Chapter 62: True Love

Song Qingyou held the examination report in her hands, her heart utterly calm. The result had been within her expectations all along. She glanced back at Fu Wenzhou, whose face was grim and silent, and couldn't help but laugh softly, "Isn't there still Master Yunfang? Once you find him, my illness will be cured."

She was mostly trying to comfort him with these words, but Fu Wenzhou took them seriously, gritting his teeth. "We won't come to this hospital anymore. They're all quacks."

The moment he remembered the doctor saying that his Qingyou's illness was chronic and hard to cure, Fu Wenzhou felt his heart twist with pain.

She had heard such statements in hospitals for many years, and had long since become immune, so she smiled lightly, "Alright, we won't come anymore."

Only then did the gloom gathered in Fu Wenzhou's chest dissipate a little, though worry still gnawed at him. He had to hurry and find Yunfang.

After they returned home, Song Qingyou rested. Fu Wenzhou moved all his belongings over himself, afraid to disturb her, so he didn't start unpacking. Alone in the study, he stared at his phone screen as if gazing at some precious treasure.

He took a tattoo needle from a drawer, found a mirror, and carefully began to etch something onto the back of his neck, his gaze focused.

Time passed slowly, and the tattoo gradually took shape—it was, unmistakably, the scene of Song Qingyou lying on the bed after their first night together, her back exposed.

The vivid red mole on her back was lifelike, her hair flowing and wild, holy yet seductive.

This extreme contradiction possessed a fatal allure, making the skin on the nape of his neck seem alive.

Fu Wenzhou rubbed at the tattoo for a long time before carefully putting it away, wearing it around his neck.

Song Qingyou learned about what he had carved two days later.

News swept the internet; it was impossible not to know.

She tapped open the trending video sent by Yan Miao.

The message read: Damn, isn’t this you!!! I remember you have a red mole on your back???

In the video, Fu Wenzhou was being interviewed live by a finance channel.

The host asked, "Mr. Fu, is there any special meaning to the tattoo on the back of your neck? It looks like a woman."

Fu Wenzhou’s collar was low; a slight turn revealed the full tattoo.

His voice was low and sensual, "She is the love of my life."

Song Qingyou’s breath caught, and she suddenly began to cough loudly, the blush fading from her face, replaced by pallor as the itch in her throat was barely suppressed.

The interview immediately shot to the top of the trending searches. Countless people began speculating about the identity of the ‘love of his life’ mentioned by the powerful young master of the capital, Fu.

Later, someone dug up photos of Fu Wenzhou buying drinks at night and kissing a mysterious woman on the street. The photo was taken at night, the woman’s face obscured by darkness; only her fair, beautiful neck was visible.

For a time, rumors about the identity of this ‘love’ were rife.

Song Qingyou stared at the photo, her fingertips turning faintly white.

It was taken two years ago, when Fu Wenzhou first sought her out, drunk. She’d feared he would drink himself into the hospital, so she went to find him.

She hadn't expected that lunatic to pull her close and kiss her. She couldn’t escape, the difference in strength between man and woman leaving her helpless.

Song Qingyou felt a measure of relief—at least her face wasn’t visible.

If it had been…

She closed her eyes and smiled bitterly.

She and Fu Wenzhou would become the laughingstock of the entire capital.

An aunt and her nephew together—such a relationship was messy no matter how one looked at it.

Families of great wealth cared most about reputation; no matter how rotten inside, the facade always had to be immaculate. If such a scandalous relationship were exposed, how could she and Fu Wenzhou ever face the world again?

At least, not until she regained control of the Song family, this relationship could never be made public.

Otherwise, how could she earn the trust of those old foxes?

Late at night, the snow fell harder, wind and snow howling, the sound of machinery marking the closing of the door.

Someone approached Song Qingyou; before he could bend down, she spoke first, "Go to the guest room."

He froze obediently in place, neither advancing nor retreating. "I wanted to tattoo you onto myself, so when they asked, I answered. I didn’t think too much, didn’t expect it would cause such a stir."

Song Qingyou was shocked by his shamelessness, turned over and ignored him.

Moonlight lingered on her profile, illuminating her earlobe like white jade, soft and lustrous, making one want to bite down and turn it red.

Fu Wenzhou stared again and again, only moving when his desire was finally sated. He climbed onto the bed, pressed against her back, his arm slipping under her waist to hold her in his embrace. "I know you’re worried our relationship will be discovered, so I didn’t mention your name. Will you still be angry?"

Song Qingyou kept her eyes closed, listening to his rambling.

"Is being with me such a shameful thing? I am Fu Tingshen’s nephew, not yours. You've divorced him, there’s no title left, what’s the harm in us being together? Who cares what those old men say? If you still feel uneasy, I’ll sever ties with Fu Tingshen."

His voice dropped, becoming even huskier, "Qingyou, you can’t sleep with me and leave me to bear it alone."

Unable to endure any longer, Song Qingyou turned over and poked his chest, "You've said everything—good and bad—by yourself. Are you done? Did I say I was angry?"

Fu Wenzhou held her, rubbing his lips on hers, then on her nose, "If you’re not angry, why tell me to go to the guest room? I’m not going anywhere, I’ll sleep holding you."

Song Qingyou struggled but couldn’t break free. "Also, who’s sleeping with whom here?"

Fu Wenzhou inhaled her scent, becoming ever more intoxicated as if it were spiritual nourishment. He reached out, pinched her earlobe, kneading it as he pleased. "Sister, have I not served you well enough?"

Song Qingyou was speechless, her cheeks burning.

"Can’t you stop saying these things?"

Fu Wenzhou lowered his head and sucked at the soft flesh he had just played with, "Sister, may I kiss you?"

Song Qingyou blushed furiously, both embarrassed and annoyed.

If he wants to kiss her, just do it—why ask, deliberately teasing her.

She tried to push him away, wanting to turn her back on him.

But her hands were caught and held firmly, his large palm wrapping hers and bringing them under the covers. The touch of his soft palm made her face flush instantly; she tried to pull back, but he held her tight. Her fingertips brushed against something by accident.

Fu Wenzhou gasped, his voice hoarse, "Temptress."

Song Qingyou was used to him blaming her for his own overindulgence, and glared at him.

Fu Wenzhou pretended not to notice, his voice dropping to coax her, "Qingyou..."

"Shut up, no!" Song Qingyou refused without hesitation.

Fu Wenzhou’s breathing was heavy; he kissed her eyes, whispering, "Sister, help me, please?"

Song Qingyou was silent.

The night deepened, snowflakes drifting down.

She could no longer tell whether the sounds by her ear were wind or breathing.