Chapter 50: Song Qingyou Is Getting Married

Nightfall, VIP suite on the top floor.

Fu Wenzhou was downing glass after glass of liquor, as if courting death itself. Gu Bai and Xu Zezhan exchanged glances, neither daring to intervene. Liang Muchuan let out a derisive snort. “This habit of yours—running off to torture yourself every time you’re heartbroken—when will you ever change?”

Gu Bai muttered quietly, “Has he ever actually been in love?”

Fu Wenzhou shot him a sidelong glare, and Gu Bai immediately fell silent.

Fu Wenzhou lowered his gaze to the glass in his hand, a self-mocking smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Xu Zezhan spoke up for his friend. “What’s up with this Song Qingyou, anyway? You’re always sending her rare medicinal herbs, treating her like a treasure, and she’s happy to take them, but she keeps pushing you away. If you ask me, she’s cold and heartless, no conscience at all. Otherwise—fine, fine, I’ll shut up. You’re hopeless!”

Fu Wenzhou finally withdrew his gaze, but continued drinking in silence.

Gu Bai couldn’t stand it anymore. “Stop drinking! Do you really want to drink yourself to death?”

Liang Muchuan said, “Leave him be. The doctor’s waiting outside—he won’t die.”

Gu Bai sighed. “You’re really thorough.”

Liang Muchuan scoffed, “Has he ever changed that dogged temper of his in all these years? He just wants to get himself drunk, look pitiful, and then go beg for sympathy from Song Qingyou. Honestly, Fu Wenzhou, you’ve been playing this card for years. Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

“What’s there to get tired of? Song Qingyou falls for it every time,” Xu Zezhan said, lighting a cigarette with a click of his tongue.

Fu Wenzhou snatched up his coat and stood to leave.

Gu Bai stared in surprise. “You’re done drinking?”

Fu Wenzhou’s voice was hoarse. “It’s winter. She’s afraid of the cold.”

Leaving behind these cryptic words, he strode out quickly.

Gu Bai blinked in confusion. “What does that mean? I don’t get it.”

Xu Zezhan exhaled a slow plume of smoke. “He’s rushing home to warm her bed.”

Gu Bai cursed under his breath.

Fu Wenzhou’s hurried steps suggested he truly was eager to return. As he descended, a woman collided with him.

A pungent perfume assaulted his senses.

He frowned and stepped aside, but she still managed to brush against the corner of his coat.

His expression instantly turned cold.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—wait, Fu Wenzhou?” The woman looked up, surprise lighting her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Fu Wenzhou recognized her face and frowned. “What does it matter to you if I’m here?”

Ruan Yinyin, accustomed to his indifference, suggested, “Care to share a drink?”

Fu Wenzhou replied, “I’m busy.”

With that, he started down the stairs, but Ruan Yinyin quickly grabbed his arm.

She pouted, feigning coyness. “Why are you always so cold to me? It’s my birthday today—can’t you stay with me for a while?”

Fu Wenzhou’s face darkened. “Let go.”

Ruan Yinyin’s expression shifted, but she forced a smile. “Come on, give the birthday girl a little attention.”

Fu Wenzhou glanced down at her hand gripping him, his lips curling with icy disdain. “I’ll say it again. Let go.”

Annoyance flickered in Ruan Yinyin’s eyes. Perhaps she thought Fu Wenzhou was being unreasonable, so she dropped the act and released him. “Fu Wenzhou, you turned me down when I confessed to you last time, and now you won’t keep me company on my birthday. Do you really dislike me that much?”

Fu Wenzhou’s patience snapped. His gaze was sharp and unyielding. “Yes, I do. So kindly stay as far away from me as possible. Don’t come near me.”

His blunt rejection stung Ruan Yinyin’s pride. She’d grown up cherished by all, always pursued by others—except for Fu Wenzhou, who rebuffed her every time.

