Caught While Escaping Debt in the ’70s: The Rough Man’s Relentless Love for the Delicate Beauty
Caught While Escaping Debt in the ’70s: The Rough Man’s Relentless Love for the Delicate Beauty Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The sound of wolves howling drew closer and closer.

Jiang Henián instantly connected the terrifying bite wounds on He Jinshan’s leg with the current noise, and her whole body started trembling even harder. Tears of fear welled up in her eyes.

Mom! There are wolves here!!!

Her first instinct was to run. But in front of her was a pitch-black, terrifying void, and the howls echoed all around, rising and falling like a call to hunt.

Making a snap decision, she spun around and sprinted back, her worn cloth shoes slapping against the ground.

Bang!

The wooden door slammed shut behind her, offering barely any protection against the increasingly loud animal cries outside.

Shaking all over, Jiang Henián quickly moved toward the only dim source of light in the room.

Clumsily, she crawled onto the kang bed from the collapsed corner and huddled on the inner side—next to the unconscious man.

Terrified. Absolutely terrified.

That short dirt path, barely a dozen meters long, had felt like an endless minefield. She’d tripped and stumbled who-knows-how-many times. Now her limbs wouldn’t stop shaking.

As if on cue, the candle burnt out.

The only warm halo of light shrank and vanished before her eyes. Darkness returned, suffocating and absolute.

Jiang Henián sucked in a sharp breath, teeth clenched to stop herself from making a sound. She curled up tightly against the man’s side.

Moments later, she heard the thunderous sound of beasts sprinting past the house. The pounding of their hooves (or paws?) echoed right inside her chest.

Judging by the sound, there were multiple of them.

Not far away, shouts rang out from people, followed by a chorus of frenzied wolf howls that gradually faded into the distance—but never truly stopped.

After what felt like forever, silence returned.

Jiang Henián clung tightly to the man’s hot, muscular arm. Her big, cat-like eyes were wide and shimmering with tears.

In the next blink, the tears brimmed over and spilled down her cheeks, soaking into the cold, hard surface of the kang bed.

She sucked in quiet breaths, hugging that strong arm like it was her childhood teddy bear. Her face pressed into his shoulder, nose filled with a faint metallic scent of blood. Her heavy eyelids opened and closed, fighting to stay awake—until at last, they gave in.

“Mom… I want to go home…”

In the darkness, a pair of sharp eyes suddenly snapped open.

Calloused fingers shot out, aiming with deadly precision toward the source of warm breath beside him—only to find a soft, delicate neck under his hand.

His killing intent froze for a second.

He Jinshan looked down at the warm, clingy little thing curled tightly against his side. His sharp brows lifted slightly.

This kid?

His arm was wrapped in a death grip, buried in softness. He frowned slightly and tried to pull it back.

The moment he moved, pain exploded from every part of his body. At the same time, a flood of unfamiliar memories surged into his brain like a tidal wave.

After a long pause, He Jinshan reopened his eyes, a glimmer of something strange flickering in their depth.

Time travel?
This kind of absurd thing actually happened to him?

He had once walked freely along the edge of darkness—an elite mercenary who could march through gunfire alone, take out high-value targets like kicking soccer balls.
He was the top international wanted man of the International Security Alliance, and a living legend every country’s leaders tried to win over.

At 25, after outgrowing his rebellious streak, He Jinshan got bored of the endless kill games. He threw away fame and fortune, returned to China, and casually took out a recently-released psychotic old man. Then, in just three months, he wiped out all the warring factions of Haishi’s underworld and took the top seat.

From then on, he became the fearsome “He Yama”—Lord He.

By 28, He Jinshan had “mellowed out.”
Murder and looting were now a mood thing.
He preferred growing flowers and walking his dog, occasionally helping the police “solve problems” to balance karma.
Life was good.

Until now.

Haishi’s criminal police—bunch of rice-eating idiots—actually let some loser get the drop on him and shoot him.

He thought back to the moment he lost consciousness and then looked down at the girl in his arms—the same girl who had hit him with her crappy little Wuling van.

Moonlight filtered in through holes in the thatched roof, and with his excellent night vision, He Jinshan saw everything clearly.

The girl was holding his arm tightly, her soft, childish cheek pressed to his shoulder. Her breathing was shallow and steady against his chest. The tear-shaped mole at the corner of her eye was still there—like a wild kitten.

She was… sleeping soundly.

So this brat got pulled into this world with me?

In a matter of seconds, He Jinshan accepted this ridiculous premise without question.
He even generously let go of her neck, deciding not to strangle her.

Unaware she’d just danced with death, Jiang Henián smacked her lips, snuggled in closer, and tightened her hug. Her right leg flopped over his waist to find a more comfortable sleeping position.

“Hiss—”

He Jinshan sucked in a sharp breath, nearly convulsing from the pain.

He looked down at the delicate leg draped over his heavily bandaged thigh, then grabbed it with one hand and flung it off—none too gently.

“Mmm—don’t move!”

The girl shifted again, her leg flopping right back over him. One hand even came up to pat her squirming teddy bear, mumbling:

“Be good, Big Bear…”

Veins throbbed on He Jinshan’s forehead. Just as he was about to chuck the clingy little creature across the room, her sleepy mumble stopped him:

“Mmm… Mom… I want to go home…”

He Jinshan: “…”

I’m not your damn mom.

…Fine.

The kid came here because of him.
She couldn’t go home.
He’d tolerate her—for now.

Stiffly lying there, arms and legs racked with pain, He Jinshan stared at the thatched ceiling like some emotionless giant body pillow.

In this world, his identity was actually that of a proper soldier.

After being severely injured and honorably discharged, he’d been on his way home when he encountered enemy agents in disguise. He fought them off, got wounded worse, and they escaped. Then, right outside his village, he got attacked by wolves and passed out on his doorstep.

Tch. Pathetic.

Dust drifted lazily in the faint light. The surroundings were silent—only the gentle breathing beside his ear.

Gradually, He Jinshan began to adapt to this new body and its bone-deep pain.

Then suddenly, something flickered in his eyes. He tilted his head, listening carefully.

It wasn’t an illusion. There was a sound—subtle, barely perceptible.

A wet, sinewy tearing noise—like muscles and tissues regenerating at high speed.
A mysterious power seemed to be accelerating his healing.

The corners of his thin lips curled up.
Interesting.

All of He Jinshan’s heightened senses—sight, hearing, smell, touch—were returning fast. Everything felt amplified and sharper.

His amused smile suddenly froze as his gaze shifted toward the petite body clinging to his left arm.

Too soft.

Like being buried in hot, bouncy cotton.

Softer than that custom sponge cake he once ate at a spicy-tempered Russian private chef’s house.

And she smelled sweet, too.
Temptingly sweet.

Veins popped on the strong arm resting on the stone bed, his long fingers twitching.

He Jinshan, are you a beast?

He drew in a deep breath, lifted his hand, and ruthlessly jabbed his mummy-wrapped abdomen with a calloused thumb.

Pain shot up several notches.

Perfect. Fully awake now.

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