Chapter 8: Childishness

Song Qingyou froze, her whole body rigid, and spun around abruptly.

Her gaze met a pair of deep, shadowy eyes. It was as if she’d been caught in the sights of a wild beast; a chill raced through her limbs and bones. Yet she quickly regained her composure, intending to resume her conversation with Yan Shaoqin about the investment. Out of the corner of her eye, however, she suddenly noticed the man leaning on a crutch.

Her elegant brows furrowed, and she rose, walking toward Fu Wenzhou. She ignored the man’s accusatory, resentful stare, focusing on his leg. “What happened?” she asked.

Fu Wenzhou’s face was cold, his gaze brimming with a desire to tear apart the smiling man across from him. “Why are you with Yan Shaoqin?”

Song Qingyou glanced at Gu Bai behind him, then repeated, “What happened to his leg?”

Gu Bai cleared his throat. “It’s because—”

“I slipped, that’s all,” Fu Wenzhou cut him off, his razor-sharp gaze withdrawing from Yan Shaoqin and settling on Song Qingyou. In his eyes was a mixture of unwillingness and complex grievance. He pressed on stubbornly, “You haven’t answered my question.”

Song Qingyou offered no concealment. “I came to discuss a partnership with him.”

Fu Wenzhou struggled to suppress the violence simmering inside him. He drew a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me what you’re planning? And what’s there to discuss with him, anyway?”

Yan Shaoqin and Fu Wenzhou had always been at odds. The feud between their families had roots in the previous generation, and over the years, both had suffered losses at the other’s hands. Especially in the past two years, as Fu Wenzhou grew more unpredictable, Yan Shaoqin’s setbacks became frequent.

Now, seeing the mad dog restrained for once, Yan Shaoqin was in high spirits, wearing a look that reveled in the drama. “Young Master Fu, that’s not quite right. Miss Song came to me of her own accord, so naturally there’s plenty for us to discuss.”

Fu Wenzhou treated Song Qingyou differently than anyone else. He forced a smile that never reached his eyes. “Looks like Yan Shao still hasn’t learned his lesson from the loss at the department store launch.”

Yan Shaoqin’s expression shifted abruptly. Recently, Yanshi Department Store was on the verge of going public, only for Fu Wenzhou to snatch the opportunity away at the last moment, causing them to lose over three hundred million in a single month. Yan Shaoqin had held that grudge ever since. He’d planned to get back at Fu Wenzhou through his new energy project, but now he had a better idea.

With a sly smile, Yan Shaoqin’s gaze slid from Fu Wenzhou back to Song Qingyou. “I’ve reviewed Miss Song’s letter of intent, and I’m very satisfied. Before Friday, my secretary will draft the formal contract. From now on, we’re partners on the same boat—here’s to a pleasant collaboration.”

Fu Wenzhou’s eyes grew darker. He reached for Song Qingyou’s arm, but she deftly evaded him, her face instantly turning icy.

Gu Bai swallowed hard, filled with regret for having called this troublemaker when he saw Song Qingyou and Yan Shaoqin at the entrance.

Having gotten the answer she wanted, Song Qingyou wasted no time. “Yan Shao, I look forward to our future cooperation. I have other matters and will take my leave.”

She left without hesitation, not sparing a single glance for the three men left behind.

Fu Wenzhou hobbled after her, leaning on his crutch.

Yan Shaoqin stood, only to be stopped by Gu Bai’s outstretched hand. Gu Bai grinned, “The food just arrived. Wouldn’t it be a shame not to eat? Come, Yan Shao, I’ll accompany you.”

Yan Shaoqin sat back down. “Alright, it’s rare for Young Master Gu to show me such favor.”

Fu Wenzhou followed Song Qingyou out in silence, unceremoniously getting into her car.

The atmosphere inside was strange. Song Chang, sensing the tension, stepped out.

Song Qingyou’s hurried steps out of the restaurant left her cheeks flushed, breath coming in short gasps, her voice barely audible, tickling Fu Wenzhou’s ears.

Only after she calmed her breathing did she speak. “Get out.”

Fu Wenzhou edged closer. As he approached, the faint scent of tobacco enveloped her.

Song Qingyou turned her back, uncomfortable.

In the silence, Fu Wenzhou reached from behind and embraced her, his handsome face resting against her shoulder, his hair brushing her ear.

His voice was hoarse. “Why didn’t you tell me about the divorce?”

News of Song Qingyou’s divorce had spread through every corner of the capital. Fu Wenzhou was not surprised.

She didn’t push his hands away, letting them wander around her waist.

Fu Wenzhou inhaled her scent, habitually nibbling at the delicate skin of her neck, like a child who’d finally gotten his candy, closing his eyes in satisfaction. “Were you worried I’d make trouble for Fu Ting Shen? You don’t need to worry—I’m not that childish.”

Song Qingyou’s fingers trembled at his touch. She kept her voice low. “Fu Wenzhou, haven’t you ever wondered why I didn’t tell you about the divorce?”

Fu Wenzhou paused in his caress, sensing the answer would not be pleasant, frowning as he tried to interrupt her.

Song Qingyou gave him no chance. “Because whether I divorce or not has nothing to do with you. There can never be anything between us.”

Fu Wenzhou slowly retreated, releasing her.

Song Qingyou felt the skin of her waist, where he’d touched her, grow cold. She looked at him, not intending to stop. “Young Master Fu, I’m quite busy. Would you please stop bothering me?”

Fu Wenzhou’s gaze swept over her like a blade, stubborn as ever. “Why?”

He had once believed that the only thing standing between them was her marriage to Fu Ting Shen. He’d waited for her to divorce, ran eagerly to her, thinking she would finally accept him. Yet nothing had changed.

Fu Wenzhou didn’t understand.

He needed a reason.

A reason that would convince him completely.

For instance, if Song Qingyou told him, “Fu Wenzhou, I never loved you.”

But as soon as he asked, he regretted it, fearing to hear her actually say it.

A fierce light burned in Fu Wenzhou’s eyes as he spoke, word by word, “Song Qingyou, you are mine. You can only be mine!”

The car door slammed shut with a bang, restoring silence inside, though the faint tobacco scent lingered.

Song Qingyou’s lashes quivered. The look Fu Wenzhou had given her was desperate and wounded.

Her heart felt gnawed by something, pain spreading in countless tiny threads.

From the moment she was born, the length of her life was predetermined. She had to accomplish what she must within that finite span; she had no time to respond to a love as fervent and pure as Fu Wenzhou’s.

After a long while, Song Qingyou exhaled softly. Suddenly, her phone rang.

She glanced at the unfamiliar number and pressed answer.

“Song Qingyou, you shameless woman! If anything happens to Ting Shen, I won’t let you off!”

The shrill voice on the other end stabbed her eardrum. She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Lin Miaomiao gritted her teeth. “Fu Wenzhou showed up at the Fu house early this morning, and fought with Ting Shen right in front of Fu Changlin and Qin You. Don’t tell me this has nothing to do with you? Everyone knows Fu Wenzhou is your lapdog—if you loosen his leash, he’ll do whatever you say!”

Song Qingyou recalled Fu Wenzhou’s words: I’m not that childish.

She rubbed her brow. “Is Fu Ting Shen seriously hurt?”

Lin Miaomiao’s anger was replaced by sudden suspicion at what sounded like concern. “What are you up to? I warn you, you’re divorced. He doesn’t need your fake sympathy!”

Song Qingyou’s voice was icy. “If he’s about to die, remember to let me know ahead of time, so I can send two wreaths.”

She hung up before Lin Miaomiao could respond, and blocked her number before she could call again.