Reborn As A Doomsday Villainess-Chapter 169: Grief doesn’t make you good

She scanned left and right, her gaze sharp, alert.

She had told him clearly, he wasn’t getting a room. No bed. No water. No food unless she gave permission.

He was supposed to sleep on the hallway floor. Like the unwanted rat he was.

Her expression darkened.

"He’s not here." she muttered, stalking down the corridor.

Meng Nian followed a few steps behind. "Maybe he curled up somewhere near the stairwell.."

She stopped suddenly.

A door to one of the rooms on the left was slightly ajar.

Her eyes narrowed. Quietly, she pushed it open.

There he was.

Zhang Yi curled up on the bed like he belonged there.

Fast asleep.

Blanket pulled neatly over him.

Pillow fluffed beneath his head.

As if he’d lived here for weeks.

Something inside her snapped.

He hadn’t even waited a day. She had told him—explicitly—that he had no room, no bed, no comfort. And yet here he was, curled up like a cat in a sunbeam, making himself at home in a haven built by her sweat, her planning.

Her breath left her in a slow, quiet exhale. Meng Nian, behind her, stilled when he saw her expression.

She walked in.

Not loudly.

Not slowly.

Just with that eerie, silent certainty of someone who had decided.

Her foot hit the edge of the bedframe.

Zhang Yi’s eyes fluttered open, drowsy, unfocused.

They focused fast when her fist slammed down into his chest, driving the air from his lungs in one brutal, unrelenting blow.

He gasped, choking, but she didn’t stop. Her fingers tangled in the blanket, yanking it off him in one savage pull.

"You really thought I was bluffing?" she said, voice like a knife sliding into skin. "You really thought I wouldn’t follow through?"

He tried to roll away. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him up off the bed like he weighed nothing.

"I told you to sleep on the floor," Qingran said coldly. "Did you think I was just performing for the crowd? Did you think I said it for fun?"

Zhang Yi’s mouth opened, but the slap landed before words could form. His head snapped sideways.

Meng Nian winced but didn’t interfere.

"You think you’re clever?" Qingran asked, low and controlled. "You think because you smile sweetly and speak softly that I’d let it slide?"

She hit him again—this time not with a slap but with her elbow, fast and hard into his ribs. He crumpled to the floor.

"Get up," she ordered.

He groaned, struggling to lift his head.

"Get up, Zhang Yi."

He got up.

She hit him again.

He staggered, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth now. "Stop—"

"You don’t get to ask me for anything," she said, voice trembling slightly now. Not from weakness. From control. From the effort it took not to kill him.

"You lied to get in here. You twisted words. And now you disobey me."

Zhang Yi held up a shaking hand.

"I was cold..."

"So was I."Qingran snapped.

"You don’t deserve this place," she said, stepping closer, her hands clenched. "But I let you stay because I wanted to watch you. You couldn’t even last one night without trying to crawl up into someone else’s warmth like a parasite."

She grabbed his arm and dragged him out into the hallway.

Meng Nian opened the door ahead of them.

She shoved Zhang Yi down onto the floor—hard. "You sleep here. You breathe here. You earn every scrap like the leech you are."

His eyes widened, face pale and slick with sweat. "Why do you hate me?" he gasped.

Qingran paused for only half a second.

Then she let him drop to the floor.

Her boot stepped neatly on his hand as he tried to move, pinning it.

"I don’t need a reason."

And maybe that was true.

But hatred—raw and simmering—burned behind her eyes.

He had no idea what he’d done to deserve it.

She wasn’t about to tell him.

She leaned down again, voice quiet and sharp. "You breathe here because I allow it. Don’t ever forget that. You try to take more than I give, I’ll take everything you have."

Then she stood and turned her back on him.

"Meng Nian," she called calmly, brushing nonexistent dust off her sleeve. "Strip the bedding. Take it upstairs. Disinfect the room. He sleeps in the hallway."

Meng Nian moved in without hesitation, already dragging the blanket off.

Zhang Yi groaned weakly from the floor, eyes unfocused.

"If I find you in another room again," Qingran added without turning, "I won’t stop at bruises."

And this time, he believed her.

Zhang Yi lay slumped against the wall, gasping in pain, fingers trembling where they clutched his bruised ribs.

His voice cracked as he spoke, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Please..." he whispered. "Don’t be cruel to me."

Qingran didn’t turn around.

"I’m just trying to survive. Like everyone else." His voice rose, desperate now. "I..I didn’t mean to offend you. I know I was wrong to come in here. I should’ve stayed on the floor. I just, I was so tired, and the hallway was so cold, and..."

His breath hitched. He clutched at the wall and pulled himself upright, swaying slightly.

"I’m not trying to be a parasite," he said hoarsely. "I’m not trying to take anything from anyone. I’m not a bad person. I’m just trying to live."

His words started tumbling faster, thick with emotion. "I watched my wife and child die. Buried under concrete. I was screaming for them, but I couldn’t, couldn’t reach them. My daughter was only five. Do you know what that does to a person? I’ve lost everything."

Tears spilled freely down his cheeks. "I’m just trying to survive for them. I want to live because they didn’t. Isn’t that enough?"

Qingran stood still.

Her back to him, head bowed slightly, as if she were listening.

Zhang Yi’s voice cracked with raw emotion. "You look at me like I’m filth, like I don’t belong here. But I walked through the same hell. I bled like everyone else. I carried bodies too. I buried friends too. I don’t deserve this hatred."

"I’m sorry.." he said, falling to his knees. "I’m sorry I took the bed. I should’ve asked. I should’ve followed your rules. I just please, please don’t treat me like a criminal. I’ve already lost too much."

Silence followed.

Qingran turned slowly.

Her face was unreadable. No anger. No pity.

Only ice.

"You think tragedy makes you worthy?" she asked quietly.

Zhang Yi looked up, chest heaving, his eyes red.

"You want me to believe you’ve suffered, so I’ll soften? So I’ll let you stay?" She took a step forward. "So you can sink into someone else’s sanctuary, because your life was hard?"

"I’m not lying," he whispered. "I loved them, my family"

"Maybe you did" she said, eyes narrowing. "But grief doesn’t make you good."