Chapter 50 For us Are you sure you can still do it
The morning sun streamed into the bedroom through the gauze curtains. Wen Mu opened her eyes, only to find the seat beside her empty. She reached out and touched the sheets, which were still warm.
A month later, Song Xingran recovered quickly and was able to walk independently for a short time.
"Song Xingran" she called out, but there was no response.
Wen Mu got up, put on his nightgown, and stepped barefoot on the soft carpet.
It was still chilly in the early morning in July in London. She shivered and pushed open the bedroom door.
There was a slight noise downstairs. She followed the sound to the kitchen. Song Xingran, his back to her, was busy at the kitchen counter, wearing only a pair of loose pajamas.
His left hand was still a little stiff, but he could use it with ease. The sunlight highlighted the lines of his muscular back. The scar on his right shoulder had scabbed over, leaving a pink mark.
Wen Mu leaned against the door frame and watched the scene quietly.
A month ago, this man was lying in the hospital dying, but now he can stand here and make breakfast for her.
"There's a fee for peeking, Mr. Wen."
Song Xingran said without turning his head, with a smile in his voice.
Wen Mu raised an eyebrow. Her racing instincts were truly frighteningly sharp.
"Who's peeking?" She walked into the kitchen. "I'm here to make sure you don't blow up the kitchen."
Song Xingran turned around, holding the spatula in his left hand, his right hand still hanging in front of his chest, but his complexion had improved a lot, his cheeks had regained their color, and his signature mischievous smile hung on the corner of his mouth.
"Try it." He picked up a small piece of fried egg with a spatula and handed it to her mouth.
Wen Mu leaned in and took a bite, and the perfectly salty and fragrant fried egg melted on his tongue.
She raised an eyebrow in surprise. "That's a lot of progress. No more benzopyrene."
"Of course." Song Xingran raised his chin proudly, "I practice secretly every day while you sleep."
Wen Mu felt warm in her heart. She knew Song Xingran got up earlier than her every day, but she didn't know it was because of this.
She reached out and took the spatula: "I'll do it, you go sit down."
"No." Song Xingran used his body to block her. "You've been too busy recently. I agreed to serve you today."
"You can't use force with your right hand yet."
"But my left hand is very strong." He winked meaningfully, "Didn't I prove it last night?"
Wen Mu's ears suddenly felt hot, and he reached out to pinch his waist, but still couldn't help laughing.
As her injuries improved, Song Xingran became more and more like his playful self, finding ways to tease her all day long.
Although she pretended to be impatient on the surface, she cherished such moments in her heart - Song Xingran who was talkative, laughing and making noises was a thousand times better than Song Xingran who was lying on the hospital bed dying.
Breakfast ended with a fight.
Song Xingran insisted on feeding her the last piece of bacon, but ended up putting it into his own mouth halfway through, causing Wen Mu to pinch him again. The sun filled the restaurant, illuminating the two laughing and playing figures.
"What time will the physical therapist arrive today?" Wen Mu asked, leaning back in his chair.
Song Xingran cleared the plates with one hand: "Three o'clock in the afternoon."
"Honey, I want to take a shower."
Wen Mu looked at him: "Now"
"Yeah." Song Xingran looked at her pitifully, "I sweated a lot during rehabilitation yesterday. I felt so uncomfortable."
Wen Mu pursed her lips. Since being discharged from the hospital, helping Song Xingran take a bath has become her "exclusive task."
At first she was so embarrassed that she didn't know where to put her hands and feet. Although she is used to it now, she still blushes and her heart beats fast every time.
"Okay." She compromised, "I'll go drain the water."
The bathroom was thick with steam. Wen Mu tested the water temperature and poured some muscle-soothing bath salts into the tub. The man leaned against the doorframe, watching her busy figure with a soft gaze.
"Okay." Wen Mu turned around and pushed his glasses on the bridge of his nose, "Come here."
Song Xingran walked over slowly, and his left hand had already started to untie the laces of his pajamas.