Her affection for him should be his honor; he ought to be pleased. Why did he treat her so indifferently?

Irritated, she watched him leave and called out, “Did you know? Song Qingyou is marrying my brother.”

Her words were like a stone cast into still water. Fu Wenzhou froze, turning to glare at her, his gaze dark and menacing. “Say that again.”

Ruan Yinyin shrank back, intimidated by his chilling stare, but stubbornly retorted, “She’s a discarded woman. It’s her fortune my brother wants her. Who knows what tricks she used to win him over? Honestly, you’ve lost your chance. Stop—”

Before she could finish, he was already gone.

Ruan Yinyin stamped her foot in frustration.

Night deepened as the northern wind howled outside the window.

Song Qingyou lay on a wicker chair, her throat itching fiercely. She pressed her handkerchief to her lips, holding back a cough. “Mr. Ruan, about the rumors of our impending marriage, I’d like an explanation. I recall never agreeing to it. You—”

Bang!

The door was kicked open with a loud crash.

Startled by the sudden noise, Song Qingyou hung up the phone. Her delicate features, cast in moonlight, seemed cold and distant. “Are you insane?”

Before the words had even faded, Fu Wenzhou strode over in a few quick steps and grasped her ankle. The grit in his palm made her recoil in shock.

She couldn’t break free; his grip was firm, holding her alabaster feet captive.

“Song Qingyou.” Fu Wenzhou’s eyes were dark, his gaze bearing down on her as his hand slowly caressed her ankle. He then reached up and pulled the ribbon from her hair, winding it around her ankle. “Yesterday you slept in my bed, today you’re marrying another man.”

He wrapped the ribbon again and again, his smile twisted and grim. “No wonder you want to distance yourself from me.”

Song Qingyou, bound and unable to move, was assaulted by the scent of alcohol and harsh perfume. Fu Wenzhou’s breath grew heavier beside her ear; she sensed something was wrong. “Untie the ribbon.”

Fu Wenzhou only tightened it.

“What’s so good about Ruan Mingchen?” His trembling hand gripped her shoulder, pressing her down—fierce, stubborn, yet fragile and pitiful. “You like him, not me?”

His burning body pressed close. The itch in her throat, suppressed until now, burst forth. Song Qingyou began to cough violently, again and again, unable to catch her breath.

A flicker of concern crossed Fu Wenzhou’s eyes, but he quickly suppressed it. “Qingyou, don’t think I’ll let you go because of this. Unless I’m dead, you’ll never marry a Ruan!”

Song Qingyou struggled to steady her breathing. Even as she coughed so badly, under normal circumstances he’d have panicked—clearly, the puppy was truly angry this time.

Her head spun from coughing. Suddenly, Fu Wenzhou stood, went to the living room, and brought her a pill, forcing her to swallow it.

After taking the medicine, the itch finally subsided. Song Qingyou slowly looked up. “Come here.”

Fu Wenzhou remained sulky, unmoving.

Song Qingyou frowned slightly, her gaze calm as she watched him.

Two minutes passed before Fu Wenzhou approached, his expression still grim.

Song Qingyou said, “I have a headache.”

Fu Wenzhou’s handsome face was dark as a deep pool; with a scowl, he walked behind her and began massaging her temples.

The pain eased considerably. Song Qingyou’s voice floated softly, mingling with the wind outside. “Did I ever agree to be your girlfriend?”

She felt him pause, but continued, “Just because you like me, does it mean I must like you?”

Fu Wenzhou’s features were shadowed with a blood-red gloom, his eyes heavy with a brewing storm.

Song Qingyou pressed on. “Whom I marry is my own freedom—what does it have to do with you?”

Fu Wenzhou’s fingers finally froze, his face turning frighteningly grim.

Three questions, each like a knife slicing into him.

“Heh.” He laughed, eyes nearly bloodshot. “Song Qingyou, you—”

“Whose perfume are you wearing?” Song Qingyou interrupted.