Chapter 9

*The Ex-Wife Too Fragile to Fend for Herself*
The first time Bai Shuzhou said her name, a slap full of hatred had followed.
The first time she said “come here,” the mask had been cool; the sudden lips had been soft.
That beautiful voice could always tug Zhu Yu’s joy and sorrow—fear was real, hope was real, and she could not refuse.
Just meeting those pale blue eyes, Zhu Yu could not imagine anyone cruel enough to hurt her—let alone kidnap a daughter as leverage—
Stop thinking about daughters!
However little she knew of this world, she knew you could not get pregnant from a kiss. The kiss was probably Bai Shuzhou’s last line—she was almost an ex-wife; to cling further would be rude!!
Zhu Yu forced her gaze away. The whole room smelled of food. A large rice cooker had appeared; white steam rose from the vent.
Helan stood with arms crossed, expression complicated. The girl never noticed—whether openly or in stolen glances, her attention stayed on Bai Shuzhou, with only the clumsiest pretense otherwise.
In thought a hundred turns; in reality Zhu Yu only walked over and answered, feigning calm: “I’m back.”
Bowls stacked high on the wooden table. Through that little porcelain mountain, the woman’s face had filled out slightly, color in her cheeks; her voice was still flat: “How was work?”
Bai Shuzhou was actually asking about her. Zhu Yu was so flattered she pinched her wrist. “Pretty good. Easy work. Everyone’s kind. Lunch included—I met a great colleague.”
“Really?” Two thin lips brushed together.
Their eyes met. On that unbearably beautiful face, indifference rippled into something else. She smiled.
It was the first time Zhu Yu had seen Bai Shuzhou smile. Pale blue eyes curved like a moon—not a full moon, but sharp, ridged light.
A moment of silence; a moment like ten thousand horses charging in her head.
No beacon fires, no King You of Zhou—only a small person stupidly staring up at the moon.
Mockery or false warmth—Zhu Yu could not tell. She only knew the curve of those lips was real, like shadows on the moon, making those distant emotions feel human.
The girl said nothing. Pinching her wrist was what she did when emotions ran high. Bai Shuzhou was satisfied. She lowered her eyes, hiding bone-deep cold, and would not spare her another glance.
Born poor, Zhu Yu had bought luxury in droves after rising on the imperial star. Drunk, in an Alanka silk gown half open, she had poured imperial rose wine over herself, red liquid tracing collar and chest, raising an empty glass to no one in particular.
She had said: “I will never, ever go back to how things were before.”
“I’ll have money, power, reputation—everyone should kneel at my feet—”
Bai Shuzhou still remembered their first meetings, when Zhu Yu shared her part-time days—playing the diligent, resilient little flower while hating every swallowed insult.
“Why can’t you see how hard the bottom of society works, Your Highness the Princess?”
I see you, Zhu Yu.
Since you love to perform—
Replay all that suffering you described, for me?
Bai Shuzhou took the handkerchief, wiped her fingers, lifted her brows, leaned back against the bed, and smiled at Helan.
The smile was light, weightless. Helan could not bear it and looked away.
Helan glanced at Heming running about happily, then at Zhu Yu, and sighed softly. “Xiaoyu, come outside with me.”
That tone—Zhu Yu’s stomach dropped, as if this were the final announcement in a hospital ward, the doctor deliberately calling family out.
No, no—Bai Shuzhou would live to a hundred!
Helan chose her words. “There’s good news and bad. Which do you want first?”
“The bad.”
“The bad is—your sister may have injured her spine, not just her leg. Do you understand what I mean?”
Helan paused. “She might be paralyzed. Never walk again. Treatment could cost hundreds of thousands—even if she heals, there’ll be lasting damage.”
Silence stretched. The moon fell, grew huge before her eyes, then everything went white.
Zhu Yu knew how much Bai Shuzhou loved ballet—years of practice, every movement near perfect, chief dancer while still young, performances sold out.
Even a hostile federation leader had once said “art knows no borders” and invited the princess for exchange.
She was the empire’s rose, creation’s favorite; every laurel only described one facet.
This outcome was unbearable.
No wonder Bai Shuzhou would blacken. If someone broke her hands and ended the work she loved, Zhu Yu would want to strangle them too.
“And the good news?” The voice scraped up from her throat, odd.
Helan patted her shoulder. “Good news—her appetite’s still good. Eating is a blessing. Things will slowly improve.”
Appetite—quite good. When Bai Shuzhou ate a third bowl of noodles Helan worried she’d burst; by the thirteenth dish Helan only wondered how much more she could eat.
Seeing Zhu Yu’s blank ignorance, Helan sighed inwardly. The princess had probably been hungry a long time. On a poor planet, a big appetite felt almost sinful.
Helan had eaten heavily since childhood and understood. When their mother was laid off, the family lived on the cheapest near-expiry nutrient fluid—how many on this star survived that way.