Wen Mu quickly turned his face away, but heard him chuckle: "I've been watching it for a month and you're still shy."
"Who's shy?" She said stubbornly, but didn't turn around. "I'm just worried you'd catch a cold."
Song Xingran laughed even louder. He walked to the bathtub, sat down carefully, and slowly lowered his injured right leg into the water.
"Teacher Wen, please help me."
Wen Mu took a deep breath and turned to face him. Song Xingran had already taken off his pajamas and was sitting on the edge of the bathtub in only his underwear.
The moisture had fogged up her glasses, but she could still see his muscular upper body. The lines of his chest and abdominal muscles were clearly defined. The bandage on his right chest had been removed, revealing pink new skin.
"Take off your glasses. They'll get wet soon anyway."
Wen Mu hesitated for a moment, then took off his glasses. In an instant, the world became blurry, with only Song Xingran's face and body clearly visible at close range.
"That's much better." Song Xingran's voice was filled with laughter. "Now you can only look at me."
Wen Mu rolled his eyes at him, picked up the shower gel and squeezed it into his hand: "Turn around."
Song Xingran obediently turned around, his broad back facing her. She applied shower gel to his back, carefully avoiding the wounds that hadn't fully healed. Even through the foam, she could feel the texture and warmth of his muscles.
The water vapor made the air in the bathroom thinner, and my breathing unconsciously quickened.
"A little lower." Song Xingran commanded, his voice a little hoarse.
Wen Mu's hands slid to his waist, the muscles there tightening slightly at her touch.
"Wash the front too." The man turned around, and water droplets slid down his chest.
Wen Mu's hand stopped in mid-air, not daring to look down.
Song Xingran chuckled, grabbed her wrist, and guided her hand to his chest.
"Here," he moved her hand, "and here."
Beneath her palm was his strong heartbeat, and the water droplets on his skin wet her fingers.
Even with her blurred vision, she could still feel Song Xingran's burning gaze. The temperature in the bathroom seemed to be getting higher and higher.
"Song Xingran." She protested.
"What did you call me?"
"asshole."
"Honey, that's not right." The man pursed his lips in dissatisfaction, then stood up, water pouring down his body. Before Wen Mu could react, he had stepped out of the bathtub and held her wetly in his arms.
Wen Mu was helpless: "I just changed my clothes."
"You have to take it off anyway." Song Xingran lowered his head and kissed her. Drops of water with the scent of bath salts dripped from the ends of her hair and hit Wen Mu's face.
The kiss was wet and hot, as dizzying as the steam in a bathroom.
Wen Mu's hand was against his chest, but she couldn't muster the strength to push it away—or rather, she didn't want to push it away at all.
Song Xingran's left arm was tightly around her waist, and although his right hand was not very flexible, it was able to gently stroke her back.
The man rested his forehead against hers and said in a low voice, "Teacher Wen, I have a request."
"Um"
"We haven't tried the bed in the bedroom yet."
"Don't make trouble, you're still injured." Wen Mu said seriously.
"It's almost healed." Song Xingran nuzzled her nose. "Besides, I can prove it in other ways."
Before he finished speaking, he suddenly bent down, put his uninjured arm through Wen Mu's knees, and picked her up horizontally.
"Song Xingran! Your legs!"
"Shh, don't move." Song Xingran gritted his teeth and walked towards the bedroom step by step, "Let me show you."
Although his steps were a little unsteady, he still managed to carry Wen Mu to the edge of the bed, and then they both fell into the soft bedding.
The last button was laid off, and Wen Mu suddenly remembered something: "Gasoline. The gasoline is still at home."
Song Xingran was stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter, but he didn't want to hurt his ribs. After a long while, he spoke again: "Teacher Wen, your memory is not as good as mine."
He pulled her back into his arms and said, "Don't worry, I've already arranged for someone to take care of it. By the time you remember, Gasoline will have already fainted from hunger."
