Chapter 55: She Saw Her World

Back at Wutong Apartment, Song Chang wanted to apply medicine to Song Qingyou’s wounds, but she insisted she was fine and sent him off to take care of another matter. Song Chang repeatedly reminded her not to forget the medicine, and only after she promised did he leave.

Song Qingyou closed the door, let out a long breath, glanced at the untouched ointment on the table, and stretched out on the wicker chair. Such injuries, according to her past experience, would heal within a week. She needed to remember this pain; only then could she constantly remind herself what she should and should not do.

She changed out of the blood-stained clothes, reclined in the wicker chair, and gazed out the window. The northern wind howled, and snow had begun to fall, though she hadn’t noticed when. She reached out to catch the snowflakes drifting in from outside, but none landed in her palm.

She sat in a daze for a while, about to withdraw her hand, when a mechanical voice suddenly sounded in her ear.

"Welcome home to the residence of Song Qingyou and Fu Wenzhou."

Fu Wenzhou entered, covered in snow, his ears red from the cold, but his voice was lively.

"Qingyou, the winter jujubes in Linhai are ripe. Didn’t you say you liked them? I drove over early this morning and picked a basketful. They don’t keep well, so I didn’t pick too many—didn’t want them to go to waste if you couldn’t finish them."

He spoke as he changed his shoes, his brows raised, protecting the jujubes in his arms from the snow. The moment he stepped inside, he presented them like a treasure, walking toward Song Qingyou.

Against the light, his features were indistinct. With each step closer, his face gradually became clear.

Fu Wenzhou emerged from the light.

Song Qingyou was stunned.

She saw the snow—and she saw her world.

"Why is the window open?" Fu Wenzhou approached and only then noticed the snowflakes blowing in, along with the biting wind that stung the face. He frowned, closed the window, and chided, "The wind is so strong, and you still leave it open. Why do you always neglect your own health?"

His tone was reproachful, but his gaze was full of concern.

Fu Wenzhou squatted down, set the basket on the tea table, and picked out a jujube to offer her. "Try it—they’re all fresh."

Song Qingyou parted her lips but didn’t take the jujube. "Linhai is three hundred and fifty kilometers from here. You went all that way just to pick a few jujubes?"

Fu Wenzhou arched his brows and smiled. "Not just a few—a whole basket."

Song Qingyou stared at him in silence.

Three hundred and fifty kilometers, nearly eight hours of driving back and forth, all for her.

She reached out to rub his frozen ear.

Fu Wenzhou took her hand away. "You eat first, I’ll take a hot shower."

He didn’t want to pass the chill from his body to hers.

Song Qingyou grabbed him, slowly leaned in, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Fu Wenzhou froze, his mind stopped working, overwhelmed by the fact that Song Qingyou was hugging him of her own accord!

His Adam’s apple bobbed with difficulty; he feared his cold would chill her, yet he couldn’t bear to let go.

Song Qingyou closed her eyes, tears gathering at the corners. "Fu Wenzhou."

"Hmm?" Fu Wenzhou’s voice was dry, "Qingyou, let go—I'm too cold. When I’m back from the shower, you can hug me as much as you want, okay? Be good..."

"I went to the Song house today."

Fu Wenzhou’s words caught in his throat. After a long pause, he frowned. "Why did you go back there? Was it Song Yuan who called you again?"

"Yes," Song Qingyou replied softly. "Song Wei came back, and Song Yuan wanted me to welcome her home. How ridiculous. I stood there watching them, a family of cuckoos in my nest, lording over my home."

Her voice trembled. "That was my grandfather’s and my mother’s home—my home..."

Fu Wenzhou was bundled up, but he could sense Song Qingyou was crying. Her tears felt like fire on his shoulder. His gaze deepened, and he patiently asked, "What did Song Yuan do to you?"

"He told me to quit Shiyu. I refused."

Her fingers tightened. "So he hit me."

"He hit you?!" Fu Wenzhou’s tone changed abruptly, his eyes darkening with anger. He straightened her, checking for injuries. "Where did he hit you?"

Each word carried a storm of fury.

Song Qingyou was satisfied to see the mad dog enraged, to see him anxious and heartbroken for her.

Fu Wenzhou finally saw the bruises on her arm; his expression grew fierce and cold.

"Is Song Yuan tired of living?" he said through clenched teeth.

"Fu Wenzhou, let’s do it," Song Qingyou suddenly said.

Fu Wenzhou thought he’d misheard. "Which hand did he use to hit you, hmm?"

Song Qingyou leaned in and kissed his lips, repeating, "Let’s do it. I want you."

Fu Wenzhou frowned. "Medicine first, Qingyou."

He stood to fetch the ointment.

Song Qingyou gripped his sleeve, her eyes burning. "Fu Wenzhou, are you incapable?"

...

The moment she was filled, her emptiness vanished.

She needed to be certain that she was loved.

She needed love desperately.

Not a little, but all of it.

She needed all of Fu Wenzhou’s love; if it contained anything else, she didn’t want it. She wanted his love overflowing, wanted to be the only one in his world.

All her life, Song Qingyou forced herself to endure, always composed, objective, detached from her emotions.

But now her mind was consumed by wild thoughts; she only wanted to abandon herself with him.

Song Qingyou thought, it’s over.

Stay too long with a mad dog, and you go mad yourself.