Chapter 7: Reckless Ramblings
Wang Yazhi lingered at the very entrance of the emergency room, her son beside her, her seething indignation still churning within her like a tempestuous maelstrom. As she spun around to unleash one last torrent of vitriol, her eyes landed on He Feng's deathly pale visage. A cold, disdainful sneer contorted her lips.
"Put an end to this farcical act!" She thrust her accusatory finger mere inches from the physician's visage, her voice saturated with venomous exultation. "I see right through your sort—adept at feigning victimhood whenever the consequences of your actions rear their heads. Your face is indelibly etched in my memory. Should my son endure any lingering complications or squander the crucial treatment windows due to your sheer ineptitude, I shall strip you of every last asset and relish watching you wither away in the confines of a prison cell!"
He Feng, already quaking from her earlier scathing onslaught, shook with barely suppressed rage. "You—" The retort died on his lips as his complexion drained of all colour, leaving him as pale as a ghost. Clutching his chest in a grotesque display of agony, he crumpled to the ground, his body falling limp like a puppet whose strings had been abruptly cut.
Wang Yazhi's laughter echoed hollowly in the room. "What new and elaborate theatrics is this? Do you truly think that a pretended collapse will absolve you of your accountability?" Even as the monitors emitted the ominous sound of a flatline, her unwavering defiance remained intact.
Chen Liang's voice sliced through the chaos like a sharp scalpel. "Be silent! Are you so blind that you cannot recognise a genuine medical emergency?"
"Spare me your histrionic melodrama," she spat out, though a subtle crack of doubt began to seep into her outward bravado. "Rather, direct your prayers towards my son's recovery, for if he fails to recuperate, you will all share in the blame!" She swept towards the exit with an air of haughty arrogance.
"Block their way!" A figure emerged from the shadows, standing firmly in the doorway.
Upon recognising the person, Wang Yazhi let out a derisive snort. "How utterly ridiculous—deploying a middle-school dropout as a bouncer? This hospital truly has reached new lows of desperation." Meng Jie brandished his phone as if it were a powerful weapon to secure their escape.
Chen Liang's icy stare stopped Wang Yazhi in her tracks as she was attempting to retreat. "Should He Feng lose his life," he intoned gravely, "you will be stained with the guilt of murder." His X-ray-like perception now revealed the truth—no fractures were present, but there were disturbing internal signs of distress.
"Is this a display of diagnostic incompetence?" Wang Yazhi taunted triumphantly. "That is your problem, not ours!"
"Your blatant provocation ignited this entire chain of events," Chen Liang shot back, his voice as cold as the Arctic.
"Lies!" Her protest sounded weak and unconvincing in the face of the silent wall of patients, all of whom were indebted to He Feng for his medical care, who stood with their arms crossed, their eyes ablaze with anger, blocking the exit.
Zhou Wei's professional composure shattered as he quickly checked He Feng's vital signs. "Pupils fixed and dilated—no pulse or respiration! Initiate cardiopulmonary resuscitation immediately!"
As the nurses rushed around like a flurry of startled birds, Wang Yazhi tried to stealthily make her escape, only to find that all possible routes of exit were blocked. "Is this some form of mob justice?" Her bravado was starting to crumble, like thin ice cracking under pressure.
Chen Liang pushed through the chaotic scene. "Clear the area—He Feng desperately needs oxygen!" The crowd fell silent, holding their breaths in anticipation.
Zhou Wei fumbled with the defibrillator paddles. "200 joules—stand clear!"
"Stop!" Chen Liang's authoritative command brought the room to a standstill. "There is an obstruction of mucus in the airways, and he has a cardiac implant! Administering defibrillation could very well be the death of him!"
Zhou Wei's hesitation hung heavily in the air, thick as surgical smoke. The nurses stood stock-still, like statues; the patients leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the scene, as if they were watching the delicate balance of life and death teetering on the edge.
Wang Yazhi's mocking words pierced the heavy silence: "Let the amateur attempt to play the hero! When this inevitably ends in tragedy, the blame will rest squarely on his shoulders."
Zhou Wei locked eyes with Chen Liang, the charged defibrillator between them humming with tension, like a verdict waiting to be delivered in the Schrödinger's box of fate. "Then take control of the situation," he challenged, "unless your words turn out to be emptier than the pockets of a penniless beggar."
