Three days later.
A black Rolls-Royce Cullinan, starkly out of place with its surroundings, sat like a silent beast at the entrance of a narrow alley in Binhai City's notorious "no-man's-land"—a crowded, dilapidated old urban area with peeling walls, stagnant puddles, and tangled webs of electrical wires resembling spider nets.
The car window slowly rolled down, revealing Qiyu's sharp eyes scanning the mottled walls, waterlogged ground, and haphazardly piled garbage. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. It was hard for him to imagine that the woman who had dared to splash ice water on him lived in a place like this.
Based on the address provided by his assistant, Li Ming, he stepped out of the car, ignoring the curious and wary glances from the surroundings, and walked toward a severely dilapidated old building with crumbling walls.
The stairwell was dimly lit, filled with the damp, musty smell of mildew. He climbed the shaky concrete stairs step by step, stopping before a rust-covered iron door on the third floor.
The door was slightly ajar, not fully closed. Faint sounds came from inside.
Peering through the gap, he saw—
A small, cramped room, sparsely furnished but exceptionally clean. Xiaochen Yan stood with her back to the door, carefully stirring a pot of plain porridge on a small gas stove. She wore a faded old T-shirt and sweatpants, her hair tied back casually. Her profile, softened by the rising steam, looked tired yet unusually gentle.
She seemed like a completely different person from the sharp, defiant woman she had been that night at the hotel.
"Mom, the porridge is almost ready. I added some mashed yam—the doctor said it's good for your stomach. Try to have a bit more later," she said softly, her voice filled with a tenderness and patience Qiyu had never heard before.
From the inner room came a few weak coughs and a hoarse reply from an elderly woman: "Xiaochen... don't overwork yourself..."
"I'm not tired," Xiaochen replied lightly, though her hands never stopped moving. "Are you feeling any better today? Rest a bit after taking your medicine."
Qiyu stood outside the door, quietly watching the scene. The "wildcat" who had dared to splash ice water on him was now, like any ordinary, filial daughter, patiently cooking a simple porridge for her sick mother.
Somewhere deep inside him, he felt a faint stir—a mix of surprise, curiosity, and even a trace of something remarkably subtle... pity.
He did not push the door open.
Intruding now felt like a cruel disruption.
He retreated silently, turned, descended the stairs, and returned to his car.
Inside the vehicle, he remained silent for a moment before pulling out his phone and dialing Li Ming's number.
"Mr. Qi."
"What illness does Xiaochen Yan's mother have?" he asked bluntly, his tone betraying no emotion.
Li Ming, having clearly done his homework, responded immediately, "According to our investigation, it's chronic renal failure. She requires long-term medication and regular dialysis, which places a significant financial burden on the family. This is also the main reason Miss Yan is in urgent need of money."
Qiyu's gaze returned to the dilapidated building, his mind echoing with the image of the steaming porridge and that thin yet stubborn figure.
His lips parted slightly, his tone leaving no room for doubt:
"Contact the laboratory in the U.S. and arrange for the latest targeted specialty medication. Have it delivered through the fastest channel. Then," he paused, "find a discreet way to deliver it to her home anonymously. Do not let her know where it came from."
(End of Chapter 3)