Chapter 2: Don’t Lose It Again Next Time

“Otherwise?” the man replied coolly.

Though he was indeed good-looking and his voice pleasant, in a night like this, cold and full of hidden dangers, if Jiang Yao could still spare a thought for such things, she must be insane.

But Jiang Yao knew for certain she was not insane. Instead, she began to suspect the man was.

“Sir, surely there’s a limit to fantasy. In any case, please let go of me first.”

Suddenly, she became acutely aware of how intimately close their bodies were pressed together.

The man released her, spreading his arms and gracefully dusting off the places her frantic grip had mussed.

“I’ll call the police next time,” he said, his tone even.

Jiang Yao, rubbing her aching wrist, hurried toward the mouth of the alley. “Don’t wait until next time. We can clear things up at the police station right now.”

After all, there were plenty of handsome villains in this world.

A resounding crash came from outside the alley, followed by the sharp squeal of brakes, abruptly silencing the conversation.

Startled, Jiang Yao dashed to the alley’s entrance, only to see a boy lying in a pool of blood after being struck by a car. Her face turned deathly pale in an instant.

The metallic scent of blood filled her senses, just as it had ten years ago.

Every time she remembered that day, it was as if something gripped her throat, stealing her breath.

She began to retch, running as she did.

The usually quiet street was now drawing a crowd, people gathering, discussing the accident in hushed or animated tones, some standing, some squatting.

Jiang Yao stood rigid among the onlookers, staring at the boy sprawled in the center of the road.

He was a teenager, perhaps just back from his evening classes; his school uniform was soaked red, his backpack flung far from his body.

Shaking all over, Jiang Yao could hear nothing—the world had muted around her.

Suddenly, she rushed forward, heedless of anything else, tears streaming down her face.

“No, please, not again…”

What happened next was a blur. When she came to, a stinging slap landed squarely across her cheek.

The sharp sound echoed along the hospital corridor, unmistakable.

The woman who struck her was in her fifties or sixties, her face haggard and drawn, eyes red and shining with fury. “Why are you here? How dare you show your face? You’ve already cost me one son—is that not enough? Do you want to destroy the other as well?”

Jiang Yao’s eyes burned with unshed tears as she bowed her head.

“And now you put on this pitiful act for whom? What debt does the Chen family owe you?” The woman, growing more agitated at Jiang Yao’s silence, seized her collar and shook her fiercely. “Speak! Why won’t you say anything?”

Jiang Yao, frail as paper, let herself be shaken, holding back tears as she eventually lifted her gaze. “Aunt Qin, Shu will be all right.”

“Don’t say his name!” Aunt Qin, almost beside herself, struck Jiang Yao again.

Jiang Yao did not resist, only bit her lip, as if resigned to accept every blow.

In front of the Chen family, she was a sinner.

Though she hardly knew what crime she had committed.

“That’s enough.” An arm came between Jiang Yao and Aunt Qin.

It was the man she’d met earlier in the dark alley.

Aunt Qin hesitated but, unwilling to relent, tried to reach for Jiang Yao once more.

The man calmly caught Jiang Yao’s arm, pulling her behind him, his tall figure shielding her completely.

He stood firm, meeting Aunt Qin’s gaze with unflinching composure, repeating, “That’s enough.”

Jiang Yao glanced up, taking in the sharp lines of his jaw, and her memory blurred, as if reality and recollection overlapped.

The doors to the emergency room swung open.

“Who’s the patient’s family?”

Aunt Qin forgot everything else, hurrying to the doctor. “I am.”

“The patient is out of immediate danger, but several organs are damaged to varying degrees. We’ll need further observation before deciding on the next steps.”

Both Jiang Yao and Aunt Qin exhaled in relief, following as the boy was wheeled toward his room.

On the floor, a black wallet lay quietly.

The man walked over, glanced at Jiang Yao’s retreating figure, and bent to pick it up.

In an age of mobile payments, few people still used such an old-fashioned wallet.

A man’s wallet.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

He answered as he opened the wallet. “Yes?”

“Yunqing! Didn’t you just go out for a bowl of noodles? Why haven’t you come back?” It was a mature woman’s voice on the line.

“Something came up.”

“What happened?” She sounded instantly anxious. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go out alone for noodles. The assistant could have fetched it for you. Things are different now—you’re at a turning point in your career. So many eyes are on you, nothing can go wrong.”

“Cai-jie,” he replied with a faint smile, “I’m on my way back.”

His agent, Cai-jie, sighed. “All right, you little ancestor.”

After hanging up, He Yunqing focused on the contents of the wallet.

A few bills, an ID card.

His gaze skimmed the information on the card—Jiang Yao’s name confirmed. He noted her date of birth, then closed the wallet thoughtfully.

Jiang Yao had been chased out of the hospital room by Aunt Qin.

She sat, dejected, on a corridor bench, lost in thought. Everything tonight had come so suddenly. She wondered if it was connected to what happened ten years ago. Thankfully, the boy was safe—otherwise, she would owe the Chen family a debt she could never repay, not even in the next life.

The events of that year began to replay in her mind, scene after scene.

Jiang Yao absentmindedly yanked at her own hair.

He Yunqing watched her from a distance—the woman who, only a while ago, had hit him. His eyes, clear and deep, narrowed slightly.

She was thin, her cheek still bearing the red mark from the slap. Perhaps she had been crying; her eyes were swollen and red. Her once-smooth, dark hair was now tangled from her own nervous twisting, making her look utterly disheveled.

He cleared his throat and walked over. “You seemed quite fierce when you hit me earlier.”

Jiang Yao, still clutching a lock of her hair, looked up at him.

He turned aside, presenting her with his profile, and extended his right arm.

Dangling from his slender, fair fingers was a steaming bowl of noodles.

Catching Jiang Yao’s bewildered expression, he pressed his lips together. “Someone gave me these. I’m not hungry—you can have them.”

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” Jiang Yao replied politely.

“Then do you want this?” He placed the noodles on the seat beside her and tossed the black wallet onto her lap.

Only then did Jiang Yao realize she must have dropped it during the earlier commotion. She gratefully picked it up.

“Thank you. Losing this would have been a real hassle.”

She spoke as she opened the wallet, searching through its few compartments again and again, growing more anxious with each check.

“Looking for this?” He Yunqing arched an eyebrow.

Jiang Yao looked up; in his open palm lay a woman’s wedding ring.

“Try not to lose it again next time,” he said.

Jiang Yao took the ring, carefully wiping it before placing it back into her wallet with reverent care.

When she looked up, the man was already walking away.

He left her only the view of his tall, slender back.

The bowl of noodles on the bench still radiated a gentle warmth.

After a moment’s thought, she picked it up, opened the lid, and lifted a bite to her lips.

It was just right, warmer than the bleak autumn night outside.

She sipped the broth—did this count as birthday longevity noodles?

It had been ten years since someone had brought her a bowl of noodles on her birthday.