Wen Mu breathed a sigh of relief, feeling annoyed at his declining memory and ashamed of Song Xingran's thoughtfulness.
She felt a sharp pain in her neck and realized that she was lying half wet under her husband.
The man's black hair was still dripping, falling on her face like a small rain.
"Now," he pressed his lips to her earlobe, his breath hot, "can you control your husband?"
"He's having a hard time."
Wen Mu's hand slid to his waist: "Are you sure you can still do it?"
Song Xingran narrowed his eyes: "Teacher Wen, are you questioning me?"
"After all, he's injured so badly. I'm worried." Wen Mu pretended to be worried, but his fingers were drawing circles restlessly.
Song Xingran grabbed her rebellious hand and pressed it on her head: "Don't worry, no matter what, I won't let my wife down."
"But since you're so worried," he let go of her and rolled over to lie on his side, "let's talk about it another day."
Wen Mu glanced at him speechlessly.
"Why?" the man said innocently, "Didn't you say I can't do it?"
Wen Mu narrowed his eyes, leaned close to his ear, and whispered, "Then I'll go order some male models."
"I heard that male models in London nightclubs are the most famous."
Before she could finish her words, she was suddenly pushed back onto the bed. Song Xingran's eyes darkened dangerously, no longer looking innocent.
"Say that again," his voice was so low it was almost threatening.
Wen Mu was not afraid at all and repeated: "I said, I can go to order..."
Her lips were tightly blocked. As if to punish her, the man bit her lower lip lightly with his teeth, grinding it repeatedly.
"Male model" Song Xingran said gloomily, "Teacher Wen has a strong taste."
Wen Mu raised his eyebrows: "Jealous"
"Yes," he admitted frankly, "I'm very jealous. So now, I want you to remember who your husband is."
His consciousness began to fade, and Wen Mu looked at the person on his body in a daze.
The man's body was firm and hot, making her want to push him away, but she was reluctant to do so.
"Wife." He kissed her, sometimes fiercely, sometimes gently.
He controlled the rhythm with ease, making Wen Mu unable to resist and curling his toes.
"Zhizhi."
Wen Mu raised his eyes and met the man's deep eyes.
"That's what I want to call you."
"May I?"
He held the woman's slender ankle in his big hand, without saying a word or moving, just looking at her infatuatedly.
Wen Mu's thoughts were a little confused. It took her a while to understand what he was going to do.
She turned away and did not answer.
This is her nickname, a nickname that only her closest relatives, her parents, would call her by.
But why, when it came out of that man's mouth, it sounded so beautiful.
Wen Mu let out a light cry and turned his head again. There was clearly a tooth mark on his white thigh.
"Bad little dog." She covered her face and gasped.
"Well, I'm a bad puppy."
"It's Zhizhi's bad little dog."
"Zhizhi."
"Well, don't shout." Wen Mu tried to cover his mouth, but his wrists were held and he was pressed against the pillow.
"Zhizhi, my Zhizhi."
"You, stop."
"Call me."
"Song, Song Xingran."
"No, shout again." He said with even more force.
"Ah! Song Xingran."
"Call me husband." The man suddenly stopped and looked at her with lustful eyes.
"You, you." Wen Mu was speechless, with red at the corners of his eyes.
"Call me, old man."
Wen Mu was hung by him, neither going up nor down, and was feeling very uncomfortable. He couldn't withstand his intense kisses.
"husband."
The voice was very light and soft, like marshmallow, making people's hearts float.
"I am here."
Song Xingran replied in a deep voice.
The raindrops passed through the soft clouds and fell into the soil, slowly and gently like the spring breeze. When the tender buds clamored to break through the soil, a violent storm came again, pressing down the buds and attracting them to grow.
"Zhizhi, do you like it?"
Wen Mu hugged the man's neck: "I like it. I like it very much."
"Then I'll love you forever."
When everything calmed down, Wen Mu curled up in Song Xingran's arms, listening to his heartbeat gradually steadying.
