Chapter 70: The Ultimate Social Death

After Feng Yuping left, Jiang Zhiwu returned to her office. She had just reached the doorway when she saw Xia Ling coming out, clutching a packed box in her arms. Xia Ling looked at Jiang Zhiwu with hopeful eyes, not a trace of resentment in her gaze.

“Zhiwu, are you happy now that you’ve ruined me like this?”

Jiang Zhiwu nearly laughed. Xia Ling truly was a master of disguise, always affecting a pitiful air in front of her.

“Xia Ling, you’ve brought this upon yourself.”

Xia Ling began to cry. “Everything I did was just so you and Yan Feng would divorce. Can’t you find it in your heart to pity me? Do you really want my child to be born without legitimacy, to grow up hearing everyone call him a bastard?”

Jiang Zhiwu let out a cold snort, her expression full of disdain and indifference. “If your child is born illegitimate and becomes the target of others’ scorn, it’s because of you, not me. It’s your sordid, filthy actions, your refusal to live decently. I actually pity your unborn child, having to face a mother like you from the very moment he’s born. You hate Xia Xiufen for her twisted mind, for the family you were born into—but are you any better than her? One day your own child may hate you for being his mother.”

“This is your retribution, Xia Ling.”

Xia Ling’s eyes turned red, fear and loathing flickering in her gaze at the mention of Xia Xiufen. She clutched her belly. “I will never treat my child the way Xia Xiufen treated me. I love my baby more than anything—he is the fruit of my love with the man I cherish most. Jiang Zhiwu, you’ll never understand how much I love him.”

Jiang Zhiwu’s expression remained calm, even tinged with a trace of languor. “I don’t need to understand, nor do I care to. Yan Feng and I have long since ended. Whether you and he are happy or miserable is no concern of mine.”

Xia Ling’s eyes flickered. “What do you mean?”

A sly smile suddenly curved Jiang Zhiwu’s lips, her eyes glinting with a mischievous light—the look of a cunning little fox. Xia Ling had seen this very expression countless times during their school days, whenever Jiang Zhiwu was plotting something. Back then, Jiang Zhiwu was never one to be trifled with.

Sure enough, Jiang Zhiwu said, “Xia Ling, hasn’t Yan Feng told you? He and I never registered our marriage. Legally, our marriage never existed.”

Xia Ling’s eyes widened, shock rendering her speechless.

Jiang Zhiwu continued, fanning the flames, “Tell me, if we were never married, why didn’t Yan Feng tell you? You’ve been yearning for the position of Mrs. Yan, but he never gives it to you. If he truly loved you, he’d have married you long ago. Why would he let you bear his child and wait anxiously for him to leave a marriage that doesn’t even exist?”

Xia Ling was struck dumb, emotions raging in her eyes—shock, confusion, fury, all churning together in a storm.

But Jiang Zhiwu’s voice remained casual, as if she were merely gossiping with a friend. “When a man gives you everything he owns, it doesn’t necessarily mean he loves you. But when he hides it and refuses to give it to you, it definitely means he doesn’t.”

Jiang Zhiwu was tall. She deliberately crouched down a bit, meeting Xia Ling’s eyes. “Xia Ling, you’re truly pitiful, aren’t you?”

With that, Jiang Zhiwu turned, tossed her wavy hair, and strode away in her high heels.

A blow that strikes the heart—that was exactly what this was.

The box in Xia Ling’s hands clattered to the floor. She was almost gasping for breath, barely able to stand.

How could this be? Jiang Zhiwu and Yan Feng had never registered their marriage—they weren’t even legally married! But why, then, had Yan Feng never mentioned it? Did he truly consider Jiang Zhiwu the lady of the Yan family, even without official papers? Why had Yan Feng lied to her?

But soon, a more serious realization struck Xia Ling: the divorce agreement she’d handed Yan Feng the night before. If his marriage to Jiang Zhiwu had never existed, there was no need for a divorce agreement at all. Jiang Zhiwu had dug a pit for her, and she’d jumped right in. The moment she produced that agreement, Yan Feng must have realized she was lying to him! The divorce papers were fake, forged in an attempt to force him to leave Jiang Zhiwu. Such a flimsy lie collapsed on itself.

No wonder, though she had managed to soothe him last night, Yan Feng had suddenly snapped and grabbed her by the throat. He must have discovered something—her signature! He must have recognized her attempt to mimic Jiang Zhiwu’s handwriting. And if she could forge Jiang Zhiwu’s signature, then the diary that had driven a wedge between Yan Feng and Jiang Zhiwu could also have been forged.

Yan Feng must have pieced everything together. That’s why he had changed so drastically, as if possessed.

So that’s how it is.

Xia Ling slumped to the floor, feeling as though she’d fallen into an icy abyss.

At noon, Jiang Zhiwu originally intended to call Bo Jinxi and tell him about her visit to the Yan family that evening. But realizing that BJ Tower was just across the street from the TV station, she decided to go straight to his office instead—perhaps she could even score a free meal and break the news in person.

Today, Jiang Zhiwu didn’t take the private elevator from the underground parking lot. Instead, she entered through the main doors of BJ Tower, planning to blend in like an ordinary office worker. To her surprise, she was recognized by the security at the entrance as soon as she walked in.

“Good afternoon, Miss Jiang.”
“Please, Miss Jiang, come in!”

Once inside, everyone she encountered greeted her warmly.

“Good afternoon, Miss Jiang.”
“Hello, Miss Jiang.”
“Miss Jiang, welcome.”

Jiang Zhiwu was baffled. Why did everyone she met seem to know her? She didn’t recognize any of them. Granted, she was a somewhat well-known host, but this was excessive. She’d visited BJ Tower before, and even the receptionists hadn’t recognized her.

Could it be because of last night’s trending search? Though she and Bo Jinxi had made the hot topic list, only their names had appeared, not their photos. Most of the media had used pictures of the dazzling rose fireworks, not her face. There was no way everyone could recognize her so easily.

What on earth was going on?

But after a few more steps, Jiang Zhiwu understood everything.

There, in the spacious lobby on the ground floor of BJ Tower, was an enormous LED screen, usually reserved for the company’s promotional images. Now, however, it was cycling through photo after photo of her. A few were of her and Bo Jinxi together, mostly candid shots from last night’s dance. But the majority were pictures of Jiang Zhiwu herself—some of her hosting the news, others taken in private moments: watering flowers on the balcony, gazing at the stars from a wicker chair, even sleeping peacefully. Each shot was as exquisite as a work of art, beautiful in their own right.

Judging by the angle and setting, these must have been stealthily taken by Bo Jinxi during her time at the Green Shade Villa. Jiang Zhiwu had never realized that, over the past three years, Bo Jinxi had secretly taken so many photos of her—and made her look so lovely in every one.

The photos were excellent, but having them displayed here, looping endlessly, was nothing short of social suicide.