Chapter 45: Not Sober...

Ye Zehong wrapped his arms around the waist of the drunken young woman, holding her close as he carried her into the car.

Once inside, Lu Yao began to drunkenly act out. She ordered Shen Yang to play the accompaniment, sometimes laughing as she sang, sometimes wailing heartbreak ballads with such emotion that every word pierced the air. She turned the luxury car into a lavish karaoke room, paying no heed to the auditory suffering of the two men accompanying her.

At last, exhausted by her own performance, she clung to Ye Zehong like an octopus.

Ye Zehong shot Shen Yang a dark look, his expression sour as he gripped Lu Yao’s hand and murmured, “You’re drunk. Stop making trouble.”

Lu Yao exhaled a breath reeking of alcohol right in his face, pointed at him with a mocking hum, and began to recite, “I remind myself, you’re just a figure fading into the crowd. As time stretches on, I ought to make new memories… but at the very least, I can choose whether or not to let go…”

Each lyric stabbed at Ye Zehong’s heart. Unable to bear it any longer, he simply covered her mouth.

His dark eyes grew cold. If he ever found out who had forced her to drink so much, he’d make sure they drank themselves into a hospital!

The car pulled into the underground parking lot.

Ye Zehong tried to carry Lu Yao out, but she thrashed uncooperatively, flailing at him and shouting, “You scoundrel, let me go!”

A scoundrel?

So that was how she saw him in her heart?

Resigned, Ye Zehong restrained her hands and, as though escorting a prisoner, half-dragged, half-carried her upstairs.

Lu Yao glared at him, cheeks puffed out in indignation. In her blurred vision, two versions of his face appeared—sometimes doubled, sometimes not—making her all the more irritable.

She reached out and pinched his cheek hard, muttering, “So annoying…”

Hearing her disdainful grumbling, Ye Zehong looked up at her. Before he could dodge, she lunged at him, venting her frustration as her fists pounded fiercely against his chest.

He let her rain down blows, his own arms encircling her waist to prevent her from falling.

Her reason was long since drowned in alcohol. Suddenly, she bit down hard on his shoulder.

At last, spent, Lu Yao released her grip.

She collapsed bonelessly onto the sofa, her gaze unfocused as she stared at the ceiling.

Seeing she’d finally quieted, Ye Zehong knelt at her side and asked gently, “Feeling any more sober?”

“No…” Lu Yao’s mind was spinning, her eyelids heavy. Within a second, she drifted into sleep.

Ye Zehong gazed at her disheveled state, a tenderness softening his eyes. He reached out to tuck back the strands of hair that had fallen across her face, his fingers brushing her smooth cheek. His mind, unbidden, recalled the intimacy they once shared.

He could not deny it: in those days, they had been at their most harmonious.

His eyes involuntarily traveled downward. His throat tightened; he quickly closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to quell the instinct awakened within him.

He rose and walked to the bathroom, filled a basin with water, dampened a towel, and, after changing her out of her dirty clothes, carefully cleaned every inch of her skin.

Suddenly, her eyes flew open. She cradled his face in her hands, paused for a long moment, then whispered, “I almost forgot—wishing us both… a happy breakup.” With that, she closed her eyes again and sank back into sleep.

Happy breakup.

Those two words were like icy arrows, piercing straight through Ye Zehong’s heart.

He lowered his gaze to her sleeping face, a chilling light flickering in his eyes.

Four years ago, the man he had saved—what was his real connection to her?

He had investigated her thoroughly. Aside from the ten million she’d transferred to him, all she possessed were the meager savings she’d scraped together working in the capital these past years.

And yet, the source of that ten million could never be traced.

What was her true identity?