Chapter 43: Zho Zho Misses You

The rushing sound of water from the bathroom enveloped Song Qingyou's pale, slender body as she stood beneath the showerhead, contemplating the “transaction” that Ruan Mingchen had spoken of.

The climate in country M was colder than back home. Wrapped in a thick bathrobe, Song Qingyou stepped out of the bathroom and only felt less chilled after the heating was turned on.

The television played the latest financial news. She watched for a while, found it dull, and soon drifted off to sleep, sprawled on the bed.

With SY's investment secured, the company’s listing was proceeding smoothly, with no real surprises. Song Qingyou rarely slept so soundly.

It wasn't until nine o'clock the next morning that she finally awoke from her dreams.

She hadn’t expected to open the door and find Fu Wenzhou—and a cat.

The man was dressed lightly, his hair tousled, dark circles beneath his eyes, stubble growing on his chin, and he looked noticeably thinner. Seeing Song Qingyou, his eyes stung with emotion as he carefully handed her the cat, porridge, as if afraid to startle her.

His voice was hoarse: "Porridge missed you."

Song Qingyou’s heart contracted sharply, as if struck by something soft and gentle. The ache was hard to bear.

Suppressing her emotions, her voice trembled slightly: "Are you an idiot?"

Fu Wenzhou’s thick eyebrows arched upwards, his eyes deep and trailing, the long, slightly curled lashes hiding a longing that seemed etched into his bones. "Why are you avoiding me?"

His tone lingered, sounding both unwilling and aggrieved.

He hadn't seen her for a month.

An entire month.

His longing for her bordered on madness.

He had been angry at her coldness, but at this moment, seeing her, all the resentment and fury melted away, leaving only deep yearning.

He wanted nothing more than to hold her, kiss her, and soak in her scent.

Song Qingyou paused for a moment before pulling him inside.

Porridge leapt to the floor, exhausted from the journey, climbed onto the soft sofa, and closed its eyes.

Fu Wenzhou stared at her unblinkingly, determined to get an answer.

Song Qingyou unconsciously softened her voice, unsure why she felt the need to explain: "I've been busy with the company's listing lately, not avoiding you."

"You’re lying," Fu Wenzhou's deep gaze pinned her, "If you weren't avoiding me, why didn't you reply to my messages or answer my calls?"

Song Qingyou pressed her lips together, unwilling to reveal the real reason, but it was clear that without the truth, he wouldn't let her off easily.

"Because you don't trust me."

Fu Wenzhou looked perplexed: "When did I not trust you?"

Song Qingyou briefly recounted what had happened that day.

Fu Wenzhou leaned in, his breath brushing over her, voice trembling: "So you care about me, don’t you?"

Song Qingyou turned her face aside: "Don’t misunderstand me. I just think that if you don’t trust me, there’s no need for us to have any further connection."

Fu Wenzhou snorted, "Stubborn."

Song Qingyou: ...

She was not being stubborn!

Fu Wenzhou’s mood inexplicably brightened, and he wandered around the room: "Others might care about what you’ve done, but I don’t. No matter who you are, you’ll always be my Qingyou."

Seeing only one bed, he was very satisfied.

Song Qingyou had no idea what calculations he was making in his heart, only that his words were far too suggestive, so she ignored him.

This was a suite. The desk was in the guest room. She walked over, sat down, and turned on her computer.

There were many documents to submit these days; if all went well, she could return home in two nights. In a foreign land, the moon always seemed rounder back home.

Porridge stretched lazily, meowed a few times, and padded over to Song Qingyou’s feet, rubbing against her jade-like instep.

Song Qingyou reached down to scratch its chin, then continued with her work.

Opening her email, she found several receipts, all confirming successful applications. She read through them one by one, her brows relaxing, her fair face glowing with a rosy radiance, more beautiful than ever, almost ethereal.

Fu Wenzhou gazed at her in a daze, silently shooing away the greedy kitten and crouching down beside Song Qingyou.

At nearly six-foot-three, he was tall and upright when standing, but crouched down, he was even more noticeable than Song Qingyou seated. She couldn’t help but notice him: "There’s a sofa over there."

Fu Wenzhou’s eyes were dark: "Qingyou."

"Mm?"

Song Qingyou’s slender fingers danced across the keyboard, responding absent-mindedly.

Fu Wenzhou said, "This time you didn’t drive me away."

His voice was naturally lazy and deep, a seductive tone that made one’s bones tingle. Song Qingyou, at times, was sensitive to voices.

She awkwardly rubbed her earlobe, her beautiful eyes glancing sideways: "So?"

Country M was seven hours behind home. Fu Wenzhou had arrived early in the morning, meaning he’d set out overnight back home. No matter how cold-hearted Song Qingyou was, she couldn’t bring herself to kick him out.

Fu Wenzhou’s tone held a hint of pride and joy: "You can’t bear to drive me away anymore. Does that mean you’ve fallen for me?"

Song Qingyou’s heart gave a slight flutter, her earlobes tinged pink. Luckily, her hand covered them so he couldn’t see.

She feigned calm, looking at her computer, her tone cool: "The door’s right there. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you."

Fu Wenzhou didn’t mind at all. His palm gently grasped her slender ankle, brows furrowing: "Why have you gotten so thin?"

Song Qingyou hadn’t noticed herself and replied carelessly, "Maybe I haven’t been eating much lately."

She didn’t care, but Fu Wenzhou looked devastated, his face darkening, even starting to blame Uncle Song: "How has Uncle Song been taking care of you? How could he neglect something as simple as your meals?"

"If I don’t want to eat, can he force it down my throat?"

Song Qingyou kept verifying the receipts, ensuring each one was correct, too busy to deal with his temper.

Fu Wenzhou immediately made a call, ordering a heap of light food. He guessed she hadn’t eaten properly all month and, worried that sudden rich food would upset her stomach, specifically requested less oil and salt.

When the dishes arrived, Song Qingyou was surprised: "Where did you get so much Chinese food?"

Fu Wenzhou told her not to worry and insisted she eat under his watchful eye.

Song Qingyou had little appetite, tasting just a few bites of each dish, leaving the rest for Fu Wenzhou to devour.

Afterward, Song Qingyou insisted on transferring the meal’s cost to Fu Wenzhou, which annoyed him again.

Song Qingyou didn’t understand why he was angry.

She simply didn’t want to owe him—was that so hard to understand?

Suddenly, the phone rang. After answering, Song Qingyou quickly gathered her papers and rushed out. She was only wearing a light dress, and with just a few degrees outside, she was likely to catch a cold.

Fu Wenzhou hurried after her, pulling her back, his face stern: "Why are you in such a rush?"

"I’m in a hurry," Song Qingyou replied.

Fu Wenzhou took a cashmere sweater from the rack and carefully helped her put it on, only relaxing once the buttons were fastened to the top: "Qingning will be listed successfully; you don’t need to rush so much."

Song Qingyou paused at his words. She hadn’t intended to hide it, but from Qingning’s founding to its listing, she’d never appeared in public, and all transfers had been carried out secretly. Even the Song family hadn’t been able to uncover it—how did he know?

But thinking about it, it seemed Fu Wenzhou always knew everything about her. Song Qingyou felt nothing more, unaware that she’d long since made him a fixture in her own domain.