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Time flies like an arrow—“The Mysterious Fall of Xing Jun” is now an old news story from five years ago.
Today, Wang Rong, as President of the Society of the Virgin Mary, stands on the vast playground of the Society’s primary school, presiding over the groundbreaking ceremony for the new campus.
The Society of the Virgin Mary Primary School has a history of over a hundred years. Originally, foreign nuns established it in the then-undeveloped small city so that girls from poor neighborhoods could receive an education. Across the street from the school is the nuns’ dormitory, and next to it are the community hospital and neighborhood clinic—all set up by the early nuns.
Over the years, however, the Society hadn’t developed much, quietly providing limited services to the city’s poor.
Wang Rong wore a pure white, elegant suit. Her long, black hair flowed over her shoulders as she stood on the podium, graceful as ever, surveying the distinguished guests below—many from the city’s political and business elites—feeling quite pleased with herself.
She thought: My mother, at last, has done something for her daughter.
Indeed, Wang Rong became President thanks to her mother. Wang Rong’s mother sent her daughter to the Society’s primary school because their home was just a block away, saving on transport, and because tuition, books, and uniforms were all free.
Wang Rong’s mother originally worshipped ancestors, but after Wang Rong married Fang Ming and life became comfortable, she began to “cultivate herself”—with nothing better to do, she decided to give back to society. She joined the Society’s volunteer team and, like her daughter, was baptized. Over more than ten years, she was promoted from volunteer to office manager, responsible for general affairs and well-liked by all.
She had watched her daughter’s struggles and ups and downs, but always had faith in Wang Rong. With her looks and abilities, finding “the next Fang Ming” would not be hard.
Still, Wang Rong was no longer young; to stand out, she’d have to create her own opportunities. Her mother knew that high-level positions in such charities were a shortcut to expanding social circles and gaining access to high society.
She suggested that Wang Rong, given her social standing and her mother’s connections, could be recommended as the Society’s treasurer—a public position that would also boost her image.
Wang Rong understood the principle: “You can never have too much money or too good an image.”
Her mother also hinted that the Society’s stagnation was due to internal corruption. Wang Rong, being clever, understood immediately.
Thus, Wang Rong became treasurer and soon uncovered a massive corruption scandal, leading to a complete overhaul of the Society’s management. The former president was held legally accountable, and Wang Rong naturally succeeded to the top post.
The scandal shocked society, and people praised Wang Rong’s courage, ability to act, and her skill in dealing with “bad guys.”
The media unanimously hailed her as “the goddess of law who wields legal justice against evil,” while the faithful saw her as “the church’s last guardian angel.”
To avoid accusations of nepotism, Wang Rong accepted her mother’s resignation as office manager, further strengthening her credibility.
In her second year as president, she proposed rebuilding the old, cramped school in a new town on the city’s outskirts, citing the school’s outdated facilities and the aging neighborhood.
The new campus would have a sports field, swimming pool, and multi-purpose teaching buildings to provide a healthy learning environment, continuing the Society’s mission, with free school buses for students traveling from other districts.
All planning and fundraising were led by Wang Rong, whose abilities and determination amazed everyone.
Although she was already one of the city’s most successful media figures and public personalities, it was only after becoming president of the Society that Wang Rong felt she had truly established her own place in society.
The sense of victory made her feel this was the happiest time of her life—even happier than her wedding day.
So, as she looked at the crowd’s admiring and even worshipful gazes from the podium, she felt as if she were standing on an altar. Today, she had chosen a dazzling pure white dress—right now, don’t I look just like the Virgin Mary?
Thinking this, Wang Rong’s crimson lips curled into a satisfied smile.
Sitting in a luxurious minivan, Wang Rong admired the skyline along the harbor through the window. Suddenly, her phone rang. She answered immediately.
“Brother Kun, mm, the ceremony is over... yes, I’m heading back to the office to finish up a few things.”
Wang Rong’s voice became unusually coquettish and feminine—a tone she hadn’t used with anyone for a long time.
