After the Sang-Style Beauty Married the Disabled Villain [Transmigration] - Chapter 6

Bright moonlight streamed through the glass window, casting geometric patterns on the floor. The door opened with a faint “soughing” sound as a wheelchair came to a stop at the entrance of the storage room.

Nan Liujing looked into the corner. There leaned a giant, life-sized doll—roughly stitched and yellowing with age. In its arms, the thin, pale youth knelt with bound hands, leaning all his weight against it like an angel in a myth praying to the moon.

Long eyelashes cast shadows over his cheeks, and his beautifully soft lips were pressed together. In the hazy moonlight, a tiny point of light reflected off the tip of his nose. Nan Liujing watched him for a long time. To see someone sleeping so soundly while bound with a belt it was almost supernatural.

Nan Liujing averted his gaze and gave a cold, biting sneer. Playing dumb is a timeless strategy. He was convinced Shen Jiali was awake, secretly gauging his emotional state. He suspected the “nude photos turned Dachshunds” stunt was a self-directed play to wash his reputation.

We’ll see how long you can keep this up.

The Next Day

Shen Jiali was woken by a dull ache in his thighs. Having spent the entire night in a kneeling position, his legs were numb and sore. He shifted his posture, intending to go back to sleep.

“Knock, knock.” Uncle Li’s voice drifted through the door. “Mr. Shen, time for breakfast.”

“I don’t want to eat…” Shen Jiali buried his face back into the doll’s neck, his voice muffled and lethargic.

“You can’t do that. Breakfast is the source of nutrition for the day! As the old saying goes, the key to the day is”

Shen Jiali sighed in frustration. “I’m up.”

Downstairs, Nan Liujing was already prepared to leave, showing only his back. A driver was helping him check his wheelchair.

“Mr. Shen, say goodbye to the Master. You are his wife; these rules shouldn’t be lost,” Uncle Li prompted.

Shen Jiali’s brow furrowed. The title “wife” felt very strange. Tired from standing, he sat down on a step of the stairs, leaning weakly against the railing. His unbuttoned sleeves slid down, bunching at his wrists. Socializing was exhausting; coming up with words was too much work.

“Good morning, good afternoon, good night. I wish you health and prosperity. Congratulations on getting rich,” Shen Jiali said all at once.

There. I’ve covered the night greeting, the health wishes, and the career blessings. Can you let me go now?

Uncle Li & the Driver: “…”

Nan Liujing turned his head slightly, catching a glimpse of Shen Jiali out of the corner of his eye. The boy looked sickly, leaning against the railing in yesterday’s white shirt, which hung loosely off his frail frame. He was a shade of sickly white that almost blended into the fabric. A small, vivid red mark perhaps a mosquito bite stood out on his neck.

“Shen Jiali,” Nan Liujing said coldly.

Shen Jiali didn’t have the energy to speak, so he responded via “brain waves”: Mhm. Make your important speech quickly. After you’re done, I need to go lie down for five minutes.

“Two things,” Nan Liujing commanded. “Wash the clothes. And today, a psychiatrist will come for a consultation.”

The psychiatrist was Nan Liujing’s high school classmate—one of the few people he didn’t view with total suspicion. The “consultation” was merely a front; he wanted to know Shen Jiali’s hidden schemes. He had already installed a pinhole camera in the consultation room.

“I don’t know how to wash,” Shen Jiali said, using four words to try and end the conversation forever.

“Uncle Li will teach you.” With that, Nan Liujing left.

Chores and “Reflection”

Under Uncle Li’s urging, Shen Jiali sat at the dining table. The house was so large that the clinking of his fork produced an echo. He picked up a boiled shrimp, pulled off the head, and stuffed it into his mouth without peeling it. He slowly chewed, closing his eyes to cultivate sleepiness.

The shell of the tiger shrimp was hard; it pricked his tongue, waking him up instantly. He spat out the shell and kept chewing. It took ten minutes to eat one shrimp. He lost his appetite and tried to head back to his “black room” to lie down.

Instead, he turned to find Uncle Li standing behind him with a mountain of laundry and a wide smile.

“Mr. Shen, the Master’s clothes are mostly custom-made. Some are dry-clean only, some are hand-wash only. I’ve categorized them and marked the water temperature and detergent amount for each.”

“Don’t you find this troublesome?” Shen Jiali asked.

“The Master has been like this since he was a child—meticulous in everything he does,” Uncle Li replied.

Shen Jiali thought: Why would a personality like that marry a cannon fodder character? Author, you have a bug in your plot.

After Uncle Li left for the day, Shen Jiali stared at the clothes. He pulled a shirt and checked the tag. Hand-wash, 10°C water. He had never washed clothes in his life. As a child, he had tried to help his mother, but he had fainted from the effort—his heart function was so poor that squatting cut off his circulation.

