Three days before my due date, labor hit early.
2 a.m., Tomson Riviera penthouse. I was rolling on the floor in agony, amniotic fluid mixed with blood pooling everywhere.
Fu Juanzhou carried me to the elevator; I bit his shoulder so hard his white shirt turned crimson.
Gasping between contractions, I cursed him in Shanghainese:
"You fucking bastard… if I die today, scatter my ashes in the Huangpu so every man in Shanghai drinks my blood for the rest of their lives!"
His eyes were red but he forced a grin: "Shut up and push. If you die, I'm jumping in after you."
The VIP delivery ward was completely sealed. Twelve bodyguards outside.
The doctor mentioned C-section; I threw off the sheet, roared loud enough for the whole floor to hear:
"I'm pushing this kid out myself! Anyone tries to cut me gets stabbed first!"
Seventeen hours of hell. I couldn't tell blood from sweat anymore.
Tang Shi knelt outside the door all night, forehead bleeding against the tiles.
Gu Xinghe sat at the end of the corridor, knuckles white around the pen I once stabbed into his throat.
When the baby finally came, his cry sounded like a pig being slaughtered.
The nurse showed him to me. One look and I froze.
Tiny, wrinkled, but those pitch-black eyes—pure Fu Juanzhou.
I started sobbing harder than I had through labor.
Not from joy.
From hating myself for almost throwing away my blade for this little thing.
Fu Juanzhou dropped to his knees by the bed, forehead against my hand, voice broken: "Wife, thank you."
I slapped him, then dragged him in and kissed him hard: "Thank my ass. Make me hurt like that again and I'll castrate you."