Chapter 57

Chapter Fifty-Seven

During Fu Han's recovery, the two moved back to the villa.

Ji Qingyu wasn't much of a cook, but with Fu Han needing rest, he wanted to try making some nutritious meals for him. Following a recipe, he clumsily fumbled around the kitchen, still instinctively flinching at the rising cooking fumes. His chopping motions were awkward and unpracticed. When he placed that suspiciously colored, shapeless dish in front of Fu Han, even he felt a pang of embarrassment.

Fu Han lowered his head, quietly examining the indescribable mass in the bowl, then looked up at Ji Qingyu's tense, slightly anxious face. After a few seconds of silence, his voice still low and hoarse from his injuries, he quietly asked, "What... is this?"

Half of his body was still immobile, and delicate tasks like eating couldn't be managed independently yet, so he had to rely on Ji Qingyu to feed him bite by bite. After getting past the initial resistance and sense of helplessness, Fu Han found himself actually enjoying it.

The contents of the bowl were indeed a disaster, with a faint smell of burnt food wafting from it. Ji Qingyu paused, a flicker of defeat crossing his face, and stood up to take it away and discard it: "Maybe I should just make you some dumplings instead." He remembered there were frozen dumplings in the fridge—those at least wouldn’t go wrong.

"Make once, eat for a week?" Fu Han asked, his tone giving nothing away, but deep in his eyes was a faint, almost imperceptible hint of amusement.

Ji Qingyu gritted his teeth, his fingers tightening around the bowl. Fine, Fu Han was the patient—he’d endure it. He set the bowl back on the bedside table and said irritably, "Then what do you want to eat? I’ll learn."

Fu Han’s mischievous streak was satisfied. He shook his head gently. "I’ll eat this." He gestured toward the bowl of unidentifiable substance. "You made it. It won’t kill me."

Ji Qingyu glared at him but ultimately sat back down, scooped up a spoonful, carefully blew on it, and brought it to Fu Han’s lips. Fu Han obediently opened his mouth, expressionless. After a few seconds, he simply said it was delicious.

Days passed in this somewhat clumsy manner of care. Fu Han’s body gradually improved.

The child was born one early spring morning. After a long pregnancy and hours of labor, when that loud, powerful cry broke the delivery room’s silence, Fu Han, waiting outside, leaned against the wall and clenched his functional hand into a tight fist to suppress his trembling. The doctor came out carrying a tiny infant swaddled in a soft blanket, smiling. "It’s a girl, very healthy."

When Ji Qingyu was wheeled back to the room, his face was still pale, but his spirits were high.

Fu Han gently placed the child beside Ji Qingyu, who extended his index finger and very softly touched her pink little hand. The tiny hand immediately curled reflexively around his fingertip. So small, so soft. He lowered his head and met her eyes, like shiny, wet black grapes.

It was a strange and wonderful feeling, as if the softest part of his heart had been gently touched. An indescribable love spread through his chest. He looked up at Fu Han and found Fu Han looking back at him, smiling.

They discussed names for a long time. Eventually, they settled on Fu Ning, hoping she would live a life of joy, peace, and smooth sailing.

After Fu Ning came home, Fu Han often sat in his wheelchair, feeding her, changing her diapers, humming off-key lullabies. Little Fu Ning’s arrival dispelled the last traces of gloom in the villa.

...Except Ji Qingyu’s cooking still didn’t improve.

Aunt Wang couldn’t stand it anymore and finally took over the task from Ji Qingyu.

Time slipped by unnoticed, and Ji Qingyu’s stage play finally premiered. Luo Sheng performed as the lead.

Ji Qingyu watched backstage, thinking about his song, his fingers trembling slightly. His voice had mostly recovered, and the song was just a simple interlude, but he was still so nervous his palms were sweaty.

Fu Han noticed his hesitation and nervousness. Using his much-recovered arm, he gave his shoulders a firm, reassuring squeeze. "Go on," he said, his voice steady and strong. "I’ll be watching from the audience."

The lights came on, music flowed, and when Luo Sheng, after a long absence from the stage, appeared in the spotlight wearing dance shoes, his posture still light and graceful, the audience erupted in unstoppable gasps and enthusiastic applause.

The marks of time hadn’t diminished his charm; instead, they added a sense of matured depth. Standing in the wings, Ji Qingyu could almost foresee how sensational the media and public opinion would be after this performance. The former principal dancer had finally returned to the stage in such a manner.

It was Ji Qingyu’s turn. He walked to the center of the stage; the stage lights felt hot on his skin. He couldn't see the audience’s faces clearly, only a blur of darkness. But he could sense that somewhere in that darkness, Fu Han was watching him intently. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and the prelude began.

The moment he started singing, all his tension and unease strangely vanished. His voice, amplified by the microphone, clearly reached every corner of the theater. He felt his throat producing one syllable after another.

As the song ended, the audience was silent for a moment before sincere, enthusiastic applause broke out. Ji Qingyu bowed in acknowledgment, scanning the audience. Soon, he spotted Fu Han in the front row. Fu Han wasn’t clapping, just quietly watching him, a slight smile curling his lips.

