Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Ji Qingyu opened his mouth, attempting to explain.

Fu Han had already slammed the study door shut. Soon after, his secretary hurried over three or four times, urgently delivering various documents.

Ji Qingyu completely lost his mood for songwriting that morning. With nothing to do, he noticed Aunt Wang busy in the kitchen and went over to greet her, offering to lend a hand.

The Fu family's kitchen was spacious, with lush greenery visible through the window, swaying constantly like a messenger of the wind.

Ji Qingyu rolled up his sleeves to help Aunt Wang knead dough. He was quite skilled at such tasks; as a child, Lin Ying often made dumplings with him. Aunt Wang repeatedly insisted it wasn’t necessary but finally relented under Ji Qingyu’s persistence.

"I heard you like green beans, so I made these especially for you," Aunt Wang said, rolling out the dough.

Ji Qingyu was somewhat surprised. "I do like green beans."

But he didn’t remember telling anyone.

Aunt Wang was a straightforward person and felt that the madam was down-to-earth and good-natured. Worried that he might feel uneasy newly arrived at the Fu residence, she quietly told Ji Qingyu, "Mr. Fu told us. He also shared many of your habits with us."

...Fu Han?

Ji Qingyu didn’t believe it, thinking Aunt Wang was joking. He smiled and didn’t press further.

"Actually, there’s a reason why the master and young master were so angry today," Aunt Wang continued. "When Fu Han was little, his mother was still around. The atmosphere at home was much better then, and the master and young master were far from almost breaking ties."

"It’s just that later, Fu Han’s mother left." Aunt Wang started the story but didn’t finish. She seemed to realize it was inappropriate and fell silent after mixing the dumpling filling.

Ji Qingyu cautiously asked, "What do you mean by 'left'?"

"She left without saying goodbye. She didn’t even take her phone or ID card, only cash. No one knows where she went," Aunt Wang said. "She was a kind omega. She often played cards with us servants and would dance in the living room after drinking. By the way, she was once a national-level dance performer. Perhaps you’ve heard of her, madam? Her name is Luo Sheng. She had many fans."

Luo Sheng.

Ji Qingyu was surprised that the former lead dancer of the National Theatre, who retired at her peak, had married Fu Yunbai.

This matter was kept even more secret than other Fu family affairs. Perhaps only a very few insiders knew the details; others were left in the dark.

Ji Qingyu rolled out dumpling skins and filled them one by one.

Aunt Wang hurriedly tried to stop him. "Alright, madam, you're newly married. These tasks aren’t meant for you. You’ve already endured the master’s unjustified anger today. You should go rest."

Ji Qingyu smiled, his eyes curving. "Let me finish making these with you."

By the time the dumplings were served, Fu Han still hadn’t finished his meeting. The secretary simply stayed outside, ready to answer Fu Han’s summons at any moment.

Ji Qingyu invited him to join the meal.

The secretary looked distressed, with two large dark circles under his eyes. His face slightly red, he scratched his head sheepishly and repeatedly thanked Ji Qingyu.

"It’s nothing, really. I didn’t do much. Please eat," Ji Qingyu said, pushing the bowl toward him.

He considered taking a bowl to Fu Han but was afraid of disturbing him. Fu Han was quick to anger, so it was better not to risk it.

As he ate, the secretary chatted with Ji Qingyu. "Madam, are the piano and music gear to your liking? Mr. Fu spent a long time selecting them. I helped him choose. I thought at the time they were for a gift, but he had everything delivered here."

"Ah?" Ji Qingyu was puzzled. "Maybe it’s a coincidence. Perhaps he felt like buying instruments after attending Ji Ran’s concert."

"You might not know, but he also had me pack up everything from his office and bring it here. He used to not come home for ten days or even a month," the secretary muttered. "If only Mr. Fu were as considerate at work as he is with you."

