Chapter 189 Burial

Her breathing was intermittent, like a candle flickering in the wind, ready to be extinguished at any moment.

Fu Lian walked over with a pained expression, gently patted her back, and handed her a glass of warm water: "Qingqing, what's wrong?"

His voice was so gentle it was almost melting, yet it concealed a hint of barely concealed panic.

He half-squatted beside her, gently stroking her back with one hand, his movements so tender it was as if he were afraid of breaking her.

With her other hand, she held the water glass steadily, her fingertips trembling slightly.

His brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with worry, and his gaze swept across her face again and again, trying to read the answer from her expression.

He had never seen her so weak and helpless.

His usually calm voice was trembling slightly at this moment.

The voice was deep, yet trembled slightly, like a string stretched to its limit.

He tried hard to control his emotions, but the trembling in his voice betrayed him.

He dared not speak loudly, for fear of disturbing her.

He just kept repeating, "Drink some water, drink slowly... I'm here."

Every word seemed to be squeezed out from the heart, carrying an undisguised tenderness.

Fang Wanyu dug her nails into her palm, the pain making her tremble slightly.

She remained seated, her fingers clenching her palms so tightly that they left deep crescent-shaped marks.

She kept her head down, her eyes fixed on the table, but her ears were perked up, listening intently to every sound coming from the bathroom.

Her face was somewhat pale, and her lips were pressed tightly together.

Jealousy, resentment, and bitterness churned within her, but she could only suppress them.

She knew that if she said the wrong thing at this moment, she would completely lose her position in the Fu family.

She noticed Song Yazhi's expression change and immediately lowered her voice, saying, "Auntie, it might be an upset stomach..."

She leaned closer to Song Yazhi, her voice as soft as a whisper, carrying a soothing tone.

Her eyes flickered, but she feigned concern.

"The weather has been fluctuating between hot and cold these past few days, which can easily cause stomach problems. Sister Wanyin may have eaten something bad."

After she finished speaking, she sighed softly, as if she was genuinely worried about Qiao Wanyin.

But a cold glint flashed deep within his eyes.

"wrong."

Song Yazhi suddenly looked up, her voice as soft as a dream, "When I was pregnant with Adong, it was like this too..."

Her gaze deepened, as if she had traveled through twenty years.

Her hand unconsciously went to her lower abdomen, her eyes glazed over.

"She can't stand the smell of cooking oil in the morning, and the sight of greasy food makes her nauseous. She used to love drinking the soup I cook, but now she won't touch it at all..."

She murmured to herself, her voice growing softer and softer, yet each word struck the air like a heavy hammer.

Her breathing gradually became rapid, and a complex mix of emotions surfaced in her eyes—shock, anticipation, and a sliver of uncertain hope.

The bathroom door opened, and Qiao Wanyin walked out, leaning against the wall, her face pale, her hair sticking to her face with sweat.

She was unsteady on her feet and could barely stand by leaning against the wall.

His wet, black hair clung to his forehead, strand by strand, making him look particularly disheveled.

Her lips were bloodless, her fingertips were icy cold, and her breathing was unsteady.

She tried her best to straighten her back, wanting to maintain her last shred of dignity, but her weak appearance made it clear to everyone that she had reached her limit.

She was about to speak when her stomach churned again.

The nausea returned, even more intensely than before.

Her brows furrowed suddenly, her body swayed uncontrollably, and she quickly reached out to steady herself on the door frame.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say "I'm fine," but before she could speak, her throat was blocked by acid reflux.

"Chinese chives……"

She leaned against the wall and said weakly, "The smell is too strong..."

Her voice was very soft, almost panting.

Every word seemed to have been written with all one's might.

She closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing, but the lingering smell of chives still irritated her stomach.

She couldn't help but gag again, her body curling up slightly as if resisting some invisible attack.

Song Yazhi suddenly grabbed her wrist: "When was your last period?"

Her movements were sudden and urgent, and the force was so great that Qiao Wanyin stumbled.

She stared intently into Qiao Wanyin's eyes, her gaze sharp as a knife, as if trying to dig out the truth from the depths of her pupils.

Her breathing was rapid, her chest heaved violently, and even her voice trembled.

"Tell me, which day is it?"

She pressed on, her voice trembling with anticipation and a deeper tension.

At that moment, all eyes in the dining room were focused on Qiao Wanyin's pale face.

Qiao Wanyin was stunned.

Before she transmigrated, she was single, independent, and had a regular lifestyle. She never imagined that she would suddenly face a question about "family" and "motherhood".

Menstruation...

It's almost two weeks late.

She had been busy with work and had an irregular schedule during this period. She originally thought it was just due to stress, but now, upon closer examination, all the signs seem to point to another possibility.

Pregnant?

She was never ready to be a mother!

The moment this thought popped into my head, I felt like I was nailed to the spot, my heart racing uncontrollably.

She subconsciously looked down, her gaze falling on her lower abdomen, which was as flat as ever, yet seemed to conceal some kind of earth-shattering change.

“I…” Her eyes were fixed, her lips trembled slightly, and her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

Her fingers rose uncontrollably and gently covered her abdomen, as if confirming something or calming her racing heartbeat.

Fu Li'an's Adam's apple bobbed, his eyes flashing with an alarming light: "Qingqing, could it be that..."

His voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement and anticipation, his eyes sparkling as if he could already see a vision of the future—a tiny baby being held in their palms, calling out "Daddy."

Song Yazhi's expression grew increasingly grim.

She sat on the sofa, her fingertips gripping the strap of her handbag tightly, her knuckles turning white.

Although a forced smile remained on his lips, his eyes had already turned cold, his gaze sharp as a knife, fixed intently on Qiao Wanyin's lower abdomen.

She didn't want Qiao Wanyin to get pregnant.

She had opposed this daughter-in-law from the very beginning. They were not a good match, their backgrounds were unclear, and their personalities were too weak. They were simply not up to the position of the matriarch of the Fu family.

Once she's carrying the Fu family's child, it'll be a legitimate continuation of their bloodline. It won't be so easy to get rid of her then.

Fang Wanyu stood behind Song Yazhi, her nails digging even deeper.

She kept her head down, her fingers under her sleeves clenched so tightly they turned white, her nails digging deep into her palms, the pain keeping her awake.

But the turmoil in my heart was endless.

Is Qiao Wanyin pregnant?

Does she still have a chance to get close to Fu Lian?

Will that gentle, considerate, and attentive man only revolve around his wife and children from now on?

Will the feelings she has carefully cultivated over the years be completely buried under the word "mother"?

"Mom, I... I really don't know..."

Qiao Wanyin stammered, her mind blank.

She didn't even dare to look up at her mother-in-law's face, and could only lower her eyes and speak in a voice as soft as a mosquito's buzz.

I've been feeling sleepy a lot lately, and I often feel like dozing off. My appetite has also become strange; I get hungry very quickly and crave sour foods.

But she always thought it was because she was too tired from work and was feeling unwell due to the changing seasons.