Let Me Teach You
The declaration hung suspended in the air like a scalpel poised above flesh. A cathedral hush descended upon the emergency bay, broken only by the arrhythmic beeping of monitors.
All eyes volleyed between Zhou Wei and Chen Liang—the former, Dr. He's a golden protégé with a master's pedigree gleaming brighter than surgical steel; the latter, the walking paradox of a middle-school certificate and inexplicable medical intuition. Now the heir apparent had abdicated his throne to the court jester.
*Could this be alchemy?
*Had the hospital's pariah concealed Hippocratic brilliance beneath his threadbare credentials?
Zhou Wei's lips curled into a surgical smile as he surrendered the defibrillator paddles. "The stage is yours, *Professor*." The honorific dripped acid.
Truth lay dissected on the table: Chen Liang's medical knowledge barely filled a suture kit. Had his daily miracle quota remained unspent, he might have bartered coins for divine intervention—*Soraka's* healing touch that once stanched his father's haemorrhaging viscera. But today's providence account stood bankrupt.
His intervention had been observational triage, a desperate plea for second-opinion diligence. Without instruments consecrated by medical licensure, how could he play healer?
"Cat got your tongue?" Zhou Wei's scalpel-sharp whisper sliced the silence. "Or finally admitting your diagnostic charade?"
Chen Liang's gaze remained steady. "I'm no physician. Merely suggested verification before electrocuting a man with cardiac hardware. Proceed with your theatrics—but sign the death certificate yourself."
The triage bay erupted into a cacophony:
"Murderers in white coats!"
"Save him or face the mob!"
"We'll burn this place to ash!"
Zhou Wei's jaw muscle twitched like a fibrillating ventricle. Yet as Chen Liang hesitated at the crash cart, triumph bloomed in the resident's eyes. He thrust an accusatory finger. "Prescribe me humility? You couldn't differentiate aspirin from anthrax! The only lesson here is your congenital incompetence!"
Even drowning in vitriol, his academic sceptre remained clenched tight.
When nurses moved to clear the "obstruction" from their amateur saviour, Zhou Wei anticipated retreat. Instead, Chen Liang shouldered through the scrub-clad phalanx and gripped the bronchoscope.
"Suction kit. Now."
"You've gone septic with delusions!" Zhou Wei's laughter bordered on hysterical. "This isn't some back-alley clinic—you'll rot in prison for malpractice!"
"The real malpractice", Chen Liang countered, gloving up with borrowed authority, "is letting ego necrotise judgment."
The stalemate shattered as Nurse Liu crashed through the doors with a phlegm-extraction rig—the same warrior angel who'd assisted during Chen Liang's father's resurrection.
Zhou Wei's pallor matched his lab coat. "By all means," he spat through a rictus grin, "enlighten us plebeians."
What followed was a masterclass in anatomical heresy. Guided by X-ray intuition, Chen Liang navigated the bronchial labyrinth like Theseus armed with fluorescence rather than thread. The suction tube plunged—
*Schlorp.
A cephalopodan mass of necrotic mucus plopped into the collection chamber, its tar-black tendrils clinging to the plastic walls.
The code team stood petrified—medical school dogma crumbling like calcified plaque.
"Your turn," Chen Liang rasped, sweat pooling in the hollow of his collarbone as compressions resumed.
When the cardiac monitor's flatline suddenly jagged into alpine peaks of sinus rhythm, the ensuing cheer threatened to crack the trauma room windows.
Zhou Wei's stethoscope slipped from nerveless fingers. *Impossible.
Wang Yazhi's Gucci-clad form trembled as she thrust a brick of cash at her nemesis. "Fix my son!" The ¥10,000 bundle hovered between them like a bloody organ offered for transplant. "Name your price!"
The crowd's intake of breath could've reversed a pneumothorax. All awaited the would-be messiah's response—would healing hands now clutch at tainted lucre?
Chen Liang's fingers twitched. The ghost of his father's hospital bills whispered of ICU debts paid in sleepless nights. His palm levitated, drawn by gravitational need...
