The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 26

“D*mn, I’m exhausted. Here I am cleaning up trash while you two are enjoying the breeze on the balcony. Does that seem fair to you?” Jian Fu huffed as he dragged a woven sack of garbage up to the second floor.

From downstairs, he’d only heard the frantic sound of Li Rong rushing upstairs and had called out a couple of times to ask what was going on, only to be met with silence.

Jian Fu couldn’t bear the loneliness. Alone downstairs, he stared at the increasingly empty house, growing restless. Unable to hold back, he rushed upstairs to join the others.

Li Rong swiftly snatched the clothes and bedsheets from Cen Xiao’s hands, holding them against his chest, conveniently covering the underwear beneath. With composure, he said, “I’ll fold the clothes. You two enjoy the breeze.”

Jian Fu tossed a woven bag onto the floor, giving it a light kick, entirely oblivious to the subtle tension in the air. Casually, he called out to Li Rong, “Hey, come over and see if any of this needs to be thrown out.”

Cen Xiao glanced down at his now-empty arm, recalling the rare flustered look on Li Rong’s face. He couldn’t help but rub his fingers lightly, savoring the moment. Perhaps they were both thinking of the same thing.

Cen Xiao turned to Jian Fu. “Why’d you come upstairs?”

Jian Fu replied matter-of-factly, “I came to find you guys. Li Rong needs to double-check the trash before we throw it out.” His eyes landed on the bulging woven bag. Dropping his voice, he asked Cen Xiao conspiratorially, “Honestly, the more I clean up, the more I feel that Li Qingli and Gu Nong weren’t like what the reports said. But if they were framed, why not call the police? They could’ve filed for bankruptcy instead of paying compensation. Committing suicide only makes them look guilty. Do you think the business association was behind it?”

Cen Xiao was silent for a while before calmly replying, “Your family specializes in managing internet businesses. If there were any rumors, wouldn’t you have heard them by now?”

Jian Fu looked sheepish. “Even if there are, no one tells me. I don’t even have proper clearance. How would I know? All I can do is eavesdrop when my parents talk and pick up what I can.”

Cen Xiao asked, “And what have you heard?”

Jian Fu shook his head firmly. “Absolutely nothing. But Li Rong’s prank at Song Yuanyuan’s birthday party caused quite a stir.”

Cen Xiao’s gaze sharpened slightly, a chill in his expression. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that such a big case hasn’t been discussed at all in Blue Pivot’s First District?”

Jian Fu met his eyes for a few seconds before shivering involuntarily. A realization seemed to dawn on him, and his earlier sweat turned cold. Licking his lips nervously, he whispered, “So, this is related to the association…”

Cen Xiao cut him off. “Don’t speculate. Starting with a conclusion and searching for evidence to fit it is flawed reasoning.”

Jian Fu swallowed hard, glancing at the house where Li Qingli and Gu Nong had died. The thought made the back of his neck feel icy. Trying to lighten the mood, he forced a couple of laughs. “You sound exactly like Uncle Cen.”

Li Rong had just finished folding the clothes. He packed them into vacuum-sealed bags, used a pump to remove the air, and pressed the once-bulky load into a flat sheet. Kneeling on the bundle, he rubbed his aching back, panting from exertion.

Having only packed three boxes, Li Rong was already drenched in sweat, his body exhausted. 

After catching his breath, he stood up, wiped the sweat from his neck with a tissue, and called out, “Let’s head downstairs and take a break.”

The living room downstairs had a sofa large enough for the three of them to sit comfortably.

Their earlier conversation was interrupted, and Jian Fu, fearing that Li Rong might overhear his guesses, feigned enthusiasm. “I’ve been done for ages. Let’s go, let’s go.”

Once downstairs, Li Rong sat in the corner of the sofa, opened a bag of small bread rolls, and silently began to eat with a bottle of water. Having skipped lunch, he was hungrier than the other two.

When Li Rong ate, he exuded an elegance—his back straight, his lips closed as he chewed in small bites. Damp strands of hair clung to his temples, and his T-shirt was askew, but rather than appearing disheveled, he still managed to look refined. A person with his kind of looks turned even the act of eating into a captivating scene.

Cen Xiao, initially not hungry, suddenly found himself curious if the small bread rolls were as sweet as they looked.

Jian Fu, on the other hand, grabbed two packs, inspected the brand, and then tossed them back onto the table with disdain. “These taste awful. Don’t you have any meat floss ones?”