Ji Qingyu lowered his head and poked at the dumplings in his bowl, thinking, *If he were really like that with you, wouldn’t he have to mark your neck too?*

Many things were hard to explain clearly. Ji Qingyu didn’t take these half-meant compliments seriously and had no interest in delving into certain matters, so he simply remained silent.

That day, Fu Han worked until very late before coming out to eat, just as Ji Qingyu was about to go to sleep. Fu Han looked rarely tired, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his eyes lowered as he looked at Ji Qingyu.

"Um, if you're busy, I’ll sleep in the guest room," Ji Qingyu said with a smile, wearing well-fitting cotton pajamas. His hair was slightly damp from being towel-dried, and steam rose from him.

Fu Han, however, seemed dissatisfied. "As a wife, aren’t you neglecting your duties?"

"What... what duties?" Ji Qingyu’s throat tightened. He inwardly cursed Fu Han’s authoritarianism but maintained a compliant expression, carefully watching Fu Han’s reaction.

Fu Han smirked, took out a cigarette, hesitated, then put it away. Leaning in close, his voice low and lazy, as if laced with addictive opium, he said, "What do you think? Warming your husband’s bed, of course."

*What nonsense...*

Ji Qingyu blushed. His cheeks were thin, and when he flushed, his entire face turned red. Fu Han always effortlessly spoke such risqué talk.

After hesitating for a while, he finally went to the master bedroom. He had expected to feel anxious but fell asleep as soon as he lay down. The bed, with its undoubtedly expensive bedding, enveloped him softly, as if he were floating on clouds.

Sometime later, a hot body wrapped around him. He drowsily opened his eyes and saw Fu Han’s bright eyes. Fu Han firmly covered Ji Qingyu’s eyes with his hand and then bit Ji Qingyu’s lip.

Ji Qingyu froze, passively accepting the kiss. Fu Han’s warm breath brushed against his face, making him dizzy. The green plum scent was like the rainy season in Jiangnan. Ji Qingyu had never been to Jiangnan, but whenever he thought of it, he was reminded of Fu Han.

Such a cold person, yet with a scent that was strikingly mismatched—sour and gentle.

The back of his neck could only emit a faint rainwater scent, neither enough to soothe Fu Han nor convey his emotions. This faint rainwater scent was soon drowned out by the rich aroma of green plum.

The entire room was filled with the green plum scent, lingering until the next morning.

Ji Qingyu slept deeply, his lip bruised. When he woke up, it was raining outside, and Fu Han was gone again.

He lay in bed dazed for a moment before slowly getting up. The rainy day brought a muggy heat. The window was painted with shades of green, and a thin layer of sweat clung to his skin. The AC was on low, but it did little to help.

Ji Qingyu wandered around the still-unfamiliar space. He went to Fu Han’s study, hoping to find music scores among the wall of books.

After looking around, he found only dull reference books and complete English volumes. The books on the top shelf seemed more like leisure reading. Standing on the highest stool, he reached for them.

The sunlight outside was streaming, and a bird’s chirp distracted him. He slipped, grabbing a random book as he fell from the shelf, wincing as he rubbed his sore hip.

It was a drawing book, clearly old. Sitting on the floor, he flipped through a few pages and realized it wasn’t printed but a collection of a child’s artwork. The works were highly finished, seemingly revised, with small, neatly written notes in the top right corner of almost every page. Ji Qingyu slowly read through them.

*What is this? A diary?*

Frowning, he continued flipping.

"Mom loves to drink. Mint-flavored ice cubes clink in his glass. He let me taste it. I did. It was bitter."

The handwriting was childish and messy. Another hand had added a note beside it: "Children shouldn't drink! Just this once!"

A smiley face was drawn next to it.

"Mom and Dad argued. Mom got up in the middle of the night and smoked a whole pack. He thought I didn’t know. I went and hugged him, and he cried. But he’s my mom. Moms and kids have a connection."

The note read: "Mom and Dad won’t argue in front of you again. Sorry..."

