After My Death, I Became a Heartless Madman - Chapter 49

By the time Song Shizhou left the studio, the sky had darkened completely. She drove to the mouth of the alley, where Miss Bai’s figure had shrunk into a distant speck.

Now, that speck was slowly making its way toward her.

The alluring yet oppressive orange sunset had long faded, leaving behind only a sky full of dazzling stars. They drifted across the blue-purple expanse of the night, a dreamlike sight one might only witness in dreams. Song Shizhou froze for a moment, she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen such a breathtaking night sky.

The woman wore a mask, a simple white blouse casually paired with a black blazer. The streets were sparsely populated at this hour, so her romantic, long white curls were finally free to spill out into the open.

Houhai had no sea, but there was a lake, two alleys away from the studio, yet an unavoidable path to the parking lot. The woman walked silently beside Song Shizhou, close but not holding hands. The air was damp, and the dim glow from the shops lining the alley cast faint shadows. A few passersby pulled out their phones, capturing the rare spectacle of the starry sky.

“How strange, why are there so many stars tonight?”

“So romantic. It’s been ages since I’ve seen this many stars.”

Hearing the murmurs of the crowd, Bai Ru tugged at Song Shizhou’s sleeve, urging her to walk faster.

Her hair seemed dull under the flickering streetlights, but when her pale green eyes turned toward Song Shizhou, there was an unexpected softness in them.

“The reason stars flicker in the night sky is because they’re incredibly far away. Light-emitting celestial bodies and non-luminous ones refract each other’s light, and the beams get distorted as they travel through space. That’s why they seem to dim and brighten.”

“And because of that distance, some of these stars might have already died in some unknown corner of the universe. What we’re seeing is just the light they emitted tens of thousands of years ago.”

“So it’s not romantic at all.”

“Not even a little.”

When Chen Ting first met Miss Bai, she had once remarked on her appearance a rare, transcendent beauty. Her cold, proud features were like frost and snow, but not the kind that drifts aimlessly in winter. Rather, they were the most precious, pristine kind of frost, found only in the farthest reaches of the northern wilderness.

Few things in this world could trouble or distract Miss Bai. Yet now, her brows were slightly furrowed with melancholy as she gazed at the nameless stars above, a mix of wistfulness and loneliness in her expression.

“In all those years it took for their light to reach our planet, those refracted beams had to traverse the frigid emptiness of space. It must have been a terribly lonely journey. They arrive before us, carrying the hope of reunion, only to be met with… missed connections.”

Those pale green eyes settled on Song Shizhou, like a single star falling from the vast sky, landing right before her.

Song Shizhou’s hands trembled slightly, a sour ache spreading in her chest.

“Then, why do they miss each other?”

Her own voice sounded distant.

“Are you talking about the stars… or yourself?”

The pedestrians along the street gradually dispersed, and the long-anticipated lake finally came into view. The slippery cobblestone path was muddy, and Song Shizhou instinctively reached for Miss Bai’s wrist to steady her. Perhaps it was the humidity, but the woman’s eyes seemed veiled in a faint mist.

Bai Ruowei shook her head, her voice slow and slightly hoarse,

“No.”

Dressed in a gray wool coat, the slightly curled hem fluttered in the wind, as if embracing her.

Bai Ruowei hesitated before speaking,

“I just overheard some passersby chatting and felt a little emotional.”

The night breeze lifted a strand of her long hair. The parking lot was some distance away, and Bai Ruowei’s cheeks were tinged with a faint flush she was still running a fever.

Song Shizhou had gone to fetch the car from afar. Unable to reach Mia at the moment, Bai Ruowei would put on a pitiful, resigned expression whenever Song Shizhou suggested calling someone to take her to the hospital.

Left with no choice, Song Shizhou had to bring her back to the small apartment she was currently staying in.

The passenger door remained tightly shut. Bai Ruowei paused, then opened the rear door instead.

The car window was cracked slightly, letting in the clamor of car horns and the night breeze. The area was lined with snack streets, and the mingled scents of barbecue and various street foods drifted in, easing the slightly tense atmosphere between them.

When she had come to find her, it was still afternoon. Now it was evening, and neither of them had eaten. Bai Ruowei tapped the driver’s seat lightly,

“Is there anything you’d like to eat?”

Song Shizhou shook her head. Miss Bai got out and ordered a serving of wontons.

