Chapter 165 Husband 2

Wen Hui's original life was far from meeting the standard of happiness.

She was like a ship adrift on the vast ocean, unsure of her destination. Arriving in a strange world, she saw her own face and body mirrored in the mirror, even the exact same mole in the same spot. Beyond her initial panic, she was immediately overcome by an indescribable anticipation.

Children cannot choose their birth family. In this gamble, Wen Hui lost completely. Unexpectedly, fate gifted her with an extra reward. Following her memory, she returned to Lancheng's home, where the reward became a sharp steel knife that struck her in the face. Lancheng's family became wealthier, but she remained the unwanted child.

It turns out that even if there is one more chance.

She still couldn't get the warm harbor she wanted.

The more disappointed, the more hopeful. The original Wen Hui's work was incredibly demanding, but the new Wen Hui encountered completely new work requirements and colleagues, leaving her overwhelmed and overwhelmed. She was repeatedly summoned to the office and reprimanded. When the rescue effort was organized, she "voluntarily" signed up under pressure from her superiors.

In a strange city and feeling uneasy, Wen Hui noticed the psychologist who always had a gentle expression. In the desolate ruins, Zheng Song was like a ray of warm and bright sunshine. When Wen Hui was lying sleepless at night, he came to her side and patiently asked her if she needed any help. Wen Hui shook her head timidly.

Zheng Song smiled and told her, "You've done a great job. Don't always deny yourself. Wen Hui, you can ask me for help with anything."

The man had beautiful eyes, perhaps due to his profession. His features were naturally soft, his eyes curved like bright crescents, and his smile, revealing eight perfect teeth, was as gentle as a spring breeze. Wen Hui's heart began to pound, and she shyly thanked him.

Later, Zheng Song proposed to her. Wen Hui was surprised and could not hide her surprise. She threw herself into Zheng Song's arms without any hesitation. Later, Wen Hui became Zheng Song's wife, and her company also went bankrupt and closed down due to the virus incident. She then took care of Zheng Song's daily life at home with peace of mind.

She likes Zheng Song, otherwise how could she marry him without thinking?

But Zheng Song's performance was too cold.

When he looked at her, it was like he was looking at someone unimportant, not his wife, his closest lover...

Red dates and yam porridge is cooked in the stewing pot.

Bubbles are rising.

Wen Hui withdrew her thoughts.

Just about to turn off the fire.

Suddenly a shadow came.

Wen Hui's back was pressed against a warm chest, the hot steam from the stew pot overflowed, her face was smoked red, and the man behind her was like an unshakable mountain, his bulging shadow swaying on the porcelain wall, completely covering the thin Wen Hui - like a turbid and dark cloud, the white tiles were covered by the shadow and turned into a slightly damp dark color.

Wen Hui felt a sudden surge of electricity down her spine, and the back of her head seemed to be numb from this inexplicable current.

The palms that were gripping the wall of the stage suddenly broke out in sticky hot sweat.

The heartbeat was even more violent.

It was true that she liked Zheng Song, but after just one day of not seeing him, she had such a strong reaction to his proximity...even to the point where the root of her tongue was numb. This feeling...

Wen Hui breathed a sigh of relief: "Why are you here? Are you hungry? The porridge is already warmed up and you can eat it right away."

The man's strangely stiff voice rang in his ears: "...Xiang."

He suddenly pinched her chin with his hand. His hands were very beautiful, with long fingers, distinct joints, tight and fair skin, and a delicate air of someone who often held a pen.

Wen Hui's heart was beating violently, and the area behind her ears was numb from his hot breath.

Her eyelashes fluttered.

Since we got married, even when we were dating, he had never treated me in such a strong and overbearing way, and he was always polite.

The forearm that crossed over, pale blue veins bulged slightly on its inner side. The arm's lines were smooth, beautiful as a meticulously crafted work of art. In places invisible to the naked eye, those bulging veins seemed to harbor something terrifying, violently pounding beneath the flesh.

Wen Hui thought that he was at the scene of a car accident on his way home, and he might have been frightened and a little panicked, so he behaved in a way that was contrary to his usual behavior.

When he entered the house just now, his legs were still a little unsteady, like a child who had just learned to walk, stumbling a few steps and giving the impression that he might fall at any time. Wen Hui was at a loss at the time and thought he was injured.

Thinking of this, Wen Hui's heart became as soft as a lake.

The hand pinching her jaw tightened slightly. She couldn't bear the pain and a cat-like sound came out of her throat. Then, she turned around and tentatively hugged Zheng Song's waist, hiding her chin, which was pinched red by him, in his strong chest.

