Chapter 54: Your Man Told Me to Take Good Care of You

"Attorney Wen." Song Mi called out again.

It didn’t seem she had anything in particular to say.

The man no longer responded.

Song Mi, weary to the bone yet vaguely unsettled, softly called again, "Attorney Wen."

Wen Yanli had already stepped out into the corridor, his shoes clicking along the smooth path that led through the courtyard to the parking lot beyond.

Yes, he thought. This will do.

And with that thought, he lowered his head, brushing his lips over hers, responding to her calls in the most tangible way.

His touch was gentle, warm, not deep, but simply their lips meeting.

He was telling her, in action: I am here.

Yes—he is here.

He had left his own mother behind and accompanied her in such a conspicuous manner.

What, then, could she offer him in return?

He didn’t move, nor did she.

They walked forward together, close enough to feel each other’s breath. After a moment, Song Mi gathered her strength and, finally, pushed him lightly.

She opened her eyes to meet his bright, clear gaze—so clean, so charming, urging her, "Attorney Wen, Qiao Weiwei drank all my soup."

Just like a child running home to complain after being bullied.

The man laughed then.

From the corners of his eyes to the curve of his lips, his smile spread, bright and unrestrained—something she had never seen before. "I’ll make you more," he promised.

Song Mi smiled too. "Hmm, I’ll drive her away. She won’t be allowed back again."

With that, she closed her eyes.

Her cheek pressed against his chest, she drifted into sleep.

The smile lingered at his lips, and contentment filled his heart, real and abundant.

Yet his mind wandered to her apartment’s spotless kitchen, more for show than use, half the utensils missing.

He’d have to go pick out some good cookware himself, he thought.

And that was when danger struck—

"Filthy pair! Go to hell!"

A young woman, not tall nor imposing, came charging at them, wielding a fire extinguisher.

With a clang, she struck Wen Yanli’s neck.

Were he alone, he could have easily dodged such an attack. But with Song Mi in his arms, unwilling to risk her safety, he took the blow with his back.

Song Mi’s eyes flew open at the noise, seeing his face blanch as he grunted in pain. "Attorney Wen!"

"I’m fine!" Wen Yanli quickly pulled her aside and, turning to their attacker, ordered, "Put that down!"

But the woman simply yanked off the fire extinguisher’s pin and sprayed a cloud at them, shrieking, "Filthy pair! Go die!"

The powdery mist surged toward them. Holding Song Mi tight, Wen Yanli evaded as best he could, shouting, "Security! Someone help! Stop her!"

Fortunately, security guards from nearby rushed over and quickly subdued the woman.

"Let go of me! Let go!"

Soon, others emerged from inside; Qiao Weiwei was the first to run over. "What happened?"

"Call the police!" Wen Yanli’s face was thunderous. "This woman just attacked us!"

"What?!" Qiao Weiwei glanced at the woman, still cursing and struggling between two guards, and immediately pulled out her phone. "I’m calling—hello? I need to report an assault..."

Song Mi’s gaze returned to Wen Yanli’s face. "Attorney Wen, put me down."

But he wouldn’t let go; his arms only tightened. "Miss Qiao, could you please bring the car around?"

"Oh, okay." But they’d come in Ye Zhao’s car—she hesitated. "I’ll call Ye Zhao."

"Take my car," Wen Yanli said, nodding toward his bag. "Left-hand pocket, the keys."

Song Mi reached for them.

As Qiao Weiwei was about to take the keys, a voice interrupted, "I’ll go."

It was Qiao Yudong. "You stay here—I’ll bring the car."

Wen Yanli met Qiao Yudong’s eyes as he approached. "Thank you."

Qiao Yudong’s gaze flickered. "No need."

The car soon arrived. Qiao Weiwei opened the door, and Wen Yanli carefully placed Song Mi in the back seat.

As he turned to step away, she caught his sleeve. "Let me see your injury."

He offered a faint smile. "It’s nothing."

Song Mi wouldn’t let go, but just then, two anxious calls sounded from outside. "Ali!"

His mother had arrived.

Her voice brimmed with worry. "Ali, are you alright?"

As Wen Yanli stepped away, he closed the car door behind him.

Song Mi didn’t look out the window; she relaxed against the seat, her body in no state to linger.

Catching her breath, she fished her phone from her bag, only to sense a gaze upon her.

After a moment, she raised her eyes to the rearview mirror, meeting Qiao Yudong’s look. "Thank you, Mr. Qiao."

"Don’t mention it," he replied, a half-smile playing on his lips.

Song Mi could feel it—the lure in his eyes was unmistakable.

So, even the girlfriend of his own sister’s savior was not off limits?

She showed nothing on her face, lowered her head, and texted Ye Zhao.

Soon, the police arrived, took their statements, and escorted the deranged woman away.

Ye Zhao had not yet arrived, nor had Wen Yanli returned.

She continued waiting.

Not long after, she heard the car doors lock. Song Mi’s alert gaze shot to Qiao Yudong, who turned to her. "It’s President Lu. You don’t have to see him."

So he’s shielding her?

She hadn’t expected Lu Zhiyuan to come interrogate his own sister so quickly. To be fair, he was doing the right thing.

Of course, not everyone was so considerate.

Take Qiao Yudong for instance.

He had clearly seen Lu Zhiyuan approaching and deliberately locked the doors before Lu could knock—without telling her.

Their eyes met, and Song Mi’s gaze cooled, a silent rebuke for his presumption.

