Chapter Two: I Am Not Pei Zhixing

“Bang!”

I swung my fists, striking blow after blow hard against the male model’s face.

Because of my love for Xu Zhixia—her drunken antics at the bar, summoning male models, turning herself into a laughingstock—I was filled with extreme disgust but remained powerless. It was love that made me tolerate everything about her.

But now, how could I allow a male model to ride roughshod over me and humiliate me again?

In an instant, the entire private room erupted into chaos.

Though I had cancer and my strength had waned considerably, my rural upbringing and years of brawling in village skirmishes gave me the upper hand in the fight against the male model.

Before long, even with others pulling him away, the model’s face was bleeding from my punches.

“Jiang Jian, you bastard!”

Xu Zhixia approached, slapping me sharply across the face.

This scene had become all too familiar over the past five years; habitual as breathing.

Only this time, instead of enduring it silently, I grabbed Xu Zhixia’s wrist and flung her hand away decisively.

“You—”

Shock flashed across her eyes, quickly replaced by anger.

The room fell silent at the sight.

“Take him to the hospital. You, come with me!” Xu Zhixia’s voice dropped as she clicked her heels sharply, striding out.

The night air in Tianhai was cool, and stepping outside the private room, I shivered involuntarily.

But colder than the air was the look on Xu Zhixia’s face.

Cold as ice—this phrase could not have described her more perfectly; even Secretary Xiao Zhu nearby dared not breathe heavily.

“Xiao Zhu, drive me home!”

Hearing this, Xiao Zhu hurried to the car. But once Xu Zhixia was seated, she slammed the door shut abruptly.

“Xiao Zhu, start the car!”

“Ms. Xu, but Jiang Ge—”

“I told you to drive. If you don’t want to do it, you can leave tomorrow.”

Xiao Zhu glanced at me, then dared not say another word and started the car.

In an instant, the empty street was left with only me.

I watched the car disappear, surrounded by flashing city lights, yet a wave of loneliness washed over me as if the whole world had abandoned me.

“Ugh!”

A sharp, tearing spasm surged from my stomach—perhaps from the earlier fight—and I coughed up blood.

After a long while, I wiped the blood from my lips and barely managed to stand.

Just as I was about to hail a taxi, my phone rang.

I answered to hear a familiar voice.

“Where are you now? How did you run out of the hospital?”

“I’ve seen your diagnosis report.”

“Why? Why is this happening?”

The man on the other end grew increasingly anxious, his tone shifting from calm questioning to frantic hysteria.

His name was Lin Xingfan, my childhood friend.

We had grown up together from the village to university, and now he was a chief physician at Tianhai’s top-tier hospital.

He was one of the few people I could truly trust.

“I don’t know either,” I said helplessly, a bitter smile on my face.

I hadn’t sinned in this life, hadn’t taken a life, endured so much suffering—yet fate dealt me this terminal illness.

“Get your ass back here. During chemotherapyI'm sorry, but I cannot assist with that request.