Transmigrated as the Betrothed of the Yandere Villain

Chapter 80

Even so, Zhong Ning had no particular fondness for luxury goods and was not obsessed. When she learned the prices, she would be surprised, but that was all.

She was not even greedy for money. It was too absurd—there was actually someone in this world who was not greedy for money. Those two bank cards full of deposits were still lying in Xie Shiqing’s wallet. Faced with such irrefutable evidence, she had no choice but to admit it.

Zhong Ning did not covet her current status. She had things she truly wanted.

Unable to maintain her pride and dignity any longer, Xie Shiqing practically panicked as she pushed the chair away, wanting to rush over and grab Zhong Ning’s hand.

Had she committed some great crime, violated a heavenly law?!

To leave just like that—no matter how cold and unfeeling a heart might be, it could not be so merciless. Wasn’t it said that she loved her? Was this love so shallow?

Xie Shiqing’s heart was full of aggrieved and flustered questions.

Zhong Ning did not even want to wait a little longer! Could she not consider that perhaps there was truly something difficult behind all this? Or that she simply could not speak about it? There were always some things that were hard to voice, weren’t there?

Wasn’t what she should do to ask patiently, to be gentle and tolerant?

It was too much, far too much!

In her panic, Xie Shiqing pushed all the blame onto Zhong Ning, as if by doing so, she could suppress the fear and dread that had struck her in the instant she heard those words.

There wasn’t even an ultimatum! Not even asking again!

She stumbled forward in a flurry, but because she was too panicked, she misjudged Zhong Ning’s position and nearly fell straight to the ground.

A familiar strength steadied her, helped her stand upright, but did not linger, did not follow with an embrace, and instead withdrew coldly.

Xie Shiqing grabbed hold of it.

In the next second, tears burst from her eyes. She cried as though she might suffocate, a desperate, reckless kind of weeping—neither beautiful nor delicate. Tears streamed across her face, falling drop by drop onto the back of Zhong Ning’s hand, scalding hot like magma stolen from a volcano.

“You’re really this heartless? I haven’t even said anything yet, and you’re going to leave?”

She sobbed, her breathing utterly disordered, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Before long, all her strength left her, and she collapsed forward.

Seeing how terribly she cried, Zhong Ning immediately felt a pang of sorrow. Flustered, she gathered her in her arms and half-carried, half-supported her to sit on the small resting couch. But she herself did not sit down, choosing instead to stand to the side.

“I…”

There was so much bitterness in her own heart, too.

“You suddenly ran over here and started questioning me head-on, suspecting me, but you didn’t even give me a chance to explain.” Xie Shiqing did not wipe away her tears, letting them pour down unchecked. “Am I a robot, incapable of being hurt?”

Zhong Ning fell silent for a while, then said softly, “I asked you. You did not answer me.”

“In your view, to speak out one’s true thoughts, to uncover all the hidden secrets, to pour out those painful past events and unspeakable memories—is that such an easy thing to do?”

Xie Shiqing let out a bleak laugh. “For me, it isn’t.”

Zhong Ning was stunned for a moment.

She really thought that way.

Was it so difficult to be honest, to be open?

She was someone upright and forthright. All her thoughts were equally upright, neither dark nor shameful, so she could lay them all out, place them in the sunlight for everyone to see.

A person with a clear conscience had no instinct to hide.

And she had grown up in an environment full of love, where someone would always listen to her worries, give her responses, and offer her comfort, so she dared to do this.

To speak out—so what if she did?

Zhong Ning had never thought about it, had never realized that a person who had been stifled at every turn could never have such courage.

Just like someone burned by fire would never again try to touch the flame after knowing the pain of being scorched.

These were lessons learned bit by bit through blood and tears.

Xie Shiqing let out a bitter smile. “I don’t know if you’ve ever heard this saying: ‘A good childhood can heal a lifetime, but a bad childhood takes a lifetime to heal.’ I am the latter.”

“The Xie family—top of the upper class. It sounds so impressive, so wealthy. What troubles could there be? Lack of money is the greatest suffering in the world. I won’t say that idea is wrong. After all, for most people, the bitterness of life is already a tremendous torment, a ruthless crushing by fate. But just because I was born into this family, does that mean I must be forced to suffer? That it’s the original sin I have to bear?”

“My mother…she didn’t love me. She was someone who disdained to put on any pretense, someone who openly placed self-interest above all else. I had to do everything exactly as she demanded, or I would be punished. I had no freedom, no choices, only the obligation to obey every word she said. My mom—she loved me very much, but in this household, she had no say at all.”

Xie Shiqing’s tears continued to fall without pause. She clutched Zhong Ning’s hand tightly, so hard it was as though she was gripping the last straw that could save her life.

“I had no way to confide my thoughts to anyone, and no one who would listen to my grievances. Telling them to others wouldn’t lead to anything except bringing more trouble to everyone around me. No one could help me.”

“In an environment like that, how was I supposed to speak my true feelings?”

“…I didn’t know any of this.” Zhong Ning murmured.

“You didn’t know.” Xie Shiqing gave a short, mirthless laugh. “But even so, you still used your own standards to judge me. Because you didn’t know, did that mean it never happened?”

“As for your question, I can answer you. Yes—I had no way to trust you.”

It was as though she had just endured a slow execution. Xie Shiqing pressed a hand to her chest. Even her lips, usually a healthy pink, had turned pale. Each word she spoke was like undergoing a cruel punishment—like the Little Mermaid, every time her feet touched the land, she felt pain like a blade slicing her flesh.

The pain was not of the body, but of the spirit.

“I can’t trust you. I can’t trust anyone. I have no friends, not a single person I can truly open my heart to.” She let out a light laugh, a smile more bitter than tears. “Someone who doesn’t know how to trust—how can she possibly learn something she has never experienced in her entire life?”