Car Accident

About half an hour later, Lin Sangyu woke from her nap and found Jiang Wenzhe standing beside her, his tall frame casting a shadow that enveloped her entirely.

She assumed he was shielding her from the sunlight filtering through the leaves, so she said gratefully, "Thank you."

Jiang Wenzhe smiled. "You're welcome."

Lin Sangyu was puzzled. She instinctively raised a hand to rub her eyes and sit up, but her fingertips met the clumps of mud stuck to her cheek. In that instant, she realized the meaning behind Jiang Wenzhe's smile.

"Jiang Wenzhe, you're so petty! How can you be this idle? I hate you!"

Lin Sangyu erupted, cursing at Jiang Wenzhe, but no matter how she hurled insults, they were just the same few words with no real bite. And with every facial movement as she spoke, the little tabby cat face on her cheek became more lifelike.

The smile at the corner of his mouth deepened, and Jiang Wenzhe laughed so hard his chest shook.

"You're still laughing! Stop laughing!" Lin Sangyu glared at him, her anger flaring hotter. She stood on the large rock and reached out to cover his mouth.

Jiang Wenzhe tilted his head and dodged easily.

"I'll stop, I'll stop. Let me wash your face," he said, though the curve of his lips didn't drop an inch.

"You have to draw well water for me," Lin Sangyu said, mimicking his manner.

"Fine, well water it is." Jiang Wenzhe's enunciation was lazy, laced with teasing, as he repeated it.

Lin Sangyu gave orders with an air of entitlement: "Hurry up; I'm only giving you one minute."

"Fine." Jiang Wenzhe worked quickly and indeed returned with the well water in under a minute. He crouched beside her and said, "Time to wash your face, little tabby cat."

Remembering how she had viciously rubbed Jiang Wenzhe's arm earlier, Lin Sangyu felt a belated pang of guilt. She pressed her lips together and said, "You'd better be gentle. You can't take revenge on me."

"I definitely have to take revenge on you."

Jiang Wenzhe raised his hand unhurriedly, gently gripping Lin Sangyu's neck. His thumb pressed against her jaw, forcing her to lift her head completely, exposing her entire face to his gaze.

Some fragmented memories uncontrollably surfaced in her mind, and Lin Sangyu's eyelashes trembled.

Jiang Wenzhe, unaware of his instinctive gestures, leaned down and soaked a tissue in the well water. His brows were focused, and he wiped away the mud on her face with great tenderness.

"The little tabby cat is clean now." Jiang Wenzhe withdrew his hand, studying her freshly clean face.

Jiang Wenzhe was watching her intently, completely off guard, and didn't notice what Lin Sangyu's hands were doing.

The next second, Lin Sangyu suddenly reached out with both hands and, smiling, mimicked his gesture, gripping his neck.

His Adam's apple rolled in Lin Sangyu's sweat-dampened palm.

A flash of surprise crossed Jiang Wenzhe's eyes, and a strange sense of satisfaction crowded into his chest.

To be honest, his circle played dirty. Jiang Wenzhe had absorbed it by osmosis—he knew about those collars that let you control someone's breathing. Put one on, and the controller could command everything, freely savor the sight of the one beneath gasping in agony and whimpering on the verge of death, while their only redemption and hope was the controller—delusional, depraved—holding the remote in hand.

Normal people became prisoners dependent on another's mercy.

The depraved were elevated to gods on high.

Jiang Wenzhe now suddenly realized that both controlling and being controlled felt pretty good.

As long as the object was Lin Sangyu, it was good.

Lin Sangyu's fingers gradually tightened. "How does it feel right now? Jiang Wenzhe."

Amazing—so amazing it made his scalp tingle. Jiang Wenzhe's breath hitched for a moment. His pitch-black eyes were like a calm sea, but beneath the surface churned surging, searing, ready-to-erupt magma.

The curve of his lips didn't change. He smiled and said, "Harder, baby."

*

At noon, the kitchen was filled with the aroma of food. Jiang Wenzhe washed the lotus roots they had picked, slowly simmering them into a lotus root and pork rib soup. He also braised some into a cold dish—light and clean, fitting for the summer heat.

Xie Weiting brought back a goose and a chicken from the farm and made a few other dishes.

Lin Sangyu, meanwhile, had become a professional assistant with twenty years of experience, helping Jiang Wenzhe scrape lotus roots one moment, helping Xie Weiting stir-fry the next.

The dishes were brought to the table, filling it completely.

