Chapter 108: Spring Approaches

Dense snow fell, blanketing the branches in a white veil. Behind Song Qingyou stretched an endless expanse of whiteness, catching the light on the windowsill as though she were a celestial maiden descending to the mortal realm.

Fu Wenzhou stared, momentarily entranced, until Song Qingyou’s soft, gentle voice drifted to his ears and his heart skipped a beat without warning.

He had failed to catch a single word.

Fu Wenzhou’s throat worked visibly; his eyes grew dark. “Qiyou, what did you just say?”

Song Qingyou lifted her brows with playful mischief. “Call you baby.”

Fu Wenzhou’s breath caught, his voice dropping low and husky, threaded with unmistakable delight. “What did you call me? Say it again.”

Song Qingyou shook her head and stepped forward, gently pushing his wheelchair. “That name is childish.”

Fu Wenzhou countered with perfect logic. “Where is it childish? Xu Zedan’s girlfriend calls him that!”

Song Qingyou nodded. “I’m not Xu Zedan’s girlfriend.”

Fu Wenzhou’s expression froze.

His brows drew tight, gaze turning sinister. “You’re mine!”

Song Qingyou pressed her lips together, the picture of innocent exasperation. “I never said I wasn’t yours. Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Impossible. You must call me baby.” Fu Wenzhou gave a cold snort. “Or call me brother. Pick one.”

Song Chang had just emerged from the kitchen when he overheard the exchange. His jaw nearly dropped.

So the young master Fu was actually so thoroughly spoiled with the young lady in private?

And now the young lady was supposed to address him as brother. If he remembered correctly, the young lady was three years older than young master Fu. How could she ever call him brother?

Song Chang felt a series of thunderclaps rumble directly overhead.

Fu Wenzhou paid no heed to onlookers. His entire attention remained fixed on Song Qingyou.

Song Qingyou, however, felt the weight of Song Chang’s elder status like an invisible hand pressing down on her. The scene of flirtation caught in the act by a family elder was mortifying; she wished the floor would open beneath her.

Song Chang cleared his throat, shattering the charged silence. “Well then, young master Fu, young lady, shall we eat?”

Song Qingyou answered in a stammer, eyes dropping. She caught sight of Fu Wenzhou’s lips parting again and quickly clapped a hand over his mouth, shooting him a sharp warning glance. He huffed in protest but obediently closed it.

Throughout the meal, Fu Wenzhou instinctively plucked every last fish bone from Song Qingyou’s bowl. She refused, selecting a few herself and placing them carefully into his own. He accepted them with quiet delight, savoring the fish as though it had been sweetened by magic.

Afterward, Song Qingyou wheeled him to the bedroom and helped him lie down to rest. The doctor arrived for a thorough check, prescribed medication, and demonstrated a series of gentle massage techniques.

Though nothing had been broken or dislocated, she worried that prolonged immobility might leave his legs stiff and uncomfortable. Therefore she listened with undivided focus.

Doctor’s footsteps faded down the corridor. Fu Wenzhou immediately began to pester her again. “Qiyou, say it one more time, will you?”

He sounded utterly sulky, hating himself for having missed the words earlier. His eyes drooped like a puppy’s, waiting for his owner’s mercy, looking heartbreakingly pitiful.

Song Qingyou glanced at him, then unconsciously touched her own earlobe, feeling a flush rise. “Stop teasing.”

Fu Wenzhou refused to be deterred. “I will hear it today, one way or another. Or we can make a deal.”

Song Qingyou’s brows rose a fraction, curious to see what mischief he planned next. “Yes?”

Fu Wenzhou’s eyes were very dark, voice low and measured. “One ‘baby.’ In exchange for ten percent of Fu Group’s shares.”

Song Qingyou’s gaze sharpened. “You’re mad.”

Fu Wenzhou spoke with lazy nonchalance, as though the notion were no stranger to him. “One syllable. Ten percent. If you said it ten times, the entire Fu Group would belong to you.”

No one in the world treated shares like playthings. Only Fu Wenzhou seemed to operate on a completely different set of rules.

Her eyes turned icy cold, chilling him to the bone. Yet he maintained his shameless mask without flinching. “You call me…”

“The baby who is more childish than a child,” Song Qingyou finished coolly. “Now can you please sleep quietly?”

Fu Wenzhou’s face darkened, clearly wounded. Song Qingyou could not help a soft laugh. “Doctor said you need rest. I’ll leave you to it.”

She turned and walked out.

Fu Wenzhou watched her retreating figure, eyes narrowing to slits, a faint, almost possessive smile touching his lips. “Only in bed do you obey.”

The remark remained unheard beyond the closed door.

Song Qingyou descended the stairs to find Song Chang.

The older man stood near the entrance cabinet, files held respectfully in his hands, waiting for her. As she approached, he stepped forward at once. “Miss, please review these documents.”

She accepted the papers and settled into the rattan armchair on the balcony. It was identical to the one she had used in her former residence at Wutong Apartments. When Fu Wenzhou had learned of her frailty, he had commissioned artisans to craft this ergonomic masterpiece from rare golden rosewood, said to be worth a fortune.

Page by page she turned the files, voice flat with disgust. “Song Shi was truly foolish. To patch that five-hundred-million hole for Song Wei, he actually embezzled public funds.”

Song Chang offered a small, knowing smile. “He always indulged Miss Wei. She got whatever she wanted from childhood. I still remember the time she set her heart on the piano her mother had loved so dearly. She demanded it. You withheld it. Later Song Shi simply had the instrument moved into her room.”

The old memory surfaced. Song Qingyou’s fingertips stilled for an instant.

After a long pause she lifted her gaze to the snowflakes drifting past the window, her expression distant as though she had stepped beyond time and space. That piano had been destroyed by Song Wei, never to be recovered.

She snapped back to the present, flipping another page and repeating the name Song Wei beneath her breath until the syllables dissolved into nothing.

“Publicize the Double Apartment incident.”

She paused, then continued. “Terminate every project Qingning oversees within the Song Group. Have Li Nan declare bankruptcy in the United States and place all employees on three months’ paid leave.”

Song Chang’s eyebrows rose. He studied her a moment longer. “You intend to close the net?”

Song Qingyou lifted her hand as though to catch a nonexistent snowflake. “Uncle Song, spring is coming.”

Song Chang followed her gaze toward the window. Yes, February was nearly over; spring was already knocking at the door.

A sharp ringtone suddenly rang out.

Song Qingyou glanced at the screen and answered with a faint smile. “What is it, young master Fu?”

“I can’t sleep,” Fu Wenzhou replied, blunt as ever. “Come up and keep me company.”

He never knew how to be subtle. Fortunately, neither did she.

A single snowflake slipped through a narrow crack in the window frame and landed gently in her open palm.

She watched it melt slowly, mesmerized.

Then she spoke, almost to herself. “Maybe I should learn to cook from Uncle Song.”

Fu Wenzhou’s voice drifted through the phone, careless. “No need.”

Song Qingyou considered it. “I don’t want to do any other housework, but cooking interests me.”

“Who said you had to do housework?”

She countered gently, “But no proper wife knows how to cook.”

“My wife,” he stated simply.

She blinked. “What?”

“Other wives I don’t know about, but my wife doesn’t need to. Wait…” Fu Wenzhou’s throat worked again, voice dropping into something dark and rough. “Qiyou, what did you just say?”

The snowflake dissolved completely in her palm. Song Qingyou’s lips curved in a soft, secret smile. “Fu Wenzhou, shall we get married?”