Li Rong swallowed his last bite, tilted his head back to drink some water, and said, “Be patient. I ordered hot pot for dinner.”

Jian Fu frowned. “Why order in? Let’s just go out to eat. That way, we don’t have to clean up.”

Li Rong blinked, caught off guard. It wasn’t a bad suggestion.

Having not eaten out in a long time, the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. 

For so long, he had avoided interacting with strangers, choosing instead to stay within his comfort District. He realized it might be time to step out of his bubble. “Alright, I’ll cancel the order. Let’s go out.”

Cen Xiao gave him a long, meaningful look but acted indifferent. “You ordered hot pot?”

Li Rong nodded. “It’s cold. Other dishes cool too quickly. Why?”

Cen Xiao shook his head. “No reason.”

After resting for a bit, they gathered enough energy to pack up the remaining four boxes. Among them, only one was left unmarked—it contained most of his parents’ belongings, which Li Rong didn’t plan to unpack.

By now, the sky had darkened to a deep blue-black, though the streetlights hadn’t yet turned on. Outside, the wind howled, shaking the tree branches violently.

Standing by the window, Li Rong drew the curtains, sealing off the night outside.

Jian Fu clutched his stomach, mumbling, “Hurry up, I’m starving. I looked up a place called Cow Meal. It’s in the old district, not far from here. Heard it’s pretty good, but I’ve never been because it’s out of the way.”

Li Rong rarely ate hot pot, but he knew both Cen Xiao and Jian Fu loved it. 

In his previous life, he had stubbornly resisted accommodating Cen Xiao’s preferences, refusing to eat even a bite of hot pot when it was served. Despite being firm on most matters, Cen Xiao had never forced him to eat anything he disliked.

In the end, Cen Xiao had spent two years eating Cantonese cuisine with him instead of hot pot.

Li Rong washed the dust off his hands, shook off the water, and nodded in agreement. “Let’s go there. I haven’t tried it either.”

Cen Xiao quietly observed him but said nothing.

Jian Fu wrapped up in his clothes and went out to start the car.

Although they could all drive, only Cen Xiao was old enough to drive legally.

Li Rong turned off the lights, locked the front door, and followed Cen Xiao toward the garage.

Jian Fu had already driven the car out and parked it by the roadside. The car’s high beams shone arrogantly, making everything else around appear dim.

Jian Fu stepped out and relinquished the driver’s seat to Cen Xiao, then casually moved to the passenger side.

Cen Xiao rested one hand on the car door and said to Jian Fu, “You sit in the back.”

Jian Fu, puzzled, pointed at Li Rong. “Why doesn’t he sit in the back?”

Cen Xiao replied seriously, “He gets carsick.”

Jian Fu: “…”

Jian Fu exclaimed, “Come on, the restaurant is just 500 meters away! Carsick? What is he, more precious than a giant panda?”

Li Rong didn’t bother exposing Cen Xiao’s lie. He simply smiled and shrugged at Jian Fu.

Jian Fu didn’t suspect much, as Li Rong was indeed full of contradictions. On one hand, he had never even eaten at the cafeteria, seemingly untouched by the mundane world. On the other hand, he could swallow down a small bread roll with bottled water without batting an eye. He appeared delicate and pampered, with a body full of ailments, yet he was vigorous enough to handle any hard labor.

Jian Fu smirked and moved to the back seat, while Li Rong naturally took the front passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt.

The car’s air conditioning was on, and soon a thin layer of mist formed on the windows.

The restaurant was actually very close, and there was no real need to use the air conditioning.

But Li Rong still felt much warmer.

He casually wiped the mist off the window with his hand and tilted his head to gaze outside aimlessly.

He spotted a wooden bench. The last time he was there, he had sat in that very spot, watching helplessly as someone smashed his house’s windows.

It had been a while since then.

The famous hotpot restaurant was always packed, and they didn’t accept reservations. If you came late, you just had to wait for a table.

Cen Xiao drove around the hotpot restaurant once and, miraculously, found a parking spot.

Jian Fu, being experienced, couldn’t wait for the car to come to a complete stop before pushing the door open. “Quick, quick, quick! I’ll go get a number first.”

Cen Xiao had no choice but to pause and let him out.

Jian Fu bolted toward the entrance like a gust of wind.

Li Rong obediently wrapped his coat tighter and waited for Cen Xiao to park.

Cen Xiao’s driving skills were better than Li Rong had expected. With just one precise maneuver, he slipped the car into the narrow space.

