Gongze’s forearm, a solid expanse of muscle and taut skin, barely registered the impact. The shard skittered against bone, the scrape echoing down the concrete hall of the residential block. Gongze, without a single wasted movement, pivoted. His hand, quick as a viper, clamped around Baoxia’s wrist, the one still clutching the glass. Coal dust hung motionless over the cracked linoleum.
Then, a sharp, wet *crack* cut through it all. Baoxia’s scream was ripped from her throat, a raw, animal sound of pure agony as her wrist twisted unnaturally in Gongze’s unyielding grip. The shard of glass clattered to the floor, instantly forgotten. Gongze’s eyes, dark and flat as river stone, held no pity, no rage, only a chilling, absolute certainty. He shoved her then, a brutal, dismissive push that sent her stumbling back into the waiting arms of the constables. Her injured arm dangled uselessly, her face a mask of contorted pain and utter defeat.
“Take her,” Gongze’s voice was a low growl, devoid of any inflection. “For arson, for fraud, for assault.”
A burly constable quickly cuffed Baoxia, twisting her good arm behind her back. She thrashed, a furious, broken doll, but her will was shattered. Her eyes, still wide and vacant, occasionally darted towards Peizhi, who had finally lowered her teacup, her expression unchanged, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips.
“The Lu family debt,” the central bank auditor, Mr. Sheng, interjected, his voice surprisingly firm given the chaos. He adjusted his spectacles. “With the legal identity exchange confirmed, and now this criminal act… the liability remains solely with Madam Baoxia. The original guarantee stands.” He cast a professional, albeit slightly unnerved, glance at Gongze’s bleeding arm.
Peizhi, catching Mr. Sheng’s eye, simply nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the meticulous work done. Then, she looked at Gongze, her gaze soft. “Your arm,” she murmured, a hint of genuine concern. “Does it sting?”
He merely shook his head, his focus entirely on her, the slight crimson line already drying on his denim sleeve. The constables marched Baoxia out, her whimpers fading toward the courtyard.
Just as the iron door clanged shut, Hao, the plant supervisor, filled the entrance and strode into the room. He surveyed the scene – the broken glass, the lingering tension, Gongze’s injured arm, Peizhi’s serene disposition – and let out a deep sigh.
“Gongze,” Hao boomed. “That was an eventful morning. Your quick thinking during the boiler incident and the preserved ration contract brought real capital to the docks. You have proven yourself indispensable.”
Gongze stood silent, his gaze still fixed on Peizhi.
“Therefore,” Hao continued, turning to the scattered clerks and foremen, “effective immediately, I am naming Gongze Chief of Operations for the entire complex. His new responsibilities will be significant, but so too will his pay.” A ripple of murmurs went through the room.
Peizhi arched a delicate brow. “Chief Director?” she prompted, her tone light, almost teasing. “That sounds… like more work.”
Gongze’s stern expression softened infinitesimally. “I can still arrange for your sleep,” he promised, his voice low, only for her ears.
Hao cleared his throat. “And as chief, Gongze will require accommodation befitting the post. The ministry provides an estate for senior leadership, away from these shared tenements. Full of sun. You move this afternoon.”
Peizhi blinked, a slow, languid movement. A mansion. No more soot. More sun for napping. She smiled, a truly genuine, sweet smile that made Gongze’s dark eyes gleam.
Hours later, the old brick dormitory stood quiet. Madam Rong bustled about, directing a team of movers. Peizhi, having finally been coaxed off her plush chaise lounge, found herself scooped into Gongze’s arms. He carried her out, past the now-silent common area, past the grimy, familiar gates, and into a sleek, black automobile. The ride was short, taking them through tree-lined avenues she’d only glimpsed from a distance.
They stopped before a grand, whitewashed mansion, its windows gleaming, framed by vibrant, blossoming shrubbery. The front door, carved from rich, dark wood, swung open. Inside, sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows, illuminating polished wooden floors and walls painted in soft, calming hues. The air was fresh, scented faintly with jasmine, leaving behind the soot of the docks.
Gongze carried her directly into a vast, sun-drenched sitting room. And there it was. Her new chaise lounge. It was magnificent. Longer, wider, upholstered in heavy sapphire silk. It beckoned, a promise of endless, undisturbed rest. Gongze gently lowered her onto its plush surface. She sank into the cushions, letting out an easy breath.
Madam Rong, now dressed in a crisp, pristine uniform, approached with a silver tray. On it rested a delicate porcelain teacup, steam curling from its jasmine-infused contents, alongside a small plate of candied kumquats and a slice of honeyed sponge cake. Her eyes, no longer severe, crinkled with warmth. “Welcome home, Madam Peizhi,” she said, her voice soft with genuine affection. “It’s all ready for you.”
Peizhi took a kumquat, its sweetness bursting on her tongue. The sun warmed her face through the window. The silence was absolute, broken only by the distant, gentle chime of a grandfather clock. She closed her eyes, the faintest hint of a smile gracing her lips, savoring the smooth fabric beneath her, the warmth of the sun, and the quiet settling around her. She had been a seemingly naive heiress, displaced and dismissed. Now, she was a beautifully dressed, utterly useless trophy wife, exactly as she had wished. And finally, blissfully, she could sleep.