WBSGVS Chapter 214 V1

The danger wasn’t directed at her, but Qingli still froze and quickly stepped aside.

Seeing the man charging forward, the guy who had just been clutching his crotch instinctively tried to hide behind Qingli. The man holding the knife immediately changed direction and came at her instead.

Qingli twisted her body to the side just in time, fully exposing He Tianzhuo.

“Schlick!”
The knife that had been aimed at her ended up stabbing the man right in the spot he had just taken a blow to.

“Aaaaghh—!”
A scream even more blood-curdling than before filled the private room, louder than the deafening music. The man who had been stabbed stood frozen in terror, clutching the fruit knife and yelling desperately, “Help me! Somebody help!”

The attacker, clearly realizing he’d lost control and stabbed someone in a fit of rage, turned and bolted from the room.

Good grief. Qingli felt a chill run down her spine—she had nearly taken the hit for him.

The room was now in utter chaos. The women who’d been laughing flirtatiously moments before were now screaming and diving behind the sofas.

Shrill screams from the women mixed with the panicked yelling of the injured man.

The investors who’d been lounging around in blissful comfort scrambled to flee the scene, terrified out of their minds.

As they rushed out the door, someone shouted, “Call the cops! Somebody’s been stabbed!”

The club’s alarm went off almost instantly, and security rushed in.

Qingli quietly stepped to the side, watching the chaos unfold with cold detachment. She let out a sigh—this was the modern world, not the ancient one she’d lived in before. She had to follow the rules now. It meant that scumbag would get to live a little longer.

Soon, the ambulance arrived. The injured man, now a complete wreck but too afraid to pass out after being stabbed in the groin, was loaded onto a stretcher.

As they carried him out, one of the medics called out, “Is any family here? Family? Anyone?”

The investors had long since been escorted to safety—none of them cared to answer. Qingli stood there so quietly it was as if she wasn’t even present. No one responded, so the medics left quickly.

Then the police arrived and took everyone in for questioning.

Qingli followed them obediently. At the station, she answered every question truthfully. She wasn’t the only witness, and she didn’t lie about anything. On top of that, she was the wife of the victim, so the police released her fairly quickly.

By the time she left the station, it was deep into the night.

Her phone was silent—no messages, no missed calls. The screen displayed the time: 2:00 a.m.

Using the scattered bits of memory now surfacing in her mind, Qingli called a cab and returned to the apartment.

It was a luxurious two-story penthouse, decked out in a bright, grandiose European style. The moment the door opened, she was greeted by a wall of photographs—some with friends, but most with that man from earlier.

Both of them looked genuinely happy in the photos.

Especially the woman—her eyes practically overflowed with love when she looked at him.

But Qingli knew better. That same man had just choked her until she nearly passed out. Whatever love he once had was long gone.

Qingli closed her eyes and tried to absorb the original host’s memories. Soon, the 33-year life of the woman named Su Qingli played out before her.

Su Qingli was a famous screenwriter in the entertainment industry, pen name “Liuli.” She’d shown her talent at age 20 with a well-received short film.

At 23, she had a small TV series under her belt and met He Tianzhuo, a talented and charismatic director ten years her senior.

Su Qingli was beautiful, gentle, and pure. He Tianzhuo fell for her at first sight and pursued her relentlessly.

She was naïve and stubborn. Even though she liked him, she refused to date him unless he was serious about marriage. So, He Tianzhuo proposed.

Caught up in the emotion, she agreed. The only thing they disagreed on was that He Tianzhuo didn’t want children.

At first, Su Qingli resisted the idea. But she was soft-hearted, deeply in love, and convinced by his long-term plan: earn money now, retire in comfort later, and maybe have a younger relative take care of them. He promised he’d leave his estate to whoever did.

Eventually, she agreed. No kids.

They lived as a child-free couple, spending their downtime together, enjoying a few truly sweet years.

Su Qingli was remarkably talented. Every script she wrote turned a profit. With her work, He Tianzhuo was nominated for Best Director six times and won once over the next decade.

By the time Qingli arrived in this world, Su Qingli was 33. Years of working late into the night had aged her—she now had wrinkles and dark spots.

He Tianzhuo, at 43, wasn’t much better off. The stress of directing, the constant negotiations, the endless socializing—it had all taken a toll. He’d gained weight, too.

But women rarely leave their husbands just because of aging. Su Qingli remained a loyal, devoted wife.

Still, she could tell she wasn’t as attractive to him anymore. He Tianzhuo’s business dinners became more frequent, and lately, he rarely came home.

That night, she’d called him over and over, saying she missed him. He replied he’d be home later—he had a meeting.

Su Qingli hadn’t minded. She even made him a soup to help him recover from all the late nights.

She waited and waited, and by 11 p.m., he still hadn’t come back. Desperate, she called his assistant and then rushed to the club, where the fight had happened.

That’s where the memory ended—the moment Qingli entered.

Something wasn’t right.

Normally, the original host’s full memories would be accessible once their life ended. Even without a formal storyline, she’d usually receive the full record of their experiences.

But this time, there was nothing.

Qingli frowned deeply.

Could it be like last time—that the main story characters hadn’t shown up yet, so the system hadn’t activated?

Forget it. One thing at a time.