Li Rong glanced at the distance between the car and the one next to it and casually asked, “You’ve always had a driver, so how are your driving skills this good?”

Cen Xiao took the car key out and held it in his palm, letting the car lights slowly dim.

Right before he opened the door to get out, he replied, “Good luck, I guess. Aimed it right.”

Li Rong chuckled softly.

When Li Rong stepped out of the car, the chilly wind made him hunch his shoulders.

Outside, the breeze was biting, but the hotpot restaurant was bustling. Red lanterns hung at the entrance, and steam rose from a manhole cover illuminated by their light.

After taking just a few steps, Li Rong suddenly stopped and patted his pockets.

“I think I forgot my phone.”

Even though he didn’t use his phone much, it still felt strange not having it in hand.

Cen Xiao glanced at the sky and turned back. “I’ll take you to get it.”

Li Rong grabbed him by the arm. “No need. If you move the car, you’ll lose the spot. It’s just 500 meters—I can go back myself.”

He made a valid point. Parking in the old town’s foodie street was tight. There were already a few cars lining up at the corner. Leaving and coming back would mean no parking spot.

Cen Xiao stopped in his tracks, slid the car key back into his pocket, and conceded.

Cen Xiao: “I’ll go with you—”

Li Rong: “You go in and order. I’ll eat anything. I’ll be back in no time.”

Before Cen Xiao could object, Li Rong let go of his sleeve and headed back down the road, hands tucked into his coat pockets.

A round trip of just over 1,000 meters wasn’t a big deal.

Cen Xiao didn’t insist either; he was mainly worried Jian Fu might order an entirely spicy pot.

When Li Rong reached the residential area, he suddenly remembered he hadn’t told Cen Xiao that he didn’t eat beef tallow hotpot. Ideally, he’d prefer a yin-yang pot so he could have the tomato broth. That way, the beef cooked in it would resemble tomato-braised beef brisket.

But now, without his phone, he could only sigh and quicken his pace.

The later it got, the heavier the scent of frost and dew became.

The damp air mixed with earthy smells, and the cold infiltrated his lungs with every deep breath. While it was refreshing, it also made him cough a few times.

He calculated the days.

Over a month had passed. In less than five months, his body would be fully recovered.

Li Rong entered the yard, climbed the steps, and punched in the code to open the main door.

The streetlights were already lit, and their glow filtered through the curtains, casting faint light inside the house.

Using the dim light, Li Rong groped his way to the door, reaching out to switch on the chandelier.

He remembered tossing his phone onto the sofa earlier and then forgetting to pick it up after resting.

Standing at the entryway, Li Rong hesitated for a moment. Although this house would soon no longer be his, he still changed into slippers before going in.

Walking to the sofa, he immediately spotted his phone wedged into a corner.

Having grown accustomed to using a small-screen phone recently, he’d almost forgotten how much he had liked large screens in his past life.

Li Rong bent down to grab the phone, preparing to pocket it, when a detail suddenly caught his eye.

The human senses can perceive far more information than the brain can process immediately. Some details, while not consciously registered, leave impressions lurking in the background.

As he bent over, he noticed something unusual—the sealed boxes stacked in the corner appeared to have traces of tape being peeled off.

When he passed by earlier, a casual glance revealed that the adhesive along the edges of the boxes had fibers pulled loose, and the color was lighter than the surrounding tape.

When Li Rong had packed the boxes, he’d done it in one go with brand-new cardboard boxes. Such marks shouldn’t exist.

Someone had opened his boxes.

Li Rong slowly straightened up, his pupils contracting as a cold glint surfaced in his eyes.

Considering the brief time it took to drive to the hotpot restaurant and back, the intruder likely hadn’t had the chance to make a full escape.

He flexed his fingers and sent a message to Cen Xiao.

[Li Rong: Come back.]

Cen Xiao was sharp enough not to ask why.

[Cen Xiao: On my way.]

After glancing at the reply, Li Rong pocketed his phone and scanned his surroundings.

The living room was eerily quiet, but the other rooms were pitch black, like murky whirlpools threatening to swallow everything whole.

Without a word, Li Rong walked into the open kitchen and quietly pulled a knife from the cabinet.

The blade slid out soundlessly, its sharp edge glinting faintly in the dim light.

He flipped the knife in his hand, holding it in a reverse grip, and walked toward the door.

At the door, he put on his shoes as if everything were normal. Just as his fingers brushed the light switch, his gaze slowly lifted.

Click.

