Chapter 74: The Puppy Gets Angry

Song Chen suddenly burst into laughter, a malicious and venomous sneer twisting his lips. "Song Qingyou, I truly misjudged you before. I thought Song Shixin was the most cunning in the Song family, but it turns out you were the one hiding the deepest."
Song Qingyou replied coolly, "You're too kind."
Song Chen swallowed the bloody spittle in his mouth and gritted his teeth. "Fine. One month for fifteen hundred million—it's worth it."
He grabbed the pen Song Qingyou handed him and scrawled his signature at the end of the contract, then flung the document at her with a word spat from between clenched teeth, each syllable laced with venom: "Song Qingyou, you're ruthless."
Song Qingyou picked up the file with casual indifference and glanced back. "Miss Jiang, aren't you going to act?"
Jiang Xun was rarely moved by emotion, and few people ever caught her interest, but this sickly beauty from the capital had earned her respect.
She appeared delicate and harmless, yet was a white flower steeped in poison.
Her face serene as a bodhisattva, her heart colder and deadlier than a viper's.
Cold enough, and ruthless enough.
It seemed the Song family would one day fall back into her hands.
Jiang Xun couldn't help but think: if this woman were not plagued by illness, perhaps the Song Corporation would have achieved far more than it had today...
But what was the point of such thoughts?
Jiang Xun shook her head and gestured to the bodyguards behind her. Immediately, they stepped forward, seized Song Chen, and hauled him away.
Liang Muchuan stared in disbelief. "So from the very beginning, you and Wen Zhou planned this together?"
Song Qingyou pressed her lips together, saying nothing.
Fu Wenzhou gave a soft, dismissive laugh, gathered the cat in his arms, and strode outside.
Liang Muchuan was baffled. "What's wrong with him?"
Jiang Xun said, "Young Master Liang, sometimes silence is a virtue."
Liang Muchuan: "?"
Song Qingyou rubbed her brow in mild exasperation. She knew exactly why Fu Wenzhou was angry.
Jiang Xun turned to Song Qingyou and asked, "Miss Song, I'm curious—how were you so sure Song Chen would take your gamble?"
Song Qingyou tucked the documents into her bag, her voice calm. "When you know someone well enough, every move they make is within your prediction."
She was no prophet. She simply understood Song Chen better than he understood himself.
And she hadn't demanded the full fifteen hundred million because Song Chen couldn't afford to pay the remaining sum anyway.
Everything that happened today was within her design—except for her little puppy running off in a huff.
Ah...
Now she would have to coax him back.

Song Qingyou coughed lightly. "Young Master Liang, Miss Jiang, I'll take my leave now."
She had barely taken a step when Liang Muchuan suddenly called after her, "Song Qingyou, we haven't added each other on WeChat, have we?"
Song Qingyou paused, glancing back. "There's no need."
Liang Muchuan tried again, "Huakong has a project recently that needs a venture capital firm. I hope we'll have a chance to work together."
He meant nothing more by it; he truly valued Song Qingyou's abilities. Huakong's pharmaceutical division was developing a new drug, and back when Song Qingyou was not yet divorced, she'd dealt with Dingsheng Pharmaceuticals and had a strong grasp of the field.
Rather than invest in others, he preferred to invest in her.
It would earn him favor with a friend and also let him see for himself just how capable this so-called little goddess was.
And, should she one day take control of the Song family, perhaps Huakong would secure a head start for collaboration.
Song Qingyou seemed to consider for a few seconds. "Shiyu Ventures is under Yan's management now. If it's about venture capital, you can speak with him."
With that, she left.
Liang Muchuan paused, not expecting her to refuse so bluntly.
Jiang Xun remarked cryptically, "It's best not to fight a mad dog for food—lest you get bitten."
Liang Muchuan: "..."

The hotel arranged by the Jiang family was by the sea, with special boats ferrying guests back and forth.
At the stern, Song Qingyou spotted Fu Wenzhou sitting on one of the boats, holding the cat in his arms.
She couldn't help but smile.
No matter how angry the little puppy got, he would never truly leave his master behind.
Fu Wenzhou's eyes were dark and brooding, his face as cold as a death god's, standing there like the very embodiment of wrath.
Zhouzhou, seeing Song Qingyou, mewed in distress and tried to leap from the man's hold, but was firmly restrained, unable to escape the clutches, its cries growing ever more plaintive.
Song Qingyou stepped softly onto the boat. The boatman reached out to help her, but before he could, an arm shot out to block him and swept her up effortlessly.
The moment her feet touched the deck, Fu Wenzhou released her, turning away with an icy face, as if he couldn't bear to look at her even once.
Song Qingyou's gaze lingered. "Fu Wenzhou, are you angry?"
He acted as if he hadn't heard, cradling the cat in silence.
Song Qingyou pressed, "I'm speaking to you."
He replied coldly, "No."
No?

Was that not anger?
Song Qingyou didn't call him out, simply sat quietly across from him, watching his slender, elegant fingers stroke Zhouzhou's fur.
Zhouzhou looked utterly miserable, mewling in protest.
If it could speak, it would surely beg its mistress to save it. If this kept up, it would be bald!
The boat sped across the water, and in just a few minutes, they reached the opposite shore.
As they stepped out of the cabin, a fierce sea wind swept over them, making Song Qingyou cough.
The howling wind did not last long; someone stepped forward and enfolded her in a protective embrace.
She looked up and met Fu Wenzhou's dark and strikingly beautiful eyes.
He thrust Zhouzhou into her arms, then swept her up by the waist and strode straight into the hotel.
He did not set her down until they reached the room, then wordlessly disappeared into the bathroom.
Soon, the sound of running water could be heard.
Song Qingyou was left speechless by this sequence of actions, looking at Zhouzhou in mute exasperation.
She'd only failed to tell him the true purpose of her trip to the coast—did that warrant such anger?
She crouched down, stroking the cat's head. "What should I do?"
Zhouzhou mewed a few times, as if it, too, had no answer.
In the past, no matter how angry Fu Wenzhou grew, he never ignored her.
Song Qingyou sighed, crouching there, at a loss.
Zhouzhou rubbed its head against her palm.
At some point, the water stopped.
The bathroom door slid open. Song Qingyou looked up instinctively—and was stunned.
The man was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, damp hair falling across his brow, beads of water tracing down defined muscles to disappear below his waist.
Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, each abdominal muscle sharply defined; the taut body seemed to burn with wildness in the night.
He was like a lone wolf in the vast desert, howling in the darkness, driving one to madness.