He turned on the water heater and took a nap. An hour later, he realized he had over-napped. The water temperature was 80°C. He decided to just soak the clothes to let the water cool. The shirt visibly shriveled the moment it touched the scalding water. Shen Jiali stared at the basin. Something feels wrong. Ah, never mind. Washing after the water cools is fine.

By the time he finished, the bathroom was flooded, and soap suds had somehow reached the ceiling. Following the note’s instruction not to wring the clothes, he carried the dripping garments to the third-floor balcony, leaving a trail of water behind him.

Done. So tired. Need a nap.

The “Psychiatrist”

At 1:00 PM, the doorbell rang. A tall man in a suit and gold-rimmed glasses, Song Lan, stood at the door. He was struck by Shen Jiali’s appearance sickly, ethereal, and surprisingly beautiful. He thought: No wonder Nan Liujing married him despite the rumors.

“Hello, Mr. Shen. I am Song Lan, the psychiatrist.”

Shen Jiali shook his hand and immediately pulled back. Song Lan could still feel the touch of the smooth, delicate skin.

They went to the second-floor room. Unknown to Shen Jiali, Nan Liujing was watching the live feed from his office at Huanhai Electronics.

“First, how have you been feeling lately?” Song Lan asked warmly.

“Just like that,” Shen Jiali replied, trying to use the fewest words possible.

“What does ‘like that’ mean? Can you elaborate?”

“Good morning, good afternoon, good night. I wish you health, prosperity, and many grandchildren.” Shen Jiali leaned forward. He decided to say everything that could apply to the doctor’s entire life at once so he could leave.

Song Lan gave a dry laugh. “So you’re feeling… complex? Not very happy?”

Shen Jiali blinked once instead of nodding.

“Is it because of the housework? I saw a lot of water on the floor.”

Shen Jiali nodded. It wasn’t really the reason, but it would stop the doctor from asking more questions.

Watching from his office, Nan Liujing sneered and opened his “Retraction of Marriage Plan 5.0” file. Under “Shen Jiali’s Crimes,” he typed: Lazy.

“You can talk to the Master about the housework. He’s very approachable,” Song Lan lied.

Shen Jiali gave him a look of disbelief. Approachable? Nan Liujing? He figured the doctor must be working very hard to sell his soul for a paycheck. “I don’t want to talk to him,” Shen Jiali said.

“Why? Are you afraid of something?”

“Lazy.”

Nan Liujing’s fingers paused over the keyboard. He deleted “Lazy” and typed: Annoying.

Song Lan tried to shift gears to his real mission. “If, and I mean if the Master gave you 100,000 yuan a month to stay out of his business, stayed out all night, and refused to divorce, what would you do?”

Nan Liujing watched intently. He expected an answer that revealed Shen Jiali’s greed or malice.

Shen Jiali’s brow furrowed. “I would…” He clenched his hand. “…help keep watch for him.”

“Also, 100,000 is too much. I’d feel bad. 50,000 is enough.”

Song Lan: “…” Nan Liujing: “?” He slowly deleted the words “Shen Jiali’s Conspiracy” he had pre-typed.

“Even if he was cheating on you?” Song Lan pressed.

“Thank him for me. When is he starting? Does he have a schedule?”

Nan Liujing let out a cold “Heh.” Is this person mentally sound?

“Okay, a brain teaser to test your logic,” Song Lan said. “If a man says he’s 1.8 meters tall after putting on shoes, how tall is he really?”

A normal person would say “around 1.78 meters.”

Shen Jiali thought for a moment. “80 centimeters.”

Both Song Lan and Nan Liujing stared at the screen in shock. How did he reach that conclusion? He’s definitely not normal.

“Why 80 centimeters?” Song Lan asked, genuinely curious.

Shen Jiali didn’t speak. He slowly raised a hand and pointed to a bookshelf. Nan Liujing zoomed in on the camera. On the shelf was a book called History of Chinese Folk Customs. On the cover was an old man performing on one-meter-tall stilts.

Subtracting the one-meter stilts from 1.8 meters… 80 centimeters. It was… incredibly logical.

Song Lan felt a deep sense of doubt. Am I the one who isn’t normal?

Half an hour later, Song Lan left, looking like he had aged ten years. He called Nan Liujing: “Master, I did the consultation. He’s very healthy… physically. If there’s nothing else, I’m going to find a psychiatrist for myself.”

Nan Liujing closed his eyes and leaned back in his office. If Shen Jiali hasn’t been possessed by a ghost, he must be a master of psychological warfare, using this ‘slacker’ persona to disarm me.

Impressive, Shen Jiali. Very impressive. Let’s see who is better at this game.