Chapter 93: The Puppy Gets Angry

Leaning casually against the wall, Liang Muchuan saw Fu Wenzhou turn around and gave a faint laugh, “Why are you back again—damn it! Are you out of your mind?” Liang Muchuan’s expression changed abruptly, his gaze dark and cold as he stared at the man opposite him.

Fu Wenzhou shook out his fist, shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked at him with icy indifference. “You looked at Song Qingyou fifteen times at the dinner table. Liang Muchuan, do you think you didn’t deserve that punch?”

Liang Muchuan’s lips were pressed into a tight line, his eyes filled with shadow, silent.

Fu Wenzhou’s voice was low and cold, the outer corners of his long eyes lifting sharply, as fierce as a blade. “Don’t even think about her. You’re not even allowed to look.”

Liang Muchuan wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and sneered, “Fu Wenzhou, are you really going to turn against me over a woman?”

Fu Wenzhou’s eyes narrowed, his tone like frost. “I’ll say it again. She’s my everything.”

Liang Muchuan’s face twisted with anger, but he didn’t retort.

Fu Wenzhou shot him a cold glance. “We’re brothers, but there’s a limit.”

With that, he turned and got into the car, not sparing Liang Muchuan a single extra glance.

Liang Muchuan remained standing where he was, the cigarette that had been between his lips knocked to the ground by Fu Wenzhou’s punch. It lay there alone, the ember slowly dying out.

After a moment, he cursed under his breath.

In the car, Song Qingyou lifted her gaze to the man’s brooding profile and frowned. “What happened?”

The instant Fu Wenzhou turned to look at her, all the darkness vanished from his eyes. He reached out and took her hand, his voice low, “From now on, stay away from Liang Muchuan.”

Song Qingyou arched an eyebrow, her gaze lingering for two seconds on their interlaced fingers. “Alright.”

Fu Wenzhou was visibly surprised. “You agreed?”

Seeing his incredulous expression, Song Qingyou couldn’t help but laugh. “What if I hadn’t?”

“You already did. Qingyou, no take-backs.” Fu Wenzhou’s grip on her palm tightened, his eyes as possessive as a wolf guarding its food.

Song Qingyou lowered her lashes, a quiet laugh escaping her lips.

In truth, partnering with the Liang Corporation wasn’t her only option. There were plenty of alternatives—she just needed to spend a bit more time and effort seeking out other business partners.

“When is Porridge getting discharged?” Song Qingyou asked.

Fu Wenzhou replied, “The day after tomorrow. Do you want to come with me to pick him up?”

Song Qingyou shook her head. “I have a jewelry gala to attend that day.”

Fu Wenzhou frowned. “A jewelry gala?”

“Yes,” Song Qingyou said. “The E.li Jewelry Gala. I’m acquainted with their regional director for China, so I can’t really turn down the invitation. Besides, many industry professionals will be there—there might be opportunities for new collaborations.”

Fu Wenzhou didn’t hesitate, “I’ll go with you.”

Song Qingyou lifted her eyelids slightly. “You’re not picking up Porridge, then?”

“We’ll go earlier.” Fu Wenzhou paused, a shadow passing through his eyes. “But not as a couple.”

Song Qingyou gazed out the window, her voice light, “Alright.”

The moon hung high and cold in the sky, the night wind bleak and biting. Fu Wenzhou’s eyes were as fathomless as the bottomless night, all his emotions hidden deep within, not daring to betray a hint.

In the latter half of the night, snow began to fall. By morning, it was a flurry of white, blanketing the world in pallor.

As the New Year approached, the temperature dropped further each day. Song Qingyou was not made for the cold; even though Fu Wenzhou had bundled her up in layers before they left, the moment the door opened, a blast of icy wind cut straight through her, making her frown deeply as the chill seeped into her bones.

She covered her mouth, coughing violently. Fu Wenzhou’s brows were drawn low, his eyes dark with barely contained anger. Yet his movements were gentle as he stood in front of her, shielding her from the wind. “I’ll have Uncle Chang bring the car around. Don’t rush out.”

Song Qingyou coughed so hard she could barely breathe, her small face turning red, then pale, devoid of any color.

Fu Wenzhou fed her medicine and gave her some pear syrup tea; only then did her coughing gradually ease.

He held back and held back, his handsome face as black as the bottom of a pot. “Must you really go to this gala? Is there anything you want that I can’t give you? Do you really have to make things so hard on yourself?”

Song Qingyou dabbed the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief, her voice trembling from the coughing. “I told you before, I have my own things to do.”

Fu Wenzhou’s palm clenched tighter. “Things you need done—I can also…”

“No need,” Song Qingyou cut him off. “Let’s go.”

Fu Wenzhou’s lips pressed into a thin line, a brooding, intimidating aura radiating from him. His hands clenched into fists, as though he was suppressing his emotions with all his might.

As Song Qingyou took two steps forward, he strode ahead of her, his tall figure blocking the biting wind that swept down the corridor.

Song Qingyou paused, her eyes dropping. She lifted her hand, wanting to slip it into Fu Wenzhou’s broad palm. Just as she was about to touch him, he stepped forward, leaving her hand grasping at empty air.

Her fingers hovered awkwardly for a moment before she slowly withdrew them.

Uncle Chang’s car was already waiting downstairs. When they came out, he hurried to open the door. The heater had been running inside, and it was only after getting in that Song Qingyou’s body began to feel alive again.

For the first time, Fu Wenzhou didn’t sit with Song Qingyou. Instead, he opened the front passenger door and got in.

Uncle Chang hesitated as he fastened his seatbelt, confusion in his eyes. “Young Master Fu?”

“Something wrong?” Fu Wenzhou’s tone was languid, his gaze lifted, but his face was ashen.

Uncle Chang glanced at Song Qingyou in the back seat and shot Fu Wenzhou a meaningful look.

Fu Wenzhou snorted coldly, resting one arm on the window and slouching in his seat. “Drive, Uncle Chang.”

Uncle Chang couldn’t stand it anymore and asked once more, “You’re sure… you want to sit here?”

“What, is this seat inlaid with gold or diamonds? Is it off-limits?” Fu Wenzhou’s tone grew colder.

Even slow-witted Uncle Chang realized by now that the two had quarreled. He cleared his throat. “Nothing at all—please, sit.”

The atmosphere in the car was thick with tension, so heavy that Uncle Chang felt as though he was sitting on pins and needles, hardly daring to breathe.

At last, they reached the pet hospital and brought Porridge into the car. The little tomcat, fresh from his neutering, fluffed up all over at the sight of Fu Wenzhou and yowled, refusing to let Fu Wenzhou hold him.

Fu Wenzhou snorted coldly. “Ungracious little beast.”

Song Qingyou was speechless—why did it feel like she was being insulted as well?

She tried talking to the cat. “You—”

“Heh.”

“…”