Wispy steam rose from the plates, and Lin Sangyu sighed, "So much food. I feel like we might not be able to finish it."

Xie Weiting's hearty, booming laughter rang out alongside Xiao Huang's barking from under the table: "Little Lin, did you forget? This is a farm."

Jiang Wenzhe picked out some dishes a Chinese rural dog could eat, put them in its bowl, and walked straight out the courtyard gate. Xiao Huang, desperate for a meal, was forced to follow Jiang Wenzhe out of the dining room.

"Why did you chase Xiao Huang out?" Lin Sangyu asked.

"I don't want to eat with a dirty dog," Jiang Wenzhe said, and as soon as he came back, he rushed into the kitchen and pumped several squirts of dish soap to wash his hands. "I'll bathe it this afternoon."

Xie Weiting said, "Oh, rural dogs are like that."

Jiang Wenzhe replied with total seriousness, "Does being a rural dog mean it's okay to be unhygienic?"

Lin Sangyu exchanged a glance with Xie Weiting and chuckled softly.

A moment later, an abrupt phone ring broke the quiet dining atmosphere—it was Lin Sangyu's phone.

She stood up and stepped outside to take the call, away from the two men.

When she came back, an irrepressible smile hung on her face. Lin Sangyu shared with Jiang Wenzhe, "Do you remember Zhao Ran, the one I knew when I was a receptionist? She got into university! She's off to study! Good thing that when she dropped out in her senior year of high school, she chose a two-year leave of absence instead."

"She said I gave her the courage to break ties with her family and step back onto campus."

Jiang Wenzhe's gaze flickered slightly after hearing this. He knew Lin Sangyu was likable, handled herself with propriety and grace, and was great at giving emotional support. So even when he had deliberately locked her at home for a long stretch, he couldn't stop Lin Sangyu from making many online friends.

Many times, when he saw Lin Sangyu hunched over typing on her phone, he would viciously want to look at what she was chatting about.

But it never went beyond a thought. To this day, Jiang Wenzhe had never actually looked.

Not because Lin Sangyu had set up an elaborate password—quite the opposite; Lin Sangyu had never guarded against him, even now.

He felt that the chat records in that phone were Pandora's box. He didn't know what was inside. He didn't know whether the little things Lin Sangyu shared with him were also shared with others, and he didn't know whether Lin Sangyu treated him the same as everyone else.

And he also felt that being upset over such a small thing was strange.

How could anyone get angry just because they saw their wife chatting a bit more intimately with someone else? That made no sense.

So Jiang Wenzhe was also deliberately avoiding himself, suppressing that guilty stirring in his heart.

Jiang Wenzhe swallowed a piece of lotus root and commented, "She chose the right path."

Lin Sangyu propped her chin on both hands and mused, "Ugh, now I want to go to university too. But if I went, I'd have to start from first grade of elementary school."

Jiang Wenzhe asked politely, "Why not kindergarten?"

Lin Sangyu slammed down her chopsticks. "Jiang Wenzhe, you are just way, way too annoying!"

Jiang Wenzhe said coolly, "If you really want to continue studying, I'll hire you a few more tutors."

Hearing that, Lin Sangyu's stance crumbled spinelessly: "Uh... then never mind. I suddenly feel like studying isn't all that impressive."

"Oh, and one more thing. Yesterday I also found someone to help me shoot the product promo videos."

"He's also someone I met at work back then. I'd just arrived, so I kept contact info, and we've stayed in touch. Yesterday I posted on my Moments complaining about how tiring it was to taste-test the products, and he DM'd me, saying if I needed to shoot a promo video later, I could ask him anytime—he'd shoot it with me for free."

Jiang Wenzhe asked sharply, "Is he the guy who came to the hotel to film that time?"

Lin Sangyu: "Yeah, he's really nice."

"Is that so?"

Jiang Wenzhe lifted his eyelids and gave Lin Sangyu a heavy look. Then, with an air of casualness, he took out his phone and unlocked the screen.

The phone screen showed Lin Sangyu's Moments feed.

The difference was that when Jiang Wenzhe clicked into Lin Sangyu's Moments, there was only a cruel, thin line—none of the posts she had mentioned.

Jiang Wenzhe's smile withered rapidly, like a flower losing its vitality at an alarming rate. Lin Sangyu saw him clench his jaw with extreme force, a dark, sinister look swiftly clouding his eyes.

