Chapter 68: A Match Made in Heaven
Fu Wenzhou had a strong constitution; he woke up early the next morning. The first thing he did upon waking was to check whether Song Qingyou had regained consciousness. He summoned a team of doctors for a consultation, waiting hopefully.
The doctors exchanged glances. One of them sighed and mustered the courage to say, “Young Master Fu, there is still no sign of improvement in the patient’s condition.”
Fu Wenzhou froze where he stood, his eyes filled with confusion and doubt. “Wasn’t it said that if you find the Sacred Mountain and pray devoutly, she would wake up?”
Fearing that Fu Wenzhou would lose his composure once he processed the news, the doctors quickly excused themselves, unwilling to provoke him further.
Song Chang wanted to offer some comfort but, not knowing what to say, could only sigh heavily and leave the room.
Gu Bai, Liang Muchuan, and the others had heard that Fu Wenzhou had gone out in the dead of night searching for some sacred mountain, and they all thought he had lost his mind. A man who had never believed in gods or Buddha had, on a day of heavy snow, spent two days without food or rest searching for the Sacred Mountain, kneeling three times and bowing nine, praying step after step.
That was over two thousand steps!
Gu Bai, furious, entered the room and gave Fu Wenzhou a punch. In the past, he had always indulged this ancestor of his, but today his anger was real.
Xu Zezhan held him back. “Enough, Gu Bai. Look at the state he’s in—do you really think he can stand another beating?”
Gu Bai snapped, “Can’t you live without Song Qingyou?”
Fu Wenzhou’s face was swollen from the blow, but he showed no reaction. Expressionless, he said, “You’re disturbing Youyou’s peace. If you want to argue, take it elsewhere.”
Gu Bai was left speechless, standing there with a dark expression, but he didn’t shout any further.
Liang Muchuan stepped forward. “What do you plan to do? If she never wakes up?”
Xu Zezhan and Gu Bai sucked in a sharp breath, silently admiring Liang Muchuan’s courage.
They expected Fu Wenzhou to fly into a rage, to lose control, but he remained strangely calm.
“You should take Zhouzhou to your place—doesn’t your sister like cats?”
Apart from a hoarseness in his voice, there was nothing unusual.
Liang Muchuan realized he was avoiding the question and didn’t press further. “Isn’t that cat the treasure you and Song Qingyou share? Are you really willing to give it away?”
Fu Wenzhou replied, “I don’t have time to take care of it.”
It was a reasonable excuse. With Fu Wenzhou busy tending to Song Qingyou, how could he spare time for a cat?
Liang Muchuan agreed.
In the following days, Fu Wenzhou continued to keep vigil at Song Qingyou’s side. Occasionally, he would leave in a hurry, but always returned quickly; each absence lasted no more than two hours.
Song Chang had no idea what he was doing, only that Young Master Fu seemed far more stable these past few days.
That night, Fu Wenzhou returned once more from outside, carrying the chill of the wind with him. He went straight to the bathroom to shower, washing away the cold before climbing into bed and gathering Song Qingyou in his arms from behind.
“Youyou, today I went to choose a burial plot by the sea. I remember you love the ocean.”
“I’ve told Chen Shu—when the time comes, we’ll be buried together.”
“You don’t need to worry about the company; I’ve made all the arrangements. And as for your family, the Song family—that’s your mother’s home—I’ve reclaimed it. Song Yuan and his illegitimate brats are gone.”
Fu Wenzhou gently turned her over in his arms, breathing in her scent as he spoke in a low, rambling murmur.
The corners of his eyes reddened, and a tear slid from the corner of his eye, falling onto Song Qingyou’s pale lips.
It was cold and faintly bitter.
His voice rough, he held her tightly. “Youyou, don’t be afraid.”
The north wind rose, biting with cold. It howled through the treetops, shrieking like a wild beast.
Somewhere, it seemed, a faint sigh could be heard.
“What are you crying for?”
A clear, delicate voice tore a gaping hole in the darkness, unleashing countless whirlwinds that rushed out into the night.
Fu Wenzhou’s chest vibrated; he thought it was another hallucination, trembling, afraid to open his eyes.
A cool, gentle touch caressed his cheek, wiping away his tears.
“Fu Wenzhou.”
