Chapter 27: You Belong to Me

Song Qingyou was momentarily stunned. She glanced around before turning to say, “Why are we stopping here? You can’t park in this spot—mmph!”

Fu Wenzhou, for reasons unknown, seemed to lose his mind again. He gripped her chin, his touch rough and possessive.

No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t push him away. With her chin held firmly in his grasp, even her lips were parted, as if she were acquiescing to his wanton plunder.

Annoyed, she bit down hard. The man’s movements stilled.

He released her at last.

Lingering a moment, he brushed his lips over hers, a triumphant smile flickering in his eyes. “You’ve learned to bite now, haven’t you, Qingyou?”

Song Qingyou slapped his hand away, the flush at the corner of her eyes deepening. She pressed her lips together and said nothing.

Fu Wenzhou’s gaze drifted over the lips he’d just tormented—full and reddened. A strange itch crawled through his chest, but for the sake of her health, he forced down the wicked impulses stirring inside him.

He leaned in, gently tracing the corner of her mouth with his fingertip. His tone was relaxed, but his eyes burned with madness and possessiveness. “Qingyou, you’re mine.”

...

“Qingyou, you’re mine.”

“You can only be mine.”

In the middle of the night, Song Qingyou woke from her dream in terror!

She got up for a drink of water, but her fingers cramped without warning and the glass slipped from her grasp, shattering on the floor.

Slivers of glass nicked her calves and feet, sending sharp little stings through her skin.

She had no choice but to clean up the mess and pour herself another cup of warm water.

The image of Fu Wenzhou, his intense eyes fixed on her from the car, seemed to have planted itself in her mind, impossible to shake.

She let out a soft sigh.

She didn’t sleep at all that night.

At dawn, Song Qingyou left her apartment.

As she was leaving, she glanced at the door across the hall. The thought of Fu Wenzhou living there—of running into him every single day—gave her a headache.

But that wasn’t the most pressing concern.

She’d promised Madam Ruan yesterday that she would visit for tea today.

Fu Wenzhou arrived at her door early in the morning, breakfast in hand. He knocked for a long while, but there was no response from inside.

A flicker of alarm flashed through him. Fearing something had happened to Song Qingyou, he didn’t hesitate. He entered the code and let himself in.

The apartment was empty; there was no trace of Song Qingyou.

It seemed she had left quite early.

Fu Wenzhou’s face darkened as he walked through the rooms. When he saw shards of broken glass in the trash, his brows knit tightly.

Just as he was about to leave, he caught sight of a few pieces with dried blood on them. His pupils contracted sharply.

Afternoon, the Ruan residence.

Song Qingyou was in the conservatory with Madam Ruan, studying the work of a master embroiderer, when a servant hurried in. “Madam, the young master is coughing up blood again.”

Madam Ruan’s expression changed at once and she rushed out. “Has Dr. Zhang gone over yet?”

“He’s already been sent for,” the servant replied.

Madam Ruan walked quickly, speaking over her shoulder to Song Qingyou as she went. “Qingyou, I’m afraid I can’t have you stay for dinner today. Something’s come up at home—let’s arrange another day.”

Song Qingyou hurried to say, “Please, don’t worry about me. I was just about to take my leave.”

Madam Ruan, anxious about her grandson, barely spared her another word before hurrying away.

Though Song Qingyou said she would go, she didn’t leave right away.

After stepping out of the conservatory, she saw several servants hurrying toward the same direction.

She hesitated, then decided to follow.

The Ruan family had three grandchildren, only one of whom—a girl—was perfectly healthy.

The eldest grandson had been in a car accident years ago, leaving him unable to walk and confined to a wheelchair. The youngest had suffered a grave illness as a child, which left him frail. A gust of wind was enough to make him cough up blood, so he rarely left his room.

Today, feeling restless, he’d insisted on going for a stroll. The servants lost sight of him for just a moment, and he vanished.

Soon after he was found, the young master had begun coughing up blood.

To make matters worse, his personal physician was away on a business trip in a neighboring city that day.

Now, a crowd of people stood helpless, preparing to rush the young master to the hospital.

But his coughing grew worse—now it was black blood. Madam Ruan was so frightened she nearly fainted, crying out to the heavens in panic.

“Let me take a look.”

The gentle voice cut through the chaos, landing clear and calm in Madam Ruan’s ears.

She turned, and there at the back of the crowd stood Song Qingyou, slender and poised as a bamboo stalk—her presence inexplicably soothing.

Madam Ruan thought she must have misheard and reflexively asked, “Qingyou, what did you just say?”

“Let me see him.” Song Qingyou had already walked over, placing her hand on the young master’s wrist. After a moment, she lifted his eyelids and checked his mouth, then drew a small medicinal packet from her bag, took out a pill, and slipped it into the boy’s mouth.

The butler cried out, “What did you just give the young master?!”

He spoke in alarm, giving Song Qingyou a push that nearly sent her tumbling.

A hand shot out, catching her at the waist and steadying her.

She turned to see Fu Wenzhou, his handsome face set in a deep frown, looking her over from head to toe as if searching for any sign of harm.

Startled, she was about to ask what he was doing there when Madam Ruan anxiously interjected, “Qingyou, what medicine did you just give Xiaozhi?”

Suppressing her questions, Song Qingyou answered, “Madam Ruan, the young master has been poisoned by something he ate. I gave him an antidote to temporarily stem the spread of the toxin. I’m sorry—I couldn’t tell what he ingested, so he still needs to go to the hospital for a thorough examination.”

Madam Ruan, hearing this, exclaimed, “Quickly, don’t just stand there! Get the young master to the hospital!”

The household was thrown into chaos. Song Qingyou and Fu Wenzhou stood off to the side, momentarily forgotten by Madam Ruan, whose mind was consumed with worry for her grandson.

Once the young master had been carried away, Song Qingyou realized that Fu Wenzhou’s hand was still firmly at her waist.

She tried to pull away, but his grip didn’t loosen. Frowning, she looked up at him. “Let go of me.”

Instead of releasing her, Fu Wenzhou pulled her straight into his arms. Song Qingyou lost her balance and fell against his chest, as though she were willingly throwing herself into his embrace.

Her annoyance flared, but before she could speak, Fu Wenzhou asked in a low voice, “You can treat patients?”

“Ever heard of learning by necessity?” she replied, struggling to break free, but his arm was like an iron clamp around her waist.

Frustrated, she said, “You’re hurting me. Let go.”

Her voice was soft as she said it, and Fu Wenzhou’s mind immediately went elsewhere. His heart itched, his throat tightening.

He glanced at her pale lips. Unable to resist, he lowered his head and kissed her.

Just as his lips met hers, Song Qingyou saw out of the corner of her eye a Ruan family servant approaching, about to speak—only to gape at them in astonishment!

...

Her mind went blank, a single thought echoing over and over: Fu Wenzhou was growing more and more unhinged.