chapter 8

Qiu Rongrong reached out, wanting to take the painting from Zhou Jingxing’s hand.

But Zhou Jingxing flipped it over and pressed it face-down on the tabletop. In one swift, decisive motion, he caught her wrist and pushed her backward, pinning her against the bed behind her.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

Qiu Rongrong sucked in a sharp breath as her back met the soft mattress.

They looked into each other’s eyes.

In that instant, time seemed to stretch.

His knee braced against the side of her leg, and his arm propped beside her head. He didn’t truly touch her, yet he was far too close.

He dipped his head to study her. A few stray strands fell over his forehead, nearly brushing her lashes.

So handsome.

In his bright, watery eyes, she could see her own flustered reflection.

“Don’t move,” he said softly. “You’ll get the painting you want. Now it’s my turn.”

Qiu Rongrong really didn’t dare move.

“Your turn… for what?”

“Earlier in the car, why didn’t you close your eyes?” His breath was light, but for some reason it felt scorching.

“Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb. I know you understood.”

In the dim room, something tender drifted through his gaze-real or not, she couldn’t tell.

She was an adult. With a question this straightforward, she understood immediately.

He was asking her: when he leaned in to fasten her seatbelt in the car, why hadn’t she closed her eyes and let things naturally become a kiss.

“I…” If she kept pretending now, it would only look affected and awkward.

He was confessing-his eyes in the darkness impossibly bright.

Being liked at all left Qiu Rongrong both startled and at a loss.

She drew a deep breath, gathered her courage, and voiced what was truly bothering her. “Uncle Zhou feeds me and lets me live here. If I sleep with his son, it just feels… wrong.”

“Huh?”

Zhou Jingxing froze for a beat. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. The sound was so light-like a feather brushing past her ear-yet it felt as if something tightened around her heart.

He was young and handsome, and he’d been so gentle and considerate with her.

She did like him.

But Qiu Rongrong couldn’t shake the unease.

“I’m serious. Don’t laugh,” she said. “Uncle Zhou treats me like family. And I call you ‘brother’-it makes more sense for us to be family.”

The first part came out easily. The rest turned heavy.

“And…”

She paused. “I have a lot of scars.”

When she said it, her expression was calm.

As if she were a strong girl who could face the marks of her past without flinching.

But she did care.

That composure was only a cover.

Her ordinariness, her fragility-those made her think, shallowly, that beautiful people were easier to love.

Yet her pride forced her to act like she didn’t mind.

Scars were ugly. Repulsive.

Qiu Rongrong longed for new connections. She wanted to start a relationship, to be cherished, to be looked after.

But she also knew the scars that would never disappear carried an unbearable past.

No one was obligated to accept her ugliness.

Unless he was willing to love her like this.

The thought made Qiu Rongrong restless. She pushed Zhou Jingxing away and smoothed her messy hair. “I can show you my arm. I’ve got knife cuts all over me. I had scar revision done, but they can’t be completely removed.”

Zhou Jingxing sat cross-legged on the bed, looking at her obediently. “I don’t mind.”

It felt like a dream.

Qiu Rongrong stared at him. “Why… don’t you mind?”

He repeated it, more serious this time. “I don’t mind. Let’s try.”

A boy who seemed perfect in every way appeared by her side-right when she’d come alone to an unfamiliar city.

Such an impossible coincidence.

Like a fated meeting in a fairy tale.
Unfortunately, Qiu Rongrong didn’t understand.

When too many coincidences show up at the same time, it becomes an extremely dangerous thing.

“Okay,” she said.

That night, Qiu Rongrong slept unusually soundly.

Even the pink room no longer writhed like a mass of organs.

Most people meet a boy who makes their heart skip, and only then do they start thinking about love.

Qiu Rongrong had wanted to be in a relationship first-and then, the boy who fit her simply and smoothly ended up at her side.

She wanted to use a new relationship to make up for what she’d lost.

This was the first step of her new life.

…

Qiu Rongrong opened her eyes. The smell of ether still lingered at the tip of her nose. Foggy-headed and dizzy, she struggled upright as the world spun.

Where was this place now?

She still remembered Zhou Jingxing confessing to her last night. She hadn’t been able to resist; she’d taken the hand he offered.

Then, in the morning, he brought the painting and said he would take her to the police station.

After that came the rear-end collision.

He got out of the car first, but there was no movement for a long time.

She found it strange and climbed out from the passenger side.

Then someone covered her mouth and nose with a towel soaked in ether.

When she opened her eyes again,

she found herself lying in a windowless white room, a soft blanket beneath her.

Because of the drug, fear didn’t arrive immediately.

It came slowly, like water seeping into cracked porcelain-rising bit by bit, soaking into the gaps between her fingers, into her skin, into her bones-until it finally swelled up and filled her entire heart.

She pushed herself up against the wall, then felt along the wall’s edge until she reached the door.

A thick iron door, locked from the outside, blocked her way. Qiu Rongrong yanked at the handle, but it didn’t budge.

The walls were thick too. Even with her ear pressed to them, she couldn’t hear anything outside.

Qiu Rongrong slumped back onto the floor.

Only belatedly did she realize-

she’d been kidnapped again.

Just then, the handle turned.

With a creak, the door opened.

Because Qiu Rongrong was sitting in the doorway, the door jammed halfway against her legs.

A man’s head poked in first.

A familiar face.

From the half of his face turned to the side, she could see the small black mole beneath his ear.

He was here.

He’d come to kill her!

Her mind was sluggish, but her body reacted on instinct. She threw all her strength into ramming the door, hoping it would clamp down and snap the man’s neck.

The door shifted a little.

But the man was strong. He quickly pressed a hand to the edge of the door and squeezed in sideways.

“Why are you sitting on the floor?” The man frowned, his tone carrying a hint of blame. “The floor’s cold.”

Qiu Rongrong opened her mouth. Bracing her hands on the ground, she kicked and scrambled backward.

She should have been brave-stood up, swung her fist at the bad guy, dashed out the door, and shown up on tomorrow’s front page with a reputation for standing up to evil.

Or maybe she should have been silver-tongued, keenly uncovering the bad guy’s hidden past and persuading him to let her go.

But none of that happened.

In reality, she felt like a limp wad of cotton.

She couldn’t stand.

“Didn’t I give you a blanket?” The man bent down and scooped her up.

Qiu Rongrong caught the scent of disinfectant on him.

“I want to go out.”

The man seemed surprised by her honesty. He lowered his head to look at her in his arms. “Are you talking to me?”

Qiu Rongrong spoke very slowly.

She had to think slowly, speak slowly. “Let me go. I won’t call the police.”

“I saw that painting in the car,” he said. “It’s really lifelike.”

Praise like that made her blood run cold.

The man set Qiu Rongrong back down on the fluffy blanket, then began stripping off her clothes.