Quick Transmigration: The Sweetheart Everyone Loves Is Stuck in Romantic Chaos Every Day - Chapter 113

Ruan Tang tilted her head in thought.

She had already promised Qi Xiu earlier that if it got too late, she would call him to pick her up. So she didn’t agree to Ji Jing.

She only answered vaguely: “It shouldn’t be too late. Ji Jing-ge, you go take care of your work. Bye-bye~”

Ji Jing couldn’t press her further. He could only watch helplessly as Ruan Tang stepped into the bar, though the frustration in his chest simmered hot.

Should he tell the family head and have Miss Ruan Tang pulled out of the entertainment industry altogether?

But then, when he recalled how happy she looked while acting, the words stuck in his throat.

In the end, all he could do was find a way to watch her more closely, to keep those messy men from getting near her.

“Tang Tang, over here!”

He Yan waved from a booth.

Ruan Tang wasn’t used to these kinds of places and squeezed nervously through the packed crowd.

Someone bumped her hard, and she nearly stumbled forward—

—when a strong arm suddenly steadied her waist.

She straightened up and turned, only to see a tall man standing beside her.

A cigarette dangled loosely at his lips, his sharp features carrying the arrogance of a lone wolf.

He looked at Ruan Tang as well, his expression pausing faintly.

The kaleidoscopic lights fell across her delicate face.

She looked like a sprite who had accidentally stepped into the mortal world. Her peach blossom eyes were clear and pure, reflecting his shadow back at him.

Even though she wore a mask, just half her face was enough to tell—she was stunning.

“Thank you!”

Ruan Tang’s eyes curved as she gave him a sweet smile, obedient and polite.

Ao Wang’s throat bobbed, but before he could speak, she had already turned and left.

Tonight she wore a little black dress with a cinched waist, perfectly outlining her graceful curves.

Ao Wang lowered his gaze to his hand. He could still feel the lingering softness of her slim waist pressed against his palm.

In his mind, an image surfaced unbidden—

The girl pinned against a wall, his large hand gripping that fragile waist. Even with the lightest pressure, her delicate skin would surely bruise with faint finger marks.

His throat went dry.

“Brother Wang, what are you spacing out for? It’s almost your turn on stage.”

“…Yeah. I’m coming.”

The younger man blinked. “Brother Wang, did you drink? Why’s your voice so hoarse?”

Ao Wang shot him a fierce glare, shoving him aside irritably before striding toward the stage.

The kid was stunned.

Was… was Brother Wang blushing?! Surely he hadn’t seen wrong?

“Tang Tang, sit down quick, Ao Wang’s about to perform!”

He Yan dragged Ruan Tang onto the plush sofa, her face glowing with excitement.

Ruan Tang was still a little dazed. “Ao Wang? Who’s that?”

Hands clasped reverently in front of her chest, He Yan’s expression turned dreamy. “He’s my male bodhisattva.” (t/n: “bodhisattva” here is figurative, describing someone who appears serene, selfless, and above worldly affairs.)

Ruan Tang had just taken a sip of orange juice and almost spat it out.

“Pfft.”

“Tang Tang, you don’t get it. These days, men who are both handsome and fit are rare! If he’s handsome and muscular, and he wears so little on stage—how can he not be a male bodhisattva?”

After finishing her explanation, He Yan smacked Ruan Tang’s arm in excitement.

“Look, look! He’s on stage!!”

Ruan Tang followed her gaze. Amid the cheers, a man carrying a guitar stepped onto the stage.

It was the same tall stranger who had caught her just moments earlier.

He wore only a black tank top, his chest and arm muscles taut and sculpted. Hormones practically radiated off him, sending the crowd of girls into piercing screams.

Around his neck hung a silver cross pendant. As he strummed his guitar with wild abandon, the pendant swung lightly across his chest, glinting together with the silver stud in his ear.

His voice was raspy and magnetic, and when he hit the chorus, that deep, rough timbre nearly blew the roof off.

The fangirls below were practically fainting from excitement.

Ruan Tang clutched her glass of orange juice with both hands, worry clouding her face.

“Is… is his throat okay?”

He Yan burst out laughing. “Silly, that’s just how this singing style works!”

Ao Wang only sang one song before leaving.

He was the bar’s signature resident singer, and every song he performed was his own original. In City A’s underground rock circle, he was already a household name.

“I heard he’s planning to move into the mainstream. Some companies even approached him. But after digging into his background, they all gave up.”

Ruan Tang tilted her head. “Why?”

He Yan lowered her voice, leaning close to Ruan Tang’s ear.

“Ao Wang’s father went to prison—for some pretty serious crimes. Even though Ao Wang was abandoned young, he’s still blood-related. That stain follows him no matter what.”

Her face showed a flicker of unease.

“We’re all his fans, but none of us dare get too close. What if those genes are inherited? And honestly, he looks so fierce… maybe he really does have violent tendencies—”

Ruan Tang blinked. “No, he’s very gentle.”

She remembered how he had steadied her earlier, only to pull away immediately, as if afraid she might misunderstand.

There wasn’t anything fierce about that at all.

He Yan sighed. “Tang Tang, you’re too innocent. Be careful not to get tricked.”

Ruan Tang stayed a little longer in the bar.

Near nine o’clock, she recalled both Qi Xiu and Ji Jing’s reminders to return early, so she said goodbye to He Yan and stepped out alone.

It was still early. She decided to grab a cab home, so as not to trouble Qi Xiu.

But as she passed a dim alley beside the bar, she caught a noise.

Ruan Tang startled. “Wh-was that a ghost?!”

She listened harder. Summoning her courage, she edged into the darkness.

By the light of the moon, she saw a man collapsed on the ground.

It was Ao Wang.

Blood streamed from a gash on his forehead, spilling down his rugged, defiant face, giving him a frightening look.

Ruan Tang quickly pulled out her phone and dialed 120. (t/n: 120 is China’s emergency medical number, equivalent to 911 for ambulances.)

After calling for help, she rushed to his side, pulling a handkerchief from her bag to carefully dab at the blood.

But it wouldn’t stop—just kept flowing, more and more.

Her hands trembled, tears welling rapidly.

“Don’t cry… hold on. The ambulance is coming. You’ll be okay…”

Her soft, trembling voice was laced with desperation, unbearably pitiful.

Ao Wang’s eyes flicked open.

The first thing he saw was Ruan Tang’s tear-streaked face, her reddened eyes glistening as crystalline drops fell—splattering across his lips with a faint, salty taste.

His heart pounded wildly.

He didn’t know if he was going to die.

But before that, there was something even more important he had to ask.

In his raspy, low voice, Ao Wang murmured: “…You…”

Ruan Tang thought he was leaving his last words. She bent closer, pressing her ear to his lips to catch them clearly.

His lips brushed her sensitive ear as he spoke, voice rough but magnetic.

“…What’s your name?”

Ruan Tang froze.

What kind of… last words were those?