Chapter 174 You're Still Here
The car slowly drove away from the hospital, the shadows of the trees outside the window swept by, and the car was quiet for a moment.
He suddenly said, "I have to go to Chen Yushan's birthday banquet this weekend, so I can't keep you company tonight."
She was slightly taken aback, but then she understood—Chen Yushan was Chen Yun's grandfather.
The old man who had once vehemently opposed her relationship with Sheng Tingzhou.
Now that he's holding a birthday banquet, Sheng Tingzhou, as Chen Yun's ex-boyfriend and an important figure in the family business, has no choice but to attend.
She smiled and said in a light tone, "It's okay, you go ahead and do your work. I'll just tidy up my room too."
Sheng Tingzhou didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned his head and glanced at her, his gaze darkening. "What did your uncle say to you today?"
For the past two days, he has been secretly investigating the driver of the car accident.
That day, the rain was heavy and the roads were slippery. The vehicle's brakes failed, and on the surface, it was an accident caused by a combination of natural disaster and mechanical failure.
But things happened too coincidentally. It happened just as his relationship with Song Zhiwei was getting back together, and the driver quit his job and ran away after the incident, disappearing without a trace.
It's all too coincidental.
It was so coincidental that it didn't seem like an accident; it was more like someone was secretly orchestrating it.
Song Zhiwei was silent for a few seconds before honestly answering, "He just wanted me to spend more time with him... I told him I'm staying with you now and I'm busy with work, so I can't come every day for the time being. I didn't agree."
After she finished speaking, she felt a tightness in her chest.
She also knew that such a cold response was perhaps too heartless.
Zhou Yuze was only able to drive in the rain that night because of her, which led to the car accident.
But things could never go back to how they were.
It wasn't that she was unwilling to forgive, but that past was like a thorn stuck in her flesh, impossible to pull out or heal.
She couldn't pretend to be close, and she couldn't stay in that suffocating hospital room against her will, forcing herself to play the role of a dutiful niece.
After hearing this, Sheng Tingzhou didn't say anything more. He simply raised his hand and gently rubbed her hair, his fingertips warm as they brushed against her strands.
A hint of a smile appeared in his eyes, and he said in a low voice, "Little mouse, you've grown up and you're starting to hide from people."
Upon hearing this address, she immediately bristled, turned around, and pinched the soft flesh of his waist, gritting her teeth: "Don't you dare call me that again! Who's the rat? If you call me that again, I'll jump out of the car!"
He chuckled softly, dodging her while grabbing her wrist, his tone full of doting: "Alright, alright, I won't call you that anymore—my Miss Song, okay?"
He turned his head, his gaze deep and focused, his eyes fixed on her every move, as if she were the only being in the world worthy of his gaze.
A slight smile played on his lips, a hint of teasing and indulgence in his tone: "What's that called? A little cake?"
The sudden kiss from last night flashed through her mind; the warmth of their lips touching was still vivid in her mind, as was the sound of his low, husky voice whispering in her ear, "You are mine alone."
Memories flooded back, and her ears instantly burned, as if they had been scorched by fire, turning so red they almost bled.
She quickly turned her face away, not wanting him to see her flustered expression, but still stubbornly maintained her composure, letting out a muffled groan: "Don't shout."
He chuckled softly, a gentle smile in his eyes.
He reached out and brushed aside a stray strand of hair from her forehead, his fingertips gently tracing her skin, the movement as soft as a spring breeze.
Then he gently pulled her ear and lowered his head to place a light kiss on her forehead: "No this, no that—next time, I'll call you by your name."
She wrinkled her nose, glared at him, her tone full of disdain, but her eyes couldn't hide her amusement: "Can't you be serious and call me by my full name? Stop with these random nicknames."
He raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion, and asked, "For example?"
She tilted her head back, staring into his eyes, her gaze clear and bright, and teased him deliberately, "Call me Your Majesty."
He paused for a moment, then burst into loud laughter, his deep voice filled with teasing and indulgence: "Oh, you want to be the empress?"
She blinked, a sly smile appearing on her face, and a sweet curve appeared at the corner of her mouth: "Then you must be the Grand Eunuch of the Imperial Household."
"Song Zhiwei!"
He gritted his teeth and muttered her name, his tone a mix of anger and amusement. Suddenly, his hand slipped under her armpit and precisely tickled her most sensitive spot—
Caught off guard, she jolted as if electrocuted, then burst into laughter, a clear laugh tinged with tears: "Ah! No! Sheng Tingzhou, stop! I was wrong! I was really wrong!"
She laughed and twisted her body, trying to escape the mischievous hand, but the more she struggled, the more he wouldn't let go, his fingertips wandering back and forth, teasing her until she couldn't breathe.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she laughed. Finally, she surrendered, raising her hands high and her voice trembling: "I was wrong, so wrong! I'll never do it again!"
"What's wrong with it?"
Sheng Tingzhou stopped what he was doing, but remained close to her, his gaze fixed intently on her eyes, motionless, as if trying to see through her soul.
The two stared at each other, and the air seemed to quiet down.
She could clearly see her own reflection in his dark pupils—her cheeks flushed, her eyes soft, and a lingering smile on her lips.
Without hesitation or further retreat, she leaned in, closed her eyes, and gently kissed his lips.
The weekend arrived in the blink of an eye.
The morning sunlight streamed into the room through the gaps in the curtains, bringing a touch of warmth.
Song Zhiwei woke up groggily, turned over, and instinctively reached out to touch the side, only to find a slightly cool sheet—he was no longer beside her.
She rubbed her eyes, slowly sat up, and shuffled into the bathroom in her slippers.
After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I casually tied my messy hair into a loose little ponytail.
Then, wearing a loose beige nightgown, she yawned and swayed as she went downstairs.
As soon as I stepped into the living room, I heard the sizzling sound of oil frying in the kitchen, mixed with the subtle sounds of a spatula lightly touching the bottom of the pan.
She looked up and saw Sheng Tingzhou standing in front of the stove, wearing a gray casual jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and a dark blue plaid apron tied around his waist. He was focused on frying a golden-yellow poached egg.
She paused for a moment, then blurted out, "You're still here?"
She had assumed he had left long ago—today was Mr. Chen's 80th birthday, and as an important guest, he should have arrived early.
He turned off the stove, turned to look at her, a lazy smile playing on his lips, his tone full of teasing: "Isn't this just serving our Emperor breakfast?"
Song Zhiwei couldn't help but burst out laughing, her cheeks puffing out like a child who had stolen a piece of candy.
She skipped over, wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, leaned her head over his shoulder, and stared curiously at the food in the pot: "Then I'll have to check the goods carefully. If they're not good, I'll make you redo them three times."
He didn't break free from her embrace. Instead, he squeezed her fingers with his other hand and then deftly set the breakfast table: fried eggs, toast, bacon, fruit salad, and a bowl of steaming congee with preserved egg and lean pork.
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