Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 141 - Since Your Father doesn’t Discipline You, Do You Think That Means No One Can?
The call came from the hospital. After Shen Fu answered, the caller—using a taxi driver’s phone—said there had been a traffic accident. A car owner named Qu Bixin had been hit. She was now at the hospital, severely injured. Before being pushed into the emergency room, she had recited his contact number.
The entire call lasted less than three minutes. It was like a sharp blade had pierced his heart without warning. He didn’t even know when he hung up. Abruptly rising to his feet, he grabbed his car keys and rushed out.
Shen Tingji remained seated on the sofa, slowly setting down the pen in her hand.
She watched Shen Fu’s back as he left without looking back, not pausing for a second. After a long while, her pale lips curved faintly as she tore the white paper on the coffee table into pieces, bit by bit.
The night outside was thick and dark. The road was empty and desolate, with barely any cars.
Shen Fu arrived at the hospital at top speed. He looked disheveled—having rushed out, he hadn’t even changed out of his black indoor slippers. His suit jacket was left at home, his shirt sleeves still rolled up. He found the front desk and hurried toward the elevators.
The emergency room on the second floor was already open and empty. In the hallway stood five or six unfamiliar faces. One middle-aged man with a scraped face, wearing a yellow shirt and blue trousers, looked over hesitantly, anxiety written all over him.
“You must be Mr. Shen? I’m really sorry… I didn’t mean to hit—”
Before he could finish, Shen Fu had already moved. He violently shoved the man against the wall, gripping his throat. The sudden action made a nurse scream as she rushed forward. “Sir, please calm down!”
The taxi driver was terrified. In his ear, he heard a cold voice ask, “Where is she now?”
His throat constricted, his vision dropping to the man’s veins bulging on his hand.
Struggling to speak, nearly rolling his eyes back, he gasped, “The… the morgue.”
“Stop! He’s going to suffocate!”
The nurse’s warnings rang out one after another.
Shen Fu seemed not to hear. He stared fixedly at the three words leaving the driver’s pale lips.
The morgue—
The next second, the driver was thrown to the ground.
Two men in the hallway rushed forward to pull Shen Fu away. “Brother, calm down! Murder is illegal!”
Under the fluorescent lights, Shen Fu’s face was deathly pale and expressionless. Only his eyes—cold as a winter night—were terrifying as they locked onto the driver now shielded behind the nurse, as if he wanted to tear him limb from limb. “You drove into her and killed her?”
His tone was stiff with frost. The driver clutched his chest, gasping for air.
If they hadn’t pulled Shen Fu away in time, he might have been strangled to death.
Veins stood out on the back of Shen Fu’s hand and along his neck above his collar. Extreme fury had drowned out his rationality. From the moment he drove to the hospital to standing outside the emergency room, he had felt nothing but brutality.
Seeing him move toward the driver again, people rushed to block him. Nurses screamed for security.
The scene descended into chaos, drowning out the driver’s weak voice.
Shen Fu had lost all reason. He seemed trapped in his own world, obsessively believing that if he killed the man responsible for the accident, Qu Bixin would come back to life. Once that thought took root, no one could stop him.
A security guard struck his back with an electric baton. The jolt of pain froze Shen Fu’s movements for a few seconds.
His punch went slightly off course, slamming heavily into the floor. Blood splattered—right beside the driver’s ear.
That gave the driver a chance to breathe. Enduring the pain, he spat out bloody saliva mixed with a tooth and cried out, “She’s fine! Qu Bixin isn’t dead!”
Shen Fu’s knuckles were mangled and bleeding, drops staining his shirt. He grabbed the driver by the collar again. Terrified, the man quickly clarified, “I accidentally hit Miss Qu Bixin’s car! Her car costs millions—I’m just a low-income taxi driver, I can’t afford to pay for it! I got injured too. Then Miss Qu kindly brought me to the hospital…”
His voice trembled, though his words remained clear. “She said if I helped her with one thing, the compensation would be waived.”
That “one thing” didn’t need further explanation.
Using the hospital phone to call Shen Fu, claiming she had died from severe injuries in an accident—it was all a massive joke.
The gray, despairing look in Shen Fu’s eyes slowly returned to clarity. The tearing pain in his chest eased. His fingers loosened, releasing the driver’s collar.
“Really! I swear Miss Qu didn’t lose even a single hair! I only scraped her rear bumper!” the driver nearly raised three fingers in oath.
He’d already been injured in the collision. He agreed to lie just to offset the compensation. Now he’d been beaten and injured again. Tonight was truly cursed.