His eyes were as dark as the unlit room, the sharp crease of his eyelids resembling a blade’s edge.

Li Rong opened the door, and the sound of his shoes brushing against the doormat followed. A few seconds later—

Bang!

The door slammed shut.

The living room was silent, not even a breath could be heard. Occasionally, the aroma of stir-fry wafted in from a neighboring house, seeping through the gaps in the windows and mingling in the air.

After a moment, faint noises came from the downstairs bathroom.

Li Rong didn’t move.

Soon, the bathroom door creaked open, and a shadowy figure crept out.

The figure kept their head low, switching on a flashlight. The cold, yellow beam illuminated Li Rong’s pale face.

The sudden light startled the intruder, who trembled violently.

Li Rong reached out and turned on the chandelier, flooding the living room with bright light in an instant.

The air seemed to solidify like cement. Li Rong and the masked intruder locked eyes. In that brief moment, Li Rong saw unbridled embarrassment and anger flicker in the other person’s gaze.

That anger coiled like a venomous snake, sizing him up, realizing he wasn’t as imposing as expected. It poised itself, ready to strike, its venom aimed to immobilize its prey and deliver a lethal blow.

The intruder wasn’t fat but rather lean and solidly built. Their cropped hair and sun-darkened, rough skin hinted at long hours under the sun. They wore a common dark blue windbreaker, speckled with dirt.

Li Rong’s gaze shifted to the man’s hand, which held a brown paper envelope.

It was the envelope meant to store Li Qingli’s manuscripts—carefully packed at the bottom of one of the boxes.

Li Rong’s lips curled faintly.

The intricate texture of the knife handle left faint red marks on his palm. The cold metal seeped into his skin, as if it wanted to sink deep into his bones.

His eyes, however, held no trace of amusement. Strands of soft, messy hair fell across his lashes, blurring his expression slightly. Paired with his gently curved lips and clean, straight teeth, his appearance exuded an eerie, suffocating innocence.

Li Rong let out a soft sigh, his lips barely moving, his tone almost numb with icy detachment.

“I’ve endured this long enough.”

The moment the words left his mouth, the intruder lunged at him. But their gaze wasn’t on Li Rong—it was fixed on the door behind him.

Li Rong instantly understood: the intruder’s target wasn’t him but escape.

His grip tightened on the knife, and without hesitation, he slashed toward the man’s neck.

His movements were swift. Though the intruder lacked martial skills, they were quick-witted and instinctively halted, causing Li Rong’s blade to pass just in front of them.

The man froze, startled by the blade. His thick eyelids twitched, and he stumbled back two steps, his heavy breathing pulling his black mask tightly against his face.

The intruder glared at Li Rong and suddenly pulled a shiny object from his sleeve—a screwdriver. Without hesitation, he thrust it straight at Li Rong.

Clearly, he had come prepared. The sharp tip of the screwdriver, concealed in his sleeve, was designed to pierce through flesh, burying itself into vulnerable throats and shattering delicate bones.

He expected Li Rong to flinch, making way for his escape. But Li Rong didn’t.

Every muscle in Li Rong’s body tensed. He pressed his hand against the wall and swallowed the cough that threatened to escape.

In the next instant, with an almost incomprehensible speed, he twisted his body around a single leg as a pivot, dodging the screwdriver by a hair’s breadth.

The screwdriver grazed his ear and lodged into the pale wall, leaving a faint cloud of dust in its wake.

Before the intruder could recover, Li Rong locked his arm in a vice grip and twisted sharply, leveraging his momentum. A loud crack sounded as bone gave way.

The intruder clenched his teeth, suppressing a scream, and refused to let go of the screwdriver. Cold sweat drenched his face as his bloodshot eyes darted wildly, seeking escape despite his dislocated arm.

But Li Rong gave him no chance. His gaze turned icy, and he drove his knee forcefully into the man’s stomach.

Even in his weakened state, Li Rong’s strike carried the weight of an adult man.

Pain exploded in the intruder’s ribs. His vision blurred, and he staggered backward, eventually collapsing.

He lay sprawled on the ground, clutching his stomach as nausea surged. Just as he was about to vomit, Li Rong’s blade sank into the floor beside his neck, missing by less than an inch.

The nausea vanished instantly.

The intruder’s back was drenched in cold sweat as he lay paralyzed beneath Li Rong’s unyielding knee.

Li Rong’s face remained emotionless, his dark eyes inked with frost. His pale fingers gripped the knife’s handle tightly, veins bulging against his skin as though they might burst.

