Chapter 42: Will You Marry Lu Zhizhi?

Watching as Song Mi lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, Lu Zhizhi felt her heart leap into her throat. The drug in the wine was potent—just a single taste would be enough to take effect.

After this, her part was done. Shen Ruming had told her everything was arranged, assuring her to sit tight and wait for the fireworks—and, of course, to have the money ready. Money was no issue; she could pay any price. All she wanted was to see Song Mi erased from the man she loved, once and for all.

Song Mi had always been vigilant. She had survived in a refugee zone less than fifty kilometers from the front lines of war, and she knew how to defend herself. Yet no matter how cautious she was, it wouldn’t have occurred to her to suspect the fruit wine handed to her by Lu Zhizhi—not at that moment, at least. So she only took a single sip.

After the perfunctory socializing with the siblings, she prepared to leave. Just as she reached the door, she received a message from Assistant Lin: the car would be waiting at the hotel’s east entrance in about three minutes, license plate XXXXX.

Song Mi thought nothing of it and left the banquet hall for the elevator, never noticing the deep, shadowy gaze that had followed her from afar, never wavering before she stepped inside.

It would be too conspicuous to share the same elevator, and besides, the elevator was hardly the place for conversation. So Wen Yanli lingered at the corner of the corridor, feigning indifference for several minutes. Those minutes were far from easy. He had just tasted a bit of obsession inside, and now, standing here, he felt like a stalker. This woman—she had a way of captivating him every moment.

But what he never expected was that, as he entered the elevator, ready to press the button, a teasing wolf-whistle sounded from behind him. The woman in the red dress had been hiding beside the floor-to-ceiling plant, waiting for him. “Lawyer Wen, leaving in such a hurry—are you offering me a ride?”

When he turned, Song Mi leaned against the wall and curved her lips into a slow smile. “Don’t you need to accompany Miss Lu?”

He was clearly startled but quickly smothered his embarrassment, his composure returning almost instantly. “President Song, weren’t you the same? You arrived with two, but left alone?”

In that sentence, he stressed three words: “same,” “two,” and “alone.” Song Mi caught the jealousy in his tone immediately.

Should she take the bait? If she did, she worried she’d ignite something she couldn’t put out. If she didn’t, she’d be left itching with curiosity—after all, from head to toe, every look and every word from him was exactly her taste.

It was a bit… troublesome, honestly.

Still, they couldn’t linger here for long. “Tsk tsk, just because I owe you a call back, you’re going to hold it against the people around me?”

“Ye Zhao is my driver and bodyguard!” Song Mi walked toward him, her tone holding a trace of explanation, though she suppressed any hint of flirtation. The time simply wasn’t right.

She stepped forward and pressed the elevator button, her gaze clear as she looked at him, her voice all business. “Was there something urgent you needed to discuss this afternoon, Lawyer Wen?”

A shadow flickered in Wen Yanli’s eyes—a hint of coldness, sharp as a blade. In a heartbeat, he could be tender and bewitching, in the next, aloof and untouchable. His mood could shift as quickly as turning a page. This, perhaps, was the most accurate description of the man before her.

He chose silence.

Song Mi couldn’t quite read his reaction, but she didn’t press. The elevator arrived; they entered one after the other, and neither spoke again until they exited.

According to Assistant Lin’s message, the car was at the east entrance, so as she entered the lobby, Song Mi instinctively glanced at the signs for directions.

It was then the man finally spoke: “I’ll drive you.”

His tone was indifferent, eyes averted, as if it wasn’t even him who had spoken.

Song Mi glanced at him, a ripple spreading through her amber eyes—a quick, luminous flash. By the time she realized something was wrong, she was already seated in his car, which had barely left the hotel parking lot before turning onto the main road.

She hadn’t chosen the back seat, but the passenger seat instead. Initially, she thought it was just heat, so she reached over to turn up the air conditioning. But it didn’t help—the heat seemed to burn from deep within her, unnatural and relentless.

It wasn’t long before she realized the heat came with a gnawing, insistent craving. She’d experienced desire before, so she quickly recognized what she wanted. But she couldn’t understand why this feeling, like a flood breaking through a dam, had suddenly overwhelmed her so completely.

This man did attract her, but she wasn’t so desperate as to throw herself at him right here and now, was she? Especially given her current situation—could she afford to do this?

She’d been trained in self-control, yet now it seemed useless. Something was definitely off. There was clearly a problem.

