Chapter 70: Sore Feet

That evening, Fu Wenzhou rushed back home, clutching a cat in his arms. He set the cat down in the living room and hurried toward the bedroom. Song Qingyou, half-asleep, heard the commotion and lifted her eyelids. "Why are you back so late?"

Fu Wenzhou closed the door, his steps brisk. "I brought the cat back."

Song Qingyou didn’t think much of it, too tired to care, letting a soft hum slip from her nose as she closed her eyes again.

There was a shadowy look in Fu Wenzhou’s eyes. He took off his coat, walked over to the window, and gently lifted Song Qingyou from the rattan chair where she lay, placing her back onto the bed. Then he crouched beside her, removed her shoes, and rested her delicate feet on his lap.

His movements flowed in quick succession, revealing an urgency in his manner. Song Qingyou sensed something was off, but she didn’t dwell on it. Drowsy, she murmured, "Fu Wenzhou, I’m sleepy."

His voice was low and frighteningly deep. "Then sleep."

Song Qingyou was indeed exhausted and paid no mind to what he was doing with her feet, slowly closing her eyes as she lay in bed.

Half-awake, she felt as though her feet touched something searing, like a burning stone, causing her to frown and instinctively try to pull away from the heat. But her ankles felt as if entwined by vines, unable to move at all.

The soles of her feet burned fiercely—the stone was hard and hot, making her toes curl from the sting. Somehow, her toes brushed against something, and the stone seemed to grow larger, even more scorching.

Sweat dripped from Fu Wenzhou’s brow onto her feet, his breath growing heavier, muffled groans barely audible. The veins on the back of his hand stood out, sweat clinging to his skin, starkly contrasting with the soft whiteness under his palm.

Song Qingyou could hardly bear it. She opened her eyes, still dazed, not fully conscious. "Stop messing with my feet, it hurts."

His voice was rough and hoarse, soothing her quietly. "Qingyou, just endure it a little longer…"

She frowned, closed her eyes again. Half-asleep, she was slower to respond than usual, obediently enduring as he asked.

The next morning, when Song Qingyou woke, her first sensation was pain and numbness in her feet. She looked down—the soles were unnaturally red, blood almost seeping beneath the skin, though fortunately, the skin remained intact.

What did Fu Wenzhou do to her feet last night?

She could barely put weight on her injured foot and had to shift her balance to the other as she left the bedroom in search of Fu Wenzhou.

He was in the kitchen making breakfast, with the kitten curled at his feet. As soon as Song Qingyou appeared, the little cat scrambled up and leapt into her arms.

Bending to catch it, Song Qingyou noticed that the man who usually competed with the cat for affection was unusually quiet today.

Sensing something was amiss, she narrowed her eyes and called, "Fu Wenzhou."

He flinched, nearly dropping the ladle, but when he turned, his face was composed. "What is it?"

Song Qingyou asked, "What did you do to my feet last night? Why are they hurting?"

Fu Wenzhou, ladling porridge, spoke in a low voice. "Just some exercise to improve blood circulation. I already applied medicine. The pain will go away soon."

Relieved, she asked, "So it’s good for the body?"

His Adam’s apple bobbed, voice gravelly. "It brings happiness."

Song Qingyou was puzzled. "?"

He brought over a bowl of porridge. "If you like it, we can do it often."

She shook her head. "No, it hurts a bit."

For some reason, after her refusal, she thought she saw the fire in his eyes extinguish.

After a moment’s hesitation, she relented, "Sometimes is fine, since it’s good for health."

His eyes instantly brightened. He kissed her eyelids and chuckled softly, "You’re so obedient."

Song Qingyou felt there was something odd about his words, but didn’t want to discuss it further, and sat down for breakfast.

That evening, the plane landed in Binhai.

As soon as they deboarded, Fu Wenzhou draped his down jacket over Song Qingyou. Despite the thick coat, she still felt the biting cold outside.

Fu Wenzhou wrapped her in his arms, shielding her from the wind.

The Jiang family’s car was waiting at the airport. As soon as they appeared, someone hurried over to greet them respectfully. "Young Master Fu, Miss Song, please follow me."

No matter how large Binhai was, it could not compare to the capital, where every inch of land was precious. The Jiang family, even as a top-tier aristocratic clan, dared not show any neglect.

As dusk fell, the neon lights on the ship glittered in dazzling colors, reflecting off the lights on both banks, making the night scene especially enchanting.

Fu Wenzhou was a distinguished guest, with a personal attendant guiding him.

The cruise ship had six decks—cafés, parlors, clubs, leisure areas, and a casino, with nearly every floor exuding luxury.

Many attended tonight’s event, members of elite circles from across the country.

Each deck was carefully divided according to status.

The higher the deck, the greater the status and stakes.

Fu Wenzhou, arm around Song Qingyou’s waist, ascended to the top floor.

Song Qingyou disliked such ostentation. There was an insurmountable divide between her and Fu Wenzhou—though people said nothing openly, she knew behind their backs, tongues wagged.

Especially now, with Fu Tingshen missing in the capital, Fu Changlin and Qin You making scenes at Fu’s headquarters every day.

Rumors had shifted from Fu Tingshen's disappearance to Fu Wenzhou snatching a woman from his uncle, supposedly going so far as to deal with his uncle privately for her, turning against his own family.

Their reputations in the capital were poor; outsiders saw their actions as unethical.

Public opinion never cared about the truth, only following the herd.

The strange looks around her made Song Qingyou struggle to breathe.

She sighed softly.

The puppy seemed happy today—it was best not to dampen his spirits.

The top floor was expansive, divided into several sections. The attendant led them in, and they ran into many familiar faces.

Liang Muchuan was there.

He looked up as Fu Wenzhou approached, one arm holding the kitten, the other wrapped around Song Qingyou, walking with distinguished pride. Liang Muchuan waved. "Wenzhou, over here."

Beside Liang Muchuan stood a woman in a black business suit, her features exquisite, her face beautiful, but her demeanor was cool and capable.

If Song Qingyou was a sacred snow lotus atop an iceberg, this woman was a dangerous poppy, radiating aggression.

The poppy stepped past Liang Muchuan and extended a hand to Fu Wenzhou. "Young Master Fu, apologies for not greeting you sooner."

Fu Wenzhou arched his brow, eyes glancing sideways toward her outstretched palm, answering coolly, "Sorry, my hands are full."

With a cat in one arm and Song Qingyou in the other, he truly had no free hand.

Jiang Xun withdrew her hand without expression or embarrassment. "My father heard you were coming and specifically instructed that you must visit the Jiang family tomorrow."

Fu Wenzhou’s manner was proud and languid, clearly indifferent. "We’ll see."

He then looked down at Song Qingyou, his demeanor and tone suddenly softer, "Qingyou, are you cold?"

With the heating on and so many people inside, she didn’t feel cold and shook her head.

Jiang Xun’s gaze flickered over Song Qingyou, her expression unmoved. "I’m sorry, companions aren’t allowed in here. Your seat is on the third deck."