Cerebral Fractures
The crowd's reverence for Chen Liang curdled into collective revulsion as his fingers closed around the blood money. Faces twisted into masks of contempt, their eyes burning with moral indignation.
How could this supposed saviour prioritise lucre over He Feng's near-sacrificial collapse? Did ten thousand yuan truly absolve Wang Yazhi's verbal vivisection of their beloved physician?
Xia Yu stood poleaxed by cognitive dissonance. She alone knew the brutal arithmetic of his existence – this uncredentialed dropout who'd abandoned textbooks for survival's calculus, this alleged failure now outmanoeuvring pedigreed doctors. How did the architect of Meng Chen's cranial fracture transform into his unlikely redeemer?
At Lakeside Villa, he'd spurned six-figure bribes to cease his violent crusade. Why now clutch at pocket change like a drowning man?
Wang Yazhi's lacquered lips curled in transactional triumph. In her gilded universe, currency conquered all – when persuasion faltered, denominations simply required amplification.
"You've taken silver. Now perform miracles," she decreed, glacial stare sweeping the room as regally as Catherine the Great inspecting serfs.
Chen Liang remained motionless, thumbing banknotes with the idle fascination of a numismatist. The crisp symphony of fresh yuan filled the air; he inhaled their ink-stained promise like opiate fumes. Eyes shuttered, he seemed intoxicated by capitalism's sacrament.
"Pathetic," Wang Yazhi sneered. "Plebeians always crumble before Mammon's glow."
"Expedite!" Her stiletto tapped an impatient war-drum rhythm. "Dawdle further and I'll revoke this charity."
Emerald eyes snapped open. "Ten thousand... your son offered identical sums."
Her Botoxed brow twitched. "What nonsense-"
"For corporate indenture." Chen Liang's smile cut like a scalpel through fat. "The acorn never strays far."
Realisation dawned with aristocratic horror. *This gutter rat rejected our patronage?
"Then earn your Judas coins," she hissed, vermilion nail jabbing his sternum. "Succeed? Bonus. Fail? Litigation."
Chen Liang stepped back, sending her stumbling into her husband's arms.
"We are the boardroom *and* bloodline!" Meng Jie's Rolex glinted with feudal menace. "Know your caste!"
"Misapprehension," Chen Liang chuckled, tucking tainted bills away. "I declined then. I'm impotent now."
The dynasty froze mid-bluster.
"Your heir's affliction" – he tapped his temple – "resides here. Beyond hospital walls. Evacuate. Immediately."
The couple blanched bone-white, fleeing with their comatose scion as if pursued by Furies. Xia Yu lingered, her parting glance an enigma wrapped in surgical gauze.
As cheers erupted for Chen Liang's triage heroics, crimson embarrassment crept up his neck. He edged toward the exit, craving his father's sterile sanctuary.
Zhou Wei's envy metastasised into full malignancy.
"That glory was mine!" He seethed, fist clenching an imaginary scalpel. "Given minutes, I'd have——!"
Conveniently amputated from memory: warnings ignored, orders issued. The dropout's triumph burned like iodine in an open wound.
"Halt!" His bark froze the celebration.
The E.R. plunged into anticipatory silence.
"Unlicensed operation of medical apparatus," Zhou Wei intoned with inquisitive gravitas. "Penal code violation."
The mob erupted –
"He resurrected He Feng!"
"You mandated his intervention!"
"Arrest me for fetching tools!"
As collective fury advanced, Zhou Wei retreated step by step – yet his basilisk stare pursued Chen Liang into the corridor's fluorescent gloom.
---
**Domestic Fallout**
Zhao Wan'er returned to a crypt-silent apartment. No sizzling woks scenting the air with cumin and nostalgia. No husband-slash-servant awaiting reprimand.
Guilt's acid bile rose – her parents' feudal cruelty had exiled him again.
As she raised knuckles to their chamber door, her father's voice slithered through the oak:
"A million yuan for three days' theatrics? Lucrative performance art."
Wan'er petrified mid-knock.
*What fresh hell have they staged?*
Matriarchal Machinations
Zhao Wan'er had no intention of being an eavesdropper, yet her father's earlier words had embedded themselves in her mind like a venomous seed, festering and growing. Pressing her ear against the elaborately lacquered door, she was met with the full force of Tang Mengru's rage.