No oil, no seasoning, no scallions just plain, clear broth with vegetarian filling. Song Shizhou silently noted Miss Bai’s meticulous dietary preferences, which bordered on asceticism.

She had been fine when stepping out of the car, but after standing in the night breeze for a while, Bai Ruowei’s face suddenly flushed several shades redder. Even the street vendor noticed her condition and asked worriedly, “Miss, are you alright?”

Bai Ruowei shook her head and glanced at the person beside her,

“I’m fine.”

She took the packed wontons, paid, and said to Song Shizhou,

“I’m feeling a bit unwell. Let’s hurry back.”

Once inside the apartment, Miss Bai seemed oddly reserved. Song Shizhou handed her a pair of slippers,

“It’s too late today. I’ll call Mia tomorrow to come pick you up.”

Miss Bai hadn’t eaten dinner. The bowl of plain wontons sat before her, the steaming broth making her eyes redden slightly.

She nodded and murmured, “Okay.”

Song Shizhou placed the first-aid kit in front of her,

“You know how to use this, right?”

Bai Ruowei, “I do.”

She wasn’t completely helpless in daily life, it was just that someone had always taken care of everything for her with precision before.

Bai Ruowei had taken off her black blazer, leaving her in a simple white blouse buttoned meticulously to the top. The thermometer couldn’t be slipped in, so Miss Bai’s slender fingers hovered over the mother-of-pearl buttons at the collar, which gleamed softly under the light. Her fingertips were pale pink as she undid the buttons one by one. The blouse slid down her skin like a delicate cicada’s shed shell.

The bowl of wontons was finished cleanly. After rinsing her mouth, Bai Ruowei held the thermometer, looking dazed as if the fever had addled her.

Song Shizhou sighed helplessly,

“Has Miss Bai forgotten how to use a thermometer?”

Bai Ruowei made a small sound,

“I’ve used infrared thermometers more often…”

She clutched the thermometer stubbornly, refusing to move. Left with no choice, Song Shizhou stepped forward, took her wrist, and helped her loosen the top half of her blouse.

Mia’s cool fingertips brushed against Bai Ruowei’s shoulder. Miss Bai’s body was unexpectedly warm, her soft, supple skin slightly indenting with a faint pink hue from the fever.

A red mark lingered there perhaps from a strap yet it looked undeniably suggestive. Bai Ruowei’s gaze slowly traced the mark before lifting to meet Song Shizhou’s face, as if silently accusing, You did this.

Song Shizhou’s grip on her shoulder faltered.

She had stayed at Snow Pavilion during a storm and happened upon Miss Bai’s heat cycle. That mark was her doing.

She had done it on purpose.

Her expression darkened, eyes glinting with something cold. Lingering desire and resentment tangled in her chest, unresolved, twisting into this moment.

As the woman before her seemed lost in distant thoughts, Bai Ruowei let out a soft laugh, a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

Then the cool tip of the thermometer slipped inside her, and Miss Bai suddenly gasped.

A sound that made one’s pulse race.

Is this revenge?

Song Shizhou wondered.

Because she had silenced her last time, now even something as simple as taking her temperature had to be made difficult, had to be.

Unashamedly vocal.

“If you keep being uncooperative, I’ll send you to the hospital.”

Bai Ruowei clutched her sleeve like a white flag of surrender.

“I am cooperating.”

True to her word, Miss Bai soon quieted. She sat on the sofa, cheeks flushed from fever, her usual frosty elegance replaced by something almost foolishly endearing.

The air thickened with tension, but the room gradually fell silent. After five minutes, Bai Ruowei pulled out the thermometer.

“38.5°C. Any higher and you’d be dehydrated. You really can endure anything.”

Yet the woman on the sofa seemed oblivious to the reproach, sitting there limply.

“You’re staying here tonight. I’ll call Mia to pick you up tomorrow.”

Miss Bai lowered her eyes, ignoring the statement entirely.

The apartment had only one guest room. After a quick tidy-up, Song Shizhou led her inside. Bai Ruowei hesitated, clutching a cup of brownish fever medicine.

“Rest here. Bundle up tonight sweat it out and you’ll be fine.”

The bright fluorescent light stung. A red mark trailed down Bai Ruowei’s neck as she sat wordlessly, pitifully tugging at Song Shizhou’s wrist the moment she touched the bed.

Like a small animal in an unfamiliar place, distrustful of everything except its owner’s embrace.

Song Shizhou asked what was wrong.