Judy, her driver and assistant, arched an eyebrow but kept a neutral face.
“Mm... okay... I’ll come over tonight.”
Though Wang Rong lowered her voice for the last four words, Judy’s keen ears didn’t miss it.
“Judy, after you drop me at the office, you can get off work for the day,” Wang Rong said, instantly returning to her usual calm and gentle tone.
“Yes, Ms. Wang,” Judy replied crisply, her face expressionless but a mischievous glint in her eye.
Late at night, a dark blue sedan sped through winding suburban roads, illuminated only by faint yellow streetlights, the road flanked by darkness and trees. From above, it resembled a golden snake slithering through the grass.
Wang Rong drove alone, hands guiding the wheel through each bend.
Most women wouldn’t dare drive alone in the dark, remote suburbs at night—and certainly not with such ease.
But Wang Rong was a brave woman.
She felt her life was like the road—winding, but leading to her destination, as long as she chose the right path.
Her destination was a villa, hidden deep in suburban woods, extremely secluded. She parked, walked leisurely to the gray, minimalist villa.
Whenever she came here, she drove this old Japanese sedan—the kind any middle-class office worker could afford, so no one would suspect the owner’s identity.
She strolled in at ease; at this hour in this remote place, there was no chance of being seen. Every time Wang Rong and “Brother Kun” met in secret, it was here—he always chose the most hidden places in town.
Wang Rong shed her usual glamorous look, wearing only a white shirt and jeans. At the door, she entered the code and walked in.
Passing the entryway, she laughed coquettishly toward the couch, “Brother Kun.”
On the couch sat an elderly man with a full head of white hair. He stood to greet Wang Rong.
He was Bai Shikun.
The Bai family was a leading clan in the city, and Bai Shikun its current patriarch. Public estimates put the Bai fortune at hundreds of billions, with unknown hidden assets.
At seventy-two, Bai Shikun was still tall and straight, his eyes bright, nose high, and features sharp—one could imagine his youthful charisma.
A man ten years older than Fang Ming, but with a vitality that proved, if money couldn’t buy everything, it could at least buy some health and energy.
His face was lined with wrinkles.
But to Wang Rong, they were not ugly—if Fang Ming’s wrinkles spoke of hardship, Bai Shikun’s spoke of wisdom.
Bai Shikun was a famous tycoon and philanthropist, and—remarkably—a devoted husband. He and his wife, also of noble birth, had just celebrated their golden anniversary. Their three sons, all older than Wang Rong, were accomplished in their own fields.
This affair was different from the one with Xing Jun.
Now, Wang Rong no longer cared if Fang Ming found out—she was sure he would never bring up divorce again.
To her, that was enough.
Wai Cheung Garden, Tower One, Second Floor
Bang! Bang bang!
“Open the door! Open up, Xing Jun! Wang Rong! You shameless pair! Don’t think you can hide!” Fang Ming roared outside the apartment.
Inside, two lovers panicked.
“Jun! Hide somewhere—I’ll deal with him,” Wang Rong urged.
“Where can I hide? This place is tiny—he’ll find me anyway! Don’t open the door, he looks crazy—he might kill us!” Xing Jun warned.
Wang Rong was frantic. “What, let him stand out there all night calling us names? If he makes a scene, we’ll lose all face!” She burst into tears.
“Don’t panic, let me think... I’ve got it!” Xing Jun calmed, going to the bedroom and opening the window.
“Jun! What are you doing?” Wang Rong followed, alarmed.
He looked outside, then said, “Look there—a wide crossbeam, plenty big for one person to sit on.”
He pointed out the beam, which had several thick pipes attached. “Climb along the pipes from the window and you can get on the beam.”
Wang Rong was silent, then said, “No, it’s too dangerous—if you fall…”
“I won’t. It’s only four feet from the window to the beam,” Xing Jun replied confidently.
“Okay, I’ll close the door. When you go, I’ll answer the door—hug the wall and he won’t see you from outside. That’s the plan.” Xing Jun hurried her out.
This was what Wang Rong told the police and Fang Ming happened that night.