"Zheng Song..." Wen Hui murmured softly, "Please don't hang up on me next time, okay? I saw a car accident on Qinghai Road and I couldn't contact you, so I was very worried."

Zheng Song didn't say anything.

His arms dropped stiffly.

Her waist felt empty. The hope in Wen Hui's eyes was dashed, and she buried herself further into his embrace, somewhat disappointed. It was an embrace that was unrequited. She felt like she had stepped on empty air, the sudden sense of emptiness taking her breath away.

She swallowed slowly, took a step back, distanced herself from Zheng Song, and smiled: "It smells good, right? I'll turn off the fire and let's eat."

She turned around as if nothing had happened.

Zheng Song always stood behind her.

The shadow was like a high-rise building about to collapse, tightly enveloping her, leaving her with no way to retreat.

Behind her, the gentle psychologist, her bedmate with a sunny smile, had a distorted and spasmodic face, as if he were an apprentice who had just learned how to make clay figures. His facial features were randomly pressed against his face, and flesh was wriggling in the blood vessels on his forehead.

The whites of her eyes were devoured by the black substance, completely dyed dark. He moved his fingers stiffly, and the warm touch of the "food" remained on his fingertips. When he pinched her vital points, the trickling blood flowed under her fragile neck.

He couldn't help swallowing.

Wen Huisheng poured him some hot porridge and said, "Let's eat. You must be hungry after being stuck in traffic for so long."

Zheng Song hummed in agreement and followed closely behind her, imitating her way into the chair. He lowered his head, picked up the spoon, and with a clang, it hit the bowl. He raised his eyelids and looked across at Wen Hui.

Wen Hui frowned and said distressedly: "What's wrong with your hand? Is it hurt? Don't lie to me..."

Zheng Song's fingers were stiff and he was holding the spoon in a strange manner.

Did he hurt his finger while working or driving? Wen Hui waited for a long time, but Zheng Song didn't answer, so she lowered her eyes in disappointment.

He's even willing to talk to her now...

Wen Hui also had a temper. After repeatedly hitting a wall with Zheng Song, she didn't want to put her face in the cold anytime soon. The corners of her eyes were already a little droopy, and now, with her eyes lowered in grievance, she looked even more weak.

After dinner, Zheng Song still didn't speak. Wen Hui could feel his gaze fixed on her. She pursed her lips, carried the dishes into the kitchen, and washed up. Normally, Zheng Song would go to the study to review cases or attend a few classes, but today he was acting strangely, remaining seated in his chair, as if glued to it.

Wen Hui suppressed the urge to ask and turned back to the bedroom.

After she left, the man, who had been sitting upright on a chair one moment, fell to the ground the next. His skin, where it touched the floor, melted into a wriggling mass of flesh, which slowly gathered into tentacles as thick as an adult's wrist. Following Wen Hui's trail, he crawled to the kitchen and found a trash can filled with a pungent smell. The tops of his tentacles cracked, and with a "vomit" sound, he spat out the rice porridge he had eaten into the trash can intact.

Then it paused for a moment, and its tentacles split into two, tying up the garbage bag.

.

Wen Hui took a shower and dried her hair. Her jet-black hair cascaded down to cover a large area of her back. Her silk nightgown outlined her beautiful curves. Two thin straps were tied into bows at her shoulders. The lake green color set off the woman's fair skin.

Two balls of mutton-fat swayed in the blue waves.

She sat on the bed. The bed sagged under her weight, as if it were sunken in a pile of cotton. The door opened, and Zheng Song, still in his work attire—a casual black suit and trousers—slowly approached Wen Hui, his expression cold. As he drew closer, Wen Hui felt a shivering numbness creep up her back again.

Zheng Song has delicate facial features. His cat-like eyes and sharp facial features, coupled with a smile that seems to have become muscle memory, make him the kind of person who easily makes people like him the first time they meet him.

But now, his lips were naturally closed, and the straight lines of his mouth seemed a bit indifferent. Combined with his dark eyes, he looked like a sharp icicle under the eaves in winter. Wen Hui paused in applying body lotion and subconsciously moved away from him.

"...Zheng Song?"

Wen Hui asked hesitantly, "Don't you have any work to do tonight?"

Zheng Song nodded.

Wen Hui thought Zheng Song was a little strange. Was he too cold? She was just wondering why Zheng Song didn't even change his clothes and just wanted to lie down on the bed. She had just washed the sheets and dried them in the sun. He wore this suit to the office, on the way home, and even when passing the trash can at the doorstep. How could he just lie down on the bed?

