Chapter 85: Who Is He

After hanging up the phone, Song Qingyou glanced at the calendar by the bedside and murmured, "Going home for the New Year... I suppose I should prepare some gifts to bring back."

She changed her clothes and called Song Chang.

“Uncle Chang.”

Song Chang was out handling some affairs; as soon as the phone rang, he answered promptly. “What is it, Miss?”

Song Qingyou asked, “How’s the situation with Song Shi?”

Song Chang replied, “He’s fallen for it. Now he’s pressed all his valuable projects under Qinging’s name. When we pull the net, Song Shi will have nothing left.”

Song Qingyou considered for a moment, then said, “Let’s reel him in.”

“Now?” Song Chang sounded puzzled. “Didn’t we agree to do it after the New Year?”

Song Qingyou’s voice was calm. “It’s almost New Year’s. The Song family ought to be thrown into turmoil, so this year will be one they’ll never forget.”

Neither Song Shi nor Song Wei held any shares in the Song family. The little that Song Chen had was thanks to his mother, who had schemed hard for him as a secretary. Song Shi and Song Wei’s mother hailed from the countryside and was unversed in the intrigues of wealthy families.

So, for Song Shi, all Song Qingyou wanted was for him to lose credibility at Song Corporation and fall from his position as president.

Once all his projects collapsed, Song Shi would have only two options.

First, secretly embezzle company funds to fill the financial gap and try to hold onto his position. Second, he’d have to resign.

No matter which path he chose, the Song family’s New Year would be anything but peaceful.

Song Chen was muscular but simple-minded, easy to handle. But Song Shi was different. For three long years, Song Qingyou had worked tirelessly to reach this point.

She exhaled slowly, her gaze falling upon a photo frame at the head of the bed.

It was a photograph, cut into pieces and painstakingly glued back together by its owner, now old and yellowed.

Reaching out, her fingertips gently traced the edge of the frame, her nose stinging and eyes damp. She looked up, refusing to let the tears fall.

It was the only photo left by her mother, but Song Wei had shredded it—along with strands of her hair.

A notification chimed from WeChat; Song Qingyou glanced at it. It was Bai Yan urging her to hurry.

She picked up her pearl bag and headed out.

Fu Wenzhou was holding Zhezhe, booking tomorrow’s surgery on his phone. He looked up at the sound, seeing Song Qingyou at the door, changing her shoes.

He frowned. “Where are you going?”

Song Qingyou put on her white down coat, making her face look even smaller. “Dinner at a friend’s house.”

Fu Wenzhou raised an eyebrow. “Yan Miao?”

She shook her head. “No, you don’t know them.”

His brows drew tighter—there were people around her he didn’t even know?

As she pushed the door open, Fu Wenzhou’s gaze darkened. He strode over and seized her wrist. “I want to come with you.”

Song Qingyou glanced at his large hand on her wrist. “You want to come with me even when I visit a friend?”

“Yes,” he replied, as if it were perfectly natural. “Wherever you go, I want to be with you. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing.”

She paused, her gentle eyes fixed on him. “Fu Wenzhou, don’t you have anything else to do? Even though we’re together now, we should give each other some space. I don’t like being watched all the time—I hope you can understand and respect that. Besides, I have a lot to do every day; it’s impossible for me to be glued to you every moment. Do you understand?”

His expression sank, Adam’s apple bobbing as he slowly released her hand.

Song Qingyou lifted her hand, tugging at his collar, then stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “A reward.”

Fu Wenzhou clenched his teeth, and as she left, he grabbed her cheeks and kissed her hard on those lips that never said anything sweet, only letting go when she was breathless.

“Song Qingyou, don’t come back too late.”

She caught her breath, gaze gentle as water. “Got it.”

Outside, the cold was biting. Song Qingyou bundled tightly in her down coat. Song Chang timed his arrival perfectly, greeting her as she stepped out. “Miss, please get in the car.”

The Bai family lived in the suburbs, close to Prison No. 12 and rather far from the city center.

With traffic jams and the snow starting, Song Chang drove for over an hour before they arrived.

From a distance, Song Qingyou could see someone standing upright by the Bai family’s gate, braving the wind and snow.

When the car drew near, he moved, holding an umbrella as he walked toward them.

Song Qingyou got out, her white coat blending into the snow, as if she were a figure in mist and smoke. Her black hair cascaded like a waterfall, her beauty as radiant as the morning. Yet her skin lacked color, making her look unusually pale.

The moment her feet touched the ground, a black umbrella was raised above her, accompanied by a deep, mellow voice.

“Qingyou, it’s been a long time.”

She lifted her gaze, and upon seeing his face, a smile flickered in her eyes. “Brother Li, when did you come back?”

“The day before yesterday,” Bai Li replied.

Song Qingyou was surprised. “Why didn’t you come find me?”

He paused for a moment. “I did. I ran into another man at your door. He said you’d moved.”

Song Qingyou pressed her lips together as she walked shoulder to shoulder with Bai Li. “He was joking. You should have contacted me directly.”

“Dad said you’d be coming today, so I didn’t want to disturb you.” Bai Li paused and asked, “Who is he?”

Stepping into the house, warmth enveloped her, a world apart from the outdoors. She brushed snow from her trousers and said,

“My boyfriend.”

Bai Li’s steps suddenly faltered behind her. “But didn’t you divorce Fu Tingshen?”

Song Qingyou took off her coat and hung it up. “His name is Fu Wenzhou, Fu Tingshen’s nephew. We’ve been together for some time now.”

“Nephew?” Bai Li’s frown deepened, his expression darkening. “You’re with your ex-husband’s nephew?”

Her gaze flickered. Bai Li was a soldier through and through, raised in the military, rigid and stubborn in his thinking. In his eyes, the idea of being with her ex-husband’s nephew was surely absurd.

But she didn’t want to explain, so she changed the subject. “Where’s Uncle Bai?”

Bai Li’s brows knitted tightly. “In the kitchen.”

She nodded. “Then I’ll go have a look.”

He stopped her. “The kitchen’s full of smoke and grease, you shouldn’t go in.”

Song Qingyou glanced down at his hand gripping her wrist, feeling a strange sensation. Oddly, when Fu Wenzhou held her hand, she didn’t mind at all.

Without showing any emotion, she gently pulled free. “Brother Li, when will you take up your post?”

He watched her avoid him, his expression darkening. “After the New Year, once my dad’s transfer comes through.”

He gestured in the air. “When I left, you were only fourteen. I never imagined, in the blink of an eye, you’d be so grown up.”

Song Qingyou smiled. “After all, ten years have passed.”

Bai Li’s gaze was deep as a pool, locked onto her face.

Every smile and frown was as captivating as ever.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a voice, warm and full of laughter.