Oh no, oh no. Lin Sangyu had forgotten that she had blocked Jiang Wenzhe from all her Moments posts. Her smile froze on her face, and she nervously licked her lips in fear.

Dear heavens, what could be more awkward than blocking someone from your Moments and getting caught red-handed?

She hurriedly snatched Jiang Wenzhe's phone, turned it face-down on the table, and reached out to tug at his sleeve. "Let me explain."

What a classic line. A flood of opening remarks from cheaters and adulterers flashed through Jiang Wenzhe's mind. He swallowed hard and tried to stay calm. "Explain, then."

"Ahem, I have things to do at the farm, so I'll head off first." Xie Weiting had been eavesdropping on the drama mid-bite, saw the situation turning, quickly wolfed down the rest of his rice, and made an excuse to leave.

"Because I felt that kind of negative-energy post wasn't something I wanted you to see, didn't want you to worry. I just wanted to vent a little..." Lin Sangyu kept her head lowered, looking every bit the obedient apology-giver.

"Alright, I understand. It's fine," Jiang Wenzhe's expression returned to normal. "Let's eat."

"Are we really past this?" Lin Sangyu still held onto Jiang Wenzhe's sleeve, refusing to let go.

His eyes, clear as autumn water, fixed steadily on her. Jiang Wenzhe said, "I can understand what you're thinking. You just didn't want to worry me, wanted to train yourself, right?"

"Mm, something like that."

"Then there's nothing more to say. I support your idea. You being like this... is good too."

Seeing Jiang Wenzhe understand her so well and not sweat the small stuff, Lin Sangyu let out a huge sigh of relief and turned back around. "That's good then. I was afraid you'd be angry. But even though you're not angry, I still recognize my mistake. From now on, I won't block you from any of my Moments, okay?"

Jiang Wenzhe gave a faint "mm" and continued eating.

Seeing that the matter was truly behind them, Lin Sangyu happily buried herself in the dishes again. Jiang Wenzhe's cooking was really good; all the dishes suited her taste perfectly.

Meanwhile, Jiang Wenzhe discreetly lifted his gaze to look at her—deep and heavy, like an invisible shackle, as if the Lin Sangyu before him were a dream as fragile as a cicada's wing.

A moment later, afraid his gaze was too scorching, Jiang Wenzhe lowered his eyelids again.

Lin Sangyu noticed nothing. Had she paid a little more attention, she would have seen the knuckles of Jiang Wenzhe's hand, white from gripping the edge of the table as he forced himself to hold back his emotions.

*

After the meal, Lin Sangyu got up and headed to the factory to finalize the production details for the animal snacks.

Most budget animal snacks used unclean ingredients, all cheap scraps. To mask the off-putting smell of the raw materials and make small animals eat them, manufacturers would add excessive amounts of compound flavor enhancers.

Industry news had long exposed that some unscrupulous companies, to cut costs, even added dirt to cat food—the dirt's color matching the kibble so pet owners could never tell. Under the lure of strong flavor enhancers, cats would swallow that so-called cat food even while starving.

Lin Sangyu didn't want to continue that status quo.

But when she and the factory tallied up the cost of a formula using entirely high-quality fresh meat with no extra flavor enhancers, the real-world problem hit her in the face.

High-standard ingredients meant prohibitive production costs.

High costs meant high retail prices—far above market norms—leaving no price competitiveness in the mass consumer market. Even with her hundreds of thousands of followers, she'd likely face unsold inventory. It was a dead end with no way around it.

Lin Sangyu stared glumly at the cost estimate sheet the manager handed her.

Ugh, so hard. Harder than she'd imagined.

After finishing up on his end, Jiang Wenzhe came back and saw Lin Sangyu with her head drooping, looking dejected.

"What's wrong?" He walked over and rubbed her head.

Lin Sangyu instinctively said, "Nothing."

The emotions from the morning hadn't fully settled, and now more piled on top. A feeling of abandoning all hope suddenly rose in Jiang Wenzhe's heart. His tone turned cold. "What? Are you going to keep everything bottled up and not tell me?"

"I just think I can handle it. I don't want to distract you—after all, you have your own things to do," Lin Sangyu said. "And didn't you just say this morning you understood?"

"Do you know what I think the essence of only reporting good news and hiding the bad is?" Jiang Wenzhe gently pinched Lin Sangyu's earlobe. Too much had built up, and in the end, he decided to reveal a little.

"What?" Lin Sangyu followed his lead and asked.

