Chapter 102: Kneel Down and Beg Me

Song Chen suddenly came to a halt, as if startled, and hurriedly retreated several steps, his expression darkening.

That word “siblings” was not a reminder to cherish familial bonds, but a warning to remember their identities.

He abruptly lowered his head, looking at Song Qingyou. Her eyes were calm and unruffled, showing no emotion in response to his outburst.

Song Chen’s face twisted, his fists clenched tightly, his gaze deep and frightening.

Song Qingyou was not intimidated, her voice remained cold. “Do you think this alone can offset the harm you’ve done to me? Song Chen, the feeling you had being locked up for a month is exactly what I felt when you kept me in the basement. Did you ever consider how old I was then? Five years old.”

She looked straight at Song Chen. “Did you know I once suffered from claustrophobia?”

Song Chen paused. He truly didn’t know—but so what? Because of Song Qingyou, he grew up being scorned as the son of a mistress, addressed as Young Master Song by all, but with contempt hidden behind every greeting.

Hadn’t he endured enough grievances over the years?

He hated Song Qingyou’s face, hated how it stirred up his darkest thoughts, hated that they both carried Song Yuan’s blood.

Suddenly, a deafening crash echoed from the abandoned iron door—someone kicked it open from outside.

Song Chen’s lips curled in hatred as he twisted his face, pressing a knife to Song Qingyou’s throat. “I’d like to see just how far that mad dog will go for you.”

Song Qingyou’s eyes flickered, the composed façade beginning to crack. “What do you want!”

Fu Wenzhou stood at the threshold, backlit by harsh light, his expression cold and terrifying, eyes as dark and deep as the ocean on a winter’s night. His gaze swept over Song Chen, then settled on Song Qingyou, who was bound.

Seeing the blood-encrusted wounds on her neck and the rope marks cutting into her skin, his expression shifted violently. Beneath his sleeve, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles cracked. “Song Chen! Are you tired of living?”

He looked so fierce, like a roaring tiger.

Song Chen instinctively shrank back, but quickly recovered, flashing a wicked smile. “Fu Wenzhou, I didn’t expect you to come so quickly, and alone at that? You’ve got guts.”

A vein throbbed on Fu Wenzhou’s temple as he gritted his teeth, his gaze never leaving Song Qingyou.

When Song Chang had called him, he was already driving to chase after them. Song Qingyou had gone to Shiyu today, and the red dot on the tracker had already left the city.

He’d sped all the way, only to arrive a moment too late.

Fu Wenzhou gave Song Qingyou a reassuring smile. “Don’t be afraid, Qingyou.”

—

Song Qingyou’s heart was aching. Was this man a fool, coming here all alone?

Song Chen had kidnapped her solely to lure Fu Wenzhou—wasn’t that obvious enough? Yet he seemed not to notice.

She didn’t tell Fu Wenzhou to leave, because she knew he never would.

He would never abandon her.

Song Qingyou could only try to negotiate with Song Chen. “If you want your shares in the Song Group back, I can give them to you. Or those billions—I can also…”

“Shares?” Song Chen’s eyes narrowed. He did want his shares back, but that alone couldn’t satisfy the hatred burning inside him.

Fu Wenzhou’s gaze was icy, fathomless. “Let her go.”

Song Chen pressed the knife closer, looking at Fu Wenzhou with a twisted grin. “Want me to let her go? Fine.”

He drew a short knife from his waistband and tossed it over. “Here’s the deal: you stab yourself once, maybe if I like what I see, I’ll let her go.”

Fu Wenzhou glanced at him, bent down to pick up the knife, and without hesitation plunged it into his own thigh. “Is that enough?”

Blood soaked through his trousers and streamed down his leg. Song Qingyou could even hear the sound of blood dripping onto the floor.

She stared in shock at Fu Wenzhou’s hand gripping the knife, lips parted, but her throat seemed blocked—she couldn’t utter a word. Only the trembling of her shoulders revealed her turmoil.

Song Chen hadn’t expected Fu Wenzhou to stab himself so decisively, without a moment of hesitation. His gaze grew more venomous, the smile on his lips widening. “What now? I haven’t had my fill.”

Fu Wenzhou gripped the knife and stabbed it into his other thigh. “Is that enough now?”

Song Qingyou shook all over, fighting back sobs, her throat aching fiercely, her chest feeling as if a giant hand was squeezing it, suffocating her. Her vision blurred with tears, and her voice broke in a hoarse cry. “Stop… please don’t stab yourself anymore!”

Song Chen let out a low, ghostly laugh. “Sister, does your heart ache?”

Song Qingyou watched as the man forced a reassuring smile her way, as if trying to comfort her. Her composure shattered, and she shook her head, crying.

Song Chen licked his lips, seemingly satisfied with Fu Wenzhou’s submission. “How about you kneel and beg me, Fu Wenzhou? Aren’t you usually proud? If you kneel and beg, I’ll let her go.”

Fu Wenzhou’s eyes were cold as frost. Without expression, he bent his knees.

Song Qingyou’s hair was disheveled, her eyes bloodshot, her cries raw and piercing, her voice bitter as if soaked in quinine. “Fu Wenzhou! You’re not allowed to kneel! Don’t kneel!”

—

Fu Wenzhou forced a faint smile, his voice rough. “Qingyou, it’s all right.”

He slowly lowered himself to the ground, the movement aggravating his wounded legs as blood ran down, but he remained unmoved.

Song Chen stared at Fu Wenzhou in disbelief, genuinely curious. “You’d kneel for a woman?”

To make the mad dog of the capital kneel before him, to break his pride—this feeling sent excitement surging through Song Chen’s veins.

He was so thrilled he didn’t even notice the knife slip away from Song Qingyou’s throat for a moment.

Fu Wenzhou’s dark eyes narrowed, and he swiftly hurled the knife handle at Song Chen.

A sudden, sharp pain shot through Song Chen’s shoulder. Before he could react, he was knocked to the ground, the knife pulled from his shoulder and plunged into his chest.

Song Chen’s face twisted in agony.

Fu Wenzhou’s bloodshot eyes were filled with menace, his whole presence like a raging storm, bloodlust simmering beneath his gaze.

“You dare lay a hand on her?”

“I can’t even bear to touch her, and you dare hurt her!”

He punched Song Chen in the abdomen. Having fought underground matches, Fu Wenzhou’s blows were brutal—Song Chen lost his voice after a few hits.

Song Chang and the police, who had just arrived, were stunned at the scene inside the doorway.

Once they recovered, several officers rushed in to pull Fu Wenzhou away, stopping him from delivering further blows. Song Chen lay in a pool of blood, barely alive, his nose and mouth flooded, vomiting blood endlessly.

Fu Wenzhou wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, shrugged off his bloody jacket, walked over to Song Qingyou, and gently untied her ropes. Seeing the marks on her skin, his heart ached fiercely.

“Don’t be afraid, Qingyou. I’m here.”

He cradled her carefully in his arms, sheltering her tenderly as tears slid from the corners of her eyes.

Her voice still carried the tremors of her sobs as she stared at Fu Wenzhou’s bleeding wounds in panic. “You’re bleeding, Fu Wenzhou, you’re bleeding! Let’s go to the hospital, quickly—to the hospital, hurry!”