I have made up my mind
If the Second Madam had been here, the Second Young Master would never have ended up in a hospital bed.
Her skill with medicine was unrivaled—she could outmatch any senior professor in Yan City without batting an eye. Yet now she was nowhere to be found.
Ruo Chi sat slumped in the chair by the bedside, voice small and aggrieved. “Second Young Master, if you leave me out again next time, I really will be out of the loop,” she muttered. “I don’t want to be a burden on your side. I want to be like Qianli and stay with you all the time. I’d rather protect you than—than hear about you collapsing at the office from someone else.”
Bo Jingyu heard the complaints, even if his head throbbed and his ears rang so loudly that opening his eyes felt like a luxury beyond reach. He could hear the words, but everything else was muffled by pain.
Xue Xiaoqi parked at the bus stop on the edge of the urban district. “President Shen, are you sure you don’t want me to drive you there?” she asked.
Shen Ximan shook her head. “Your car draws too much attention. At a time like this, we can’t afford any slip-ups. Besides, you already left me the keys—I'll take a cab.”
“...Alright. A-Kun will be downstairs at the apartment if you need anything. Don’t hesitate to ask him.”
“Thank you.”
A taxi arrived within minutes. Shen climbed in and fell silent. The driver kept glancing in the rearview as if expecting her to give a destination.
“Where to, miss?” he prompted.
“East Suburbs,” she said.
“You do realize it’s at least two hours to cross from west to east. It’ll get dark—fare won’t be cheap either.”
“Meter’s fine. I won’t stiff you,” she replied.
The driver shook his head, resigned. She stared at her phone in her palm, thumb hesitating above the screen. She didn’t know how much of what had happened at the banquet had reached Bo Jingyu. Was he blaming her now? The memory of him embracing another woman had lodged in her chest like a fist of nails—sharp and suffocating. Every breath felt painful.
The villa in the east suburbs crouched quiet among tall trees. Shen stepped out of the taxi and scanned the grounds before pressing the doorbell, making sure Ruo Chi’s car and any of his people weren’t nearby.
Aunt Yang came hurrying down the stairs. The moment she saw Shen on the monitor, she froze, voice trembling. “Second Madam!”
Shen felt the warmth of the steaming ginger tea in Aunt Yang’s hands, and in that instant the house felt like home for the first time in weeks—tender and safe.
“Please don’t tell Bo Jingyu I’m here,” Shen whispered as she stepped inside. “No one is to know.”
Aunt Yang’s eyes brimmed. She had been fussing over An Ruo since Shen and the Second Young Master had gone away on business. The little girl kept asking for Shen—her words muddled, but it was clear she tried to speak whenever she could. Seeing Shen like this, battered and exhausted, Aunt Yang’s composure broke.
Shen took off her hat; the bandage on her head showed. Aunt Yang’s tears spilled free. “I’ll fetch the medical kit—those gauze dressings need changing.”
Her warmth, her solicitous touch—Shen had never expected so much tender care in her life. She knew Aunt Yang doted on An Ruo, tended to her with a level of devotion that bordered on reverence. Still, the feeling in Shen’s chest refused to settle. Perhaps she was too sensitive, or maybe the banquet had shaken her more deeply than she admitted. Anything connected to Bo Jingyu now felt precarious.
“I’ve prepared the guest room,” Aunt Yang said, blinking away tears. “Once you bathe you can sleep. The dressings have to be changed.”
Shen hugged her briefly. “You’ve done so much. I only came to see An Ruo—after that I’ll leave. I can’t stay long.”
Aunt Yang’s lips trembled, the words caught in her throat. Shen met her steady gaze. “I’ve made up my mind.”
There was no further argument.
She climbed the stairs and found An Ruo standing at the top, disappointment written across the little girl’s face. Their eyes met, and the child bolted inside and slammed the door.
“An Ruo!” Shen hurried up and opened the door. The little girl had burrowed into the blankets, muffling herself with trembling sobs.
Shen’s resolve melted instantly. She sat on the edge of the bed and called softly, “An Ruo.”
“Go!” the child snapped, voice thin with resentment. She was five—old enough to feel and old enough to cling to what she knew. “You left me. You said you’d stay.”
“I did wrong. Don’t be mad at me, okay?” Shen climbed closer and placed a hand on the bulge of the covers, gently stroking, coaxing the little girl to pop her head out.
An Ruo’s tearful face emerged. “Don’t—don’t leave me again.”
Shen pulled her into her arms and let the child weep until the sobs ran out. The pressure in her own chest eased as if air had finally found its way in. When An Ruo drifted into sleep, exhausted and safe, Shen rose and slipped out of the room as quietly as she had entered.
“A car, please,” she told Aunt Yang at the foot of the stairs. “I need one ready. Please take care of An Ruo.”
Aunt Yang sighed and nodded.
No sooner had the taxi pulled away than another vehicle rolled up to the gate. Ruo Chi and a companion stepped out, frowning across the lawn.
“Has the Second Madam been here?” Ruo Chi demanded.
“No,” Aunt Yang answered, trying to shield Shen’s presence. “Not yet. Has she not been found?”
Ruo Chi paced, anxiety making his steps short. “What do we do? Second Young Master’s in hospital, unconscious—those incompetent doctors are using useless medicine! It’s infuriating.”
“The Second Madam probably didn’t want to trouble the Bo family,” one of the others offered. “But surely someone should tell Second Young Master—”
“How could she tell him?” Aunt Yang’s face fell. “She’s been forced into a divorce, she can’t go home, she’s hurt all over. She’s barely surviving.”
Ruo Chi, looking flustered, fumbled for an excuse. “But... wasn’t she missing at the hospital? If she were fine she wouldn’t be admitted. You should go and find her—Third Miss is steady. She’ll be alright.”
He ducked back into his car and drove off, tires throwing dust in his wake. Aunt Yang watched the taillights fade, helpless. “The Second Madam’s fate is like Jiang Madam’s back then—so much sorrow,” she murmured.
At the same time, Bo Yanhai received word from a company informant. He didn’t hesitate—he sped straight to the hospital.