Volume One, Chapter 18: Madness

A mere dragonfly’s touch of a kiss—how could that ever be enough? After yearning for so many years, how could he possibly be satisfied with just their lips meeting, without even tasting her? There was no way he would let it end like this.

She had been the one to take the initiative!
She had been the one to provoke him!

So soft.
So sweet.
Her lips, her tongue—every part of her belonged to him!

The blood in his veins surged to his head, every nerve ending aflame, a dizzying exhilaration prickling his scalp. The sudden onslaught of the kiss was like a tempest, catching them all off guard. Her fragrant breath tangled on his tongue, and Song Qingyu’s mind went utterly blank.

All she could sense was Pei Jingmo’s overwhelming presence, his aura enveloping her completely. His kiss was possessive, almost savage in its passion.

On the other side, Chu Xingzhi saw everything, and all reason was incinerated in an instant.

Eyes red, he seized a wine bottle, his gaze wild and murderous as he swung it toward Pei Jingmo’s head.

He would kill this man who had stolen his Qingyu!
Let him die!

On any other day, Pei Jingmo would have sensed the movement behind him. But now, lost in dizzying joy, he was beyond himself, nearly mad with excitement.

Song Qingyu’s knees grew weak beneath his kisses, but at this moment, it seemed she was the only one left with any clarity.

As the wine bottle came crashing down, she barely had time to think. With a sudden shove, she pushed Pei Jingmo away and took the blow herself.

A sickening thud resounded as the bottle struck her head.

Crimson blood trickled down from her forehead, a sight that seared the eyes of both men and brought them out of their frenzy.

“Qingqing—!”
“Qingyu—!”

A sharp, splitting pain radiated from her skull, dizziness overwhelming her, and her vision swimming in and out of focus.

Everything around her seemed strangely unreal, chaotic and distant.

Song Qingyu collapsed heavily, and for once Pei Jingmo was at a loss, frantic as he gathered her into his arms.

Chu Xingzhi tried to snatch her away—

“Get lost!” Pei Jingmo, holding Song Qingyu, kicked Chu Xingzhi to the ground.

This time he used his full strength. Chu Xingzhi, the scion of a prestigious family, couldn’t possibly withstand such a blow and was left sprawled on the floor, unable to rise.

Clutching his stomach, Chu Xingzhi’s face turned pale with pain, yet his hand still reached out for Song Qingyu. “Qingyu…”

Pei Jingmo was desperate to get Song Qingyu to the hospital. She was in agony, barely holding on, but there was something she needed to say to Chu Xingzhi.

She gently tugged at Pei Jingmo’s sleeve, opening her lifeless eyes to look at the man on the floor.

“Last time, I hit you with a wine bottle. This time, you hit me with one. Let’s call it even…”

Chu Xingzhi wept.

He was like a drowning man, overwhelmed by terror and helplessness. He could only watch as Pei Jingmo carried Song Qingyu away, utterly powerless to stop it.

For the first time, he realized that perhaps he and Qingyu truly could not go back to what they once were.

But what was he to do? Without Qingyu, he felt as though he might die.

Pei Jingmo had never known an elevator ride to feel so excruciatingly long.

Sixty-eight floors—a height that might as well have been the sky.

Song Qingyu leaned weakly against his chest. In her haste to leave earlier, she had worn a black slip dress, a white shirt thrown on top. Now, the white shirt was soaked through with blood—a sight that chilled Pei Jingmo to his very core.

“Qingqing… don’t sleep… don’t sleep…”

Chu Xingzhi had been drinking, and his blow, meant to kill Pei Jingmo, had been powerful. Now, all Pei Jingmo could see was the blood on Song Qingyu’s head; he had no idea if there was internal damage and dared not let her fall asleep.

“It hurts… I feel sick…” Song Qingyu’s voice was barely a whisper. She tried to keep her eyes open, but her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, her brows knitting in discomfort.

“If you need to throw up, just do it. Don’t hold back.”

She thought, what if she vomited on him? But she was far too exhausted to say a word.

She retched a few times, but nothing came up.

Watching her, Pei Jingmo’s heart twisted with agony.

By the time they reached the ground floor, a Rolls-Royce Phantom was already waiting by the entrance.

Fu Linhan caught sight of the unconscious Song Qingyu in Pei Jingmo’s arms and swore under his breath. “What the hell happened?”

As he spoke, he’d already opened the back door.

Pei Jingmo carefully placed Song Qingyu in the car. Fu Linhan, with no time for questions, jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

All the way to the hospital, Pei Jingmo was silent, cradling Song Qingyu as if she were fragile glass, never taking his eyes off her, deaf to everything around him.

His expression was so grim that Fu Linhan didn’t dare provoke him with a single word.

Bai Yinian had already contacted the hospital and the doctors. The moment they arrived, Song Qingyu was rushed into emergency care.

Pei Jingmo was covered in her blood; just looking at himself made his head spin.

Fu Linhan spoke softly, treading carefully, “Maybe you should change your clothes—you look terrifying right now.”

Pei Jingmo stared at the sign that read “Emergency Room.”

With a harsh crack, he slapped himself across the face.

Just as he raised his hand for a second blow, Fu Linhan caught his wrist, face stern. “What are you doing?”

“It’s all my fault! I could have prevented this, and yet…”

Pei Jingmo said no more, but word of the incident had already spread like wildfire among Chu Xingzhi’s circle.

Fu Linhan, having quickly pieced together what had happened, cleared his throat. “You can’t blame yourself entirely. After all, you’ve held back for so long—finally getting a kiss would have your mind filled with nothing but that. Not noticing anything else is normal.”

Fu Linhan was nothing if not tactful, always knowing how to comfort others.

“Song Qingyu only has you left now. She’s counting on you to take care of her. I know you probably want to tear yourself apart, but if anything happened to you, what would she do?”

Suddenly, Pei Jingmo remembered, “That’s right, Qingqing hates the smell of blood. Go find me a change of clothes, quickly.”

—

Song Qingyu received three stitches to the back of her head. Though her life wasn’t in danger, the ordeal had been harrowing.

The aftereffects of the concussion left her dizzy and nauseous at times.

She vomited several times while unconscious.

Pei Jingmo watched over her, heart aching with every moment.

When Song Qingyu finally awoke again, it was already the morning of the third day.

She opened her eyes slowly to a wash of white.

As she moved her hand slightly, she realized it was being held. The telltale cropped hair came into view.

Its owner jolted awake, looking at her with nervous intensity.

“Qingqing… you… you’re finally awake…”

His eyes were bloodshot, his beard unshaven. He’d always had a rugged look, but now he was even rougher around the edges.

“How do you feel? Is there anywhere that hurts?”

“I’m alright. Just a bit dizzy…”

Pei Jingmo immediately pressed the call button by the bed.

Nurses and doctors hastened in, giving Song Qingyu a thorough examination.

“It’s normal to feel dizzy and nauseous after just waking up. Rest and you’ll recover fully.”

Song Qingyu couldn’t help but notice the way all the doctors regarded Pei Jingmo—with not so much respect as fear.