Chapter 71: Wishing to Be Addressed as Mrs. Fu

“She is the one I love,” Fu Wenzhou said, narrowing his long eyes, his cold gaze settling on Jiang Xun’s face. In an instant, the atmosphere around him shifted, brimming with an oppressive force. “Jiang Xun, do you think she’s unworthy of being on the top floor, or do you think I am unworthy?”

For once, Jiang Xun’s eternally icy expression flickered. She glanced again at the frail beauty in the man’s arms—a woman who, in Jiang Xun’s eyes, was no different from a decorative vase. Merely a dodder vine clinging to a man for support.

Jiang Xun lifted her gaze, her face devoid of emotion. “Since Young Master Fu insists, let her stay if she wishes.”

Liang Muchuan watched the scene leisurely from the side, curious whether Jiang Xun was truly unaware of Song Qingyou’s identity or merely pretending not to know.

Song Qingyou’s skin was pale as snow, her eyes clear as a tranquil pool. Every glance was laced with allure. She smiled faintly at Jiang Xun. “Miss Jiang… such ignorance, truly surprising.”

As she spoke, she coughed, fragile and pitiable, yet her bearing remained elegant. Despite her halting words, her eyes were indifferent.

Fu Wenzhou frowned deeply. “Are you feeling unwell again?”

Song Qingyou patted the back of his hand in reassurance.

Jiang Xun’s voice was cold. “What do you mean by that, Miss Song?”

Liang Muchuan raised his brows when he heard her address Song Qingyou by her surname. She knew Song Qingyou belonged to the Song family, yet she still acted this way—clearly, she looked down on this disregarded, sickly Song daughter.

He was curious to see how the frail beauty in Fu Wenzhou’s arms would respond.

Song Qingyou’s expression remained calm, unruffled. “When the Jiang family first came to Binhai to expand, your esteemed father personally visited my grandfather. I heard that your father spent over a month preparing a proposal just for the chance at investment. My grandfather was moved by Uncle Jiang’s sincerity—after just one meal together, he signed the contract.”

She paused, then smiled. “Miss Jiang, the Song Enterprises has not changed its name yet.”

The implication was clear: her father had struggled for over a month to secure investment, yet for the Song family, such money was but a casual sum.

Jiang Xun stiffened for a moment. Yet, rather than anger, she found herself intrigued by this so-called useless, sickly beauty who was the subject of so many rumors.

Like a little white rabbit bristling in indignation—rather adorable.

She smiled. “Miss Song, my earlier words were out of line. As an apology, let me offer you some information: Song Chen is at table eight.”

Song Qingyou glanced at Jiang Xun and nodded slightly. “Thank you.”

Liang Muchuan clicked his tongue. Was this how clever people conversed?

Jiang Xun didn’t linger long; she was the host tonight, busy with many matters.

After she left, Liang Muchuan approached. “Had I known you were coming, we could have arrived together.”

Fu Wenzhou shot him a glance. “Do you enjoy playing third wheel?”

Liang Muchuan was speechless—there was no reasoning with someone so lovesick.

He leaned in and said coolly, “Song Chen’s luck is running high tonight. He’s won back all the money he lost in Binhai over the past few days, switched tables, doubled the stakes, and won two more rounds—this much in total.”

Liang Muchuan signaled with his hand.

Fu Wenzhou raised an eyebrow. “Seventy million?”

Liang Muchuan replied, “Seven hundred million.”

“Song Chen certainly bets big,” Fu Wenzhou sneered, a roguish smile curling his lips. “Qingyou, would you like to play against him?”

Song Qingyou lifted her eyelids, her voice calm and cool. “All right.”

Liang Muchuan frowned. “Song Qingyou, this is a casino. Many have lost everything here in a single night. You’re a young woman—don’t get involved in such chaos. If you want to deal with Song Chen, there are plenty of other ways. Why waste your energy on this?”

Before Song Qingyou could reply, a languid, unruly voice cut in.

“Don’t listen to him. If you want to play, play.”

Liang Muchuan’s lips twitched in a forced smile. “Fu Wenzhou, why are you never this generous with your friends?”

Fu Wenzhou’s tone was open. “Are you my wife?”

“…Damn you,” Liang Muchuan muttered under his breath.

Song Qingyou’s eyes flickered slightly. She straightened out of Fu Wenzhou’s arms. “Let’s go and have a look.”

Fu Wenzhou, holding the cat, watched her departing figure, his gaze deep and somber. The playful smile faded from his lips, his mouth set in a tight line.

Liang Muchuan draped an arm over his shoulder, gloating. “Still not official, huh? You’ve been following after her for years—even a stone would be warmed by now, but Song Qingyou is immune to both hard and soft approaches.”

Though he was teasing, his words rang true.

Fu Wenzhou had just used a joke to probe Song Qingyou’s attitude, but her reaction was the same as always: she kept her distance.

To say he wasn’t hurt would be false. Fu Wenzhou was human, after all—he had feelings. He had given her his heart, wished he could give her his very life, but what about her? Every time the future was mentioned, she avoided the subject.

Was it that after all these years, he still had no place in her plans?

A dull ache throbbed in Fu Wenzhou’s heart. He wanted her—not just her body, but all of her. He wanted the world to call her Mrs. Fu.

Why was such a simple wish so difficult?

Liang Muchuan noticed Fu Wenzhou’s strange expression and cleared his throat. “Actually, Song Qingyou treats you differently from how she treats others.”

Fu Wenzhou pressed his tongue against his molars, a chilling smile curling his lips, making Liang Muchuan shudder.

Noticing no one following after her, Song Qingyou turned back, frowning. “Fu Wenzhou?”

“Mm.” Fu Wenzhou answered with a dark expression, clutching the cat as he strode quickly after her.

The casino was in another section of the ship, past two doors. When they entered, it was a world apart from outside. Nearly every table was packed, the patrons all impeccably dressed and clearly of high status.

Song Chen sat at table eight, one leg crossed over the other as he handled his cards, his face beaming with triumph.

His luck had held all night, and when he won another round, he exclaimed, “Sorry, everyone, but I’ve won again! Mr. Wang, time to pay up.”

Wang Ru was drenched in cold sweat. He’d already lost a listed company tonight—if this continued, how could he face his wife at home?

He wanted to leave the table, but the Jiang family’s casino rules were strict: once seated, you couldn’t leave until you’d played five rounds unless the house allowed it. This was only the third.

Wang Ru looked to Song Chen for help. “Second Master Song, I’ve lost enough—why not let someone else play? Rest assured, I’ll pay back every cent I owe you.”

Song Chen had no intention of letting such a fat sheep go. He smiled, “There are still two rounds left. How about this—we play one big hand. If you win, I’ll return all your money. If you lose, you pay double. Deal?”

Wang Ru hesitated, then gritted his teeth and agreed. Another round began.

When he saw his cards, he broke out in a cold sweat and fainted on the spot.

Song Chen was just about to mock him when he caught sight of Song Qingyou in the distance.

He narrowed his eyes and turned his scorn on her. “Well, well, isn’t this my dying little sister? What brings you to Binhai?”

Jiang family staff quickly carried off the unconscious Wang Ru, leaving Song Chen’s table empty.

Song Qingyou walked over, her manner cool and detached. “Song Chen, care for a game?”