But he dared not complain, afraid the man might attack him again.
The driver was middle-aged—he could read people well.
This young man had genuinely harbored killing intent.
Shen Fu quickly regained composure. Expressionless, he asked, “Where is she?”
This time the driver didn’t dare hide anything. Trembling, he said, “Miss Qu paid my medical bills. After telling me to personally inform you she was in the morgue, she went home to sleep.”
Shen Fu’s expression turned colder than ever. Onlookers quietly speculated about the relationship between the man and woman.
He offered no explanation. Upon learning Qu Bixin wasn’t at the hospital, he didn’t linger even a second.
He left alone, driving into the deserted streets.
Jiang City was especially lonely at midnight. He pulled over by the roadside. Dim light illuminated the car interior. His long fingers were stained with blood. He pulled out tissues, wiped them carelessly, tossed them aside, then took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
White smoke rose, veiling the sharp, icy contours of his face.
He pinched the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, inhaling deeply—forcing most of it into his lungs in one breath—only then feeling a fleeting relief. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and leaned against the seat.
His untreated knuckle wounds began bleeding again.
He paid it no mind. Memories surfaced.
What he feared most in his life wasn’t the elite circle’s contempt for his low-born origins. Nor the accusations that his methods were dirty and ruthless. Nor claims that he wasn’t worthy of the Qu family’s noble daughter.
It was the word—death.
His parents had died early. From a young age, he and his brother relied on each other. The Shen brothers had depended on Shen Tingji’s parents. When he was little, he gradually came to treat them as his own parents. Then a murder case took them away too.
He also lost the older brother who had been his sole companion.
Now he sat alone in the sealed car, even turning off the lights.
Not yet thirteen, he faced the successive deaths of loved ones alone. Even after more than a decade, though no one mentioned it again, it remained a festering wound in his heart.
What does the word “death” mean?
No one understood better than Shen Fu what the word “death” meant.
When he heard from the driver that Qu Bixin had died, his usually sharp, rational mind failed to detect the flaws in the story. When he regained his senses, he felt momentarily lost, as if he didn’t know where he was.
Now, he hid in this enclosed space and turned off the lights.
After an unknown stretch of time, Shen Fu slowly sat upright and restarted the car.
This time, he didn’t run red lights or speed recklessly. Half an hour later, he arrived at Qu Bixin’s home.
He paid ten thousand yuan to buy the low-end domestic phone from the gate security guard. With stiff, cold fingers, he typed in a phone number he knew by heart. He didn’t call—just sent a text.
[If you don’t open the door, I’ll have your parents come open it.]
Perhaps Qu Bixin had anticipated his anger.
After receiving the text, she obediently opened the door.
Her shoulder-length black hair was still half-damp from a recent shower, clinging lightly. She wore a wine-red robe. Her legs were slender and snow-white—clearly ready for bed. Seeing him like this—disheveled, not even caring about his appearance—she froze slightly. When their eyes met and she saw the coldness in his gaze, she felt a flicker of guilt.
After a pause, she asked knowingly, “Didn’t you go home to be her nanny? Why come here?”
As Shen Fu stepped forward, she tried to shut the door defensively. “Don’t come in!”
Her protest was useless.
Her minimal strength offered no room for resistance.
Shen Fu forced his way in, dragging her into the bedroom and throwing her onto the wide bed without mercy.
Qu Bixin sensed the rage he was barely restraining. His thin lips were pressed tight. Without a word, he grabbed at her robe—not merely pulling it off as before, but deliberately tearing it into pieces.
He seized her sharp chin, his blood from injured knuckles staining her pale skin.
“Since your father doesn’t discipline you, do you think that means no one can?”
His voice was terrifyingly calm, his grip extremely tight.
Her chin felt nearly dislocated. Tears pooled in her eyes. “You could’ve chosen not to come when the hospital called! They contacted family. Who told you to assume it was about you? You could’ve called my parents—called my fake-affection brother! Who told you to meddle?”
No matter how you argued it, she could twist logic to her side. Her voice trembled with tears.
She had simply been furious that Shen Tingji could summon him away with a single call, so she maliciously played a joke.
Before Shen Fu came, she hadn’t truly expected him to care. In her anger, she had the driver lie. After returning home, she even berated herself—if Shen Fu didn’t care at all, wouldn’t she just be humiliating herself?
But now he cared desperately. He gripped her chin hard enough to bruise, punishing her for tonight’s stunt in the cruelest way a man could.
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