“What are you here for?”

The man with sallow skin felt his brain flush with blood. His eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging on his forehead. Yet, he had no intention of surrendering because Li Rong looked far weaker than him.

His eyes darted about, his leg muscles instinctively tightening, as if waiting for the right moment to flip Li Rong over.

But the next second, Li Rong abruptly drew a knife, his face breaking into a disturbingly calm and twisted smile. Without blinking, he stabbed the sallow-skinned man’s neck three times in rapid succession.

Each strike skimmed his skin, swift and precise, leaving no room for hesitation. The knife tip plunged into the floor with a chillingly sharp sound, carving out white gouges that sent shivers down one’s spine.

On the final strike, the blade finally broke the skin. Warm blood gushed out through the cut, spilling over in a frantic rush.

“Ah!”

“Ah!”

“Ah!”

The sallow-skinned man broke down completely. All his strength drained away, replaced by a paralyzing fear of death.

He realized those three strikes weren’t mere threats—they were genuine attempts to kill him.

The speed was so fast he couldn’t predict where the blade would land next or gauge how close it was to a fatal blow. It was pure, unrestrained intent to kill.

His lips trembled, his pupils dilated, and he stared at Li Rong as if facing a hideous demon.

“Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me! I don’t want anything anymore. You… you can take it all back!” The sallow-skinned man raised his left hand shakily above his head, pleading as he gazed at Li Rong in terror.

Li Rong’s right hand was drenched in the man’s blood. The warmth seeped into his cold fingers before slowly trickling down through his gaps.

Tilting his head, Li Rong held the knife still but seemed unfazed by the man’s fear.

He glanced at the blood on his hand. The crimson liquid gradually filled the fine creases of his palm, staining his unnaturally pale fingers with a vibrant red. A subtle rush of pleasure surged within him, dragging him toward a fog-filled abyss.

Why was he the one to endure all of this?

Why was it him who bore the disgrace of two lifetimes, with his family destroyed?

He wanted them all dead—helpless, pathetic, trembling corpses laid before him as if in offering, paying for the wrongs done to him and his parents.

The man in front of him was dressed in tattered clothes, brute strength his only asset. Clearly, he wasn’t the mastermind behind his suffering. But he must have joined the crowd mocking his parents, saying something irresponsible like “they were cowards who killed themselves to avoid guilt,” hadn’t he?

All it would take was a single inward flick of his knife to sever an artery and end this life.

Li Rong knew how frightening these thoughts were, yet for a fleeting moment, he was tempted.

Suddenly, the electronic lock at the door beeped.

With a soft click, the door swung open.

Cen Xiao stepped in to see Li Rong gripping a bloodstained knife, his hand covered in red, pinning a man trembling like a leaf to the ground.

His brows furrowed slightly.

Li Rong’s entire body was tense, his soft hair obscuring one side of his face. He didn’t seem to react to Cen Xiao’s arrival. Instead, he twisted his wrist, pressing the knife closer to the man’s bleeding neck inch by inch.

“Li Rong!” Cen Xiao called out to him.

Li Rong’s movements halted. Slowly, he turned his head, lifting his eyelids to focus on Cen Xiao.

As he looked back, his throat flexed subtly from the root of his ear to his collarbone. His long neck was poised, the delicate Adam’s apple barely visible as it bobbed slightly.

His lips, faintly parted and tinged red, revealed a tongue quietly resting behind pristine white teeth. His pale, sharp cheeks were framed by damp, disheveled hair and curled lashes. The soft peach blossom eyes seemed veiled with a haze of irresolvable confusion.

In that moment, Cen Xiao thought Li Rong looked stunning, like an enchanting phantom. His actions, too, were nothing short of bewitching.

But as Li Rong met his gaze, the clarity slowly returned to his eyes. His grip on the knife began to loosen.

Cen Xiao was the real madman.

There was no need for him to become this way. A madman like Cen Xiao was more than enough.

The sallow-skinned man, seeing Cen Xiao intervene, assumed he had found his savior. He cried out, “Help me! I’ll never steal again! I don’t want any money! Someone else made me steal it! I don’t know anything, I swear!”

Cen Xiao cast him a brief glance, then indifferently withdrew his gaze.

He stepped forward, standing beside Li Rong. Gently, he cupped Li Rong’s thin jaw in his palm, his fingers brushing tenderly across Li Rong’s cheek.

“Baby, your hands are dirty. Let me clean them for you.”