Chapter 45: Only Bullying Me

Song Qingyou only realized her jade bracelet had been switched after breakfast. She stared blankly at the jade Buddha beads on her wrist—each one a deep, verdant green, lustrous and perfectly rounded.

She fell in love with them at first sight.

Yet she had no memory of how they came to be on her wrist.

Who had changed them for her?

There seemed to be no one else in this room. In the haze of last night, she seemed to have glimpsed Fu Wenzhou.

Was it him?

If it was, she would have to return a gift of equal value—these beads were far too precious...

Would she have to spend her entire fortune?

Lost in thought, Song Qingyou sighed ever so faintly. She really was rather short on money.

With a barely perceptible sigh, she rose from bed.

News of Qingning’s successful overseas IPO reached home quickly. For a company just three years old to achieve such heights in so short a time was truly remarkable.

Before her plane took off, Song Qingyou received a message from home.

"Song Group has injected an additional three hundred million in funding. The contract’s signed, and they’ve agreed to let Qingning invest in a Song subsidiary via shareholding difference."

Song Qingyou closed her phone and exhaled deeply. All her years of hard work had not been in vain.

"Miss Song."

A cool voice interrupted her thoughts.

She lifted her gaze, somewhat surprised. "Mr. Ruan, you’re on this flight too?"

What a coincidence.

"Yes," Ruan Mingchen replied, seated in his wheelchair. The person pushing him was an older gentleman.

The old man was astonished to see his young master initiate a conversation, but he concealed it well.

Ruan Mingchen asked, "Have you considered the proposal I mentioned?"

Song Qingyou paused, recalling his words from that night.

She nodded slightly, her gaze falling on the jade Buddha beads at her wrist. She answered politely, "I’m sorry. Though marrying you would bring me many advantages, I believe a woman’s worth is not measured by her dependence on a man. What I desire, I’ll strive for myself. As for what you want—perhaps someone else would be a better fit."

Ruan Mingchen nodded, as if her answer was of little consequence to him, the proposal itself nothing more than a passing fancy.

"Ruan Mingchen."

A deep, magnetic voice shattered the silence between them.

Fu Wenzhou strode over, a cup of hot milk in hand, displeasure written all over his face. He stepped between Song Qingyou and Ruan Mingchen. "What are you playing at?"

Ruan Mingchen shot him a faint glance, finding Fu’s wary, protective look almost amusing, though he cared little for their relationship. "Miss Song, I still hope you’ll reconsider my proposal. It’s mutually beneficial."

"What proposal?" Fu Wenzhou’s voice was cold. "I advise you to leave Song Qingyou alone."

Ruan Mingchen replied, "That’s none of your business. Uncle Ding, let’s go."

Fu Wenzhou’s handsome face grew even colder; he’d never found Ruan Mingchen so intolerable.

Song Qingyou rubbed her brow. "The milk."

Only then did Fu Wenzhou drag his razor-sharp gaze away from Ruan Mingchen, placing the milk into Song Qingyou’s hand and sitting beside her.

"What did he propose to you?" he demanded.

Song Qingyou hesitated briefly. "It’s nothing."

Fu Wenzhou was deeply unsettled. The way Ruan Mingchen had just looked at Song Qingyou made him feel as if a thousand ants were crawling beneath his skin.

He lifted his eyes to see Song Qingyou tilting her head back to drink the milk, and the restlessness in his heart turned to an even deeper agitation.

Her neck was slender, fair, and delicate—so fragile it seemed a single bite could break the skin. A trace of milk lingered on her rosy lips; her soft tongue tried in vain to lap it up, but the stubborn drop clung to the corner of her mouth.

Fu Wenzhou’s throat grew parched, his gaze sticky and heavy as spider silk, filled with a storm of desire—not just physical, but emotional as well.

He’d tasted those lips before—soft, sweet—and he wanted more, wanted to see if every part of her was just as fragrant and yielding.

Why was she so tempting? He was tormented by longing, aching to consume her whole.

Realizing how improper his thoughts were, Fu Wenzhou swallowed hard and forced himself to look away, afraid she might see this side of him and be frightened.

He thought, Gu Bai was right: he was hopelessly addicted to Song Qingyou, with no cure in sight.

Unaware of the tumult raging in Fu Wenzhou’s mind as she quietly drank her milk, Song Qingyou set the cup aside and picked up the latest issue of a financial magazine.

When the plane landed, Fu Wenzhou, anxious that Ruan Mingchen might approach again, quickly led Song Qingyou off the plane.

By the time Song Chang had collected their luggage, he had already lost track of them.

