Chapter 57: The Darkness Before Dawn 5

Zhao Qingwu sat on the floor, her head resting against the door, eyes glistening with tears. She felt as if a knot of air was trapped in her chest, impossible to release no matter what she did. For a long, long time she remained silent, yet even through the door, she could hear He Yurou’s muffled sobs on the other side.

“Moqinghan has never once tried to seduce me with underhanded means. The first time I saw her was at the university’s welcome party—right then, I liked her. The only thing I’ve ever regretted in all my life was provoking you just to get back at He Zheyu. Don’t come to my house again! Now, even the sound of your voice disgusts me.” Zhao Qingwu’s tone was calm and even; there was no trace of anger in his voice. Yet every word he spoke was sharp, each syllable stabbing mercilessly into He Yurou’s heart, every barb drawing blood.

He Yurou said nothing more as she listened to Zhao Qingwu’s cruel words. She let her tears fall unchecked, but her eyes held not a trace of sorrow—only a burning hatred. Like a soulless specter, she descended the staircase with slow, heavy steps.

Madam Zhao, seeing He Yurou so lost and unsteady—nearly stumbling down the stairs—immediately called for someone to assist her. Before the maid could reach her, He Yurou shot her a cold glare and uttered a single word: “Leave.” The maid froze in her tracks and looked back at Madam Zhao.

With a silent gesture, Madam Zhao signaled the maid to return to her duties. Then she stepped forward herself. When He Yurou drew near, Madam Zhao gently wiped away her tears with a handkerchief and, with the kindness of a mother, said, “I’ll have the driver take you home. Once this all blows over, that stubborn boy will come around. Things will be easier to talk through then.”

He Yurou nodded, still silent, and walked toward the main entrance, listening to Madam Zhao’s words of comfort as she left.

On the hospital bed, Mo Qinghan slowly lifted her weary eyelids. Turning her head, she took in her surroundings and quickly realized she was in a hospital. Instantly, the image of Mo Qingyu’s tragic leap to her death flashed in her mind. She sat bolt upright, tore the IV needle from her hand, and as soon as her feet touched the floor, a sharp pain in her lower abdomen forced her to sit back down. Clutching her stomach, she muttered in confusion, “How could this be? It never hurt like this before... Could it be because...” Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sudden sound of the door opening.

He Zheyu entered, carrying a thermal lunchbox and other items. Placing them on the cabinet, he poured out some soup, gently blew on it, and said, “You’re still very weak. You need to rest more. Don’t get out of bed; it won’t be good for your health.”

Moqinghan’s gaze was fixed on He Zheyu, her face pale and cold to the point of being frightening. Without warning, she reached out and knocked the bowl from his hand, spilling soup all over him. Straightening up and clutching her stomach, she shouted, “Qingyu is dead! Qingyu is dead—do you understand?”

He Zheyu made no move to wipe the soup from his clothes. He stood there, unmoving, his expression unchanged. His thin lips parted as if to speak, but he remained silent.

“It was your fiancée who indirectly killed her! You once promised, ‘No matter what happens, you will always protect us.’ When Qingyu was in trouble, you were there—you were right there.” Mo Qinghan’s voice was hoarse with grief and rage; she cried out with all the strength she had left.