Chapter 87: Piercing Pain, Sharpened by the Grape Diamond

Mocheng had just placed Linglan into the front passenger seat when he felt a hard, sharp object pressed against his waist.

“Move!”

Danger closed in. Mocheng’s body suddenly felt weak. Who had done this?

He turned his head slightly and caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye. Linglan, limp and half-awake, could only make out three or five towering men behind them. In the dim light of the underground parking lot, where silence lay like still water and no one was entering or leaving, the men surged forward and seized Mocheng with frightening speed.

She stared in disbelief as a knife pressed against Mocheng’s throat. Fear prickled through her. Were they robbers? Or something else?

Mocheng, seeing this, could no longer spare attention for anything else. Taking advantage of their momentary lapse, he twisted back, seized the man’s wrist with lightning speed, pivoted, and hurled him viciously to the ground, struggling for the knife in his hand. But in the chaos, another hulking man dragged the woman from the car.

“Ah—” Yelinglan screamed. The man clamped a hand over her mouth and forced her cry for help back down her throat. She felt as if she were about to suffocate.

At the sound, Mocheng whirled around. Yelinglan had already been pinned by two men, her wrists seized and her body forced hard to the ground.

“Yelinglan—” Mocheng burst out, scrambling up to save her, but his legs were weak and before his eyes layered afterimages drifted. How much had they drugged him?

The man who had been knocked down behind him suddenly sprang up and lunged, locking an elbow around Mocheng’s neck.

Yelinglan stared, eyes wide. Mocheng gritted his teeth, tore free of the brute’s restraint, caught his wrist, and with brutal force threw him over his shoulder. Dust exploded everywhere.

Seeing this, the strangers released Yelinglan and swarmed madly toward him. Linglan struggled up, shrinking back in fear, only to see five men jointly pin Mocheng down.

In her panic, she noticed an empty bottle beside a wheel. Without hesitation she grabbed it and, without even looking, rushed forward and smashed it squarely against one man’s forehead. Glass shards flew everywhere. His head split open, blood streaming down his chin. Clutching his head, he collapsed to the ground, howling in pain.

The people around them were stunned senseless by the sudden turn of events, staring at the woman in dumbfounded silence.

Yelinglan looked at the shattered, jagged bottle in her hand and froze. Panting, she found her fingers slick with the man’s blood. She tightened her grip until her knuckles turned bone-white, and the skin at the center of her nails had drained of color, leaving only a glaring dark purple around the edges.

“Get them—beat them!” the leader suddenly shouted.

Yelinglan hid behind Mocheng. He flashed her a look. Enduring the pain, Mocheng lunged from behind at the leader, twisted an arm around the brute’s back, and said, “Try taking one step closer.”

His voice was steady, hard, and forceful. He breathed heavily.

Seize the king and the rest fall into line. The others no longer dared act recklessly.

Mocheng held the situation under control and was about to bring Yelinglan closer to the Bentley when, at the critical moment, the injured man curled on the ground pulled out the knife, sprang up, and launched a surprise attack from behind.

At the sound, Yelinglan turned around. Eyes widening in shock, she cried, “Mocheng, watch out—”

At the brink of danger, before the blow could land, she rushed forward and threw herself around Mocheng to shield him. With a harsh, slicing sound, the blade struck violently and drove deep into the woman’s shoulder blade.

“Hng—”

Thick blood stained her beige coat, blooming like poppies, carrying a rank metallic smell.

“Yelinglan—” the man roared, as if driven mad. The woman winced in pain and clung tightly to him.

“Yelinglan—”

Chaotic sounds rang in her ears. Her face turned pale and weak as she panted through the pain, and at last her consciousness slipped away. Everything before her blurred into a vast blaze of light, leaving only twisted silhouettes.

***

Holding the woman, drenched in blood, Mocheng rushed her to the emergency room. Looking at her bloodless face in his arms, the beads of sweat on his forehead fell like hot tears, landing on his black shirt. Her right hand had also been cut to the bone by glass; the wound ran across the whole palm, flesh torn open.

He drew in a heavy breath, yet spoke in a remarkably calm voice, trying to comfort her.

“It’s all right. It’s all right now.”

Tang Pei had followed behind the whole way. Seeing Mocheng so exhausted and the woman’s face so drained of color, her long hair disheveled and scattered, he quickened his steps to catch up and said anxiously, “Mr. Mo, you’re hurt too. Let me carry her.”

“I’ll do it.”

The man’s reply was weary and low, but he did not look at him again.

Tang Pei slowed to a stop, staring blankly at the tense figure retreating farther and farther away. Leaning carelessly against the wall, he thought back to the moment when, after searching everywhere amid the crowd and chasing them to the underground parking lot, he had seen that blood-soaked scene. Mr. Mo had only minor injuries, while the woman was bleeding profusely.

He watched Mocheng blocked outside the emergency room, alone, seated on a black bench. The man’s head was bowed, his profile silent and still. In the quiet corridor, only a row of glaring white lights shone down, reflecting the man’s slightly hunched figure.

Tang Pei stepped forward and looked at the intertwined fingers, at the rugged strength of the knuckles. He startled, realizing Mr. Mo’s palm was trembling faintly.