As Song Mi fought the wave of desire raging through her, the man driving beside her also noticed her odd state. Or rather, her irregular breathing had become impossible to ignore. “Are you feeling unwell?”

She didn’t answer, but he could sense her tension. Her breathing was heavy, her dress outlining every curve.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked, reaching out to feel her forehead. “You’re not running a fever again—”

Before he could finish, her hand grabbed his.

Wen Yanli frowned deeply. “You’re burning up, you—”

Song Mi pressed his hand to her face, relishing the coolness against her fevered cheek.

Her soft lips soon brushed the back of his hand. “Driving one-handed is dangerous.” The shock jolted through him, but he quickly pulled his hand away, his eyes dark as he stared ahead.

With his hand suddenly gone, Song Mi’s rationality returned for a fleeting moment—but not enough to regain control. “Then pull over,” she murmured. “I want to.” Her eyes met his. “Now.”

Wen Yanli’s foot pressed the brake, then released it just as quickly, making the car shudder. Once Song Mi latched onto him, she refused to let go.

But soon, he pushed her away, slamming on the brakes until the car jolted to a stop. “Are you insane?”

She crashed into the door, the screech of brakes and his furious shout ringing in her ears. Wen Yanli had never been so angry. They were in the middle of the road, still in the car. Had she lost her mind?

For a moment, he even wondered if he’d been tricked by a fake pregnancy test forged by Shen Ruming—spun in circles, completely out of control.

The woman before him didn’t look like someone six weeks pregnant at all. “Are you lucid now?”

Song Mi was a little more clear-headed, finally suspecting she’d ingested something she shouldn’t have. Her mind quickly fixed on the fruit wine Lu Zhizhi had given her.

Her own carelessness had led to this, but it was a bitter pill she’d have to swallow. “You left your beauty behind to chase after me and take me home—wasn’t it to join me in madness?”

“Or is it that you just don’t like doing this in cars?”

Her eyes smoldered with desire, her tone laced with hooks, even in the dim light that hid his thunderous expression—yet she could still sense the icy storm in his gaze, as if two bottomless whirlpools threatened to consume her.

Even as her own desire clawed at her insides, Song Mi sensed real danger. Sure enough, in the next instant, the car shot forward like an arrow, racing through the night until it screeched to a halt beneath her apartment building.

She could barely move, pouring every ounce of strength into self-control; if not for her iron will, she might well have lost her dress by now.

Engine off, car parked, door opened—Wen Yanli strode over, pulled open her door, and lifted her out, his heart cold and hard.

He wanted to see how far she’d go, how she would end this frenzy.

Yet the moment they entered, he realized he had overestimated his own resolve. Her passion was too intense. He could feel his mind and body splitting apart—his reason told him to remain unmoved, but his body was slipping out of his control.

Song Mi, frustrated, suddenly found herself empty-handed as he pushed her away. “Song Mi, are you not afraid at all?” What he really wanted to ask was—you don’t care about the child inside you?

Seeing his furrowed brow and the veins pulsing at his temple, the cold, violent energy radiating from him, Song Mi gasped for breath, bewildered.

He was refusing her? He didn’t want her? That was no fun at all.

With the last flicker of reason, Song Mi dragged her unsteady legs away. She entered the bathroom, set the water as cold as it would go, stripped off every constraint, and let the icy stream wash over her again and again.

Time trickled by.

Outside, Wen Yanli had just calmed himself and was about to leave when a voice overhead sounded: “Water temperature is too low, Master, be careful not to catch a cold! Current temperature: 11°C.”

He froze on the spot. She was using cold water to force herself calm?

His feet felt nailed to the floor. Images flashed through his mind—her collapsing with a high fever, lying in a pool of blood, sleeping in a hospital bed. And just now, her desperate kiss.

Suddenly, he spun and strode inside, his steps slicing through the air.

The door slammed open. Song Mi didn’t see anything—she simply collapsed into his arms.

She didn’t struggle at all.

At first, Wen Yanli was driven by a surge of retribution. The frustration of the past week exploded within him. He had never been a man to play by the rules.

As for the child—she didn’t plan to keep it anyway. He suspected she wanted him to be the one to send it away.

But their madness didn’t last.

Song Mi’s abdomen began to twist with waves of pain. He didn’t notice until she pushed him away, gasping, “…it hurts…”

“…hurts…”

Her fingernails dug sharp into his skin, snapping him awake. He pulled away, helping her to lie down. “What’s wrong?”

Song Mi curled up instinctively. “My stomach… it hurts.”

The light flicked on, and the sight of bloodstains blooming on the sheet stabbed at his eyes.