Jiang Wenzhe said expressionlessly, "It's that you look down on me. You think I don't have the ability to solve your problems."

"How could I ever look down on you."

Lin Sangyu added inwardly, You're the one who looks down on me.

"You don't want to share your current difficulties with me because you think that if you threw this problem at me, I'd worry, I'd spend energy helping you, and I might not even solve it well—right?"

It was like how many children who suffer outside would rather bury themselves in their blankets and sob alone than confide in their parents. It was the same principle.

Parents and children are separated by generational gaps and cognitive disconnect. Once children grow up, ordinary parents often no longer have the ability to solve their children's problems. So children don't want to confide, because it does nothing except cause their parents needless worry and pointless anxiety.

In short: you're useless, and telling you wouldn't help anyway.

This practice of reporting only the good and hiding the bad is often celebrated by the world, seen as a sign of strength and independence.

But when this phenomenon lands on the one not being told—in Jiang Wenzhe's eyes—it's no different from humiliation.

A man who can't solve his lover's problems—is he even a man?

Might as well be castrated.

Besides, in Jiang Wenzhe's view, Lin Sangyu wanting independence meant she didn't want to rely on him, and not relying on him meant she was ready to part ways with him at any moment, didn't it?

Lin Sangyu nodded, which counted as confirmation.

Jiang Wenzhe let out a sigh, suddenly feeling that the lotus root he'd swallowed at noon was the embodiment of bitterness and sorrow. "I can solve all your problems. I don't think it's a bother. I might be more capable than you think."

Lin Sangyu hesitated for a moment, then insisted, "I still want to solve it myself. I want to be more independent."

Jiang Wenzhe had already helped her so much. Even a little more, Lin Sangyu didn't want to trouble him.

She hadn't been human for long, but that wasn't an excuse to lean on someone as if it were her due. She had to grow; she had to be independent. She wanted, one day, to stand on her own.

His handsome face was shrouded in gloom, and Jiang Wenzhe's sharp eyes narrowed slightly. After a moment, he said, "Lin Sangyu has grown up. Then I support you."

The factory office's air conditioning wasn't great, and there was a stuffy, sluggish feeling after a while. A sheen of sweat had unknowingly formed on Jiang Wenzhe's forehead.

Lin Sangyu's brows relaxed, and she said considerately, "Mm, it's boring here. You head back first. I'll leave with them later."

"Okay, I'll wait for you at home."

Jiang Wenzhe pulled out a twisted smile, slicing his dark expression into fine fragments.

Lin Sangyu was startled by his expression, but Jiang Wenzhe going mad in private wasn't a one-time thing. He'd be fine after a while. When she got home, she'd talk to him about seeing a psychiatrist a few more times.

It should be fine.

So she forced herself to stay calm and soothed him lightly. "Okay, I'll come back as soon as I'm done."

After saying goodbye, Jiang Wenzhe's tall figure quickly disappeared from sight. Lin Sangyu bent over her work again.

On the raw material standards issue, she still refused to compromise. She couldn't, as an animal herself, look on with clear conscience while swapping in even slightly inferior ingredients.

After discussing and seeking advice from the manager, a thought gradually took shape in her mind.

Slightly compress per-unit profit margins, keep the retail price within an acceptable range for the masses, adopt a long-term model of small profits and high volume, and use sales volume to offset the high raw material costs.

There were so many people in this world chasing fame and fortune that basic conscience got buried.

Lin Sangyu didn't want to fall into the industry's cycle of profit-driven darkness. Besides, she was already making plenty from her videos and livestreams; there was no need to squeeze dirty money out of this angle.

With her decision set, Lin Sangyu immediately finalized all production details with the factory manager—locking in ingredient ratios, production specs, and other final matters—and officially signed the production cooperation contract.

Jiang Wenzhe would definitely understand her too.

Just as Lin Sangyu thought this, her phone suddenly rang.

Lin Sangyu glanced at it—an unfamiliar number—but she answered anyway.

A cacophony of urgent voices mixed with sharp, piercing car horns came through the receiver.

Lin Sangyu frowned and held the phone a little farther from her ear.

What the heck? A prank?

Then she heard the voice on the other end say, "Hello, is this Miss Lin? Jiang Wenzhe has been in a car accident. We're on our way to the Capital Central Hospital. You're listed as his emergency contact. Can you come over now?"

Thud—

The phone slipped from her palm, hit the floor vertically, and the screen shattered on impact.