The man's right hand gently stroked her back. Although his movements were still a little stiff, they were much more flexible than a month ago.
"Does it hurt?" she asked softly, her fingers touching the injured part of his ribs.
Song Xingran shook his head: "It's worth it."
Wen Mu looked up at him. The man's eyes were full of tenderness, without any trace of the rebelliousness he had on the racing track.
She suddenly remembered the first time they met, the arrogant young man who was shirtless at the racetrack, raised his eyebrows and asked her "Who are you?"
"What are you laughing at?" Song Xingran pinched her waist.
"Remembering the first time we met." Wen Mu chuckled, "You were so arrogant back then."
Song Xingran pretended to think: "Is there?"
"I just remember that I was stunned by your beauty the moment I saw you, and I immediately decided to marry you."
"Nonsense." Wen Mu poked his chest. "Then why did you run away from your marriage overnight? Why didn't you believe me when I saw you? You said I was fake and wanted to compete with me in changing tires?"
"That's because I didn't know the bride was you."
"No, to be precise, I didn't know the bride was you, someone like you."
The man grabbed her fingers and kissed them: "If I had known earlier..."
"What if I had known earlier"
"I'll run away from the marriage sooner so you can catch me and marry me sooner." He grinned, "That way we can spend a few more years as husband and wife."
Wen Mu couldn't help laughing, and then he sneezed.
Her half-wet pajamas stuck to her body; the antics in the bathroom had finally given her a cold.
Song Xingran immediately became nervous: "Are you catching a cold?"
He pulled the quilt over her and said, "I'll make you some ginger soup."
"No need." Wen Mu held him back, "Just lie down with me for a while."
Song Xingran lay down again and hugged her tighter: "Yes, Teacher Wen."
Outside the window, the London sky began to turn red, and another beautiful evening was approaching.
*
Wen Mu was reading a paper at the coffee table in the living room when the doorbell rang. She walked across the spacious living room to open the door.
Alex stood outside the door, holding an exquisite gift box in his hand.
"Alex, welcome." Wen Mu smiled faintly and opened the door. "He's in the study upstairs."
Alex nodded to her and said, "Dr. Wen, excuse me for bothering you."
He handed over the gift box, "These are the chocolates the team brought from Switzerland. I heard you like them."
Wen Mu took the gift box and thanked him.
She could guess the purpose of Alex's visit. Ever since Song Xingran's injury stabilized, the team had been in frequent contact to discuss a comeback plan. After each call, Song Xingran would fall silent, and Wen Mu pretended not to notice his furrowed brow.
Wen Mu turned around and was about to go upstairs, but was stopped by Alex.
"Dr. Wen," Alex hesitated, "Actually, I came here to discuss my comeback with Song."
Wen Mu's fingers unconsciously tightened around the edge of the gift box, causing it to creak slightly. She forced herself to relax. "I know."
"The team needs him." Alex looked her straight in the eye. "But I understand your concerns."
Wen Mu didn't respond, but nodded: "I'll go call him."
In the study, Song Xingran was frowning at the computer screen. When he heard the door open, he looked up, and the gloom on his face was instantly replaced by a smile.
"Wife." He reached out to hug her, but Wen Mu avoided him.
"Alex is here." Wen Mu stood at the door, his voice calm, "He said he wanted to talk to you about making a comeback."
Song Xingran's smile froze for a moment, then returned to normal: "Let him come up."
Wen Mu is leaving.
"Wait." The man suddenly stood up, and his movement was so fast that it pulled his ribs that had not yet healed, and he gasped in pain.
Wen Mu immediately turned around and instinctively wanted to help him, but stopped halfway and forced himself to stay where he was.
Song Xingran walked up to her with a grin on his face and grabbed her hand without saying anything: "Stay with me."
"No."
"You must." Song Xingran rarely asked her, his tone firm, "This concerns our future."
Wen Mu wanted to refute, but seeing his persistent look, he finally just sighed.