His breath caught. He scrambled for clothes, but couldn’t find his shirt or pants. “Don’t be scared. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Song Mi now knew she was bleeding.

Warm fluid kept seeping from her body, soaking her legs.

Wen Yanli hurriedly found clothes and dressed her, noticing the bruises he’d left behind. Had he lost his mind? Knowing her condition—how could he let this happen?

“Lawyer Wen,” Song Mi could hear his ragged breath and the frantic clumsiness of his hands. Knowing how calm and controlled he usually was, she thought, perhaps this would leave him with a trauma. “Will you marry Lu Zhizhi?”

He was fastening her last button and didn’t even look up. “There’s nothing between us.”

After checking her over, he swept her into his arms and headed out. “Don’t speak.”

Song Mi had no strength left. But she couldn’t let him take the blame. “Tonight, she—there was something in her toast to me.”

He stopped short, then resumed his hurried stride. Wen Yanli opened his mouth several times before forcing out, “You… should have told me earlier!”

So she had been drugged—beyond her control.

Song Mi’s face twisted in pain, eyes squeezed shut, yet she managed a smile. “If I weren’t afraid of you… I wouldn’t have…”

“Wouldn’t… have told you!”

Even in agony, she had to tease him. Wen Yanli’s heart twisted with pain, wishing the elevator would move faster.

When her lips parted to say more, he tightened his hold, his tone stern: “Don’t say anything.”

He needed no explanations, wanted no words.

He just wanted her safe.

But reality was cruel.

Over half an hour later, outside the emergency room at Jinzhou Second Hospital, the doctor emerged, having him sign the surgery consent. “The embryo has already been discharged. We need to perform a uterine evacuation immediately. But the patient’s bleeding is unusually severe, and we haven’t contained it yet. As a precaution, we need to borrow blood plasma from other hospitals. The patient is Rh-negative, so-called ‘panda blood.’ We have none in stock.”

Only then did Wen Yanli realize he hadn’t brought his phone. In the end, he called Feng Jue.

It took a long time for Feng Jue to answer. “Hello—”

“It’s me. I’m at Jinzhou Second Hospital. Have Director Zhang send over as much panda blood as possible, as fast as possible. Rh-negative.”

Feng Jue’s side was noisy, but he immediately sensed the gravity. “What happened?”

“I don’t have my phone. If you need me, call this landline.” With that, he hung up.

Panda blood was exceedingly rare. Even if they could get some, transport would take time.

Now, all he could do was pray Song Mi wouldn’t suffer the hemorrhage the doctors feared.

Never had he felt time crawl so painfully. Every minute was torture.

He paid no attention to his appearance—his shirt was stained with blood, his black trousers hid nothing, and even his shoes were flecked with it. All of it, her blood.

…

Meanwhile, Ye Zhao arrived with four others, quickly subduing the thugs. Ming Hao stepped on one of them and demanded, “Where’s Xia Yuan? What have you done with her?”

The man, terrified, nodded desperately. “Brother Hao… have mercy!”

“I asked, where is Xia Yuan?” Ming Hao repeated.

“…I don’t know… we don’t know. Ninth Master didn’t tell us…”

Ye Zhao sensed a deeper plot. They had no money, but these men hadn’t brought the hostage either—something was off.

“What do you know, then? Who knows anything?” He swept his predatory gaze over the beaten men. “If no one talks, I’ll beat you until you do.”

Already cowed by Ye Zhao’s fists, a few began to tremble. Everyone feared pain, everyone wanted to live. Soon, one stammered, “…I’m not sure, but… I really don’t know anything else!”

“…Boss, have mercy!”

Clearly, they’d never intended a simple exchange—money for the hostage. The story about Tiger and his men was a ruse, and the coward before them mentioned that Ninth Master had posted other men to stand guard day and night at a place called Maple Grove Court.

What baffled Ye Zhao most was how Ming Hao and the four bodyguards’ phones had lost all signal for nearly an hour and a half.

Suddenly, Ye Zhao realized something and immediately called Song Mi, but her phone went unanswered.

He hung up and redialed—still no answer.

Desperate, he called Assistant Lin, but that too went unanswered. Just as he was about to hang up, the call was suddenly picked up. “…Hello…”

Ye Zhao asked urgently, “Is Miss Song with you?”

Assistant Lin, gritting his teeth against the pain in his back, dragged himself up from the concrete floor of his apartment’s parking garage. He’d been ambushed and had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. “…No… The Chairman might be in trouble…”