Chapter 601: Peeling a Layer of the Fox’s Skin

The pain made Bernice’s vision swim with black spots. Her arm felt like it was on fire, so agonizing that her heart seemed to clench with every throb. Someone noticed her terrible state and hurried off to find a train attendant.

"You did that on purpose! Someone, call the police! Arrest this assailant!"

Bernice screamed. Despite the intense pain, she clearly remembered Jim Thorne bumping into her deliberately. Just moments before, the train had been running smoothly. No one else was passing by; it was just the two of them, and the corridor wasn’t even crowded. ’If that wasn’t on purpose, what was?’

"I... I didn’t do it on purpose... This is my first time on a train, I don’t know anything... I’m sorry, I’ll pay you..."

Jim Thorne put on a timid, fearful act. He pitifully pulled out a handful of money—all small bills and change, adding up to less than a single yuan. He had the large bills hidden under the soles of his feet, with the rest stashed in a small pocket sewn into his underwear. His uncle had told him to always hide his money well when traveling and that inside your shoes and underwear were the best places to do it.

He had originally kept a few yuan in his pocket, but after buying meat buns and tea eggs from the dining car, he only had some change left. He wouldn’t feel the slightest regret giving all of it to this vixen.

When the other passengers saw Jim Thorne’s plain clothes, his timid and cowering demeanor, and the fact that he had no money, they assumed he was just a country bumpkin. They naturally became more forgiving toward him and even started to persuade Bernice.

"He’s just a kid. It really wasn’t on purpose."

"Yeah, just chalk it up to bad luck."

The passengers’ placating words only infuriated Bernice. ’What do they mean, "chalk it up to bad luck"?’ It was obvious this little bastard had done it on purpose. Bernice refused to listen, insisting that she would report it to the police. It wasn’t about the money; she just wanted this little bastard punished.

Besides, Bernice was terrified her arm would be scarred. Her skin wasn’t particularly fair or delicate to begin with; all those years of reclaiming farmland in the Northeast—exposed to the wind, sun, and dry northern air—had taken their toll. She had spent the last two years using countless expensive skincare products to painstakingly nurse it back to health. If she was left with a scar now, she could just kill the little bastard.

"Where are the railway police? Somebody get them over here! Don’t let this assailant get away! Arrest him! Put him in jail... AAGH... Is there a doctor? The pain is killing me..."

Bernice shrieked, losing all her composure and looking a complete mess. The passengers were quite helpful; some went to find the railway police and a doctor, while others continued to tell Bernice not to stoop to a child’s level.

With everyone bustling about, no one was paying attention to Jim Thorne anymore. He kept his head down, looking pitiful, but inwardly he was thrilled. ’I’ll have to tell Adrian Hawthorne,’ he thought. ’I got revenge for him and peeled a layer of hide off that vixen.’

The train attendant and a railway police officer arrived, accompanied by a middle-aged woman. She was a doctor who had heard the onboard announcement about an injured passenger and came to help.

"This is a rather serious burn. You should get off at the next station and go to a hospital to have it treated. It could get infected in this heat."

The doctor examined Bernice’s wound, her expression grave. It was a hot day, the water had been boiling, and the fabric of her clothes was now stuck to her skin. She would have to go to a hospital; there was nothing the doctor could do for her on the train.

"Will it scar?" Bernice asked anxiously. She was drenched in a cold sweat, and her mind was growing hazy from the pain.

The doctor looked troubled, unwilling to give a direct answer. "If you get the wound properly treated at the hospital," she said tactfully, "it will heal much faster."

In truth, a burn of that size was guaranteed to leave a scar, and not a small one at that. The poor woman was the victim of a truly undeserved disaster.