Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Lawyers began frequenting the villa, bringing stacks of voluminous contract documents for Ji Qingyu to review.

"Ji Ran's songs have already garnered over hundreds of millions of streams," the older lawyer said, flipping to the next page of the contract. "He has repeatedly claimed in public that he is the sole songwriter and composer, which constitutes an infringement of your rights..."

Ji Qingyu assisted them with the remaining work and stood up just as the lawyers were about to leave. "I hope this matter doesn’t escalate."

"Mr. Ji, you no longer represent just yourself—you also represent the Fu Corporation," the lawyer replied, furrowing his brow in confusion. "Public opinion has always been divided about the relationship between Ji Ran and Mr. Fu. By showing support for you this time, Mr. Fu is actually doing you a favor."

Taking his side?

Ji Qingyu remained silent. He didn’t believe it.

Whether Fu Han was doing this to get back at Ji Ran or to protect the reputation of the Fu family’s spouse, it certainly wasn’t for his sake.

He had been presumptuous too many times before—this time, he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Alone in the spacious room, he leaned against the wall, lowering his gaze as his vision blurred. The empty living room gave him the illusion of being a bird trapped in a cage—unable to fly away, unable to rest.

He felt exhausted. Tying his hair loosely, he sat back on the sofa, skimming through the serious wording of the contract before turning to look out the window.

Outside, the sky was a clear azure, tinged with pale blue hues and soft shadows.

He sent a message: "Can we find a compromise regarding Ji Ran’s situation?"

Fu Han called half an hour later.

Ji Qingyu answered, and Fu Han’s voice was colder than ice, laced with biting sarcasm that struck straight at his heart: "The two of you really do have a deep brotherly bond, don’t you? He was always your right-hand man back then. Now that you’ve finally gotten your wish and married me, of course you want to repay his kindness."

Ji Qingyu didn’t even want to respond. Clenching the fabric of the sofa, he forced his voice to remain calm. "Please."

A few seconds later, Fu Han hung up.

Suddenly, Ji Qingyu felt utterly exhausted. All he wished for was Lin Ying’s recovery.

During this period of turmoil, Ji Ran’s performances were completely suspended. In a recent TV appearance, Fu Han had abruptly replaced one of Ji Ran’s songs with a classic golden oldie.

Speculations ran wild. Soon after, over forty of Ji Ran’s songs were removed from all platforms, sending fans into an uproar. Allegations and curses followed—this time, most of them directed at Ji Ran.

A few days later, the lawyer visited again, bringing a revised version of the contract. It stated that the songs were co-written by Ji Ran and Ji Qingyu, and that Ji Ran’s concert royalties would be shared with Ji Qingyu. The Fu Corporation would also assist Ji Ran in explaining the situation, aiming to maintain dignity for both parties.

Ji Qingyu opened a music app and noticed that his name had been added to the credits of those songs.

He traced the three characters with his finger. The phone screen glowed brightly, and so did his eyes.

Scrolling further, he saw that Ji Ran had posted a statement on social media. The content was largely consistent with what the lawyer had said—it seemed both sides had reached an agreement.

Ji Qingyu skimmed through the comments section. It was still filled with controlled comments from paid commentators and fans, but as marketing accounts began exposing Ji Ran’s past scandals, dissenting voices started to mix in.

"Fu Han must have turned from love to hate—destroying what he can’t have."

"Ji Ran is such a green tea bitch."

"Does Ji Ran have no shame? This is basically plagiarism!"

"Stealing someone else’s work and still claiming it as his own? Those were clearly his brother’s experiences!"

"Finally, someone I dislike is getting exposed!"

Ji Qingyu watched silently. Strangely, even though Ji Ran was finally facing consequences for what he had done, Ji Qingyu felt no sense of satisfaction—not even a ripple of emotion in his heart.

On the evening the announcement was released, Fu Han returned home unusually early. He seemed to be in a particularly bad mood. When Ji Qingyu heard him come in, he went to help him with his coat and caught a faint whiff of alcohol on his suit.

Fu Han leaned against the doorframe, tilting his head slightly. His hair was slightly disheveled, falling loosely over his forehead as he watched Ji Qingyu hang his coat.

