Chapter 134: Unrestrained

The clouds obscured the sun, dusk thickened like smoke, and a gentle drizzle began to fall from the sky.

Song Qingyou held an oil-paper umbrella, looking as if she had stepped out of a painting, ethereally beautiful and almost unreal.

For a moment, Bai Li was momentarily lost in her.

He stepped forward, reaching out his hand to support her, but Song Qingyou calmly sidestepped, saying, “Brother Li, I can manage on my own.”

Bai Li withdrew his hand as if he had never extended it, his voice low and steady: “Did something happen?”

Inside the inner room, Song Qingyou folded her umbrella and placed it by the doorframe. The rain had dampened the hem of her clothes, and she glanced down without much concern. “Yes, there’s something I want to ask for your help with.”

Bai Li’s eyes darkened; his ten years in the military had hardened even his features. He turned and poured her a cup of hot water, handing it over. “Tell me.”

Having known each other since childhood and with a deep bond, Song Qingyou didn’t bother with formalities. She spoke straightforwardly: “Fu Wenzhou injured someone. The other party is now in the emergency room, their life hanging by a thread. The police will likely rule it as excessive self-defense. I’ve dealt with the surveillance footage from the Song Corporation, but if Chen Chuan wakes up, he will definitely accuse Fu Wenzhou of a second assault. So I want to ask you to…”

“To help you take care of Chen Chuan?” Bai Li looked at her intently. “Qingyou, I am a soldier.”

Song Qingyou was momentarily speechless.

Bai Li continued, “I can do anything for you, even things concerning that man, but this one I cannot. Sorry.”

Song Qingyou rubbed her brow and chuckled softly. “Brother Li, even if I wanted to kill Chen Chuan, I wouldn’t use your hands to do it.”

Bai Li was taken aback. “Then?”

She explained, “Chen Chuan’s younger brother is in prison, right? I want you to help transfer him to your prison. Chen Chuan cares deeply for his brother. Holding his brother’s fate in our hands will naturally keep him silent.”

Bai Li frowned. “He probably wants money. Why not just give it to him? That would be simpler.”

Song Qingyou’s expression was serene, and she smiled faintly. “I don’t want to give.”

He hurt Fu Wenzhou; how could she possibly give him money to live the rest of his life in comfort?

Chen Chuan liked to threaten people, did he not? Then she would use his own method against him, threatening him with his brother’s life, making him live forever in fear and under control.

Bai Li assumed it was just the recent crisis at the Song Corporation making her stingy, so he nodded in agreement. “Alright, I’ll have someone handle it tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Song Qingyou took a stack of documents from her bag. “These are the transfer papers for that house in Haidong. Take a look and if everything’s in order, have Uncle Chang handle the ownership transfer.”

Bai Li furrowed his brow, feeling the papers burn like hot coal in his hands. “What’s this?”

Song Qingyou whispered, “Consider it a token of thanks.”

Bai Li paused, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “Do you do this with Fu Wenzhou as well?”

Outside, the wind howled fiercely, and Song Qingyou didn’t quite catch what he said.

Bai Li folded the documents. “Nothing. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

Song Qingyou shook her head. “No, Fu Wenzhou is still at the police station. I have to go pick him up.”

Bai Li’s eyes darkened as he glanced at the rain-soaked sky. “It’s raining.”

He remembered that Song Qingyou disliked rainy days.

Long ago, on the day Bai Li left to join the army, he had planned to meet her, but it rained that day.

Song Qingyou said she didn’t like going out in the rain, so Bai Li waited a long time at the station, but she never came.

He watched her figure grow smaller and smaller in the rain, a self-mocking smile curling his lips.

He actually wanted to ask: Do you treat Fu Wenzhou this way too? Do you keep such clear accounts with him, stay so polite?

Friends helping each other often fear owing a debt without reciprocation, needing to repay to feel at ease.

Song Qingyou was like this with everyone, and Bai Li was curious if she was the same with Fu Wenzhou.

But the question was destined to remain unanswered, for he would never voice it, and she might not be able to reply.

The rain outside suddenly intensified, turning into a roaring downpour that seemed to tear countless fissures in the sky.

The dense raindrops dispelled the city’s usual clamor.

Driving swiftly, Song Qingyou was alone since Song Chang was absent; she had to drive herself.

Though she had held a license for a long time, her chronic heart condition had kept her from driving often.

She entered the city police station as the rain hammered down. Her oil-paper umbrella was tilted askew by the wind, and raindrops soaked the exposed half of her shoulder.

The police, seeing her arrive, did not delay and immediately opened an umbrella to escort her inside.

Fu Wenzhou stood there in black, wearing military boots. His sharp brow was cold and hard, exuding a rebellious aura.

He sat lazily with one leg crossed over the other, his bandaged hand resting casually on his long leg, the other hand holding a half-smoked cigarette.

“Fu Wenzhou,” Song Qingyou called softly.

He paused, crushed the cigarette with swift fingers, and tossed it into the nearby trash bin.

Then he stood up, and the careless, wild energy vanished as if he had become a different person—his defensive spikes withdrawn, revealing a soft belly for his owner to hold.

He took a few steps to Song Qingyou, stopped, and pulled her into his arms, his voice slightly aggrieved: “Why are you only here now? I’ve been waiting for you for two hours.”

Song Qingyou pressed her lips tight. She had been to see Bai Li and then rushed to the station; the journey alone had taken over an hour.

“This record-taking was so quick?” she asked.

Fu Wenzhou buried his head in her neck, his voice muffled and deep: “Yeah, they just asked a few questions casually.”

In truth, it wasn’t that quick. The police were itching to charge him with intentional injury, but due to his status, they couched their questions in flattery and suspicion.

Fu Wenzhou was too lazy to deal with it and threw a tantrum, so they let him go.

But if Chen Chuan woke up and identified him, it would become much harder to handle.

However, such concerns were never within Fu Wenzhou’s realm of thought. The only thing worth his focus was Song Qingyou.

Like a massive Tibetan mastiff clinging to its owner, he held her tightly, as if they might merge into one.

Song Qingyou’s eyelids twitched. This was a police station, with so many people around—could he not restrain himself a little?

Fu Wenzhou had no intention of holding back. He savored the scent of her, intoxicated. His fingers brushed against dampness and only then did he snap back to reality.

Seeing her half-wet shoulder and sleeve, he furrowed his brow and carefully wiped the remaining moisture with his sleeve.

Finding it unable to dry fully, he reached to take off her coat, intending to replace it with his own.

His movements were fluid and unhurried, as if no one else existed.

Fu Wenzhou draped her coat over his arm. “Let’s go home.”

Song Qingyou nodded and glanced at his hand. “Does it hurt?”

He smiled. “No.”

She took his uninjured hand, walking side by side with him out the door.