What to Do After Being Transported into a Mature-Themed Novel and Caught in a Storm of Passion - Chapter 103

“Don’t be afraid, Zhixiao. I’ve been shot before, and this bullet didn’t hit anything vital. I’ll be okay.”

That day dragged on until evening, yet no doctor arrived. Even the regular meal delivery ceased. Pu Feide studied Xue Zhixiao’s face, noticing how she clenched her jaw to suppress fear and worry. Her fingers trembled as she checked his back for fresh blood, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. The sight filled him with guilt. Over the past days, he had reassured her they were merely detained for a short while and that no harm would come to them. Now, his promises felt hollow.

“Oh, it’s my fault,” Xue Zhixiao choked out between sobs. “I got you into this. He aimed at me.”

Her words made Pu Feide’s chest tighten with a mix of sorrow and absurd fondness. With a slow, careful motion, he raised his uninjured arm and pulled her against him, letting her damp cheek press into his bandaged shoulder. His fingers traced gentle circles on her back as he murmured, “Silly girl, you’re talking nonsense.”

Xue Zhixiao clung to his waist, her sobs quieting into shaky breaths, but the tears kept coming, soaking through the layers of cloth wrapped around his wound. Pu Feide continued whispering comforts, guiding her to release the tension coiled inside her for days. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, and she slumped against him in sleep.

He sighed, closing his eyes. They could no longer afford to wait.

Even isolated in the mine, Pu Feide could piece together the factions’ clashes. The middle-aged man who had come earlier had once served three years in the prime minister’s cabinet. Pu Feide had left him in place to maintain balance, but now the right-wing faction was forcing their hand. They had pushed these officials to confront the “anti-coup” protests, hoping to leverage the royal family’s voice to pacify the crowds.

If Pu Feide appeared now, it would signal the crown’s endorsement of their coup—a tacit approval of their leader’s rise.

He had refused outright. “Jin Yuping will not succeed,” he told the man.

They underestimated him, assuming he was just a businessman who knew nothing of their games.

A sharp throb pulsed through his back, a reminder of the bullet likely lodged near his shoulder blade. Without treatment, the wound would fester. Before he could dwell on it, faint footsteps echoed through the mine’s hollow silence.

More visitors had arrived.

Pu Feide woke to a stabbing pain in his back. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, and his first thought was of Xue Zhixiao. Relief washed over him when he found her asleep beside him, unharmed.

“Zhixiao,” he called softly, nudging her awake.

When she stirred, they took stock of their new surroundings: a warehouse spanning at least two hundred square meters, its doors and windows sealed shut. The air carried the earthy scent of wood and the sharp tang of drying paint. Half-finished Buddha statues filled the space—some towering like buildings, others small enough to cradle in a palm.

“They must have found us and moved us to another prison,” Pu Feide mused, equal parts amused and resigned. He hadn’t expected so many players to target him, but at least they hadn’t harmed Xue Zhixiao.

Catching her helpless expression, he bent his head and apologized again, sincerity weighing his words.

Xue Zhixiao cut him off with a weak laugh, her concern for his wound overriding her own fear. “Thanks to you, I’ve seen your country’s specialty production site. When we get out, you owe me souvenirs to calm my nerves.”