Chapter 12: Undressed

"The one who did the beating was Fu Wenzhou."

Yan Shaoqin's leisurely voice came through the receiver.

Song Qingyou snapped her book shut. "What did you just say?"

"Seems he didn't tell you," Yan Shaoqin arched his brows, surprised that the mere mention of Fu Wenzhou's name could stir such emotion in the usually cold and aloof beauty. "Zhang Yinan was beaten so badly he'll never be a man again. Do you think Zhang Song will let him off easily? Of course, this is just what I've heard—I don't know the details."

He had thought Fu would use this as a ploy for sympathy, but apparently, he hadn't told Song Qingyou a thing.

Yan Shaoqin suddenly felt his call was unnecessary. Before he could continue, the call was already ended. He looked at the darkened phone screen and clicked his tongue.

Song Qingyou dialed Gu Bai without preamble. "What happened to Fu Wenzhou?"

Gu Bai had just woken after a night spent fussing until dawn. Hearing Song Qingyou's voice, he thought he was dreaming.

After double-checking several times, he finally replied in a low voice, "Nothing much—except that because of you, he's now lying in bed, battered all over, unable to move."

Heart aching for his friend, Gu Bai told Song Qingyou the whole story, including Fu Wenzhou visiting her last night.

Song Qingyou's brows drew together, her voice icy. "Was it the bodyguard always beside Zhang Song?"

Gu Bai said, "Probably. Zhang Song would never do it himself."

"Got it. Thanks."

Afraid she'd hang up, Gu Bai hurriedly asked, "Hey, aren't you going to see him?"

Song Qingyou coughed a few times. "No."

Gu Bai stared at the disconnected call, muttering, "What a heartless woman. Fu Wenzhou, what are you even doing this for?"

Fu Wenzhou was cradling Zhouzhou, his expression impatient. "Who told you to tell her all that?"

Gu Bai chuckled. "I just thought your suffering shouldn't be in vain."

Fu Wenzhou lay on the bed, wrapped in bandages, looking a bit ridiculous, though his features remained sharp. "Too many words."

"Heartless bastard," Gu Bai said. "I rushed over with a doctor late at night to patch you up, and now you complain."

Fu Wenzhou's mind was full of Song Qingyou's curt "No" from the call. He was deeply frustrated.

He hadn't wanted her to worry, but seeing her truly unconcerned for him, Fu Wenzhou felt a stab of disappointment and resentment.

Gu Bai glanced at the bandages. "Can you swallow this?"

Fu Wenzhou stroked Zhouzhou's fur and gave a cold laugh. "Since birth, the thing I hate most is being threatened."

Gu Bai warned, "Zhang Song's not easy to deal with. Take it easy."

Fu Wenzhou sat up and began unwinding the bandages layer by layer. Gu Bai quickly reached out to stop him. "After all that effort, why are you undoing it?"

Fu Wenzhou snorted, "I'm going to use the sympathy card."

Gu Bai: "...Why are you carrying Zhouzhou?"

Fu Wenzhou: "Two-pronged attack."

"Six."

Wutong Apartments.

A breeze swept the balcony. Song Qingyou coughed several times, prompting Song Chang to hurry over and close the window. "Miss, you know you can't stand the wind, yet insist on keeping the windows open."

Song Qingyou placed her book on the shelf behind her and handed Song Chang a document. "Uncle Chang, deliver this to the Zhangs anonymously."

Song Chang asked curiously, "What's this?"

Song Qingyou smiled faintly. "The DNA paternity test results for Zhang Yinan and Zhang Song."

Song Chang paused, puzzled. "Wasn't this meant to be your leverage against the Zhangs in the future? Why send it now?"

Song Qingyou rubbed the jade bracelet on her wrist and said softly, "Sooner or later, it makes no difference."

Song Chang asked no more, simply replied, "Alright."

After Song Chang left, Song Qingyou reclined in the wicker chair, eyes half-closed. Her face, pale as jade, glowed almost translucent in the sunlight, her features so exquisite they seemed painted—beauty enough to daze the senses.

Sounds came from the living room. Song Qingyou assumed Song Chang had returned. "Uncle Chang, I'm a bit thirsty—could you pour me some water?"

Warm water was handed to her. As she reached for it, a hand pressed gently against the back of hers—warm skin touching her own. She startled, eyes snapping open to see a tall figure before her.

The cat leaped into her lap, meowing and nuzzling her with its head.

Fu Wenzhou raised a brow and plucked Zhouzhou away.

The kitten meowed discontentedly, scampered off on its small legs.

Song Qingyou looked up, discreetly sizing him from head to toe. Finally she asked, "Why didn't you go to the hospital?"

Fu Wenzhou crouched beside her, resting his head on her arm draped over the chair's armrest, voice low. "Qingyou, I thought you really didn't care whether I lived or died."

Ignoring the question, Song Qingyou frowned. "Get up."

Fu Wenzhou finally answered, "You know I can't stand the smell of disinfectant in hospitals."

Song Qingyou didn't pull her hand away, unwilling to argue with an injured man. "Is Zhang Yinan truly crippled?"

Fu Wenzhou took the opportunity to nuzzle her again, making the most of it. "He is."

"Oh," Song Qingyou replied.

She finally withdrew her arm and stood from the chair. "Come here."

Fu Wenzhou obediently followed.

Song Qingyou fetched the medicine box from the storage room and glanced at him. "Take your shirt off."

Fu Wenzhou arched his brow high, a roguish smile tugging at his lips. "Qingyou, it's broad daylight—don't you think that's a bit improper?"

Song Qingyou shot him a cool glance.

Fu Wenzhou forced a grin. "I'm fine. Gu Bai already had someone apply medicine this morning."

"Off," Song Qingyou coughed.

Seeing her start to cough, Fu Wenzhou dared not argue further. He turned his back and unbuttoned his shirt with one hand.

His back was broad and solid, muscles well-defined, every line sculpted to perfection. Paired with his face, he was flawless.

But Song Qingyou's expression only grew colder.

With his clothes on, the full extent of his injuries hadn't been visible. Song Qingyou had thought Zhang Song wouldn't go too far, but she hadn't expected him to beat Fu Wenzhou so mercilessly, leaving no part unscathed.

"You didn't fight back?"

Fu Wenzhou's narrow eyes lifted at the corners, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. "Qingyou, you're upset."

Song Qingyou lowered her gaze and opened the medicine box, applying ointment. "This won't leave scars."

Fu Wenzhou was naturally warm; the cool ointment was a relief. He stared unwaveringly at the woman tending his wounds. Fu Wenzhou was tall—even though Song Qingyou was one meter sixty-eight, he still had twenty centimeters on her.

He stepped closer, easily bridging the gap between them. At this proximity, his lowered jaw almost brushed her forehead.

"Ow!" he hissed.

Song Qingyou resumed her normal, gentler touch. "Be still."

Fu Wenzhou smiled, leaning slightly forward, his eyes fixed on hers, his voice hoarse. "Qingyou."

His voice seemed to carry countless tiny hooks, deliberately teasing.

Song Qingyou's fingers trembled. After a brief silence, she tossed him the ointment. "Apply it yourself—morning and evening. You may leave now."

Fu Wenzhou's figure stiffened.

Two seconds later, he slowly withdrew his gaze, emotions suppressed bit by bit in his eyes.

"You really can't stand me, can you?"

His voice was low and rough.