Ji Qingyu turned to the kitchen and brought out the steamed egg custard that Aunt Wang had warmed up earlier, placing it on the table. He was about to call Fu Han over when he realized Fu Han had already approached silently.

"You’re always like this," Fu Han slurred, seemingly quite intoxicated. He braced a hand on the back of the chair behind Ji Qingyu, blocking the light above him, and spoke slowly, "Don’t you have anything to say?"

Ji Qingyu was confused. Always like what? Perhaps Fu Han mistook him for someone else, or perhaps he had unintentionally done something to offend him again. Regardless, he immediately said, "I’m sorry."

Fu Han’s expression didn’t improve. His eyelids were tinged with a faint red, and it was unclear how much he had drunk.

In Ji Qingyu’s memory, Fu Han never liked drinking. Even when he did, he never got drunk. Yet, in the short time since their marriage, this was already the second time Ji Qingyu had seen him in such a state.

Fu Han looked down at him with an impassive gaze. When Ji Qingyu tried to stand up, Fu Han pressed him back into the chair. His voice was heavy and cold. "Ji Qingyu, did you ask for my opinion before adding someone else’s name to those songs?"

Why would I need your opinion?

Ji Qingyu didn’t want to argue with a drunk. He tried to stand again, but Fu Han leaned in and kissed him. There was no taste of alcohol in his mouth, only a faint hint of mint lozenges.

"You don’t care about anything," Fu Han murmured, his grip tightening on Ji Qingyu’s chin. "You understand nothing."

Ji Qingyu thought to himself that there were things he cared about—but Fu Han wasn’t on that list.

He was dazed by Fu Han’s kiss, his mind foggy and nearly shutting down. As the back of his head was held firmly, tears slid from the corners of his eyes.

A burst of sour plum flavor exploded, engulfing him entirely.

Fu Han was radiating heat. Every place he touched tingled numbly, and his hand once again brushed against the edge of Ji Qingyu’s gland. He leaned in to sniff—Ji Qingyu’s scent was faint, almost like water.

Fu Han seemed displeased. He pressed closer, his own green plum scent growing stronger. But he received no response—Ji Qingyu’s parched body couldn’t reciprocate.

His grip on Ji Qingyu’s waist tightened increasingly. An alpha without an omega’s scent to soothe him grew restless, like a donkey chasing a carrot it could never reach. Ji Qingyu had thought it wouldn’t be long before Fu Han sought release elsewhere instead of clinging to him for that faint trace of scent.

There was nothing Ji Qingyu could do. The scar on his gland was permanent. Even if it healed well in the future, his scent would always remain faint.

But Fu Han was far from satisfied. He examined Ji Qingyu’s gland again—the scar had formed, and the new skin was pink.

Ji Qingyu thought Fu Han was going to bite him and trembled, trying to pull away. But Fu Han only gently touched the scar.

Ji Qingyu froze for a moment, and Fu Han kissed him again. Unable to push him away, Ji Qingyu was enveloped in Fu Han’s embrace. Then Fu Han nudged Ji Qingyu’s lips apart. When Ji Qingyu opened his mouth to speak, it looked as though he was deliberately biting Fu Han’s finger.

Fu Han paused for a second, then stopped. A cold, ambiguous smile touched his lips as he spoke with a chilling tone, "You’re quite skilled at seduction."

"I didn’t..." Ji Qingyu gently grasped Fu Han’s hand, hoping he would let go.

"Didn’t? Then what does that expression mean?" Fu Han was once again twisting his intentions.

Ji Qingyu felt a surge of frustration and retorted with a hint of defiance, "Yes, I’ve been scheming all along. I went through so much to be with you—why wouldn’t I covet you?"

He savored the brief moment of speechlessness on Fu Han’s face, noticing a flicker of surprise before Fu Han released his chin.

But before Ji Qingyu could escape, Fu Han reacted, biting him even more fiercely, as if trying to tear him in half.

Outside, the cold night rain fell, the sound of droplets enveloping the two in a misty haze within the bedroom. The room was quiet, but muffled, hushed moans escaped from under the covers.