According to tabloids, after Xing Jun’s death, his family emigrated and vanished from public view.
“Sigh…five years have passed so quickly…” Alone in a café, Fang Ming read the newspaper’s coverage of the school’s groundbreaking and was lost in memory.
Seeing Wang Rong in white on the podium in the photo, he gave a bitter laugh, “Heh. Looks just like the White-robed Guanyin.”
Wang Rong had tried to convert her husband, but could not change his devotion to Guanyin, the Goddess of Mercy.
Now over sixty, especially since his son Fang Zheng left for the U.S. to study, Fang Ming felt listless. His wife was now never home, and he only learned of her from the news.
Since Xing Jun’s fall, Fang Ming no longer involved himself in Wang Rong’s affairs.
He felt he had lost that right.
He had even, after the incident, told the press he forgave his wife’s affair.
That was after Wang Rong knelt, sobbing and pleading with him.
“Brother Ming…please…say one word to them…just give me a way out…”
Moved by her tears, he agreed to this humiliating plea.
He knew: when Wang Rong’s image was shattered, if the “victim” husband stood up to forgive her, the public would see her as not beyond redemption.
And out of sympathy for Fang Ming, they would somewhat ease their criticism of Wang Rong.
But in doing so, Fang Ming’s dignity as a man was utterly destroyed. Both spouses understood this, and yet Wang Rong chose to sacrifice him to save herself. This broke Fang Ming’s heart.
He withdrew further, so much so he didn’t even have the courage to propose separation.
He had enough experience to read Wang Rong’s mind.
After the Xing Jun incident, he soon realized Wang Rong no longer loved him.
The reason they didn’t divorce was not nostalgia, but that maintaining the marriage helped her build her “repentant sinner” and “returning prodigal” image.
Now, Wang Rong was not the cheating wife, but the “Saintly Mother” who, after success, still stood by her down-and-out husband.
Now, Fang Ming was just a prop in her public persona—a brick in the altar she built.
He was in anguish, knowing his situation too well. But compared to divorce—with nothing left and losing his son—he weakly chose to stay in this humiliating, false relationship.
“Xing Jun! Go hide—I’ll handle him.”
“Hide? Where? He’ll find me! You’re not really opening the door, are you?” Xing Jun was panicking, his usual composure gone.
“I told you to hide outside—come with me!”
Wang Rong dragged Xing Jun to the bedroom.
Fang Ming didn’t understand why, but he followed, watching their performance.
In the bedroom, Wang Rong pointed to the open window.
Before he could react, Fang Ming was startled by Xing Jun’s sudden gaze.
“You saw it.” Xing Jun said, expressionless.
“Ah———!!!!!”
Fang Ming awoke with a scream. He sat up, gasping, sweat pouring down his face, too weak to wipe it away.
He jumped out of bed, turned on every light, and sat in the living room until he calmed down.
This was the third time in two months he’d had this dream.
He went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of strong liquor, and downed it.
Looking up, he stared at the wedding photo still hanging on the wall.
In the photo, he was dressed for the ceremony, beaming, and Wang Rong was radiant and youthful, smiling with happiness.
He had never been able to take it down.
Now, looking at Wang Rong in the photo, it seemed she was smiling at him. But that smile was no longer sweet—increasingly strange, increasingly chilling.
He stared at the photo for a long time, then put down the bottle, took a deep breath, and without a word, took down the poster-sized wedding photo, tore it in half, then went to the kitchen, took out a lighter and a red metal bucket for burning joss paper, and set the photo alight.
106Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsJ7WdgVLwa
End of Chapter Five
This story is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. The author’s intent is to explore the relationship between women’s fate and faith, not to target any actual individuals. Please note.
Copyright Statement:
Wang Rong’s Legend: The Making of a Saint on Earth,
Chapter Five: The Society of the Virgin Mary
All rights reserved.
No reproduction, copying, adaptation, transfer, translation, or commercial use by any means without written permission.
© Jing Xixian (King Heyin) (Vampire L), All rights reserved.
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