The big factory was here partly for cheap labor, partly because interstellar food law let defective product be sold on-site cheaply with no liability—and people were grateful.
“She didn’t want you told she was sick—probably worried about money. Just feeding her is costly. You’re still in school; you need star tickets, right?”
Zhu Yu pinched her wrist and nodded.
Hurt this badly, and Bai Shuzhou still hid it.
Again she saw the woman biting her lip, tears at the corners—too proud to accept pity.
The original scumbag might have mocked the injury as a weapon.
Her pain had been a toy to play with.
Why hadn’t the guard corps come for her? Your princess is in my hands!
For a moment Zhu Yu even thought of extreme stunts to draw official notice—but on a junk planet, no one cared.
No one knew the broken craft she hid had been a military prototype; no one believed a D-rank Alpha could pilot scrap through a high-difficulty warp jump.
Even ace pilots treated warp with terror—one error and collapsed space swallowed you whole.
They should have died in fire. The enraged emperor ordered bones found before death could be declared—kidnapping, conspiracy—they must still be fleeing!
Zhu Yu knew nothing of the shaking politics. She only knew she needed money. A lot of money.
Without it they went hungry; Bai Shuzhou could not be cured.
At home Zhu Yu had never worried—mother was often away, but her sister fixed everything.
Now it was her turn to carry the weight.
Helan sighed, knocked her reddened wrist away, checked the door was shut, and lowered her voice. “If you don’t mind, I can introduce you to a bar night shift. Pay’s high—six hundred a night, plus commission on drinks, but—”
At six hundred plus commission Zhu Yu’s face lit up. “I’ll go!”
Helan had not expected such quick agreement. The crumpled paper in her palm was useless. She turned serious.
“On paper it’s a bar; really it’s smuggling—empire and federation goods resold here. If you go, remember: talk less, work more, take the base wage, don’t touch what you shouldn’t. That side’s gangs and star pirates. Understood?”
“Save for two star tickets. Third-tier systems, big cities—not like here. Someone might catch you if you fall—at least—” Helan did not finish.
“Thank you. I understand.” Zhu Yu bowed, earnest.
“Also—just pay for food. Forget rent.”
Zhu Yu hesitated. “That’s not fair. You raise Heming alone. I can fix more scrap—earn money. Repair was my major; I’ve worked on aircraft too.”
At “aircraft” Helan’s eyes flickered. She pressed her lips and swallowed what she almost said.
The yard they rented had been abandoned years with no real owner—she just lived nearby and knew how to pick locks.
“You can really fix ships?”
“Yes.” Last life’s machines—but principles stayed the same. You could not stomp one foot on the other and fly.
Zhu Yu looked at her hopefully, wanting repair work introduced.
Helan only patted her and told her to do well for now.
When Zhu Yu left, Helan studied her—especially those long-fingered hands.
After a moment Helan called, “Heming, home. You planning to sleep over?”
Heming popped up, obliviously cheerful. “Can I? There’s a floor bed!”
“Sure. Then don’t come home.”
“Hey!” Heming stomped, then ran out, waving. “See you tomorrow, sis!”
The room went quiet again.
Bai Shuzhou lowered her eyes, waiting for Zhu Yu to drop the act. Money had always been her knot—slum-born, vain and insecure, forever selling deep feeling.
And now, round and round, back to the starting point she hated most.
Bai Shuzhou knew what Zhu Yu cared about: money, power, face. Years of shortcuts—how could she truly accept labor?
Yet the girl quietly served herself rice and ate in big, almost devout mouthfuls.
Helan’s new pot rice—little salted pork, cheap and filling—warm in the stomach.
Helan was right: full belly, strength—everything could slowly get better.
She took the washed mini hot pot from the yard, opened it under the bulb, rewired a section—hands still skilled, done in minutes. The red indicator lit; Zhu Yu smiled, satisfied.
From the bed Bai Shuzhou watched coldly as she brought broken appliances in one by one, repaired them, lined them up—old machines like mushrooms filling the room.
That focused gaze, wrist lifting—strangely reassuring.
Bai Shuzhou watched a long time without meaning to. Heavy lashes blinked; weariness pulled them down.
Zhu Yu came to the bed, face through the gauze, whispering: “Are you asleep?”
Bai Shuzhou ignored her. The girl kept standing like a dog guarding a bone—even eyes closed, that annoying presence was strong.
A cold sound left Bai Shuzhou’s nose.
Zhu Yu answered fast. “Can I heal you with my ability? And massage? Don’t worry—my mental power’s recovered a lot. I can help you get better faster.”
She asked—but her hands were already spreading the blanket, warm palm settling down.
Bai Shuzhou lifted pale blue eyes. “No one’s worried about you.”
Zhu Yu met her gaze seriously. “But I’m worried about you.”
Through thin cloth, warm light flowed under her palm; fine current pierced skin. Bai Shuzhou bit her lip; her clenched fist trembled silently.