Chapter 42: Avoiding Him

Since then, Song Qingyou had been tirelessly absorbed in her work. Qingning was on the verge of being listed overseas, and the projects sent over by the Song family were managed by Qingning through share operations. Meanwhile, the venture capital firm Shiyu, founded by her and Yan Shaoqin, was gradually finding its footing.

She barely slept each day, and Song Chang’s constant admonishments fell on deaf ears. He watched anxiously as the young lady grew thinner, her coughing fits becoming more frequent, his heart leaping with worry every moment. He couldn’t shake the fear that one day, he would wake up and she would be gone.

Song Chang knew she was determined to use Qingning to hollow out the Song Group as quickly as possible, but her health was deteriorating—no matter how urgent her plans, she had to take care of herself. Yet his fretful concern was futile, for the principal remained calm and unruffled. All he could do was urge her to take her medicine on schedule.

Song Qingyou didn’t choose sleeplessness; she simply couldn’t sleep. Her insomnia had worsened, and each night she was awakened by her coughing. Rather than tossing and turning in bed, she might as well get up and work.

Qingning’s listing was imminent, and she had to secure the Song family’s projects before Song Yuan caught on, coaxing him to invest unwittingly before pulling the rug out from under him. Only when the Song Group’s capital chain broke would Song Yuan be forced to sell shares for cash. He had once seized everything from her mother and grandfather—now, she would reclaim it piece by piece.

Song Qingyou leaned tiredly over her desk, her head throbbing, her health declining day by day. Her heart had always been frail, and now the burden of her work was taking an even greater toll.

A chime sounded from WeChat.

Rubbing her brow, she glanced at her phone and sighed helplessly. She had been avoiding Fu Wenzhou for nearly a month. In all that time she hadn’t left the house, had changed the locks—this time she was clever enough not to install a code lock, so Fu Wenzhou had no key and couldn’t enter. But her phone was another matter; WeChat and calls bombarded her nonstop.

Song Qingyou didn’t know how to face Fu Wenzhou. That day, he hadn’t believed her, and she felt disappointed. Yet when she examined her disappointment, she found it odd—why did she care about Fu Wenzhou’s opinion of her?

She wasn’t slow when it came to matters of the heart; she sensed she might harbor a secret affection for Fu Wenzhou. As a result, she forced herself to retreat into her shell, determined to avoid what she could not confront.

Song Qingyou remained clear-headed, knowing that every moment of her life was measured and finite. Within those limits, there were things more important than romance.

She took a deep breath, slapped her cheeks to summon her resolve, and returned her focus to the dense English text on her computer screen.

Early tomorrow morning, she would fly to country M to prepare for Qingning’s listing. She dared not slacken for even a moment.

The plane sliced through the sky, and Song Qingyou landed safely. Song Chang followed behind, carrying their luggage. They had arranged their accommodations in advance, rested for the night at the hotel, and attended a banquet hosted by overseas investors the next day.

Song Qingyou did not appear as Qingning’s owner; the current CEO represented her instead. She sat quietly in a corner, holding a glass of champagne untouched.

After observing for a while and finding nothing amiss, she rose and walked out to the courtyard.

Moonlight flowed like water over the leaves and branches, adding a touch of mystery to the manor at night.

Alone, Song Qingyou wandered through the back garden, when suddenly she heard a commotion deep within. In the moonlight, a man had fallen to the ground, struggling to climb back into his wheelchair.

“Do you need help?” she asked gently.

The sudden voice made the man freeze, his gloomy expression growing colder still, as if he despised being seen in such a state. Even his voice was edged with suppressed anger: “No, get lost!”

Song Qingyou paused. Since her offer was rejected, she had no intention of lingering. After glancing at the man, she turned to leave.

Behind her came the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

She stopped, walked back to the man, and met his furious gaze.

“I’ve already seen you at your most vulnerable—there’s no point in hiding it now. So—” Song Qingyou asked, “Do you need help?”

Her eyes shimmered with moonlit fragments; she stood alone, draped in a pale silk dress, bathed in a cool glow, a solitary figure in the night.

Ruan Mingchen recognized her face—the same woman in a cheongsam he’d seen at the Ruan family charity gala. He looked her up and down, thinking she looked best in a cheongsam.

He no longer refused her, though his expression remained stern.

Seeing his silence, Song Qingyou bent to grasp his arm, intending to help him up, but overestimated her own strength. She stumbled, and both fell together.

Ruan Mingchen’s dark eyes locked onto hers. “Help?”

Song Qingyou, jarred by the fall, began to cough violently. She took a pill from her bag and swallowed it, suppressing the urge to cough up her very lungs.

She looked up, her eyes tinged with red. “Sorry, my health isn’t very good.”

In the end, Ruan Mingchen accepted just a bit of her help, using his own strength to return to his wheelchair.

Song Qingyou offered a deeply apologetic smile.

Ruan Mingchen studied her for a moment, and as she was about to leave, he called after her: “Song Qingyou.”

She turned. “You know me?”

“No,” Ruan Mingchen replied.

Song Qingyou was taken aback.

But he soon explained, “I heard you once saved my brother.”

She recalled briefly, her brow furrowing. “You’re Ruan Mingchen?”

He replied with a grunt. His features were deeply carved, his demeanor cold and forbidding. “How about we make a deal?”