"Dad tore up my drawing. He said it’s a waste of time. Mom and Dad had a big fight. I’m scared. I’m afraid Mom will stop smiling. Mom, I won’t draw anymore. Please don’t fight with Dad."

From this page onward, the drawings weren't revised, and there were no notes.

"..." Ji Qingyu flipped through many more pages, losing track of time until he reached the last page, feeling a pang of sadness.

"Mom didn’t sleep all night. She thought I was asleep—that was the last time she kissed me. She said she was leaving and told me not to look for her. I didn’t open my eyes because I knew if I woke up, she wouldn’t be able to go."

"Mom, in my heart, you are a free little white bird."

The last page featured a drawing of a white bird. No one had made revisions for Fu Han anymore. The bird looked like a chubby little chick, more like a child’s simple sketch.

Ji Qingyu had never known Fu Han’s childhood was like this. His own childhood was happy, protected by Lin Ying and playing with the older brother from the neighboring fruit stall. Even when difficult times came later, he had support.

Though he had many criticisms about Fu Han’s current way of handling things, he felt sympathy for the child Fu Han once was.

He touched his stomach. He, too, had once had a child, but like Fu Han’s mother, he had been cruel and abandoned his own child.

He sighed. The phone beside him suddenly rang—the caller ID showed Ji Ran. After hesitating for a few seconds, Ji Qingyu answered.

"Why didn’t you answer my call this morning?" The voice on the other end was seething with anger.

Morning?

Ji Qingyu kept his phone on 24/7, afraid that Ji Ran wouldn’t be able to reach him in case of an emergency involving Lin Ying. But he really hadn’t heard any call this morning. He glanced down at his phone—it had no password, yet someone had enabled do not disturb mode.

"Maybe the signal was bad because of the rain," Ji Qingyu replied, sounding confused.

"Send me the songs you have now, even if they’re unfinished demos," Ji Ran said. There were faint voices in the background, as if others were talking.

Ji Qingyu clutched the phone, his fingers digging into the corner of the sketchbook. "I don’t have any new songs. Can’t we pick a few from the forty I’ve already written?"

"I’ve already released all your songs," Ji Ran replied. "Stop making me repeat myself. I asked you to write me a song, and you keep making excuses."

Truthfully, Ji Ran could easily find someone else to write a few ballads in Ji Qingyu’s style, mix in some rock beats, and his fans might not even notice the difference. Ji Qingyu didn’t understand why Ji Ran was so obsessed with him.

Ji Ran sent a few photos. In them, he stood outside Lin Ying’s hospital room. Doctors filled the room, and one held a syringe.

Ji Ran’s voice remained calm, deceptively calm. "Don’t think marrying Fu Han changes anything. If you tell Fu Han things you shouldn’t, I can make sure Auntie says goodbye to you before she’s moved."

Ji Qingyu’s heart raced.

"Don’t touch her. I’ll write," Ji Qingyu said, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Tell them to put the syringe down. I’ll start writing right away."

Ji Ran tapped on the glass. One of the doctors inside looked up and came out to ask what was wrong.

"Hold off on the injection for now," Ji Ran said. "The family member isn’t comfortable with it."

Ji Qingyu’s fingers turned white-knuckled. He struggled to stand up, placed the sketchbook back on the bookcase, and leaned against the bookcase for support. His legs felt weak.

Just as Ji Ran was about to say more, Fu Han’s voice suddenly came from outside the door.

"Where is he?" Fu Han was asking Aunt Wang. Ji Ran seemed to hear the voice too and quickly hung up.

Ji Qingyu tried to stand, but his legs gave way, and he stumbled to the ground. His wrist and knees ached.

Fu Han pushed the door open abruptly, his demeanor imposing. But when he saw Ji Qingyu’s state, his scowl softened. His voice softened, though it still carried a hint of reproach. "What’s wrong?"

Author's Note: