CHAPTER 70: CHAPTER 65: SPENDING MONEY FOR A SLAP

(A bleak week indeed, a handful of tears. Considering I’ve been working nonstop for thirteen days, as busy as a pug, and today I finally get to rest, I shamelessly ask for collections, comments, votes, and all sorts of support. Refer to footnote ② for details.)

With a loud "slap," the sound echoed through the entire lecture hall like a thunderclap on a calm day. Su Ziceng herself was somewhat taken aback by the force of her own slap. Her hand was tingling numbly, "Fei Qing, momma spent fifty thousand for this slap to teach you a lesson on behalf of your father!"

Fei Qing was stunned by the slap, his eardrums still vibrating. The slap was both heavy and loud, causing even the onlookers around to cover their faces, feeling their cheeks go numb as if Su Ziceng’s slap had landed on their faces instead.

Hang Yishao was also shocked. After Su Ziceng had slapped someone, the next second she put on her Lady’s face, her eyes downcast and demure as if she had just been petting a pet dog a second ago.

"Su Ziceng, you dare to hit me," Fei Qing growled angrily, his body lunging forward. Hang Yishao grabbed him and pinned him with his shoulder to the corner of the wall. He was a few centimeters taller than Fei Qing and had to exert all his strength to stop his forward momentum, with several other boys joining to encircle them.

The cursing and swearing were incessant. Su Ziceng shook her hand and made an obscene gesture towards Fei Qing, then walked away with Yan Wuxu.

The bell for class rang. Still fuming, Fei Qing silently took his seat, with a buzz of whispers behind him. Without even thinking, one knew what those people were talking about. Hang Yishao, realizing how his actions just now might have appeared lacking in brotherhood, nudged his friend to show goodwill.

"I’ve seen your true colors," Fei Qing grumbled nonsensically, "You’re not righteous at all, letting that woman Su Ziceng mess with me."

Hearing the word "mess with," Hang Yishao felt it even more ludicrous, but he knew that Fei Qing was like a chimney when he spoke—his anger would spout out and then dissipate after a while. Yet, using such a resentful tone to say "mess with" really did "mess with" the meaning of the word.

"Alright, I admit my mistake, won’t that do? It’s just a slap from her, I’ll take revenge for you someday," Hang Yishao couldn’t help but chuckle as he recalled Su Ziceng’s quick change of face. He had seen many women, but few as domineering as Su Ziceng.

"How will you take revenge? You should’ve disciplined her years ago, that would’ve settled it," Fei Qing grew even more aggrieved as Hang Yishao fell silent. Damn that Su Ziceng, playing the role of his father to discipline him, something his own father had never done to him with a slap.

Fei Qing touched his still-burning cheek and then looked at Hang Yishao, who pretended not to hear and was looking toward the lectern, with the teacher speaking energetically. Besides, there were several scornful gazes around. Fei Qing glanced over and saw Chang Chi occasionally looking this way. Better to rely on oneself than others; there’s a live target for dealing with Su Ziceng right here.

After leaving Daoquan University, Yan Wuxu no longer relied on Su Ziceng’s support, walking ahead alone. She walked very slowly and with a slight stumble. Each time she was about to fall, Su Ziceng would reach out to help. But the moment her hand was close to Yan Wuxu, it was pushed away.

Time and again, both of them showed great patience until they reached the gate of Kelly Women’s College, faced with the rose vines covering the gateway, only then did Yan Wuxu finally lean against the metal railing, gasping for breath.

Unlike her steps, her breathing was quick and short, like someone choking, each breath short and rapid, as if she would stop breathing at any moment.

Her breathing sounded in Su Ziceng’s ears like someone drowning, who though sinking to the bottom, managed to bob up again, stirring anxiety in the observer.

"If you want to cry, just cry it out," Su Ziceng only knew that in the past, when she faced unhappy things, she would either eat or shop, eventually forgetting that crying is the best way to vent.

"I don’t need your pity," Yan Wuxu’s hand passed through the thorny bushes, leaving behind cuts from which blood oozed out. The rosebuds in the night, not yet blooming, became all the more bewitching when stained with blood. The cut beside her cheek had clotted, revealing the earring near her earlobe.

In Yan Wuxu’s eyes, Su Ziceng and Fei Qing belonged to the same category of people. Those who, taking advantage of their good family background, played with other people’s feelings at will, uttering scorn at someone’s heartache.