Alex and Song Xingran were already sitting on the sofa by the French window. Song Xingran patted the seat next to her, motioning her to sit down. Wen Mu put down the tea tray and was about to sit on the single sofa next to him when Song Xingran grabbed his wrist and pulled him into his arms.
"Song Xingran." Wen Mu protested softly, not daring to struggle hard because of his injuries.
"Don't move." Song Xingran whispered in her ear, his left hand firmly holding her waist, "Just sit here."
Alex coughed awkwardly and pretended not to notice what was happening.
Wen Mu felt embarrassed, but he stopped struggling. He just sat stiffly beside Song Xingran, keeping as much distance from him as possible.
"So," Alex opened the folder, "the latest assessment from the medical team suggests that if your recovery goes smoothly, you can be in playing condition by the end of November."
November. Only three months from now, and less than five months since that horrific accident.
Wen Mu felt dizzy, and a warm hand covered hers, fingers gently stroking her knuckles.
"Don't be afraid," he mouthed, "I'm here."
Wen Mu wanted to pull his hand back, but he held it tighter.
Wen Mu: "Is the doctor sure five months is enough?"
"Dr. Wen," Alex said in a gentle but firm voice, "We have hired the best sports medicine experts in Europe. If they think there is a risk, they will never let Song take any risks."
Song Xingran: "The track in Japan is flat and does not require much physical strength, making it the best choice for a comeback."
Wen Mu: "Have you decided?"
The man took a deep breath: "Yes."
Alex wisely lowered his head to look through the documents and pretended it didn't exist.
Wen Mu felt a sharp pain, followed by overwhelming anger.
How dare he? After everything he'd been through, after seeing her sleepless nights and tears streaming down her face, he'd actually decided to go back? To the place that had nearly killed him?
"Wife." Song Xingran's voice was pleading.
Wen Mu stood up, his expression calm: "I'll go get some more tea."
"Wife." A man's voice came from behind.
He followed her into the kitchen, his right hand still in a sling, but able to walk short distances.
Wen Mu didn't turn around, just looked out the window: "You promised me."
"I remember." Song Xingran slowly approached, "But I never said I was going to retire now."
"You know exactly what I mean." Wen Mu turned around, his voice trembling slightly. "I thought, I thought you would at least consider it."
Song Xingran used his uninjured hand to pull her into his arms: "I'm thinking about it, I've been thinking about it. But there are some things I must accomplish."
"What is it?" Wen Mu raised his head and asked, "What is more important than your life?"
Song Xingran was silent for a while, and finally just kissed her forehead: "Trust me, okay?"
It's this sentence again.
She was really tired of hearing it.
A man's mouth is a lie.
Wen Mu broke free from his embrace: "I'm going upstairs."
When she returned to the living room, Alex was standing by the window, talking on the phone. Seeing Wen Mu, he hurriedly ended the call: "Dr. Wen, I have to go now."
Wen Mu forced a smile: "Would you like to sit for a while?"
Alex shook her head and glanced meaningfully at Song Xingran behind her: "I think you two need to talk."
He picked up his briefcase and said, "November's matter is not urgent. There is still time to think about it."
After seeing Alex off, Wen Mu went straight upstairs, walked into the bedroom and closed the door.
She needs space, needs to calm down, and needs to think about her future plans.
The door was pushed open and Song Xingran walked in.
"Wenmu, we need to talk."
He didn't call his wife "wife", but Wen Mu.
So, when he was not allowed to continue the competition, his attitude changed.
Just this once.
Wen Mu allowed himself to dwell on such a trivial matter just this once.
"There's nothing to discuss." She turned her back to him and made the bed, her movements mechanical. "You've made your decision. I respect your choice."
"Just like you respect mine."
Song Xingran walked behind her, put his left arm around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder: "Let me explain."
Wen Mu stopped moving, his tone cold: "Explain what? Explain how you can risk your life again? Explain how you can ignore my feelings?"
