Mu Houchu was clutching the letters in his hand, his face as black as the bottom of a pot, as he questioned her word by word, "I heard that these are love letters I sent to Song Ya Lan?"
Ji Xinhe practically rolled off the recliner, her previously heavy body appearing nimble, as she grinned sheepishly, "How could that be? How could you possibly write love letters to Song Ya Lan? Maybe someone made a mistake!"
Speaking firmly, she declared, "Yes! It must be a mistake!"
Mu Houchu gave her a chilling stare, his eyes narrowing slightly, "Hmm?"
Ji Xinhe shivered all over, stiffly chuckling twice before lowering her head in a show of defeat, "I was wrong."
Mu Houchu pinched her chin, forcing her to raise her head to meet his frosty gaze, "Wrong? Your letter was written quite smoothly. Were you trying to get me to connect with Song Ya Lan like this before?"
Ji Xinhe laughed ingratiatingly, "It’s not that my letter was well-written, but mainly because my husband is so charismatic. With my crude writing, people can bear to read it because they look at your face."
Obviously, this flattery wasn’t successful, as the man in front of her showed no signs of softening. Instead, his face darkened even more as the corners of his lips curled into a chilling, intimidating smile, "Really? Though the writing isn’t great, it’s clearly madam’s style. If only madam could be as passionate towards me as in the letter, perhaps I wouldn’t have to worry about being sold out by her."
Ji Xinhe was almost in tears, "How could I dare to sell you?"
Mu Houchu laughed ominously, "It seems madam has quite the talent for writing such letters. Why not write another thousand or more for me to savor?"
Ji Xinhe’s eyes widened in fright, and she waved her hands vigorously, "I didn’t write this letter!"
Under Mu Houchu’s intense gaze, she reluctantly admitted, "But I did come up with the content."
Mu Houchu asked frostily, "Who wrote the letter?"
Ji Xinhe forced a smile, battling internally whether or not to give up Xiaochaihuo.
Suddenly, she saw Xiaochaihuo walking into the garden carrying his book bag, apparently just returning from school.
"Madam..." Before he could finish speaking, he sensed the oppressive atmosphere and intense murderous intent in the garden.
Xiaochaihuo suddenly felt a chill on his back, along with an ominous premonition.
As expected, Mu Houchu, who had been facing away from him, suddenly turned around. At that moment, his ordinarily deep and cold eyes were filled with bone-chilling iciness...
It seemed that even with just a single glance, Xiaochaihuo would be cut to pieces.
Feeling a shiver run through his body, Xiaochaihuo turned around and fled. In the blink of an eye, his figure disappeared completely.
Shulan and Xiaoyu, who had been watching from the sidelines, couldn’t help but exclaim, "Xiaochaihuo’s escape speed is really fast! His year of training paid off!"
Mu Houchu’s face remained dark, his eyes shifting to Ji Xinhe.
Ji Xinhe could only watch Xiaochaihuo flee like the wind with a mix of jealousy and envy, before lamenting the good fortune of youth.
She touched her belly, wailed and scrunched her small face into a bun, collapsing weakly onto the recliner, "Aiyo, my stomach hurts! Husband, my stomach hurts, aiyo!"
Facing this exaggerated performance, Xiaoyu and Shulan were very cooperative, coming to comfort and ask questions, even going so far as to send someone to fetch the doctor.
Mu Houchu’s lips twitched uncontrollably. Relying on the baby in her belly, this little woman had become truly arrogant!
After all the commotion, Ji Xinhe eventually appeared weak and listless, lying on the bed, groaning occasionally to express the severity of her "illness."
When the doctor arrived and Xiaoyu ushered him out to get medicine, the room finally quieted down.
Mu Houchu sat by her bed, lifting a hand to pinch her face, exerting just enough force to hurt but not enough to harm, as if to teach her a lesson, "A thousand letters is too much, but you can’t write less than a hundred."
Upon hearing this, Ji Xinhe turned up the volume of her cries, "Aiyo, my stomach hurts even more!"
Mu Houchu said coldly, "If you keep complaining, I’ll double it."
Ji Xinhe immediately quieted, looking pitifully at Mu Houchu, her small hand clutching his sleeve, "I’m pregnant now."
"One letter a day, and it’ll be over in a hundred days—it’s not too much," Mu Houchu said mockingly. "Besides, you’re idling at home anyway, and after all those reading materials, you have no way to show off your skills. You might as well write love letters for me instead of wasting your talents. A hundred letters, without any repetitions."
Ji Xinhe genuinely wanted to cry...
Mu Houchu snorted lightly, completely unmoved by her pitiful act. If he didn’t properly deal with her today, she would certainly become totally unrestrained, using his name to write such nonsense and even giving it away! If word of this got out, he might not even be able to show his face anymore!
Mu Houchu looked at the letters in his hand and carelessly threw them away. What on earth was all this mess she had written?
"Don’t write this kind of nonsense for me. It makes me sick to read it." Mu Houchu didn’t forget to lay down his demands, glaring fiercely with a serious expression.
Ji Xinhe’s face fell, "······"
Aren’t love letters all like this?
What should she write then?!
Ji Xinhe felt so wronged that she bit the quilt.
——
Over the next few days, Ji Xinhe stayed quietly at home. Firstly, there wasn’t much to do; secondly, she had to rack her brains every day for love letters to write to Mu Houchu; and thirdly...
Most importantly, Mu Houchu wouldn’t let her leave the house.
Half a month passed in the blink of an eye, and her belly grew bigger like a balloon, already seven months pregnant.
She could often feel Ah Guai moving in her belly, turning over, kicking, each movement filling her with excitement and joy. Even spending her days idling at home didn’t feel boring anymore.
One day, a light rain drizzled outside, and Xin He sat at the desk by the window, her head leaned against her hands, her face scrunched up in thought, as she tried to figure out what to write. Eventually, she threw her pen down in frustration, stroking her belly as she started to mutter.
"Your dad always says that I don’t act like a mother-to-be, but does he act like a father-to-be? Have you seen any soon-to-be fathers who are still so childish, demanding love letters? How old is he? Writing one love letter is fine, but a hundred? And so many demands, this can’t be like that. If he’s so troublesome, why doesn’t he write them himself?" Ji Xinhe’s anger grew as she spoke, huffing and puffing, "I’m not writing anymore, I won’t write!"
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