Chapter 100: Escape (Bonus Chapter for Diamond Members)

A thick bandage was wrapped around my forehead, bruises still visible, but some things were gone.

In the final second as shards of glass scraped across my wrist, someone burst through the door. Luo Ange’s panicked face appeared before me.

He shouted something and lunged forward; a scalding liquid splashed onto my face—not my blood, but Luo Ange’s tears. I never expected someone like him to cry. How could a scoundrel like him shed tears?

I raised my hand, wanting to wipe his tears away, but the memory of that filthy scene I had endured made me lower it again.

“Luo Ange...”

His eyes were red as he grasped my hand and wrote repeatedly in my palm.

He wrote: You’re okay.

Perhaps due to some nerve disorder triggered by trauma, I still couldn’t hear a sound, but I was able to speak, though only in three-word phrases.

A faint joy crossed Luo Ange’s face, especially when I kept calling his name over and over; finally, he smiled.

He said I was okay, meaning Xiao Kun and that lecherous old man hadn’t truly harmed me. But I was half in doubt. The worst things in the world always happened to me—birds pooping on my head just walking down the street—could I really have escaped this time?

He helped me back to the room, sat me on the sofa, and poured me a glass of water.

Fourth Sister-in-law pushed the door open, set a thermal lunchbox on the coffee table, her eyes red as she looked at me.

Luo Ange opened the box to reveal fragrant crossing-the-bridge rice noodles. At that moment, I suddenly recalled the last image—the disgusting fuzz on Xiao Kun’s chest, his lecherous gaze, and my near-nakedness...

Without warning, I bent over the edge of the sofa and violently vomited. There was nothing to bring up, but I just wanted to.

Luo Ange was terrified and patted my back, oblivious even when the scalding chicken soup spilled onto his arm.

The doctor’s diagnosis was psychological illness, requiring gradual treatment.

Luo Ange left with the doctor. I dashed into the bathroom. Every time I thought of those two men’s filthy hands lingering on me, every time I recalled those scenes, I wished for death.

I could only turn on the tap and frantically scrub my body, trying to wash away the stains, to cleanse my sullied self.

I tore off the bandage on my forehead. The scrubbing was so fierce the wound started bleeding again, and the water on the floor soon turned a pale pink.

At first, I still wore the hospital gown while washing, but soon I realized it wasn’t thorough enough. I stripped off my clothes and used the showerhead to rinse myself relentlessly.

I slathered every shampoo and shower gel in the bathroom over myself, drowning in white foam, yet I still felt filthy. I longed to change into a clean new skin.

I squeezed out all the toothpaste and rubbed it on my body. Despite my skin wrinkling from the cold water, I still felt dirty.

Suddenly, Luo Ange burst in, horrified, his eyes filled with pain.

I hated his kind of concern—it made me feel dirtier than a prostitute, made me feel utterly unnecessary in this world.

He snatched the showerhead and smashed it against the floor, then wrapped me in a bath towel.

He was trembling as he held me, the towel quickly stained with blood.

The doctor hurried in to treat my wound, frowning and saying something.

Luo Ange glanced at me, spoke as well; the doctor nodded with a sigh and left.

Fourth Sister-in-law soon brought clothes. Luo Ange climbed onto the bed. I watched him warily, shrinking into a corner, unable to utter a word.

Finally, he wrapped me in a blanket and reached inside to help me change. The moment his hands touched my skin, that deadly memory surged again. I pushed him away and bent over the bed, vomiting.

In those first few days, I had the strength to cry, to vomit, to make a scene. Later, I lost even the energy to blink, staring blankly at the ceiling, a living corpse.

Luo Ange stayed with me in the hospital. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to see him or not. I didn’t know what I felt for him anymore. When utterly drained, I wasn’t even sure who I was.

I ate nothing, drank nothing, neither cried nor raged, nor attempted suicide. Luo Ange dared not force me and asked the doctor to give me intravenous nutrition.

Fourth Sister-in-law brought food daily, but I refused to eat. No one’s written messages could convince me—I was on a hunger strike.

A week later, I became delirious. The IV nutrition was ineffective. The doctors shook their heads in helplessness and stopped the drip.

Luo Ange shoved the doctor away angrily, pointing at me and yelling something; the doctor only shook his head.

In this silent way, I had successfully angered Luo Ange. He sent everyone out, then came to the bedside with a bowl of chicken soup.

He pried open my mouth and forced the soup in, holding my lips shut to keep me from spitting.

I coughed violently but swallowed some.

My stomach had been empty so long; suddenly filling it with oily soup was unbearable.