Fu Han was experienced, while Ji Qingyu knew nothing. Tossed and turned on the bed, he felt both pain and discomfort, like a salted fish being thoroughly marinated.

Around midnight, Ji Qingyu woke up groggily, wanting to drink some water. As he rose, his whole body ached as if falling apart, his waist especially sore. He tried to get up several times before finally succeeding.

His cup was knocked over onto the floor, rolling once on the ground, a jarring sound in the silent night. Worried about disturbing Fu Han, Ji Qingyu turned to look, only to find the broad figure still lying motionless on the bed.

Ji Qingyu walked over and reached out to touch him, but jerked his hand back as if touching a hot iron. Half his drowsiness vanished immediately.

He tried to shake Fu Han awake, patting his back and calling his name softly, but there was no response.

He had no choice but to call the family doctor in the middle of the night, apologetically.

The doctor told Ji Qingyu to find some medicine for Fu Han to take first, as he wouldn’t be able to arrive until later that night.

Frantic, Ji Qingyu scrambled to find the medicine, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get Fu Han to take the medicine. Breaking out in a sweat from anxiety, he felt like punching Fu Han’s handsome face a couple of times. He thought to himself, Fu Han is clearly sick—where did he get the strength to torment me earlier?

He leaned against the bedside, worriedly staring at the white pill in his hand. A small night light illuminated the bedside, and as he looked down, he could see Fu Han’s profile.

He was so handsome. Ji Qingyu was momentarily dazed, he reached out to touch Fu Han’s nose bridge. That normally arrogant face now showed a rare fragility, his brows slightly furrowed, eyes still closed.

Dazed, Ji Qingyu wondered how such a face could belong to someone so temperamental.

Finally, Fu Han slowly opened his eyes, looking at him confusedly. Ji Qingyu stood frozen.

"You’re awake. You have a fever—take your medicine. The doctor will be here soon." His hand was still resting on Fu Han’s nose bridge, so he could only offer an awkward smile.

Fu Han took Ji Qingyu’s hand and docilely reached for the pill in his palm.

"Wait a moment, let me ask the doctor if you can take this after drinking alcohol." Ji Qingyu withdrew his hand, deciding to confirm with the doctor again. Fu Han watched him quietly, his gaze remained fixed on him, unmoving.

Like a predator lying in wait.

Ji Qingyu felt somewhat unnerved by his stare. After covering Fu Han with the blanket and giving him the medicine, he thought about getting a towel dampened with cool water. But before he could move, Fu Han grabbed his hand.

"Where are you going?" Fu Han’s voice was hoarse, his eyes still red, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly.

"I’m going to get you a towel." Not wanting to argue with a sick person, Ji Qingyu lowered his voice to coax him.

Fu Han's forehead was beaded with sweat, his eyes glistening. He looked like an elf in the darkness—proud and beautiful.

"Will you come back?"

"I will."

"You’re lying."

"I’m not lying."

For some reason, Fu Han got angry again, turning his back to Ji Qingyu and lying down. The intimate, almost coquettish gesture made Ji Qingyu wonder if Fu Han mistook him for Ji Ran.

Ji Qingyu didn’t think he deserved such privilege.

In the darkness, a whisper so faint it seemed almost illusory reached his ears: "It was clearly written for me... If you don’t care about the song, do you not care about me either? Who do you care about? I’ll never forgive you. You liar. If you deceived me, why didn’t you just keep lying..."

Fu Han’s voice was too soft. Ji Qingyu could only catch fragmented phrases, and even after piecing them together, he couldn’t make sense of it. This side of Fu Han left him helpless, so he could only respond by apologizing over and over, promising he wouldn’t leave.

The night deepened. After what felt like an eternity, the doctor finally arrived. Ji Qingyu stepped aside to make room. After a moment’s thought, he went to the bathroom, dampened a towel with cold water, and pushed open the bedroom door to hand it to the doctor.

Once everything was done, he didn’t dare leave. Leaning against the doorframe, he gazed out at the night sky, lost in thought for a moment. He wiped his face and bit the tip of his tongue, feeling a sharp, lingering pain.

He had never smoked before, always careful with his voice, but now he desperately wanted a cigarette—to briefly numb his nerves.

Author's Note: