Cheng Muyun felt as if a red-hot iron had been plunged into his heart, the burning sensation spreading through his veins to every part of his body, each heartbeat heavy as if it would shatter his chest.
The darkness outside the car window was thick as ink, and the halo of the streetlights was stretched into a blurry band of light by the car's speed, rushing backward, but he could not shake off the unease surging in his heart.
His right hand remained tightly gripping the pistol. The cold metallic touch did not calm him down; instead, it made the sweat on his palms even stickier. His knuckles turned white from the excessive force, and the muscles in his arm were stiff and tense.
These past few days have felt like a tangled mess.
During the day, reporters with a keen sense of smell, like sharks that have caught the scent of blood, always manage to ambush people at the entrance of the military camp or the edge of the training ground. He has to adhere to military discipline and remain silent, while also dealing with these ever-present probing questions, and he can only feel his temples throbbing.
During those days when he was too busy to be in two places at once, the military camp became the place he spent the most time in. The bed in the office still smelled of sunshine, but it was never as reassuring as the bed at home with its light-colored sheets—because Xu Zhuohua was there.
No matter how late he returned home, when he opened the door he would always see her wearing that beige knitted shawl, sitting on the sofa waiting for him. Perhaps she was reading a book, or perhaps she was just sitting quietly. When she heard any noise, she would look up, her eyes filled with tenderness.
Those eyes were especially captivating, with long eyelashes like two small fans. When she looked at him, she always had undisguised deep affection, as if he were her whole world.
Every time I meet those eyes, the fatigue, irritability, and stress of the day vanish instantly, like being blown away by a gentle breeze, leaving only warmth in my heart.
Cheng Muyun suddenly remembered that Xu Zhuohua had been sleeping unusually lightly lately. Several times, he tiptoed back to the bedroom late at night, his movements as light as a cat's, but she would always wake up immediately and softly ask, "You're back," her voice hoarse from just waking up.
He wasn't unaware of the abnormality; the bloodshot eyes and the occasional absent-mindedness in her gaze all hinted at something on her mind.
He asked several times, "Have you been sleeping poorly lately? Don't keep things bottled up inside."
But she always shook her head, took his hand and rubbed it against her cheek, smiling and saying, "It's nothing, I just missed you a little." Her tone was light and cheerful, like she was being coquettish, but the moment she hesitated to speak, the fleeting worry in her eyes, was like a tiny needle, gently pricking his heart.
So Cheng Muyun didn't take it to heart. He planned to take Xu Zhuohua out for a while after things were resolved, to leave Xinhai City and go somewhere else. Whether it was to avoid unknown dangers or to take Xu Zhuohua sightseeing, it was fine as long as it made Xu Zhuohua happy.
But things happened so suddenly that Cheng Muyun was completely unprepared and caught off guard.
Fortunately, Cheng Muyun had already sent people to guard the Cheng Mansion, so Xu Zhuohua wouldn't have to face the danger alone.
The car suddenly swerved around a corner, pulling Cheng Muyun back to reality. He took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from his palms on his trouser leg, and tightened his grip on the gun.
Xu Zhuohua had once said that it would be a big fire, so Cheng Muyun prepared a lot of fire-fighting supplies near the Cheng Mansion, protecting Xu Zhuohua in a precautionary manner.
But when the towering flames entered his eyes, Cheng Muyun felt as if his heart had been gripped tightly by an icy hand, the pain making his vision go black.
The pain wasn't a dull, heavy ache, but a sharp, tearing pain, as if someone were using a short blade to rip open his chest along the gaps in his ribs, pulling out his still-beating heart, bloodied and raw, and then scorching it over a fire.
Every breath was torture; it felt like there was scalding sand stuck in his throat, and the air he inhaled smelled burnt, causing his chest to heave violently, yet he couldn't catch his breath.
He practically sprang from the speeding car, his military boots slamming heavily to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
As far as the eye could see, the familiar old-fashioned villa of Cheng Mansion had been engulfed in flames—the carved wooden balcony was twisted and deformed in the flames, the walls that were once covered with ivy were cracked with charred lines, and even the roof tiles were cracking and falling.
A crowd of people holding torches thronged in front of the mansion, the firelight casting menacing shadows on their faces.
Someone roared, their face flushed red, their fists clenched so tightly they turned white, and the anger in their eyes almost burst forth like flames.
Some people grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, their smiles filled with undisguised satisfaction, as if they were watching their enemies perish; others huddled behind the crowd, the torchlight illuminating their trembling eyelashes, their eyes filled with terror, yet unwilling to look away.
Many others remained expressionless, as if watching a play that had nothing to do with them. The firelight flickered in their pupils, but their faces betrayed no emotion, sending chills down one's spine more than the roaring mob.
This house is an old-style Western-style house. Seven or eight out of ten of the beams, pillars, floors, and stair railings are made of high-quality hardwood, which feels warm and solid to the touch.
Unfortunately, the weather has been dry these past few days, and a single spark can start a wildfire. With the help of the wind, the fire has grown wildly, spreading from the first floor to the second floor in just a short time. The speed at which it spreads is astonishing.
The towering flames, billowing with black smoke, pierced the night sky, turning half of it orange-red.
The firelight magnified and distorted everyone's face, and the greedy flames licked at the window frames, making crackling sounds as if they were gnawing at something.
Waves of scorching air surged out, burning the skin and making even the hair feel like it was about to be scorched. But Cheng Muyun felt no heat, only a chill seeping from his bones, flowing through his veins and throughout his body.
He stared intently at the sea of fire, unable to utter a sound.
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