"Be quiet! Get down on your knees at once!"
"Was it worth the humiliation? If you hadn't squandered our hard-earned ancestral savings on fake and worthless antiquities, plunging us deep into a sea of debt, would I have had to endure the violent beatings from that brute?"
"All of this was your scheme to extort money from that lowly-born Chen Liang. This entire mess is a result of *your* sheer incompetence!"
A dull, muffled *thud* accompanied her father's fall to the ground as he began to massage his wife's feet with the servile devotion of a humble serf. "But my dearest, without this elaborate plan, how else could we have managed to extract such a large sum of money from him?"
He paused for a moment, his curiosity getting the better of his grovelling demeanour. "Wait a minute. How on earth could a dropout like him come up with a million yuan? Old Ma's pawnshop has been in a state of stagnation for quite some time. What kind of devilish deal did he make? Why couldn't I be the one to have such a stroke of luck and obtain such a windfall?"
Tang Mengru's smirk was as cold and calculating as a snake's, oozing with malice. "Let that insignificant man drown in his debts to the loan sharks. The money that's in *my* possession will stay there, safe and sound."
Their cruel laughter seemed to turn Wan'er's blood to ice, freezing her veins. *We really should have demanded even *more* money.*
The soft *click* of the door opening brought their malicious celebration to an abrupt halt. At first, they were filled with fear, thinking that Chen Liang had overheard their conversation. But then they saw Wan'er standing there, her expression as cold and unyielding as ice.
"Oh, it's *you*!" Tang Mengru exclaimed, clutching the jade pendants around her neck in a feigned display of relief. "You... didn't hear anything we said, did you?"
"Only those who are as low and despicable as vermin are afraid of the light of day," Wan'er retorted, her voice as sharp and cutting as the finest Ming porcelain.
"How dare you speak to me in such an insolent manner!" Her father rose from his kneeling position, his false sense of dignity seemingly restored.
"Explain this entire financial situation to me right now," she demanded firmly.
A look of panic flashed across their carefully painted and powdered faces.
"He was repaying the debts that his father owed us!" Tang Mengru blustered, trying to sound convincing but failing miserably.
"Debts?" Wan'er held up her phone, its screen glinting like the blade of a prosecutor. "Should we give Uncle Li and Aunt Wang a call and ask them about these so-called debts?"
Cornered and desperate, the matriarch finally exploded in a fit of rage.
"The only mistake we made was raising a daughter who turned out to be a traitor, someone who married a *parasite!"
"For two long years, he has been leeching off us, with no dowry to speak of and no promising prospects. That money is the *price* we deserve for all the suffering we've endured!"
The door slammed shut with a thunderous *bang*, leaving them scrambling after Wan'er, who had already vanished like a ghost, her footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.
---
**Sanctuary of Secrets**
In the sterile and antiseptic-smelling hospital ward, Chen Liang and his father were indulging in a hearty meal of greasy takeout food, their laughter ringing out and the chilli sauce glistening on their lips.
"Is it delicious?" Chen Liang asked with a wide grin, his mouth full of the pungent fermented bean curd.
"This is like the ambrosia that the gods themselves would enjoy, but it is found only in the humble street food stalls!" His father mumbled, his chopsticks moving deftly as he picked up more food.
The mournful creaking of the door announced the arrival of Zhao Wan'er, who entered the room carrying several containers filled with gourmet dishes. However, her offering was met with a wave of intense hostility, like a sudden earthquake shaking the room.
"You!" The elder Chen's chopsticks fell from his hands, clattering to the floor like swords dropped in defeat. "You, with your poisonous words and evil intentions!"
"I... brought you some good food," she stammered, her voice faltering as she noticed the empty food boxes on the table.
"Your so-called *charity* smells as foul as poisoned arsenic," he spat out venomously, the memory of the past still haunting him like a noose tightening around his scarred neck.
Chen Liang stepped in between them, his fingers gently brushing against her wrist, feeling her pulse. "Father, this food has nothing to do with their family. She bought it especially for you."
A glimmer of gratitude sparkled in her eyes for a moment, but it quickly hardened into a look of determination.
