Chapter 664: Heartless and Ruthless

Thinking of the events of today, the shocks he’d dealt Xiao Zhou, and the various scenarios he’d soon face, Li Heng sighed inwardly, his steps on the stairs heavy as lead.

Creak… creak…

Step by step, he climbed the wooden stairs until he reached the top.

Li Heng stood at the hallway entrance, scanning the room—no one in the living area.

The bathroom door was open, no water running, and no one inside.

He glanced at the empty balcony, then at the freshly hung damp clothes, then at the closed bedroom door—without hesitation, he walked straight toward the bedroom.

Standing at the bedroom door, he held his breath, listening for movement inside.

But he heard nothing.

After ten seconds, he gripped the doorknob with his right hand and turned it firmly.

Good—it wasn’t locked from inside; the door opened slowly.

He pushed the door open just enough to step through—and immediately saw Zhou Shihe.

There, Fudan’s Queen sat primly before the vanity, a dry towel wrapped around her hair, dressed in light brown clothing, silently gazing at her reflection.

Hearing the door, she lifted her eyebrows slightly, then returned to stillness.

Li Heng stood at the threshold, watching her back—he felt an inexplicable pressure, the air thick, as if they stood side by side yet were worlds apart.

After a long silence, he moved, lifting his right foot into the bedroom.

Three steps, two steps, one step.

Li Heng finally stopped, standing to the left of the vanity, leaning against the dresser: “Comrade Shihe, dinner’s about to be served.”

Zhou Shihe remained seated, silent.

Waiting a moment, receiving no reply, Li Heng reminded again: “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

Zhou Shihe stood like a statue, utterly unresponsive.

His gaze fell on her profile; after a moment’s thought, he extended his right hand to grasp her wrist.

Just as his hand neared her body, Zhou Shihe spoke softly: “Can I ask you three questions?”

Li Heng turned his eyes to her reflection in the mirror: “Go ahead.”

Zhou Shihe asked: “Was that ‘brother-in-law’ on the phone from Song Yu? Or someone else?”

Before he could answer, she met his gaze through the mirror, her expression grave: “I want the truth.”

Of course.

He’d anticipated this question on the way here.

For an instant, he considered lying—but he quashed the thought. He knew now: paper could no longer wrap fire.

In the past, Zhou Shihe, bound by their unspoken feelings, by her reserve, by Mai Sui’s presence, and by other reasons, never investigated Li Heng, never deliberately inquired into his background, nor deigned to do such things—she left it to fate.

But now, if she wanted the truth, her family’s influence could make it trivially easy.

Realizing this, Li Heng forced himself to answer honestly: “That voice wasn’t Song Yu’s. It was Chen Zijin’s sister.”

As he spoke, he watched her expression closely.

But Xiao Zhou’s composure was flawless—he detected not the faintest clue.

Seeing she listened, he continued: “Zijin and I are from the same place—we went to junior high together. Then, during the summer of our second year of high school, something happened, and she was forced to go to Beijing…”

Since he’d begun to be honest, he laid out the full story simply.

As he recounted, Zhou Shihe gripped the waistband of her pants, lips tightly pressed, then suddenly interrupted: “You two were intimate three years ago?”

Li Heng paused, then said: “Yes.”

Zhou Shihe’s voice lost all emotion: “Was Chen Zijin your first woman?”

Li Heng said: “Yes.”

Her heart surged violently several times, but she finally suppressed her turmoil: “Go on.”

Li Heng revealed nothing—telling her everything from senior high until now with Zijin.

Hearing it, Zhou Shihe slowly closed her long eyelashes, then whispered softly: “Li Heng, you’ve betrayed such a good woman—you’re a bastard.”

Her voice was feather-light, yet heavy with disappointment.

Li Heng stayed silent, offering no rebuttal.

As time passed, Zhou Shihe’s red lips parted again, asking her second question: “What is Chen Zijin’s relationship with Xiao Han? What is her relationship with Mai Sui and Song Yu? Do they all know each other? Were they once close friends?”

Right to the point.

Li Heng was speechless, standing awkwardly in place.

Her suspicion confirmed, Zhou Shihe pressed her right hand to her chest, steadying her emotions.

After another long silence, she asked her third question, expressionless: “Besides Chen Zijin, are there other women?”

Li Heng’s eyelid twitched involuntarily—he didn’t know how to answer.

Through the mirror, Zhou Shihe stared straight into his eyes, calmly asking: “Is Huang Zhaoyi also your woman?”

Li Heng wanted to say no—but his mouth said: “Why did you think of her?”

Zhou Shihe spoke without ripple: “Because she’s beautiful enough. Because she’s devoted enough to you. Because you…”

Mid-sentence, she fell silent.

With her lips closed, the bedroom’s tension thickened, making the nerves tremble.

Li Heng mentally filled in her unspoken words: Because you’re lustful enough.

Gazing at each other through the mirror, Li Heng knew: if she’d thought of Da Qingyi, the truth was already exposed—it was only a matter of time before it cracked open.

He gave up pretending: “Yes.”

Hearing that harsh “yes,” Zhou Shihe, who had always controlled her emotions, felt an inexplicable surge of irritation.

Unprecedented irritation.

Splash!

Zhou Shihe suddenly raised her right hand, snatching a skincare bottle from the vanity to smash it—then, seeing it was an expensive essence, she placed it back, and grabbed a facial cleanser instead.

But the next second, she set down the expensive cleanser and picked up the eye cream beside it.

Yet imported luxury eye cream wasn’t cheap either.

Raised with impeccable upbringing, never having broken anything in her life, she stared at the eye cream in her hand, chest tight—finally, she couldn’t bring herself to smash it, and put it down again.

Now nearly driven mad, Zhou Shihe pouted, released it, pouted again—and in one sudden motion, stood up, head bowed, and strode out of the bedroom.

Whenever she walked like this, with wind trailing behind her, it meant she was furious beyond measure. In two years together, Li Heng had seen Xiao Zhou do this only twice.

The first time was this morning, when he chose Song Yu right before her eyes—she turned and walked out, wind trailing.

The second time is now—when she learned Huang Zhaoyi was his woman, she turned and walked out again, wind trailing.

In the past, when he kissed her, held her at the Ritz-Carlton in Singapore, kissed her in Holland, in the music room, in the library reading room—she never reacted this way. Her anger had always been shallow, merely expressing emotion, and she’d forgiven him soon after.

But today was her twentieth birthday.

On this monumental day, she’d been enraged twice—and both times, it was because of him.

He’d thought Mai Sui, Xiao Han, and Yu Shuheng were the limits of his fickleness, the limits she could tolerate—so she’d spent long months building herself up, comforting herself.