MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!
Chapter 112: Why do you have that face?

Chapter 112: Why do you have that face?

The world tilted.

Hua Jing’s breath came in short, rapid bursts as she stared at the man before her.

That face.

It wasn’t Zhao Yan.

It couldn’t be.

It was someone she never expected to see in this world.

A face that haunted her every waking moment in her past life. A face she had battled against, stood on equal ground with, and had even—

No.

Fu Jing Rong.

Her greatest rival. Her number one enemy in the entertainment industry.

And yet, here he was.

No. It was impossible.

Her mind reeled, desperately trying to piece together an explanation. Was she hallucinating? Was this another cruel trick played by this world?

She blinked, hard.

But when she opened her eyes, his face was still there.

The same sharp jawline, the same piercing gaze, the same infuriating smirk that used to drive her mad on stage.

But there was something different, too.

Zhao Yan’s voice.

The voice that had whispered her name before she collapsed in the torture chamber. The voice that had commanded fear and respect in the palace.

But how?

"Fu... Fu Jing Rong?" Her voice trembled as she barely managed to whisper the name.

She felt like she was going insane.

The man before her stiffened. His sharp eyes flickered for the briefest second before they narrowed, assessing her every reaction.

"You recognize me?" His voice was deep, controlled—but beneath it, there was something else.

A knowing.

Hua Jing’s chest rose and fell rapidly.

This couldn’t be Fu Jing Rong.

He shouldn’t exist here. He belonged to her past life. A world that she had left behind.

And yet, this face—this face that she had hated for years, the face that had stood against her in every major competition, the face she had thought she had left behind forever—was standing right in front of her.

"You—why do you have that face?" Her voice was hoarse, full of disbelief.

Zhao Yan’s brows furrowed slightly.

He stepped forward.

Hua Jing instinctively took a step back, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

"Why are you acting like you’ve seen a ghost?" Zhao Yan’s voice was calm, but his gaze burned with something deeper. "Who is Fu Jing Rong?"

His question snapped her out of her daze.

Right.

Of course.

He wouldn’t know that name.

Fu Jing Rong belonged to her world, not this one.

So why?

Hua Jing’s hands trembled as she clenched them into fists.

This wasn’t just a coincidence. It couldn’t be.

This world had already twisted fate in strange, cruel ways—was this another trick? Was she meant to suffer even here?

Zhao Yan watched her reaction closely, his head tilting slightly. His sharp gaze was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his expression.

Something almost like... recognition.

"You look like you’ve seen a demon," he said, voice laced with curiosity.

Hua Jing swallowed, her throat dry.

"You..." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Why do you look like him?"

Zhao Yan took another step forward, and this time, she didn’t step back.

His presence was overpowering, suffocating.

But Hua Jing refused to look away.

Hua Jing’s entire body tensed, her mind struggling to process what she was seeing.

Why now?

Why, out of all the faces in the world, did this man—this royal, this prince, this supposed future emperor—have to wear the same face as Fu Jing Rong?

It felt like some sick joke, like the universe was playing the cruelest trick on her.

Just when she had finally set her sights on power, on her path to becoming the empress, just when she had started to untangle her feelings for Zhao Yan—now this?

Now he had to remind her of the one person she hated most?

She felt the lingering fog of alcohol vanish as her thoughts cleared, replaced by a mix of frustration, confusion, and a slight sense of impending doom.

What kind of witchcraft was this?

The two men had always been similar in some ways. Their commanding presence. Their cold, unreadable gazes. Their talent.

But now?

They were the same person.

Hua Jing instinctively pulled away from him, detangling herself from his grasp like his touch burned her.

"Don’t follow me," she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended.

Zhao Yan remained silent, watching her with those dark, knowing eyes.

There was no shock on his face, no confusion, no demand for an explanation.

Only calm.

But beneath that calm, there was something else.

Something dangerous.

Something that made Hua Jing’s pulse race for an entirely different reason.

It was as if he knew what she was thinking.

As if he already understood why she was reacting this way—and yet, he wasn’t saying a word.

That only made her more frustrated.

Why wasn’t he asking questions?

Why wasn’t he pressing her for answers?

She took another step back, fists clenched.

"I said, don’t follow me!"

And then—she turned on her heels, marching away as fast as she could without outright running.

But she should have known.

Zhao Yan didn’t listen.

His footsteps were right behind her.

Hua Jing gritted her teeth, her breath shallow as she sped up, but no matter how fast she walked, he kept pace with her.

His presence was suffocating, pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t shake off.

She spun around, facing him head-on.

"What do you want?" she snapped, voice barely controlled.

Zhao Yan didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he simply gazed at her, eyes steady, unwavering.

Hua Jing hated how those eyes made her feel.

She had spent the past few weeks fighting off her growing attachment to this man, to the Zhao Yan she had come to know.

But now?

Now he had that face.

How was she supposed to handle this?

She had been on the verge of accepting her feelings for him.

But now, looking at him felt like looking at a ghost from her past life.

A ghost that had once been her biggest rival.

A ghost that had once taken everything from her.

A ghost she had vowed to surpass no matter what.

Her heart pounded violently in her chest, but she refused to acknowledge the reason why.

It was anger.

Yes, that was it.

Anger.

Frustration.

And nothing else.

Zhao Yan finally spoke, his voice low and unreadable.

"Are you running from me?"