Chapter 81: Eating Fish

A mass of cameras converged at once, and before their eyes was a surging crowd, faces dark with ridicule, scorn, and judgment as they scrutinized the relationship between the two. A nephew snatching a woman from his uncle—such a scandal was a bombshell in the world of the elite. No matter where it happened, it would explode across the headlines.

Reporters pressed forward relentlessly, desperate not to miss tomorrow’s front-page story. They surrounded Song Qingyou and Fu Wenzhou, firing questions one after another, leaving no room to breathe.

Song Qingyou was stunned, a flicker of bewilderment in her eyes. She couldn’t comprehend why so many reporters were suddenly blocking the way, each wielding a microphone and wearing expressions as if they would devour her.

Fu Wenzhou stepped in front of her, shielding most of her body. His face was chillingly cold, his voice icy and sharp: “If any media outlet dares to leak a single photo, I won’t hesitate to see it vanish from Beijing for good.”

With that one sentence, the reporters who had been eager for a spectacle fell silent, their pupils dilating as they dared not utter another word.

It was a threat—and a highly effective one.

Everyone slowly lowered their microphones, those sharp, biting questions vanishing abruptly.

Fu Wenzhou, arm around Song Qingyou’s waist, strode through the crowd with an air of authority. The reporters, intimidated by his presence, parted instinctively.

Liang Muchuan glanced at the two figures receding in the distance, then swept his gaze over the reporters as he returned his attention. He said calmly, “You all ought to know what's appropriate to say and what's not. Surely someone has taught you.”

The crowd swallowed hard, and could only nod.

In the face of absolute power, they had no choice but to yield.

Outside, the sky was gray, the clouds gathered low and heavy, matching the oppressive atmosphere inside the car.

Song Qingyou sat by the window, her gaze turned outward, her face unreadable.

Fu Wenzhou watched her profile intently, several times wanting to speak, but swallowing his words each time.

No one knew how fearful he was now.

Afraid she would abandon him again because of these rumors.

From the very beginning, she had cared too much about her status to be with him. It was he who dragged her from her pedestal to the mortal world, persistently forcing her hand, entangling her until their relationship became a messy knot.

But now, the fragile surface of peace had been torn away.

Fu Wenzhou understood perfectly well that even if today’s events didn’t bring immediate consequences, they would leave a warning in Song Qingyou’s heart.

So the more silent she became, the more uncertain he felt.

The air in the car seemed frozen, so stifling it was hard to breathe.

Song Chang glanced at the two in the back seat through the rearview mirror, barely daring to breathe.

He had watched Song Qingyou grow up, and knew her character better than anyone. Her sole purpose in life was to wrest control of the Song Corporation from Song Yuan, to avenge her mother and grandfather.

Yet as long as she stayed with Fu Wenzhou, incidents like today's would keep happening. If they happened often enough, sooner or later the secret would break out.

Public opinion could crush a person. No one cared who you loved, how you lived in the Fu family, how many times your husband betrayed you. The outside world would only believe that Song Qingyou married her uncle and then got involved with his nephew.

An illicit affair.

The outcome: wherever she and Fu Wenzhou went, she would be mocked, called a seductress, accused of ensnaring both uncle and nephew.

In the Song Corporation, those cunning old foxes would seize on the scandal, using public opinion to undermine her, making her seat as chairman precarious, exposing her to criticism.

Song Chang sighed and pressed harder on the accelerator.

The car stopped at Wutong Apartment, Fu Wenzhou’s eyes dark and brooding as he followed Song Qingyou.

“Welcome back to the home of Song Qingyou and Fu Wenzhou.”

The crisp mechanical voice rang out, and Fu Wenzhou’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

The door swung open.

His hands clenched slightly. Just the day they left, he had sat in that wicker chair, holding her. Why did everything change upon their return?

He drew a deep breath, struggling to restrain his anger.

If—

If Song Qingyou no longer wanted him, it would be all right.

He had long ago prepared an island for her, a place where no one could disturb them, only him and his Qingyou.

Song Qingyou shed her heavy white down coat and changed into a cashmere robe for home. She turned and asked in puzzlement, “Why are you so quiet today? Are you possessed?”

A thousand schemes to abduct her flashed through Fu Wenzhou’s mind, as he considered the most effective and convenient way to carry them out, when her light, teasing words broke his train of thought. He was stunned for several seconds. “Possessed?”

Song Qingyou said, “What are you thinking about?”

Fu Wenzhou felt inexplicably guilty, but kept a calm face. “Nothing. Just wondering whether to have braised pork ribs or sweet and sour pork ribs tonight.”

Song Qingyou thought for a moment. “Let’s have fish.”

“I’ll drive out and buy some,” Fu Wenzhou said, slipping on his shoes.

Song Qingyou nodded. “I want desserts from Dongsan Road, too.”

Fu Wenzhou replied, “That place always has a queue. I might be late getting home.”

Song Qingyou said, “All right.”

Fu Wenzhou looked at her, hesitating to speak, but in the end said nothing, turning to close the door behind him.

As the door shut, Song Qingyou’s expression instantly turned cold.

She glanced at the clock on the wall—three and a half hours.

Enough.

Song Qingyou lowered her gaze and dialed a number.

“Hello, is this Prison No. 12?”