I bent over the bed, clawed at my throat, and vomited everything.

Luo Ange showed no mercy. I threw up the chicken soup; then he fed me fish soup, herbal medicine, bird’s nest, and glucose.

But he failed. I expelled it all, no need to even touch my mouth—just opening it was enough. Half of what I vomited was blood.

He didn’t give up. Though no longer forcing me, he resorted to more drastic measures.

He picked up a bowl of soup, took a sip himself, then bent down to pinch my chin and feed me mouth-to-mouth.

I struggled with every last ounce of strength, trying to push him away, but he pressed me down and I was nearly immobilized. My lips were bitten and bleeding. Eventually, I resigned myself.

But I had my own method. Just as Fourth Sister-in-law smiled triumphantly, as Luo Ange relaxed his guard, I leaned by the window and vomited wildly.

He finally gave up. Kneeling by the bed, gasping, holding my face, I remained still. He rested his forehead against mine and stayed like that for a long time.

I stared at the ceiling, thinking, this life is so long, how can it never end?

After a while, he stood and wrote a note for me: “Yi Lanshan, is this how you torment me? You win. You win.”

The doctor gave me an IV drip. I watched it all blankly, as if it were a story unrelated to me.

Luo Ange wrote another note: “Don’t think I’ll let you go just because you degrade yourself. You want to starve yourself? Don’t worry, I have plenty of ways to make you open your mouth.”

I turned my face away. He scowled, grabbed my face, stared coldly for a few seconds, then reverted to his usual stern self and left.

I ignored his words until after nine p.m., when suddenly a crowd filled the ward, surrounding me.

At first, I thought Luo Ange had called bodyguards, but within seconds I recognized the familiar doctors and nurses, along with the deputy director and chief physician—the same people who had treated me the day I woke up.

I had a bad feeling. Looking at my attending doctor, he pulled out my medical record and quickly scribbled something, handing it to me.

A tingling numbness spread down my back. I sat up but felt dizzy and collapsed to the floor.

The deputy director helped me up. I balled the paper into a fist and slammed it down, too furious for words.

Luo Ange, is that all you can do? Your so-called methods to make me speak are merely threats against these people’s jobs and families?

That night, Luo Ange didn’t come. All the doctors, nurses, and orderlies were changed. Even the cleaning lady was replaced.

For days, no one spoke to me. I wrote notes to them, but they seemed blind to them, doing their tasks and leaving.

I left the ward to find the head nurse replaced. All the nurses I knew were gone, replaced by strangers.

Everyone instinctively avoided me, as if I were a plague or a virus.

Doctors and nurses came regularly for check-ups, but once they left, I dashed to the bathroom for cold showers, then cranked the heater high until I sweated, then back to cold showers.

After repeating this several times, I caught a severe cold and soon saw Luo Ange again.

I had just sipped a small bowl of chicken soup and some orange juice Fourth Sister-in-law brought when he entered as a nurse was drawing blood.

I pretended not to see him, got off the bed by the balcony, and stared blankly at the blooming phoenix flowers outside.

Dizziness washed over me, blood rushing to my head. I swayed, gripping the window, counting silently: one, two, three.

On three, I collapsed into a familiar embrace. I half-closed my eyes to look at him and then faded away.

He carried me back to bed and seemed to press the call bell continuously, but it took several minutes before a nurse hurried in, clearly frightened of Luo Ange, speaking from a distance.

At the moment he raised his hand, a beautiful rainbow glass cup shattered on the floor. The nurse screamed and ran out, probably to fetch a doctor.

Luo Ange wrapped me in a blanket, pressed my shoulders as if to plant me like a tree on the bed. When our foreheads touched, I resisted the urge to push him away.

He left, and soon, many doctors rushed down the hallway after him.

Master Luo was furious. No one would dare defy him.

I slowly got out of bed, hastily slipped on shoes and a coat, and left. The elevator was empty except for me. I changed, then crouched, hugging my shoulders.

Just outside the elevator, I saw Long Jue and Zhou Yang entering the lobby, accompanied by two men. Zhou Yang was gesturing when one man kicked him in the calf.

I hid behind a screen, waiting until they entered the elevator before stepping out, but I didn’t know where to go. The world was vast but offered me no refuge, no harbor to anchor in.

I had no ID, couldn’t buy a plane ticket, so I took a taxi to the bus station.

After buying my ticket, I ate rice noodles at a nearby snack shop, easily stirring the shopkeeper’s sympathy. She sold me her phone.

I sent Li Wanqiu a text with my arrival time and train details to Kangcheng, begging her to pick me up at once.