When he offered her a bowl of broth, saying, "Drink it, my beautiful moonlit blossom," she instinctively recoiled.
"Chen Liang..." Her whisper was as solemn and heavy as the tolling of funeral bells. "There are some truths that we need to talk about, and they can no longer be ignored."
The Mother-in-Law's Apology
Chen Liguo, despite already being thoroughly satisfied with his dinner, eagerly speared another mouthful of food with his fork and popped it into his mouth—all because it was his beloved daughter-in-law who had prepared it. "Wan'er, don't hold back! If this good-for-nothing scoundrel of a son has ever dared to bully you, I'll give him a proper thrashing myself!" he mumbled through his full cheeks, his words slightly garbled.
Chen Liang smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "How could I ever bring myself to mistreat my *flawless* wife?" He threw Wan'er a roguish look, his eyes sparkling with unspoken adoration and admiration.
Yet, the confession that Wan'er had been meaning to make got stuck in her throat, feeling like a heavy stone lodged there. Watching the father and son shower her with their unwavering and relentless doting, the truth about her parents' betrayal seemed to crumble and dissolve silently under the overwhelming weight of their affection.
"Dad, you're being *utterly* disgraceful!" Chen Liang chided gently, dabbing at the sauce on his father's chin with a napkin.
"Eat up, Wan'er!" Chen Liguo barked commandingly, and then he fixed his son with a glowering look. "You imbecile! Take care of your *wife*! Did I raise you to be as useless as a stump?" He made a feigned attempt to swat at Chen Liang, who quickly and hastily piled more of the delicious delicacies onto Wan'er's plate.
*This… this is what the true essence of *family* really is.*
The warm and cosy domestic atmosphere pierced through Wan'er's heart like a sharp needle. The truth she held within now loomed over her like a live grenade, just waiting to explode—one pull of the pin would be enough to shatter this delicate and fragile balance they had.
"You look rather pale," Chen Liang murmured, gently clasping her hand in his. "Are you having cramps again?"
His tender and caring gesture almost caused her to break down completely. "I… I just thought that *I* might stay with Dad tonight. You've been neglecting your gaming for days now."
Chen Liang's eyes lit up with excitement, as if a fire had been ignited within them. This was the very *first* time she had ever *given her sanction* for his virtual adventures in the gaming world.
"Gaming? *Again*?" Chen Liguo thundered in mock anger—then his expression softened and wilted when Wan'er interjected, "It's his *vocation*, Dad. It's also his *aspiration*."
The old man let out a long and heavy sigh. He was all too painfully aware that it was those pixelated battles and skirmishes in the gaming realm that had managed to settle his burdensome gambling debts.
"Then, when on earth will I be able to cradle my *grandchildren* in my arms?" He grumbled, causing both of the younger people to blush a deep crimson colour and prompting them to quickly change the topic.
Later on, Chen Liguo shooed them out of the room. "Go on! I've got the nurses here to look after me, and I've also got my telephone. *Create* me a grandson!"
---
### **Home: The Vigil of Guilt**
Tang Mengru and her husband paced back and forth restlessly, like caged wild beasts longing for freedom. When the door finally creaked open slowly, they lunged forward eagerly—only to freeze in their tracks, their bodies going stiff.
It was *Chen Liang*.
He stood firmly in the doorway, blocking their way like a barricade, until Wan'er gently nudged him aside. He gave his in-laws a brief and terse nod as a greeting and then disappeared into the study.
Surprisingly, there was no outburst of vitriolic language followed Surprisingly, there was no outburst of vitriolic language that followed. No ear-piercing shrieks of "ungrateful wretch!" could be heard.
*This is truly peculiar.* Chen Liang paused for a moment, his ear cocked to one side as he listened intently. All he could hear was *complete silence*.
*Could this be… her way of extending an olive branch?*
---
### **The Study: Digital Tempest**
When Chen Liang logged into his gaming account, his old and wheezing computer almost buckled and crashed under the overwhelming deluge of alerts that flooded in.
There were **more than 100 unread messages** from his virtual observer:
*Day 1: "Wherefore art thou??"*
*Day 3: "Were you smote by a chariot?"*
*Day 5: "Rest in peace. Shall I go and haunt some greener and more inexperienced noobs?"*
Rolling his eyes in annoyance, he quickly sent a message to his former team members: "I'm ready for the auditions."
