Chapter 44: Making Do for the Night

Just as Fu Wenzhou had predicted, the launch of Lime went unexpectedly smoothly, and none of the backup plans she had prepared were needed. Sitting in the car, Song Qingyou finally felt a great weight lifted from her heart.

When she returned to the hotel and saw a table full of dishes, she looked in surprise at Fu Wenzhou, who was coming out from the inner room. “You haven’t left yet?”

Fu Wenzhou raised an eyebrow, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Left? Where would I go?”

“Back home,” she replied, since she herself would be returning tomorrow.

Fu Wenzhou nearly laughed in exasperation. He sat down on the sofa, cat in his arms, and declared, “I am not leaving.”

Song Qingyou fell silent, staring at his upright back with an expression too complex to describe. “Do you know what you look like right now?”

Fu Wenzhou answered with complete candor. “A deadbeat.”

Song Qingyou said nothing more.

Oh, so you’re well aware.

No longer paying him any mind, she called Song Chang and asked him to join her for dinner. Otherwise, all this food would go to waste.

Song Chang lived next door and arrived quickly. Upon entering and seeing Fu Wenzhou, his face was full of surprise. “Young Master Fu, what brings you here?”

Fu Wenzhou smiled thinly, not quite reaching his eyes. “I was missing you.”

Song Chang’s mouth twitched, a chill running down his spine. He replied awkwardly, “You flatter an old man like me, Young Master Fu.”

Fu Wenzhou patted his shoulder and gestured toward the table. “Uncle Chang, what do you think of tonight’s dishes?”

The smile in his eyes looked friendly, but Song Chang felt as if it hid a blade. He lowered his head. “From now on, I’ll make sure Miss’s meals meet this standard.”

Fu Wenzhou nodded in satisfaction and pulled Song Chang to sit down, treating him with the respect due to a senior. “Uncle Chang, let’s eat.”

Song Qingyou looked up lightly. “Uncle Chang, ignore him.”

Song Chang was not actually afraid of Fu Wenzhou. He simply felt guilty seeing how thin Song Qingyou had become lately. If Miss didn’t eat well, it was his responsibility, so he accepted Fu Wenzhou’s criticism.

After thinking it over, Song Chang decided that in the future, he’d better learn from Young Master Fu and be thick-skinned. Next time Miss refused to eat, he could shamelessly play the sympathy card like Fu Wenzhou and coax her into eating.

With this in mind, he couldn’t help but glance at Young Master Fu, who was now sitting beside Miss, meticulously peeling shrimp for her. Each time he finished one, he placed it in her porcelain-white bowl, even dipping it in vinegar for her.

Miss ate slowly, and before long, her bowl was piled high. Then Young Master Fu turned his attention to the fish, deboning it with infinite patience. Song Chang watched him pick out a tiny, almost invisible soft bone—something that would be hard to spot with the naked eye—yet he was thorough and meticulous.

When Miss was finally sated and couldn’t eat any more, Young Master Fu took the leftovers and ate them himself without the slightest sign of distaste, leaving nothing to waste.

For Song Chang, the meal was a bittersweet experience.

As he was about to leave, he hesitated for a moment before asking discreetly, “Young Master Fu, where will you sleep tonight? Why not bunk with an old man like me?”

Fu Wenzhou: …

Song Qingyou pressed her lips together, stifling a laugh. “Uncle Chang, he knows how to get a room himself.”

Song Chang slapped his forehead. Right! He almost forgot that Fu Wenzhou was a wealthy man—how could he possibly be reduced to sharing a bed with an old fellow like himself? He’d only been so worried about him taking advantage of Miss that he’d forgotten.

Relieved, Song Chang left the room.

Song Qingyou didn’t close the door and called back, “You should leave too.”

Fu Wenzhou’s lips curved. “I didn’t bring any money.”

Song Qingyou’s gaze wavered, as if trying to determine whether he was telling the truth. After a moment, she fished a card from her bag. “No password.”

Fu Wenzhou pressed his tongue against his back teeth, his eyes narrowing dangerously, and said with a hint of mock solemnity, “A gentleman does not accept charity.”

Song Qingyou nearly burst out laughing. Did Fu Wenzhou have anything to do with the word ‘gentleman’?

Knowing he intended to stay, Song Qingyou gave up trying to drive him away and simply ignored him, busying herself with her own affairs.

Fu Wenzhou, like an oversized dog, hovered around her wherever she went.

Finally, Song Qingyou, thoroughly exasperated, turned red at the corners of her eyes and spun around to glare at him. “You’re even more clingy than Zhouzhou!”

Fu Wenzhou frowned slightly, displeased. “You’re comparing me to a cat?”

She thought he was angry at being compared to an animal, but the next thing he said was:

“How could it compare to me? What can it do besides meow? Can it peel shrimp for you? Does it earn as much as I do? Is it as handsome? And even if it can meow, it may not sound as good as I do. Qingyou, you could try it out in bed sometime—”

“Shut up!” Song Qingyou, furious, kicked him in the calf, her eyes round with anger, looking less like a fairy and more like a sprite.

Fu Wenzhou wasn’t the least bit upset at being kicked. He simply gazed at Song Qingyou, as if he could never get enough of her.

His Qingyou would only get angry at him; clearly, he was very important to her.

Otherwise, why didn’t she lose her temper with Zhang San or Li Si?

For some reason, Fu Wenzhou’s thoughts wandered off in this direction. Rather than being upset, he was quite delighted—he almost wished Qingyou would kick him again.

He obediently closed his mouth, bent down to pick up Zhouzhou from the floor, and retreated quietly to a corner so as not to disturb her.

Finally enjoying the peace and quiet, Song Qingyou finished preparing her documents and sent them all to the current acting president, then asked Song Chang to book a flight for tomorrow afternoon.

Song Chang hesitated. “Should I get a ticket for Young Master Fu as well?”

Song Qingyou almost said no—he seemed very fond of this place—but recalling his claim about having no money, she changed her mind. “Yes.”

After settling everything, Song Qingyou lay down on the long bench. Lately, her insomnia had been severe; only lying like this allowed her to sleep for a while.

Her keen sense of smell caught a faint trace of Fu Wenzhou’s unique cold fragrance drifting through the air. Drowsiness began to creep in.

Fu Wenzhou walked over softly, his large hand sliding around her waist and lifting her from the bench.

“Don’t touch me.” Song Qingyou’s voice—somewhere between waking and sleeping—was soft, her usually cool eyes now clouded with confusion.

Fu Wenzhou looked down at her. “It’s cold; you shouldn’t sleep here. The bed will be much more comfortable. Don’t you love jade? I found a small piece the other day and put it on your bedside table. Go have a look, all right?”

His voice was low and coaxing as he carried her forward.

Song Qingyou, half-conscious, drifting in a fog, thought she was dreaming.

Fu Wenzhou laid her gently on the bed, and as her eyes drifted shut, he took something from the drawer.

It was a string of rich green jade prayer beads, clearly of great value.

He took off the jade bangle from her wrist and replaced it with the prayer beads, handling her with exquisite care, as if afraid to hurt her.

Song Qingyou glanced at him, then lifted her wrist and shook it. “What is this?”

Fu Wenzhou’s voice was hoarse but sincere. “Beads to ward off evil and keep you safe. There’s only one strand like this in the world—I went to great lengths to get it.”

“Oh.” Song Qingyou’s arm dropped limply beside the bed, and she closed her eyes, falling deeply asleep.

Fu Wenzhou’s long fingers lingered gently, almost reverently, on her lips.

“You little ingrate.”