Song Qingyou, forcibly ushered into the car, was a little vexed. "Uncle Chang hasn’t caught up yet!"

Fu Wenzhou replied as he drove, "I’ve arranged someone to pick him up. Don’t worry."

Song Qingyou could only give an address. "Take me here."

Fu Wenzhou’s expression darkened. "You just got back. Shouldn’t you rest and adjust to the time difference instead of rushing to dinner?"

Song Qingyou replied coolly, "These are all key clients for Shiyu Venture Capital. Yan Shaoqin went to great lengths to set this up. I can’t refuse."

Fu Wenzhou’s face grew even darker. "So you’re going to dinner with Yan Shaoqin."

"I am," she answered, her voice clear and cold.

Fu Wenzhou cursed under his breath and turned the car around.

Though boiling over inside, he dared not drive too fast and delivered her steadily to Dongjiang Hotel.

Song Qingyou would not let him accompany her and went alone to the private room Yan Shaoqin had mentioned.

Fu Wenzhou watched her graceful, slender figure sway away, then slammed his fist into the steering wheel, his face thunderous with gloom.

She had expected the private room to be thick with smoke and liquor, and had a handkerchief ready to cover her nose and mouth. Steeling herself, she pushed open the door.

To her surprise, the dinner was nothing like she’d imagined.

Yan Shaoqin and one of the business leaders sat at the head, the others chatting and laughing, but no one smoked or drank.

The air was perfectly clean.

Yan Shaoqin greeted her. "Let me introduce you—this is the real boss behind Shiyu Venture Capital, Song Qingyou."

Everyone moved in the same circles; who hadn’t heard of the Yan and Song families? Yan Shaoqin’s willingness to humble himself for this event showed just how serious Shiyu was about attracting investment—they all understood.

Even the reclusive, delicate beauty had made an appearance; clearly, Shiyu’s sincerity was beyond doubt.

One of the men stood up with a smile. "Miss Song, your reputation precedes you. You’re even more stunning in person."

His compliment was not at all lecherous; Song Qingyou felt no distaste. "Thank you, Mr. Li. I’ve long admired your name."

Halfway through the meal, after the cooperation was finalized, Song Qingyou realized it was Yan Shaoqin who’d arranged for a smoke-free private room in advance.

She glanced at him, gratitude in her eyes.

Yan Shaoqin raised an eyebrow. "No need to thank me. I just didn’t want you coughing yourself to death from the smoke. I’m here to make money, not to cause a tragedy."

Still, Song Qingyou quietly thanked him.

After the meal, Song Qingyou and Yan Shaoqin accompanied their guests to the hotel entrance, exchanging polite and practiced farewells.

A breeze stirred, tickling her nose with a strand of hair. Song Qingyou began to cough, at first quietly and suppressed, but soon she could not contain the itch in her throat—one cough after another, relentless, leaving her no time to catch her breath.

Yan Shaoqin frowned. "Should I take you to the hospital?"

The others cast concerned glances her way, though whether any of it was genuine was hard to tell.

No one stepped forward to help her. Song Qingyou coughed until tears filled her eyes.

Yan Shaoqin moved closer, intending to support her.

Before his hand could reach her, someone else intervened.

Fu Wenzhou quickly pushed aside everyone in his way, striding straight to Song Qingyou and gathering her into his arms. His large, warm hand moved gently up and down her frail back, comforting her with slow, soothing pats.

Song Qingyou leaned against him, most of her weight supported by his body. Her pale fingers clung tightly to his shirt, tears soaking into his chest.

One of Fu Wenzhou’s hands stroked her back, the other tenderly wiping away her tears.

Her face was white as a sheet, her head spinning from the coughing fit, utterly exhausted.

"You’re always so disobedient," he murmured, voice low and husky, like a puppy caught in the rain.

"You only ever bully me," she whispered.

Song Qingyou was momentarily startled; her coughing finally eased, and the pressure in her head began to subside.

Her fingers were still gripping his shirt. "Let’s go."

And so, obediently, Fu Wenzhou carried her away.

Behind them, the group was left stunned.

Someone couldn’t help but ask Yan Shaoqin, "How is Song Qingyou involved with her ex-husband’s nephew? Isn’t that a bit…"

Yan Shaoqin cut him off.

With a cold, sharp glance, Yan Shaoqin replied, "Her ex-husband’s nephew—he’s not her blood relative. Surprised to find Mr. Li’s thinking so outdated. Even my grandfather isn’t so old-fashioned."

Mr. Li, thus rebuffed, was left speechless.