As the matchmaking queues started to spin and load, his gaze kept involuntarily darting towards the door. *There's still no sign of any cacophony or commotion.*
*This is getting more and more curious and strange.*
---
### **Meanwhile: The Fracture**
Xu Jiaying was teetering right on the very brink of madness.
*Five long days.*
*Five days where she had been starved of—*
The Mnemosyne Moment
**Banking Hall: The Epiphany**
The manager's derisive smirk froze in the middle of forming as his gaze locked onto the glowing digits displayed on the monitor.
"A tenfold... millionfold increase?" His vocal cords seemed to break apart like dry, brittle twigs. "Eleven million one hundred ten thousand units of currency?!"
The boisterous laughter that had filled the lobby vanished instantaneously, as if sucked into a void. Spectators who had been poised with their smartphones, ready to capture and immortalise Chen Liang's supposed "comical display of poverty", now stared in stunned silence at the dazzling numerical display, their eyes wide with disbelief. Inadvertently, their cameras captured their dumbfounded expressions instead.
What kind of mysterious alchemy could transform a person carrying a humble debit card into someone as wealthy as King Midas? And why would someone of such great opulence choose to queue up amidst the ordinary and mundane?
Chen Liang's deep, resonant voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade: "Is this sufficient for the withdrawal process?"
The manager's spine bent and contorted like a bamboo stalk buffeted by the fierce winds of a monsoon. "I immediately, esteemed patron! Our luxurious sapphire-tier lounge is at your disposal." —
The man who had previously been mocking Chen Liang now scurried around, trying to light a phantom cigar for him. His transformation from a sneering, three-headed Cerberus to a fawning and obsequious courtier was now complete.
**Consequences**
*Teller's Lament*: The dismissive clerk seethed with silent rage—*A wealthy man like Croesus slipped right through my inexperienced hands!* Her subsequent attempts to flirt and ingratiate herself were as ineffective as frost melting away in the sunlight.
*Hierarchical Retribution*: As the sun set and twilight descended, her demotion to the position of a restroom custodian became the only way for the manager to find some relief from his own humiliation. It was like a never-ending conga line of humiliation, and this demotion was his way of lashing out.
*Audience Exodus*: The onlookers who had been watching and making fun of Chen Liang dispersed quickly, like fog dissipating in the early morning light. The derisive jests that had once flowed so freely now seemed to stick in their throats, like uncomfortable obstructions.
**Monsoon Alleys: Stratagem's Cradle**
Chen Liang's weather-worn electric bike groaned and protested under the weight of two large valises that were stuffed full with:
- ₵60 million in liquid reserves (a strategic contingency plan, in case Tang Mengru, with her sharp nose for money, came sniffing around)
- 100.5 gold ingots that had been obtained through a systemic transmutation process, which triggered the following:
«Eagle Vision Ascended: Tier IV»
«New Mandate: Forge the Frostborn Archer's mythic-tier bow to unlock Tier V.»
*Since when did the ancient arts of smithing manage to find their way into the concrete jungles of Jiangsu?
**The Summons**
Chen Liang's fingers danced nimbly across the keypad of his phone. "Send me your work address. It would be my honour to give you a ride home tonight."
There was a moment of silence, filled with static on the line. Then came her soft, velvety refusal: "...That won't be necessary."
The sting of her rejection lingered in the air, as if it were a physical presence. Her shame still seems to be directed at me.
**Audi Emporium: Karma's Downpayment**
The salespeople, like vultures waiting for their prey, tittered and snickered as a rain-soaked figure on a wheezing electric bicycle appeared out of nowhere—until Xiao Tao, the new employee, defied the established protocol and held out an open umbrella for him.
"Being careless in the rain can lead to pneumonia!" She chided him gently, turning a deaf ear to the hissing and catty remarks of her colleagues.
"Country girls can't tell the difference between platinum and fool's gold!"
"Maybe she'll try to sell our complimentary umbrella as a limited edition item!"
Chen Liang accepted the shelter of the umbrella, making a mental note of her name. "Xiao Tao? I'll be back. Specifically, I'll come back for you."