Bai Ruowei paused, then shook her head.

“Nothing.”

“Thank you for taking me in today.”

Song Shizhou’s chest tightened.

“Mia almost never answers your calls. Did something happen between you two?”

Bai Ruowei smiled, a trace of resignation in it.

“You’re aware of the relationship between Mr. Bai and me. He’s suspicious and sensitive, constantly monitoring my every move, just waiting for a reason to settle accounts.”

Mr. Bai was a contradictory man. He wanted Bai Ruowei to achieve success at a young age because a mediocre heir wouldn’t survive long by his side. Yet if Miss Bai performed too well, too outstandingly, he would feel threatened.

She continued, “Chairman Chen’s appearance actually diverted some of his attention from me, but only slightly. That’s why I took some time off recently to create a buffer.”

They say adult relationships follow three patterns: becoming a cat, a tiger, or a rain-soaked puppy. Becoming a cat means exuding charm and mystery to lure others in. Becoming a tiger means displaying strength and power, making others want to rely on you. Becoming a rain-soaked puppy means showing vulnerability beneath strength, evoking tenderness.

So which stage was Miss Bai in now?

Bai Ruowei lowered her gaze. She didn’t know which stage she was in either.

All she knew was how much she loved being in Song Shizhou’s embrace, which was why she gripped her wrist to keep her from leaving, why she fell ill and ended up staying at her home. But the thought that the owner of this embrace might become engaged to someone else, might enter into a marriage alliance with another, filled her with overwhelming sadness.

Yet these words, these feelings she had once said them verbatim to Song Shizhou. Now that the boomerang had come back to strike her, was she really finding it unbearable?

Miss Bai’s hand slowly fell, the light in her eyes dimming. She thought of the starry sky she had seen tonight perhaps shining brightly for just a moment was enough.

Song Shizhou placed the medicine on the coffee table.

“Rest well for now. Don’t think about these things.”

Before the words fully left her lips, darkness suddenly engulfed the room.

A power outage.

Song Shizhou’s hand trembled violently.

Due to childhood experiences, she harbored an unusual fear of darkness.

As a child, unaware of her true origins, she couldn’t understand why her parents despised her so much. She had begged for their love, but the Lu Family Couple always found her bothersome. When they went out to work, they would lock her inside a pitch-black closet.

She could hear sounds outside the closet but couldn’t move or escape. Panic amplified everything into terror. The old apartment building was dilapidated she remembered no one living upstairs, yet she could hear footsteps circling the closet, one after another, as if someone were speaking. But there was no one else in the room besides her.

A small crack in the closet let moonlight seep through, bright and clear. Yet she dared not approach it, always afraid a pair of eyes might appear there.

Eyes full of fear.

The unknown darkness seemed to hide countless monsters. She would cry until her clothes were soaked, but no one knew, no one cared.

She couldn’t escape, trapped in endless, maddening despair.

Song Shizhou snapped back to reality, shaking off the memory. Instinctively, she sat on the bed, her throat tight. She groped for her phone on the coffee table, but the items there were scattered. She searched for a long time without success.

A pair of slightly damp and warm hands wiped away the cold sweat from her forehead. Someone sat behind her, covering her eyes with their hands.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

The fragrance of osmanthus slowly filled the pitch-black room. Though it was normally an aloof, subtle scent, it carried an overwhelming sense of security now. Everything seemed to calm down. Cold sweat trickled down her neck, sending chills across her skin, only to be wiped away by someone’s hand.

The fragrance grew stronger as someone pulled her into an embrace. Song Shizhou could hear that person’s heartbeat steady and strong, beat after beat.

Bai Ruowei said,

“Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

Because she was here, Song Shizhou didn’t need to fear. Just like many times before, she would share her fears in the darkness. Song Shizhou’s eyelids fluttered slightly. Truth be told, as she grew older, her fear of the dark had lessened considerably. She could handle it much better now.

Yet in Bai Ruowei’s arms, she unexpectedly rediscovered a long-lost sense of security, one she thought she no longer needed.

Under the pale moonlight, the two held each other quietly. Time seemed to stand still until a faint buzzing sound reached their ears.

The lights came on.

Song Shizhou opened her eyes.

Before her were a pair of dazzling light green pupils.

Those same light green eyes that had given her that long-lost sense of security.

Miss Bai wasn’t a cat, nor a rain-soaked puppy. She was a tiger, she had always been a tiger.

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