"I'm not ignoring your feelings," the man said in a low voice. "It's precisely because I considered your feelings that I chose the Japan Grand Prix. It's recognized as one of the safest tracks."
Wen Mu turned around, his eyes calm and composed. "There's no safe race. There's only a safe decision. And that's not to race."
A trace of pain flashed in Song Xingran's eyes: "You don't understand."
"No," Wen Mu looked him straight in the eye. "I understand perfectly well."
"I understand that every time you get in a car, you're risking your life. I understand that even the most advanced protection can't guarantee your safety. Do I understand?"
"I understand that if something happens again, you might not be so lucky."
Song Xingran's expression softened: "Nothing will happen."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
"What guarantees can you give?"
Song Xingran suddenly kissed her, blocking out any further questions. This kiss was apologetic and comforting, gentle but undeniable.
Wen Mu resisted at first, but soon softened under his persistence.
"Do you know anything else besides this?"
He smiled and nuzzled her cheek with the tip of his nose: "As long as it works."
"I haven't forgiven you."
"I know."
"I still don't agree with you competing."
"I know."
"Then why are you still..."
The man kissed her again, deeper, his left hand sliding under her skirt. Wen Mu's protests were swallowed up in the kiss, but her body responded honestly.
When the fiery hands began to unbutton her jeans, Wen Mu finally regained some rationality: "Wait a minute."
She panted lightly, her red lips glistening with moisture. "The physical therapist will be here tomorrow."
"So?" Song Xingran pressed his lips against her neck.
"So I don't want people to see me limping." Wen Mu pushed his shoulder.
Song Xingran chuckled, his hot breath spraying on her sensitive skin: "Then don't go to that extent."
Wen Mu wanted to protest, but his skillful technique made him speechless.
Her consciousness gradually faded.
The sunlight shone through the gaps in the curtains onto the bed, and the two overlapping figures gradually merged into one.
After the gentle breeze and drizzle, Wen Mu curled up in the man's arms, tracing the scar on his chest.
Although the anger has subsided, the uneasiness still lingers in my heart.
He finally chose racing.
"Are you still angry?" Song Xingran kissed the top of her head.
Wen Mu didn't answer, but just asked: "Why does it have to be the Japanese station?"
He was silent for a moment. “Because that’s where my career started.”
"Then what?"
"And then, we can start planning for the future again."
Wen Mu looked up at him: "What do you mean?"
"You'll know when the time comes." Song Xingran smiled mysteriously and kissed the tip of her nose again, "Trust me."
Wen Mu wanted to ask more, but fatigue gradually took over.
The intense emotional fluctuations and intimacy consumed her physical strength, and she fell asleep unknowingly.
When she woke up again, it was dark outside the window. Song Xingran was not in bed, and there was a sound of running water in the bathroom.
Wen Mu stretched and felt a little sore - today's "exercise" was indeed a bit excessive.
The phone on the bedside table vibrated.
Wen Mu reached out and took it. A text message from an unfamiliar number appeared on the screen:
[I'm leaving now. Are you free to meet me tonight at 8 o'clock?]
There is no signature, no contact information, just these few simple words.
The sound of water stopped, and the man walked out of the bathroom, wiping his hair. Seeing Wen Mu staring at his phone in a daze, he came over and asked, "What's wrong?"
Wen Mu subconsciously locked the screen: "Nothing, just a spam message."
Song Xingran raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask any further questions. He bent down and kissed her forehead: "Are you hungry? I ordered food."
"Yeah." Wen Mu nodded and put the phone down.
At 7:30 in the evening, Song Xingran was processing emails in the study, and Wen Mu went out on the pretext of going to the supermarket to buy fruit.
She stood at the door of the villa and hesitated for a while, but finally got into a taxi.
"Hyde Park," she told the driver, "that side near Speakers' Corner."
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The author has something to say: The young master is so powerful!
Also, he really has no remembrance of his roots!
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
