Chapter 17: You Dare Touch My Wife?

At that moment, Li Chuzhe’s voice hit like a bucket of cold water—perfectly timed, exactly what she needed. Tang Yan turned to face him, her expression flickering with guilt. “Li Chuzhe… it’s so late. What are you doing here?”

“If I hadn’t come out, would you have just kept hiding from me, staying with *him* all night?” Li Chuzhe’s eyes were ice-cold, each step forward deliberate, his gaze locked onto Tang Yan like a predator zeroing in on prey.

Seeing the tension, Song Xieling stepped forward instantly. “Li Chuzhe, it’s not what you think. I was hurt—I fell, and Tang Miss, being kind-hearted, just wanted to help.”

Li Chuzhe didn’t even glance at Song Xieling. His eyes stayed fixed on Tang Yan, lips parting slightly. “Tang Yan… is that true?”

“Yeah,” Tang Yan nodded quickly, too fast to be convincing.

Li Chuzhe tilted his head up toward the sky, a faint smirk tugging at his lips—dangerously close to breaking. Then he reached out, grabbing Tang Yan’s wrist. “Come home with me.”

“What about Song Xieling?” Tang Yan still worried about her guest.

That question made Li Chuzhe stop dead in his tracks. He turned sharply, his glare icy enough to freeze blood. Song Xieling’s heart skipped a beat. One cold sentence dropped from Li Chuzhe’s lips: “Take him home.”

The order rang out. Immediately, the bodyguards trailing behind Li Chuzhe surged forward, surrounding Song Xieling like a cage. Tang Yan had no words left. She gave in, letting herself be led back to the house.

As soon as they were inside, Li Chuzhe shut her in his bedroom. This time, there was no violence—no roughness. Instead, his tone was unnervingly gentle. “Sit there. Don’t move.”

She was already outmatched. Tang Yan obeyed without protest.

Li Chuzhe walked over to the bookshelf, pulled out a diary—its cover a soft gray, the color both of them loved.

“Here.” He handed it to her.

Tang Yan sat on the bed, hands trembling slightly as she took the worn, yellowed journal.

Li Chuzhe knelt before her, eyes lifting to meet hers with an intensity that stole her breath. His voice was low, tender, almost reverent. “This is what I wrote after nearly drowning when I was eight. When I woke up, drenched in sunlight, I could barely remember anything—but I remembered *her*. The shape of her face. The way she looked at me.”

He opened the book slowly, fingers brushing the pages. The handwriting was dense, flowing, bold—like a man writing his soul onto paper.

“This diary… it’s where my feelings began. Back then, I didn’t understand love. But as I grew older, as I met more people, experienced more pain and joy—those feelings never faded. They warmed my frozen heart through the years.”

He paused, staring into her eyes. “When we met again, I sent someone to dig into your past. Nothing. Blank. But then I saw the scar on your arm—the same one I’d seen in my dreams. Maybe… we’ve known each other longer than either of us realizes.”

Tang Yan felt nothing. Her childhood memories were gone, scattered like dust. “Li Chuzhe… I think you’re mistaken. I don’t remember saving anyone.”

“Whether or not it was you doesn’t matter,” he said softly, lifting her hand to his lips. His kiss was feather-light, warm, like sunlight slipping through eyelashes. A quiet glow danced across his face.

Tang Yan jerked her hand back instinctively, turning her head away stubbornly. “I don’t like you, Li Chuzhe. And I *beg* you—erase these feelings now. Or else… we’ll end this marriage.”

With that, she stood up, ready to leave.

But Li Chuzhe grabbed her arm. “Why can’t you feel this way for me? Why can you for *him*?”

“I already said I don’t like him! You’re insane!” Her voice cracked with fury. “I warn you—keep pushing, and you’ll regret it.” She tossed the words like a blade, fluffed her tangled hair, and strode out of the room without looking back.

Meanwhile, Song Xieling was being treated under Li Chuzhe’s orders—rough, clinical, utterly merciless. The private doctor worked on him without anesthesia, not even bothering to ask if it hurt. No small talk. No sympathy.

By the time the treatment ended, Song Xieling’s face was pale as bone, lips quivering uncontrollably.

Back in her room, fuming, Tang Yan sent a message to her organization:
**[Organization, this marriage is interfering with my mission. I request termination.]**

A reply came swiftly:
**[If you find another option, we’ll approve.]**

**[Fine.]**

The thought of finally escaping Li Chuzhe’s clingy grip filled her with sweet relief—like honey dripping down her spine. With only days left until the 15th, she decided to take a gamble. She logged into the dark web, checking in on Nightshade’s status.

Instantly, a message popped up:
**“Hah. Just another loser.”**

“Don’t get full of yourself,” Tang Yan shot back. “You only beat me this year.” She hated how much this guy reminded her of Li Chuzhe—annoying, arrogant, impossible to ignore.

A few seconds later, another message arrived:
**“I’ll be at the drop point on the 15th.准时.”**
Then the chat window went dark again.

Tang Yan tried hacking into his account multiple times while he was offline. The results? Humiliating. She couldn’t even breach the second firewall.

Later, Li Chuzhe left the computer. The butler informed him that Song Xieling had been dealt with. So Li Chuzhe went to see him personally.

Song Xieling sat alone on a hard wooden chair, surrounded by silence, suffering in isolation. Li Chuzhe loomed over him, voice sharp and mocking. “How familiar are you with my wife, Song Xieling?”

Song Xieling blinked, confused. Rumors said Li Chuzhe was celibate, that this marriage was just a family obligation. So why was he acting like this—overreacting, torturing him—just for getting near Tang Yan?

“Just ran into her by chance,” he muttered.

Li Chuzhe leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Next time I catch you near her… your company’s projects won’t survive.”

He signaled the butler to take him away.

As Song Xieling was dragged out, anger boiled beneath his skin. *“Can’t keep your own wife, so you blame everyone else?”* The thought screamed silently in his mind.

Outside the mansion, standing in front of the grand villa, Song Xieling stared at the building for a long time. Then, his pupils widened. A slow, sly grin spread across his face.

**“Haha… Li Chuzhe. You really are a hypocrite. All talk, no action. Face to face, you’re a mess.”**