Another soft call.
Fu Wenzhou’s hands tightened involuntarily, as if he could blend the body in his embrace into his very bones.
A cough! Song Qingyou had just awakened and, unable to endure much, coughed breathlessly.
Fu Wenzhou’s eyes snapped open. He saw the face he had loved for so many years—no longer deathly pale, no longer lifeless.
He was finally sure he wasn’t dreaming.
She had truly awoken.
The joy of regaining what was lost flooded Fu Wenzhou’s chest. Even his touch was gentle and cautious. “Youyou…”
His voice was hoarse and choked, like a wronged puppy yearning for its master’s comfort.
Song Qingyou’s cough gradually subsided. She raised a hand and ruffled his thick, black hair. “Have you behaved yourself during this time?”
Fu Wenzhou nodded, his voice low and raspy. “I didn’t touch Fu Tingshen.”
Song Qingyou knew his temperament well. “Didn’t touch” only meant he hadn’t killed Fu Tingshen.
She tried to sit up, but during her time unconscious she had only been faintly aware—able to hear voices but not their words, her vision a hazy white, unable to open her eyes no matter how hard she tried.
Fu Wenzhou stopped her. “You’ve just woken up, you need to rest.”
Song Qingyou, exhausted, complied and lay back down.
She sniffed the air, then frowned. “Why do you smell so strongly of sandalwood?”
Fu Wenzhou paused, then said, “I had nothing to do these past few days, so I went to pray.”
Song Qingyou looked up at him. “But you never believed in those things.”
Fu Wenzhou cradled her and smiled. “I do now.”
Song Qingyou nodded. “Fu Wenzhou, I’m thirsty.”
Immediately, Fu Wenzhou rose to pour her some water, testing the temperature first and then feeding her spoonful by spoonful.
Song Qingyou poked his cheek. “Who told you I like seaside burial plots?”
Fu Wenzhou’s hand, holding the spoon, stilled. He frowned. “Let’s not talk about that—bad luck.”
His Youyou was awake now; that mortuary plot was nonsense, he’d have it leveled by tomorrow.
Song Qingyou couldn’t help but laugh. “Weren’t you just talking about being buried with me, and now you’re saying it’s unlucky?”
“That was because you just…” The rest of Fu Wenzhou’s words trailed off, his face darkening.
No one knew how terrified he had been, how he had made all the arrangements for the worst.
But now, she was awake. Thank heavens she was awake.
Song Qingyou stroked his face. “It was just a sudden fit of rage; once the resentment in my chest dissipates, I’ll be fine. It’s not so easy for me to die.”
If it were that easy, she would have died back when she was twelve.
Fu Wenzhou gathered her into his arms and kissed her again and again, as if he could never get enough. “No one will ever hurt you again.”
Song Qingyou suddenly asked, “What did you do to Fu Tingshen?”
Fu Wenzhou hesitated—afraid she’d scold him if he told, but afraid not to tell as well.
In the end, he spoke the truth. “I had someone pull out his tongue.”
Song Qingyou raised an eyebrow in surprise. “That’s all?”
She had nearly died; surely losing his tongue was too light a punishment.
Seeing her frown, Fu Wenzhou grew bolder, eager to claim credit. “He’s in Prison No.12.”
He looked at her expectantly after speaking.
Song Qingyou glanced at him, thinking how much he resembled the loyal, attention-seeking Tibetan mastiff her grandfather once kept.
She narrowed her eyes, and, testing her theory, reached out to ruffle his hair. The human-shaped mastiff’s eyes lit up instantly, and he leaned in for a second caress.
Song Qingyou: …
She pretended not to notice and turned away. “Make sure you take care of things for me in prison.”
Fu Wenzhou’s face darkened at once. “Take care of things?”
“Mm.” Song Qingyou seemed oblivious to the dog’s brewing anger beside her, her tone calm. “He always liked to take by force, didn’t he? Let him experience what it’s like to be forced himself.”
Fu Wenzhou was silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled. “Sister, I’ve always said we’re a perfect match.”
Song Qingyou was puzzled. “What do you mean?”
Fu Wenzhou nipped at her as he embraced her tightly. “We’re both ruthless, quick to take revenge.”
Song Qingyou: …