“Madam! You’d better get to the hospital quick—something terrible’s happened!”
Aunt Zhang had worked in the wealthy Qi household for decades. Usually so calm that even a pig in the backyard getting mysteriously pregnant wouldn’t faze her, she was now rushing over, her face filled with panic.
Curled up on the sofa, Yi Qingju heard the shout and quickly closed her mouth, hiding her big, toothy grin. With practiced ease, she switched the livestream of a nearly naked male model to a bland financial news channel.
Petite, with a palm-sized face and a pair of pitiful cat-like eyes, she turned sweetly toward the woman.
“What’s wrong, Aunt Zhang? Did the backyard pig get knocked up again?”
Aunt Zhang’s expression was somber. “It’s the Young Master.”
Yi Qingju’s phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a thud.
“The Young Master’s pregnant?!”
Aunt Zhang quickly spat. “Pfft—no! The Young Master was coughing today. He’s already at the hospital. As his wife, it’s only right for you to go see him.”
“Oh wow, that’s… so tragic. Do I really have to go myself?”
As soon as the words left her lips, the phone she’d just picked up fell again.
The cracked screen reflected her stunned expression.
“What did you just say? Who’s coughing?”
Understanding the young woman must’ve misheard, Aunt Zhang patiently repeated herself.
Yi Qingju’s legs gave out. If Aunt Zhang hadn’t reacted quickly to catch her, the dainty girl would’ve collapsed on the spot.
Aunt Zhang couldn’t help but sigh.
They may have only been married in name, but everyone in the capital knew how deeply, how pathetically, Yi Qingju "loved" Qi Weiran—loved him to the bone, to the point of giving up her freedom, her dignity.
Now look. You really do see true love in a crisis.
Shivering in disbelief, Yi Qingju raised her head.
“You mean my husband—the one worth billions, with countless assets in his name, who’s basically made of steel and strong enough to yank up a tree with his bare hands… the man who, the moment he dies, will rocket me to the top of Forbes’ Rich List—
He… coughed?”
Aunt Zhang nodded gravely.
“Heavens have mercy…” Yi Qingju’s voice trembled as she burst into tears of joy.
The girl who usually got winded after walking three steps suddenly sprang to her feet and bolted for the door like a track star.
Aunt Zhang: “......”
Why did it seem like Madam was taking this a little too hard?
Under the bewildered stares of the household staff, Yi Qingju dashed straight to the garage.
There it sat—her Knight XV, the off-road king, the land-dominating beast. Sleek, black, and stylish, its presence demanded attention.
She strutted forward, raised her slender, pale wrist, and pressed the key fob with flair.
“You’re the one I choose, my knight.”
From the far corner, a beat-up Wuling Mini EV beeped enthusiastically in response to her call.
At the top floor of the Capital First People’s Hospital, a crowd of doctors in white coats were deep in discussion. Their skin tones varied, revealing that they came from different countries, and their faces were serious as they conversed in hushed tones.
Though the room was full, no one spoke above a whisper—it was as if they were afraid of disturbing someone.
So when a soft, lilting voice rang out, it startled the entire group.
“Excuse me, could you tell me where Qi Weiran’s room is?”
At the sound of that name, every head in the room turned simultaneously.
Standing before them was a young girl in thin clothes, her petite frame and clear, luminous eyes quietly observing them.
Perhaps she’d worn too little in her rush—the wind had drained the color from her face, making her look even more fragile and stirring a sense of pity.
When no one responded, the girl furrowed her delicate brows. Her pale lips parted once more.
“Excuse me? You—know where Qi Weiran be, like, where die-die already?”
Doctors: “......”
The oldest among them, a foreign doctor with bright blue eyes, pointed toward the room at the very end of the hallway and replied in perfectly clear Mandarin, “Young Master Qi is in the last room down there.”
The girl nodded and thanked him. As she turned to leave, they faintly heard her mutter—
“Yoshi.”
“.........”
(T/N: Yi Qingju is intentionally speaking broken English ("Engrish") here. The phrase “where die-die already” is her clumsy way of asking, “Where is Qi Weiran’s room? Did he die yet?”)
Facing the door, Yi Qingju took a deep breath.
The next second, a mechanical, emotionless voice rang out in her head:
【Target detected. Host, maintain character integrity. OOC will result in electric shock.】
Yi Qingju immediately snapped out of her lazy façade. Like a pro, she pulled out a bottle of eye drops and tilted her head back to apply them.
After three well-timed knocks on the door, she lowered her hand.
Soon, that deep, magnetic voice that could make your knees go weak rang out from inside.
She pushed the door open.
No frail man coughing pitifully in bed greeted her.
Instead of the plush hospital bed, Qi Weiran was seated on a leather sofa off to the side, one leg casually crossed over the other. His tailored slacks made his already long legs look impossibly long.
His hair was slicked back, revealing a smooth forehead and striking brow ridge.
His features were sharp and sculpted, like a Greco-Roman statue carved by a master. He was breathtakingly handsome.
At the sound of the door, he looked up from the document in his hand.
And that’s when she saw them—his eyes, light in color and as clear as amber. The final, fatal stroke to a flawless face.
Yi Qingju quietly shut the door behind her and walked slowly toward him under his gaze.
Qi Weiran stared at her silently and counted to three in his head.
Just as expected, the moment the countdown hit zero, her lips trembled—tears already spilling before she could even get a word out.
She looked as though she were standing in front of his memorial portrait, not the man himself.
Despite the storm of emotion coming from her, Qi Weiran’s expression remained unchanged, but his cold eyes revealed a deep impatience.
He lifted a finger, ready to order someone to throw her out—when he suddenly clenched his fist and coughed once.
The weeping girl froze, her teary cat-like eyes going wide. She even forgot to cry.
“Young Master! What’s wrong? Why are you coughing?! If you’re gone, what am I supposed to do with myself?!”
Just as he opened his mouth to respond, another voice—sweet and familiar—echoed in his mind.
【That was a cough? That sounded like ka-ching to me.】
【What else can I do? I’ll wait till the seventh day, inherit everything, and throw a party on your grave.】
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