Song Qingyou held the medical report, her heart unmoved.
As she had anticipated, she turned to look at Fu Wenzhou, who remained silent and with a sullen face, and couldn't help but chuckle, "Isn't there Master Yunfang? Once you find him, my illness can be cured."
She was probably just trying to coax him, but Fu Wenzhou took it seriously and gritted his teeth, saying, "We're not coming to this hospital anymore; they're all quacks."
The thought of the doctor saying that his pomelo had a chronic disease that was difficult to cure made Fu Wenzhou's heart ache.
She'd heard these excuses from the hospital for years and was immune to them. She chuckled and said, "Fine, I won't come."
The pent-up frustration in Fu Wenzhou's chest finally dissipated a bit, but he was still worried and knew he had to find Yun Fang as quickly as possible.
After returning home, Song Qingyou rested. Fu Wenzhou moved all his things over himself, and not daring to unpack them now so as not to disturb her. He sat alone in the study, staring at his phone screen with the look in his eyes as if it were a precious treasure.
He took out a tattoo needle from the drawer, found a mirror, and carefully made a cut on the back of his neck, his eyes focused.
As time passed, the tattoo gradually took shape—it was clearly the image of Song Qingyou lying on the bed after their first time making love.
The red mole on her back was lifelike, her hair flowed freely, and she was both holy and charming.
This extreme sense of contradiction has a fatal attraction; the skin and flesh on the back of the neck seem to come alive.
Fu Wenzhou rubbed the back of his neck with his fingertips for a long time, then smiled casually.
Song Qingyou found out about the tattoo two days later.
The news was everywhere; it was impossible for her not to know.
Song Qingyou clicked on the trending video sent by Yan Miao.
The postscript read: Holy crap, is this you?! I remember you had a red mole on your back, didn't you?!
In the video, Fu Wenzhou is being interviewed by a financial news livestream.
The host asked him, "Mr. Fu, what is the meaning of this tattoo on the back of your neck? It looks like it belongs to a woman."
Fu Wenzhou's neckline was very low, and if he turned slightly to the side, the entire tattoo could be seen.
His voice was deep and sexy: "She is the love of my life."
Song Qingyou's breath hitched, and she suddenly coughed loudly until the blush on her face faded and turned pale, and only then did she barely suppress the itching in her throat.
The interview immediately topped the trending searches, and many people began to speculate about the identity of the "love of my life" mentioned by the powerful young CEO of Beijing.
Later, someone dug up a photo of Fu Wenzhou getting drunk late at night and kissing a mysterious woman on the street. However, the photo was taken at night, and the woman's face was hidden in the darkness. Only her fair and beautiful neck could be seen in the photo.
There were many different opinions about the identity of this 'beloved'.
Song Qingyou stared at the photo, her fingertips turning slightly white.
This was two years ago, when Fu Wenzhou first came to her pretending to be drunk. At the time, she was afraid that he would really drink too much and end up in the hospital, so she had no choice but to go to him.
Unexpectedly, this madman came up and kissed her. She couldn't escape even if she wanted to. The difference in strength between men and women was too great, and she could only be forced to endure it.
Song Qingyou was somewhat relieved that her face hadn't been photographed.
If your face is captured...
Song Qingyou closed her eyes and gave a bitter smile.
Then I and Fu Wenzhou would become the laughingstock of the entire capital.
The relationship between an aunt and her nephew sounds incredibly complicated.
Wealthy families value their reputation above all else; no matter how rotten they are inside, they must present a glamorous facade. If such a shameful relationship were exposed, how would she and Fu Wenzhou ever face each other again?
This relationship must not be made public until she takes back control of the Song family.
Otherwise, how could she establish credibility in front of those old foxes?
In the dead of night, the snow fell heavier and heavier. Amidst the wind and snow, the sound of machinery rang out, and the door was gently closed.
Someone approached Song Qingyou, and before they could even bend down, Song Qingyou spoke first: "Go to the second bedroom."
The man obediently stood still, neither approaching nor turning away. "I wanted to get your tattoo on my body. I answered when the person asked, without thinking much about it, and I didn't know it would cause such a big fuss."
Song Qingyou was shocked by his shamelessness and turned away, ignoring him.
The moonlight lingered on her profile, illuminating her earlobes, which appeared as white and smooth as jade, making one want to bite them and knead them until they turned red.
Fu Wenzhou looked at her again and again, only making his move after he had satisfied his desire. He rolled onto the bed, pressed himself against her back, and slipped his hands under her waist to pull her into his arms: "I know you're afraid of people finding out about our relationship, so I didn't mention your name. Are you still angry about that?"
Song Qingyou closed her eyes and remained silent, listening to him talk to himself.
"Is being with me such a shameful thing? I'm Fu Tingshen's nephew, not yours. You divorced him, so we no longer have that title. What's wrong with being together? Who are those old guys to gossip about it? If you still don't like it, then I'll cut ties with Fu Tingshen."
He lowered his voice, his tone becoming even hoarse: "Youyou, you can't sleep with me and then I won't take responsibility."
Song Qingyou, unable to bear it any longer, rolled over and poked his chest: "You've said everything, good or bad, are you ever going to stop? Did I say I was angry?"
Fu Wenzhou hugged her, nuzzled her lips, and then rubbed her nose: "If you're not angry, let me go to the second bedroom. I won't go anywhere else, I'll just hold you and sleep."
Song Qingyou struggled but couldn't break free. "Also, who's sleeping with whom between us?"
Fu Wenzhou inhaled her scent, becoming increasingly addicted, as if it were spiritual nourishment. He reached out and touched Song Qingyou's earlobe, kneading it wantonly as he pleased: "Sister, am I not serving you comfortably?"
Song Qingyou was speechless, her cheeks burning.
"Could you please stop saying these things all the time?"
Fu Wenzhou lowered his head and sucked on the soft flesh he had just been playing with with his fingertips. "Sister, can I kiss you?"
Song Qingyou blushed furiously, feeling both embarrassed and annoyed.
He would kiss her if he wanted to, but he had to ask a question on purpose, deliberately trying to provoke her.
Song Qingyou reached out and pushed him, trying to turn around and ignore him.
He grabbed her hands behind her back, and Song Qingyou's face flushed red. She tried to pull her hands back, but they were firmly held. She tried to pull her fingertips back, but accidentally brushed against him again.
Fu Wenzhou gasped, his voice low and hoarse: "A vixen."
Song Qingyou couldn't stand his words of blaming her for provoking him when he had gone too far himself, so she glared at him.
Fu Wenzhou pretended not to see it and lowered his voice to coax her, "Youyou..."
"Shut up, no way!" Song Qingyou refused without hesitation.
Fu Wenzhou's breathing was heavy. He kissed her eyes and coaxed her in a low voice, "Sister, okay?"
Song Qingyou: "..."
The night was thick with darkness, and snowflakes began to fall.
For a moment, Song Qingyou couldn't tell whether the sound of wind or panting was what she was hearing.
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