but Su Tong was different.

A sharp blade is best kept sheathed; those who flaunt themselves are second-rate, doomed to corrode in the open air.

“I don’t believe you. You have to write one for me,” Yang Feifei insisted, her tone softening after learning Su Tong was as tough as he was. She decided to try tenderness instead.

Su Tong wasn’t fooled by this seemingly gentle and pitiful act—he knew Yang Feifei’s acting skills were top-notch. Tell her to cry, and she’d bring down the heavens; tell her to be fierce, and she’d become a lioness in an instant.

Who would ever trust an actress?

“Believe it or not, I—hey, don’t cry! Fine, I’ll write you one, someday.”