Mocheng glanced at the cigarette offered before him and gave a slight nod. Tang Pei saw a flash of crimson in those deep eyes.

“Mr. Mo—” Yet he also noticed another, darker emotion hidden in the man’s gaze.

Mocheng declined it, slowly covering his eyes as if lost in thought and closing them to rest. “Find out who did this.”

“Yes, Mr. Mo.”

Tang Pei lifted his head toward the tightly shut door of the emergency room.

Tang Pei gathered himself, each lost in private thoughts.

***

When she awoke, she was lying on her side. Looking at the room around her—the elegant wall lamp, the luxurious drapery, the wine-red wooden floor, all so familiar—she immediately remembered the night of forceful taking and tried to get up at once. But a surge of strength pressed her back down, and a tearing pain shot through her shoulders and back.

“Lie back down.”

The man’s voice sounded beside her ear.

She looked clearly at him and frowned. “How did I end up here?”

“Where else would you rather be?”

Mocheng kept her lying on her side and, with his handsome brows knitted, said in a tone restrained by anger, “You were hurt because of me.”

Those words for me made her cheeks faintly flush. Mocheng leaned over and tucked the blanket around her. Seeing the displeased look on his face, Linglan asked softly, “I saved you and you weren’t hurt at all, so why do you look so unhappy?”

Mocheng sat down beside her and brushed her hair. “Because you lost so much blood.”

The words struck true, and Linglan paused. She wanted to ask, So what? but felt it too presumptuous and swallowed the words back. She looked at him.

“Your wound heals slowly. You were unconscious for days.”

“Ah.” She answered softly. Then had he... noticed anything else abnormal? Seeing that he said nothing, perhaps he had not.

“Does it hurt?”

“It hurt when the knife went in. After that, I didn’t feel much.” Her voice was faint; her body still weak. “Tall trees catch the wind. Mr. Mo, you do make enemies on all sides.” Her tone carried a touch of dry mockery.

“And whose fault is that, if not yours?”

“Mine?”

“Master Qin.” He mentioned it as lightly as if it were nothing.

“He did something to it?” Linglan was a little startled, but then remembered Mocheng’s words. “How is that my fault? At the casino that time, Mr. Mo was clearly using me to strike at Qin’s arrogance. In the end, I was the one who suffered.”

At that, Mocheng’s eyes held a faint trace of amusement. “Are you tired?”

She nodded. The burning pain in her shoulder and back felt as though a boulder had been piled on top of it.

“And you still have the strength to talk back?”

Mocheng flicked her on the forehead. Linglan winced and rubbed her temple, falling into silence for a moment.

Seeing him remain at her side, she worried about how he would send her home in this condition. As more questions crowded her mind, she heard the man call, “Linglan—”

His voice was very soft. She paused. “Yes?”

After a moment of silence, he asked, “Back then... why did you have the courage to take that knife for me?”

Yelinglan froze, lowering her eyes slightly. “Mr. Mo...”

But she wanted to avoid it. Why? Why had she had the courage then? She murmured, “I’m a little tired. I want to sleep for a while.”

Mocheng looked at her for a long time. At last, he covered her properly with the blanket. “Until your wound heals, stay here and recover.”

She looked startled. “I want to go home.”

She stated her wish plainly.

“No.” He refused flatly, leaving no room for rebuttal. Mocheng lowered his voice. “Your injury hasn’t healed. Who will take care of you if you’re alone at home?”

“I’ve lived alone all this time. I’m used to it.” There was a trace of quiet helplessness in her voice. “I’ll take care of myself.”

But the man told her, “I can take care of you well too.”

In the end, she could not resist his insistence. Besides, her injury was indeed more serious than she had imagined. The blade had struck her shoulder blade and caused some damage. She had been drowsy all day, and when she woke and turned over, the vast villa stood in silent stillness. In her ears came the clear song of birds and the lapping of waves. It was morning again.

For a long while she had slept on her stomach like a pitiful little dog. When she slowly opened her eyes, she saw the man’s tranquil face.

During the days of living with Mocheng, she had gone from initial caution to eventual acceptance, and it had not cost much trouble. Yet during all this time, she slept in the master bedroom while he slept in the guest room, never crossing each other’s boundaries. She had not expected that last night he would overstep them and sleep embracing her.

Yelinglan only felt his arm stretched across her waist, and he too was sleeping on his stomach. Perhaps he was very tired, for he had not yet awakened. She studied his quiet sleeping face. How could a man’s eyelashes be so beautiful? His skin was a faint wheat-gold, yet very well cared for.

She shifted ever so slightly, and the man frowned alertly, letting out a low sigh and murmuring, “Don’t move.”

Half asleep, half awake, he reminded her, “The wound will split open.”

Yelinglan froze. It was unexpected that even in his sleep he still remembered such a thing.

Her silence brought him awake. A vein twitched at his temple as he opened his eyes unhappily and frowned at her. “Feeling better?”

“What happened to me?” she asked, confused.

“You moved and touched the wound. It got a little inflamed last night and gave you a slight fever.”

“So...”

“You kept me up half the night. Satisfied now?” Mocheng gave her a blank look.