The backstage after-party was lively, with champagne bubbles and cheerful laughter intertwining. Luo Sheng was surrounded by many people, a relieved and joyful smile on his face. Ji Qingyu, as part of the performance, finally relaxed, caught up in the atmosphere, and unconsciously drank several glasses of alcohol. His alcohol tolerance wasn’t great, and he soon became too drunk to control himself, unsteady on his feet with a silly grin on his face.

Yu Yue rushed over, hugging Ji Qingyu tightly and planting several kisses on his cheeks. Nannan tugged at Fu Han’s sleeve nearby. "Brother Fu Han, aren’t you going to hug Teacher Ji?"

Fu Han reached out and patted Nannan’s hair.

Fu Han had been keeping an eye on him. Seeing how drunk he was, he politely declined the crowd swarming with compliments and half-supported, half-carried Ji Qingyu away from the noisy venue, taking a car home.

At home, Fu Han settled the drunk Ji Qingyu on the edge of the bed, intending to let him lie down and rest. However, Ji Qingyu hooked his arms around Fu Han’s neck, his warm breath spraying against Fu Han’s neck. Fu Han’s body tensed instantly; those long-suppressed desires, like dormant beasts, were abruptly awakened by this unintentional provocation.

He leaned down, pressing his lips against Ji Qingyu’s neck, feeling the strong pulse beneath the skin. It emitted Ji Qingyu’s unique scent, made even more intense and alluring by alcohol and emotion.

"Shouldn’t I fulfill my husbandly duties now?" Fu Han’s voice was low and hoarse, carrying an undeniable desire and dominance. He cupped the back of Ji Qingyu’s head, greedily inhaling the scent of his Omega, as if trying to make up for all the lost months at once.

He showed no mercy, forcefully pushing one leg between Ji Qingyu’s thighs, skillfully teasing Ji Qingyu’s sensitive body.

Already drowsy with alcohol, Ji Qingyu soon became wet, his gaze dazed and confused as he looked at the Alpha above him. He gave a defenseless, not-quite-sober smile and even tentatively licked the corner of Fu Han’s mouth.

That simple, direct action was the final straw.

Fu Han paused, his eyes instantly darkening further, then bared the fangs of his Alpha nature, biting down hard on the gland at the back of Ji Qingyu’s neck. At the same time, his arms wrapped tighter, as if trying to meld the other completely into his own flesh and blood. It was an almost desperate, extreme way of reclaiming and asserting ownership.

Ji Qingyu felt the soreness at the back of his neck. Only when he was squeezed breathless did Fu Han slightly relax his grip, but his possessive posture remained unchanged. He had finally firmly caught his prey, making the other willingly and completely fall into his hands, with nowhere left to escape.

...

Fu Han looked at Ji Qingyu, leaned down, and kissed him again, his movements becoming gentle and lingering.

...

In the midst of the frenzy, he saw the long, deep scar on Fu Han’s side. Subconsciously, he reached out, his trembling fingertips covering the scar, filled with heartache and indescribable complex emotions.

But Fu Han pulled his hand away, pressed his wrists above his head, and leaned down deeply again. Ji Qingyu’s mind went blank, unable to think of anything else.

After the absurdity, Ji Qingyu fell into a deep sleep. He dreamed. In the dream, Lin Ying waved at him. She didn’t speak, but Ji Qingyu clearly understood her meaning—she said she could leave now, at peace.

Then, her figure gradually faded, turning into points of starlight. Finally, those points of light gathered and fell behind the eastern mountain, becoming an unknown white flower swaying gently in the breeze.

The morning sun streamed through the gaps in the curtains, gently spilling onto the bedroom floor. Ji Qingyu woke to the sound of birdsong, his body aching as if dismantled and reassembled, but his spirit felt strangely light and peaceful. He turned his head and saw Fu Han still asleep, breathing steadily and deeply, his arm possessively wrapped around Ji Qingyu’s waist.

He quietly watched Fu Han’s sleeping profile—well-defined, bearing the resilience forged through hardship, yet appearing exceptionally relaxed in sleep. After some time, Fu Han’s eyelashes fluttered, and he slowly opened his eyes.

"Fu Han," Ji Qingyu called softly, his voice still slightly hoarse from the night before.

"Hmm?" Fu Han turned to look at him, his eyes somewhat blurry with sleep but quickly focusing on Ji Qingyu’s face.

"I had a dream," Ji Qingyu said, blinking as he recalled the dream, a gentle curve unconsciously forming at the corner of his mouth.

"What dream?" Fu Han’s voice was drowsy and lazy with sleep. He tightened his arm, pulling Ji Qingyu closer into his embrace. His body temperature was slightly high, like a warm, reliable constant, dispelling the last of the morning chill.

Ji Qingyu nuzzled into his embrace, finding a more comfortable position, and said softly, "I dreamed that someone I loved became a star. She said we would be happy for the rest of our lives."

-----------------------

Author's Note: The main story ends here. There will likely be extra chapters and gradual revisions later. Thank you all for reading this far.

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