There was still body milk on her palm. She raised her foot anxiously, straightened her slender white ankle, and hooked her instep around Zheng Song's calf. The thin material of her pants concealed the man's powerful legs, with smooth and graceful muscles. Her instep was pressed against his leg muscles.

Her tone was filled with the slight resentment of lovers: "...You haven't showered yet! Don't lie down on the bed."

Zheng Song lowered his head, his eyelashes still fluttering, and stared intently at her feet.

His dark eyeballs seemed to be fused with a strange scarlet. He stood there without responding to Wen Hui's words. It took so long that Wen Hui's feet became stiff and fell involuntarily towards his feet. Her feet were slender and thin, just like her.

The flesh and blood under the skin flowed along the blood vessels and invaded the blood vessels in the brain. The memories of the past flowed to him. He blinked his eyelashes slowly twice. His face was not smooth at all. Thanks to the lights at night, his whole body was coated with an unreal light.

The room was filled with a warm and fragrant aroma.

Zheng Song's nose twitched twice, and he said in a gentle and gradually fluent voice: "Okay, I'll take a shower... Huihui."

Zheng Song walked to the bathroom, turned the handle and left the door open.

Wen Hui blinked slowly, somewhat doubting what she saw.

Why does he walk so strangely?

When a normal person walks, his heels are lifted up, and his soles stick to the ground without leaving it, more like gliding.

There was a sudden noise in the bathroom!

Wen Hui ran in in slippers.

In the bathroom, Zheng Song's expression was as cold as ice and snow. He squeezed the shower head with such force that it seemed as if he wanted to crush it. His suit was soaked. He stood upright in the bathroom, and lines of water droplets fell on him. His black hair lay limply against his forehead. Hearing the sound, he looked at Wen Hui.

"Zheng Song, you're acting weird today," Wen Hui walked into the bathroom. Zheng Song turned the shower head around and sprayed it inside. Wen Hui pressed the switch to the end and asked hesitantly, "What's wrong with you? You've been absent-minded all night..."

Zheng Song's eyes froze for a moment, and he slowly tilted his head. The blood and flesh beneath his skin flowed into thin streams and merged into his internal organs and blood vessels. He took a few steps forward and smiled innocently, "Huihui, I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I do feel a little unwell. Please forgive me."

When Wen Hui heard him say this, she had already forgotten his indifferent attitude when he returned home, and reached out her hands with heartache to hold his face.

When he got closer, he could smell something unpleasant. It was like the smell of blood. Without giving it much thought, Wen Hui placed her palm against the man's wet cheek. "...You must be very tired. I won't disturb you. After you shower, I'll make the bed so you can have a good sleep."

The temperature of her palm was unfamiliar, and the tone of voice was as light as a feather. He gradually became immersed in this unfamiliar feeling of curling up in a nest, which made him unconsciously nostalgic and dependent. Her eyes were delicate, like the gently flowing surface of a lake. He imitated the way humans did and smiled gently.

"Okay. Could you please help me adjust the water temperature? I'm not feeling well and it's a little difficult to operate."

What's so difficult about adjusting the switch in the bathroom? But in front of the man she loves, under the misty gaze, Wen Hui is happy to serve him. She regards Zheng Song's words as coquettishness. He has never spoken in such an intimate tone before...

Wen Hui adjusted the water temperature.

I was a little disappointed that Zheng Song didn't try to keep me.

Lie down in bed.

The large bed was covered with two quilts. Zheng Song was aloof, so when they weren't doing that kind of thing, they would sleep separately. Even in their most intimate moments, Zheng Song would always go to the bathroom to wash up before returning to his own bed.

Wen Hui was left alone with her heart full of warmth being ignored.

The sound of falling water in the bathroom stopped. Zheng Song, his body steaming with sweat, glanced at his wife, who was huddled stiffly in bed. He stood by the bed, pondering for a moment, his slender fingers lifting the covers and lying down inside. His wife, beside him, couldn't even breathe. The flesh beneath his skin suddenly surged, and his eyes crimson.

The sweet taste made him swallow it.

A crack appeared in the chest, and tentacles made of flesh and blood stretched out. A huge hole opened on the top and it reached towards Wen Hui's location.

Zheng Song had no expression on his face.

The next moment, a hand reached out from under the quilt. It felt warm, gently squeezed his palm, and then left.

Wen Hui lay on her side, facing Zheng Song: "Good night. Have a good sleep."

Being watched by her, the flesh-and-blood tentacles reluctantly retracted to his chest. Zheng Song was a quick learner and said in the same gentle tone, "You too. Huihui, good night."