Chapter 82: Is Holding My Hand Embarrassing?

Chapter 82: Is Holding My Hand That Embarrassing to Be Seen?

Song Jiang completely ignored Fu Zhichen’s earlier comment about why he was allergic, his attention fixed on the latter part of that sentence.

Damn.

That sly implication… He wasn't really gonna fire me, was he?

Song Jiang stared at Fu Zhichen’s expressionless face for three seconds, then quickly came up with an idea.

He threw off the covers and started getting out of bed, talking as he went.

“President Fu, come lie down here.”

“I can see you're tired, handsome as you are—you need a good sleep.”

“After you wake up, I’ll help you shave, and you can change into a suit—guaranteed to make you a heartthrob—everyone loves you, flowers bloom for you, and cars get a flat tire just seeing you!”

He had to make President Fu realize that no one in the world could serve him better than he could! No one could replace him!

But no sooner had he spoken than his legs, which had been fine in bed, gave out as they touched the floor, soft as if he were stepping on cotton.

With the momentum of his step forward, Song Jiang couldn’t pull back in time.

He closed his eyes, but instead of hitting the floor, he landed in an embrace that smelled of cool sandalwood.

Fu Zhichen caught him steadily, both hands wrapped around his waist.

“Steward Song, are you that desperate? Barely awake and already throwing yourself at me.”

Song Jiang’s expression and body froze completely.

This was really screwed.

From the physical sensation, he could tell they were in the same position as that day in the office.

He was sitting on Fu Zhichen’s lap.

And Fu Zhichen’s teasing words left Song Jiang’s mind blank, couldn't get a single word out for a long time.

Fu Zhichen's voice changed, a questioning “Hmm?” “Steward Song, say something.”

“President Fu…” Song Jiang’s hands still hooked around Fu Zhichen’s neck, his fingertips unconsciously clenched together as he stammered. “President Fu, if I said I didn’t mean it, would you believe me?”

Getting no response, Song Jiang, afraid Fu Zhichen would misunderstand, he quickly added.

“My legs suddenly gave out—maybe from sleeping too long, bad circulation, you know? They feel like jelly, like the bones just vanished.”

Song Jiang patted his own thigh. “I've recovered a bit now, blood's flowing again, and I have my strength back. I can walk normally.”

“So, President Fu, can you let me go now?”

Fu Zhichen's hand slowly moved along Song Jiang's waist. “Steward Song, I've never heard of any magic that makes bones disappear.”

With that, he pinched Song Jiang’s waist and added a meaningful comment.

“But it is quite soft here, indeed.”

The pinch hit exactly where Song Jiang was sensitive, making his body involuntarily shivered, a flush creeping up his face.

“President Fu, I…”

“You…”

Song Jiang stammered, burying his head and shoving at Fu Zhichen’s shoulders, struggling to get down without caring about anything else.

“I really didn't mean it, President Fu. You should go lie down.”

Fu Zhichen didn't loosen his hold on Song Jiang's waist; he tightened it, easily stopping him.

Then he turned Song Jiang's head to look him in the eye, speaking with utmost seriousness. “Steward Song, I don't think you understand your current condition.”

Song Jiang's eyes darted around as he quickly said, “President Fu, I'm fine, nothing wrong.”

Fu Zhichen ignored him completely. “Allergic reaction, passed out, fever.”

“It’s eight in the evening now. You've been unconscious since the morning before last, only getting IV fluids.”

“I suggest you don't push yourself. Get back in bed, eat the porridge, and keep resting. You can't work until you're better.”

“Steward Song, you should know—I don't keep idle people around.”

That last sentence sounded like a warning to Song Jiang, as if President Fu would fire him if he didn't get better in a few days.

Song Jiang finally calmed down, looking down at his baggy blue-striped hospital gown and then at his exposed skin.

Thick red rashes stood out against his pale skin, with scratch marks from who knows when he'd made them.

Lower down, his feet dangled off Fu Zhichen's lap, unable to touch the ground, also covered in the same rashes.

Up close, it looked even worse.

So he said weakly, “President Fu, when I'm better, can you promise not to fire me?”

“…”

Fu Zhichen, as if annoyed by his chatter, reached up and covered his mouth. “Steward Song, a patient doesn't get to negotiate with me.”

Song Jiang felt wronged, and his body started acting up too.

“President Fu, can you scratch my back? The middle—it's so itchy.”

Fu Zhichen caught Song Jiang's hand as he tried to reach behind, saying solemnly, “Steward Song, one last thing, the most important one.”

“The doctor said no scratching anywhere. Your skin is too thin; scratching will make you bleed easily.”

Song Jiang’s words slipped out without thought, fueled by his male pride.

“What's a little blood for a man? I've got plenty, so a little won't…”

“Steward Song, have you forgotten that you’re afraid of blood?”

Song Jiang paused for a few seconds, feeling sure the CEO was silently calling him stupid.

He had indeed forgotten that. But why would a busy CEO remember a minor employee’s ailment?

Song Jiang had no clue, and the itching spread to more places. He started shifting around, using the friction of his clothes to relieve it.

“President Fu, what if I can’t control myself?”

Then I won't do anything about it.

If you can't control yourself, then I'll have to resort to some special measures.

Song Jiang asked without thinking, "What?"

Fu Zhichen's hand moved from his wrist to his palm.

Song Jiang didn't know what Fu Zhichen was up to, but as if compelled, he opened his hand to cooperate.

Soon, a pair of large hands with prominent knuckles and long fingers threaded through his pale, slender fingers.

Song Jiang knew this was the classic ten-finger lock.

A heat much higher than his own body temperature slowly transferred to him through the palm.

He stared at their hands, slightly dazed. Though the contact area was small and the temperature wasn't that high, he felt as if his heart was being seared by this warmth.

Little steward! I've come to see you! Let Brother Chu take a look!

Song Jiang-jiang-jiang-jiang, my friend, are you okay?

You be good now and don't eat random stuff from now on, okay?

I brought you some fruit!

Fruit won't cause allergies!

Let me peel an apple for you!

He heard them before he saw them. Even with the two voices mixed together, Song Jiang quickly identified them as Chu Yan and Tian Tian.

Coming back to his senses, he quickly said in a low voice, "Mr. Fu, let go of me! Someone's about to come in!"

Fu Zhichen remained unfazed, even tightening his fingers, his dark eyes gazing at him quietly.

"Steward Song, what are you afraid of?"

"Is holding my hand that embarrassing?"

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