As his electric bike, like a phantom in the rain, disappeared into the thick, watery curtains of the downpour, the mockery and jeers from the dealership were drowned out by the sound of the rain pelting down.
I Shall Bear Thy Sandals
### **Audi Emporium: Mercy's Mortification**
The fierce tempest of the monsoon lashed against the crystal-clear panes of the windows. Xiao Tao stood there, soaked through with rain, watching as Chen Liang's electric bike disappeared into the watery expanse, vanishing like a ghost into the downpour.
"Milord, I will wait for you!" Her brave cry was lost and drowned out by the deafening drumming of the rain, as if the heavens themselves were pounding out a relentless rhythm.
Inside the marble-clad sanctuary of the dealership, the seasoned salespeople, those merchants of metal, laughed raucously, their guffaws echoing like the wild revelries of the followers of Dionysus.
"The prophecy has come true!" A woman, her nails painted and sharp like talons, clacked her fingers as she spoke. "That man, who seemed so untouchable out on the asphalt, didn't dare to sully our threshold. The cost of that umbrella will be deducted from your meagre earnings, you naive child."
Xiao Tao's knuckles turned white with the force of her grip, her face pale with indignation. "He promised that he would come back to buy a car!"
A smirking sycophant among them performed a mock bow, bending low as if in reverence. "Oh, great oracle of commerce! If your poverty-stricken lover were to buy even so much as a tyre valve, I would *bear thy sandals*, like a lowly helot serving a goddess!"
Peals of mocking laughter rang out through the room. Xiao Tao turned to face the curtain of rain once more, her resolve wavering slightly, like sandstone being eroded by the elements.
*(Do promises really hold any value in this age, where everything seems as false as counterfeit coins...?)*
---
### **Colosseum of Capital: Procession of Humiliations**
Zhao Wan'er stood alone, a solitary figure beneath the archway of the auction house, which seemed to weep with the falling rain. Meanwhile, her peers paraded around, showing off their automotive dowries with pride.
"Ugh, my husband *commands* his chauffeur to come and fetch me—such tiring but devoted attention!" purred a haughty woman as she sank into the luxurious leather of her Bavarian car.
Another spiteful woman hissed, "The common tram is waiting just two furlongs away, Zhao. It's a pity that your... *consort*... doesn't even have a beggar's bicycle to his name."
Wan'er's nails dug into her palms, leaving behind red, bloody marks that looked like strange hieroglyphs. She had dared to imagine Chen Liang suddenly appearing, a tattered knight on a clattering steed, to silence this amphitheatre filled with scorn and mockery.
As the witching hour drew closer, she began her arduous journey, her Via Dolorosa, through the heavy downpour that seemed like Neptune's wrath unleashed. The kohl around her eyes ran down her pale face, creating patterns that resembled the abstract expressions of a lost soul.
---
### **Manor of Forsaken Oaths**
Chen Liang burst out of his study, seemingly drunk with excitement, like Dionysus in a fit of revelry. "Wan'er! The gates of the coliseum are open! We're going to rise and—"
The atrium echoed with emptiness, a void of silence. Tang Mengru slurped her ramen broth, shooting dagger-like glances at him with her eyes. "Your *bride* has shut herself away. We had to eat like gutter rats all because of you!"
When Wan'er finally appeared, looking like a naiad freshly pulled from the water, her eyes empty and devoid of any spark, like starless voids, Chen Liang's elation vanished in an instant, replaced by a feeling of dread.
"Beloved, let me make you something delicious—"
"Stop." The heavy oak door slammed shut, thundering out its final verdict.
Tang Mengru's cackling laughter echoed through the grand Corinthian columns of the atrium. "Even your *noodles* have been rejected by the divine!"
---
### **Binary Absolution**
In the digital marketplace, Chen Liang's constant online observer, the notorious *"Sona Incarnate, slithered into his virtual space:
> *"My sweet ADC~ Do you long for my collection of jade portraits? I will heal your *orphaned soul*~♡"*
For the very first time, he shot back a retort: "Keep your offerings to yourself. A true muse is waiting for me."
His eyes drifted towards the cryptographic barrier that separated the marital chambers.
