Chapter 48: Fu Wenzhou, Do You Want Me or Not

Song Qingyou turned her head to "look" at him. "Are we there yet?"

"Not yet," Fu Wenzhou answered in a low voice, his tone rough as if he were restraining something.

Song Qingyou blinked softly, her eyelashes brushing against his palm. His hand stiffened, and she hurriedly stopped blinking.

They walked a while longer, then paused again. She was puzzled, when Fu Wenzhou's laughter echoed softly beside her ear. "There's a cliff ahead. If you take one more step, you'll fall right off."

His words hovered between truth and jest, impossible to discern. If it were anyone else, Song Qingyou would have been anxious and unsettled. But beside her was Fu Wenzhou.

She abruptly realized how much she trusted him—perhaps too much. If it had been anyone else, she would never have allowed herself to be led, eyes covered, toward an unknown place.

But this was Fu Wenzhou.

He was Fu Wenzhou.

Her heartbeat didn't change in the slightest. She curved her lips in a faint smile, "Alright, then I'll try."

With that, she stepped forward.

There was no sheer drop as he'd said. Beneath her feet was a soft carpet of grass.

At that moment, his hand released her eyes.

Suddenly exposed to daylight, she instinctively squinted. When she opened her eyes again, a riot of color flooded her sight without warning.

Everywhere she looked, roses bloomed in profusion.

She stood frozen, her eyes widening in awe...

Few knew she was allergic to roses, and even fewer knew she preferred wild roses.

The season had passed; Song Qingyou could not fathom how he had managed to cover an entire mountain with wild roses after their bloom had ended.

How much time had he spent, how much effort...

Behind her, Fu Wenzhou’s voice drifted in, distant and ethereal, like a feather weightlessly settling into her heart. "Happy Winter Solstice, Qingyou."

In that instant, the boy she had sketched on her window in last night's dream and the man before her merged into one.

She turned slightly, gazing at him without blinking.

Every line of his features brimmed with affection; all his fierceness lay dormant, hidden away. Before her stood a Fu Wenzhou whose eyes held only her.

The mountain breeze gently lifted her hair and his coat, carrying with it the scent of wild roses.

He stood before her beneath a sapphire sky, the mountains rising in layers behind him. Like a pine tree rooted in the wind, his gaze burned bright.

In those ink-dark eyes, her reflection shimmered; he was blind to the world's splendor.

Yan Miao's phone call rang at the worst possible moment.

She answered mechanically, and Gu Miao's voice burst forth, lively and eager: "Qingyou, are you really not coming to my house? I told my parents, they'd love to have you. My driver and I can pick you up, alright?"

"No need," Song Qingyou replied softly.

Yan Miao protested, "Why not! Spending the solstice alone at home is so lonely!"

Lonely?

Song Qingyou looked at Fu Wenzhou before her, recalling his words in the car earlier.

She didn't need to guess; she knew the "her" in his phrase, "Wherever she is, that's my home," referred to herself.

Gu Miao kept chattering, but for the first time, Song Qingyou felt impatient with her friend.

"I'm fine. I have company." She hurriedly ended the call.

Fu Wenzhou raised an eyebrow.

From his half-smiling expression, Song Qingyou sensed his teasing; for some reason, her ears grew warm, her heart flushed hot.

She shifted her gaze in a fluster, trying awkwardly and urgently to distract him, "How did you get them to bloom in this season?"

Fu Wenzhou answered with something else, "The first time I met you, it was the Winter Solstice."

Song Qingyou's lashes trembled.

He took her hand. Feeling her fingers quiver, he gently squeezed and rubbed, as if to soothe her, though nothing could settle the ripples in her heart.

He led her into the sea of flowers, speaking in an unhurried tone, "Back then, I wondered, how could there be someone so beautiful in this world? Like a princess—your eyes, your brows, your nose, your lips, all so lovely..."

He let out a short laugh, "But you looked a little pitiful."

Song Qingyou lowered her gaze. "That day, I held my perfect exam paper, hoping for praise from Song Yuan, only to stumble upon his malice. I defied him, so he began to beat me. He tormented the wife who died in childbirth because of him, cursed his own daughter."

She drew a breath, her tone calm. "Fu Wenzhou, I can't forgive him."

Fu Wenzhou stopped, pain spreading from his eyes to his heart. He reached out and embraced her, murmuring, "Then don't forgive him."

The cold wind howled past, mingling with the scent of wild roses. Time seemed to freeze.

Song Qingyou looked up, her gaze bright and clear. "Fu Wenzhou, do you want me?"

Her gentle question sent Fu Wenzhou’s heart into sudden turmoil.

His voice was low and hoarse, trembling uncontrollably. "Qingyou, say it again."

He feared he'd misheard.

Song Qingyou repeated, "Do you want me or not?"

"I do."

He wanted her.

How could he not?

He was like a loyal dog offered a tempting morsel, his eyes blazing with wild, fervent devotion.

Her voice was clear, like melted snow from a mountaintop, cool and crisp. "All Song Qingyou can give you is today."

Just this day, she wanted to live for herself.

After twenty-four years in a cage, let her be reckless just once.

Fu Wenzhou cared nothing for today or tomorrow; he was like a wild dog, crazed by the scent of bones, lunging without restraint.

He swept Song Qingyou into his arms, quick yet steady; but for his reluctance to let her suffer, he would have taken her right there in the wild.

The car sped forward, wind howling.

No one could say who moved first. Outside, the wind raged, branches danced atop trees, dewdrops slid along veins, turning to spring water that soaked into the earth at the roots.

Song Qingyou had no time to react, sluggish and unable to keep pace, forced only to grit her teeth and endure.

The palm covering her eyes grew damp; Fu Wenzhou hurriedly removed his hand, and his passion-darkened eyes met hers, now flushed with desire.

Her cheeks were tinged red, tiny beads of sweat formed on her nose, and her lips parted softly.

In that moment, innocence and allure entwined, painting a scene of stunning erotic beauty.

Fu Wenzhou’s eyes darkened abruptly, his body trembled uncontrollably, and he growled, unable to resist, bending down...

At the threshold of ecstasy, Fu Wenzhou was overwhelmed by joy.

His Qingyou, at last, belonged wholly to him.

A tear slipped from the corner of Song Qingyou’s eye.

Four fifteen in the morning.

Song Qingyou, you’re past your time.