*(Why do you keep this penitent squire from entering...?)*
The E-Cyclist's Epiphany
### **Matutinal Stalemate**
Seated at the table, confronted with a bowl of congealed congee, Zhao Wan'er remained as mute as a statue hewn from alabaster. Her eyes were riveted, unblinking, to the chipped porcelain before her, a tableau of silent resignation.
Chen Liang trailed behind her as she made her way towards the bus stop, his mind meticulously committing to memory the alphanumeric insignia of the bus. *(Today's reconnaissance mission is set to pierce the impenetrable fortress of the auction house; the long-awaited hour of exculpation is rapidly approaching.)*
---
### **Choreographed Mortification**
The moment Wan'er disembarked from the bus, a colossal, tungsten-sheathed automobile hydroplaned wildly, careening to an abrupt halt at the kerbside. In its wake, it unleashed a deluge of water from the torrential monsoon downpour, drenching her nylons and leaving her soaked to the bone.
The woman at the wheel curled her vermilion lips into a cruel sneer. "Oopsie! My paramour's *neo-automotive marvel* seems to have... *overzealous hydraulics*." With that, she passionately locked lips with her driver, ensuring that the sounds of their embrace reverberated loudly, a calculated act of humiliation directed at Wan'er.
"Behold!" she shrieked, pointing her claw-like finger through the driving rain. "Your *electron-powered princeling* is witnessing the cruel jest of fate!"
Wan'er's icy glare, as petrifying as the gaze of Medusa, arrested Chen Liang mid-stride as he approached.
Inside the auction house, the glass panes were fogged over by the collective breaths of the ravenous crowd, a throng as voracious as a flock of carrion birds. "Could this *asphalt urchin* truly be Zhao's husband?!" they exclaimed in disbelief.
Sensing the added distress his presence would cause, Chen Liang turned his rusty electric bike around and rode off into the tempestuous rain. *(I cannot allow my presence to exacerbate her suffering.)*
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### **Audi Atrium: Underdog's Anthem**
The ceaseless rain, reminiscent of the mythic waters of the river Lethe, pounded against the atrium, creating an echoing symphony that mirrored the grandeur of a cathedral's acoustics. Xiao Tao stood sentinel in the shadows, maintaining her unwavering vigil.
"Give up all hope," hissed the cohort of salespeople, their voices slithering like serpents, as they sealed their bet within the metaphorical pages of an infernal ledger:
- **Wager**: A sure 100% conviction that the "proletarian" would not make an appearance.
- **Forfeit**: ¥1,000 earmarked as a sacrificial offering.
Precisely at 2:17 PM, as if summoned by the ancient god Chronos himself, a wheezing electric bike materialized through the dense, watery veil of the downpour.
**Xiao Tao's Nicéphore Moment**
- **Reaction of the Sales Team**: Their jaws dropped in sheer disbelief as she once again defied convention, unfurling an open umbrella to shield Chen Liang from the rain.
- **Manager's Hostile Rebuke**: "This establishment is a temple to the gods of combustion engines, not a haven for pedal-powered phantoms. Enforce the contamination protocols at once."
- **Chen Liang's Defining Moment**: He pointed his unadorned finger at the vibrant cardinal-red TT Coupe. "This sleek vessel of speed. I shall claim it with my wealth."
The countenances of the sales team paled, turning as ashen as curdled milk, their expressions contorted with shock. *(Could this *mud-spattered commoner* genuinely possess the means to afford a six-figure acquisition?!)
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### **Sacrament Unspoken**
**Chen Liang's Demonstrations of Devotion to His Hierarchical Obligations**:
1. **The Preciousness of Time**: He eschewed any form of haggling; every passing moment was a precious commodity to him. *(Wan'er would be liberated from her evening commitments at precisely 6:30 PM.)*
2. **Symbolic Metamorphosis**: He left his aged, rusted electric bike within the hallowed confines of the garage. *(The iron relic was offered up as a solemn sacrifice to the deity of combustion engines, a poignant gesture aimed at restoring her honor.)*
As the engine of the TT Coupe roared to life, its powerful vibrations resonating through the air, Xiao Tao waved farewell, her gesture cutting through the gloomy mist of the rain. The envy emanating from her colleagues was as palpable and thick as the relentless downpour itself.
To be continuous…