Qiao Yudong pretended not to notice, his roguish smile only deepening.

She didn’t engage. If she remembered rightly, Qiao Yudong had married young. By now, his second child should be running around the house, yet here he was, chasing after his own sister’s benefactor.

Soon, Lu Zhiyuan tapped on the window.

Song Mi rolled it down manually, revealing his face.

"President Song, may I have a word?"

She couldn’t get up, not with her condition, and besides—Wen Yanli hadn’t put her down even in chaos. How could she step out now and betray that trust?

She curved her lips and replied directly, "President Lu, I completely understand your concern for your sister. But as the saying goes, each must answer for themselves—shouldering too much for her may not be wise."

Her words were soft but sharp—a precise portrayal of Song Mi at this moment.

Her gentle smile belied a nature that never forgave a grudge or slight.

She left no room for negotiation.

Lu Zhiyuan clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding quietly.

Fortunately, this was an SUV with a high chassis; otherwise, he’d have had to bend to speak with her.

This woman was simply too arrogant!

And Lu Zhiyuan was not the only one who thought so.

Qiao Yudong at the wheel did too.

Though the Lu family wasn’t ancient nobility, they had risen quickly in the business world. In terms of wealth and status, they were easily among the top ten.

He had seen all the trending topics about Song Mi that day.

The Four Seas Group had stood unshaken for thirty years; not just Jinzhou, but the whole country recognized it as an industry leader.

Shen Sihai himself was an enigma—many sons and daughters, yet none of them held power. Instead, he’d found Song Mi from who knows where, placed her as executive chairwoman and CEO, and entrusted all his shares to her.

But regardless of the Four Seas Group’s strength, Song Mi was young—and a woman. Many were waiting for her to stumble, the Shen family among them, eager to trip her up. Whether she could hold her position was still unclear.

Why did she have to make an enemy of the Lu family too?

True, the Lu family’s foundation couldn’t match Four Seas, but Song Mi was alone, and if pitted against the Lus, victory was hardly certain.

After this long chain of thought, Qiao Yudong concluded—if Song Mi wasn’t simply wild by nature, then she was absolutely sure of herself.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, eyelids creasing, pondering her every move that night. Did she seem rash or reckless?

A woman who could brandish a gun on foreign turf and rescue her compatriots wouldn’t act without assurance.

The more he thought, the more convinced he became—coming to Jinzhou had been worthwhile.

Song Mi!

This woman fascinated him.

Song Mi neither knew nor cared what Qiao Yudong thought.

After Lu Zhiyuan left, Ye Zhao messaged: “Five minutes.”

Qiao Weiwei, evidently waiting for Lu Zhiyuan to leave, soon knocked on the door. As she did, Qiao Yudong unlocked the safety lock.

"Mi’er, your man told me to take good care of you," Qiao Weiwei announced, sliding in beside her.

Song Mi hesitated, words on the tip of her tongue, but swallowed them back.

"That crazy woman didn’t hurt you, did she?" Qiao Weiwei’s eyes roamed up and down, mind racing. "What did Lu Zhizhi’s brother say? That woman wasn’t sent by Lu Zhizhi, was she? A real white lotus, scripting her own drama—"

Once Qiao Weiwei’s barrage began, it was hard to stop.

Song Mi had no energy to respond. She took out her phone and messaged Wen Yanli.

Ye Zhao arrived in the dark-green Land Rover.

She sent him another message: she couldn’t walk, and he’d have to carry her.

When Ye Zhao opened the car door to lift her, Qiao Weiwei began again. "Hey, Mi’er, really, where are you hurt? That crazy woman—"

Song Mi glanced at her. "Qiao Weiwei, keep your brother company."

In other words, don’t follow.

…

By the time Song Mi returned to her apartment, she was practically half a corpse.

She couldn’t let Ye Zhao see her in this state.

Once the door closed behind her, she slipped off her shoes, barefoot, shuffling toward the bathroom.

Blood stained the floor.

She stood under the hot water for a long time before she felt alive again.

She had pushed herself too far.

She should have obeyed the doctor, stayed in bed for a week, let the world collapse if it must—her health first.

She turned off the water, dried herself, and tidied up.

The bathroom mirror was fogged over; she wiped a patch clear, but it misted up again immediately.

She could not see her own face.

But her mind was clear.

She was thinking of him.

Worried about the injury on his back.

If he hadn’t been holding her, he could have dodged the blow.

She recalled that long, lingering kiss.

Their connection had begun with the most direct exchange between man and woman—uninhibited, raw, honest desire.

But tonight’s kiss was different—gentle, long, and full of warmth.

He must be explaining the night’s events to his mother now.

But could he truly make her understand?

Song Mi frowned at the thought.

His mother would certainly oppose any association with her.

Yes—association, not relationship.

A "relationship" was too formal, and she could not afford such formality.

She had no future to offer him.

At first, she’d only wanted something casual, a bed partner to satisfy needs.

This morning, she’d just changed her mind—she wanted to invite him to live together, still on the condition that they come together if it suited, and part ways if not.

The difference was, she intended to take it seriously. During this period, they must remain loyal to each other.

Mutual respect and communication.

Should either wish to end it, they should inform the other immediately, and end things by mutual agreement.

She believed she could do this.

She believed he could too.

He always gave her the sense of a worthy opponent.

But before she could make the invitation, she attended Lu Zhizhi’s exhibition, and everything that followed ensued.

Now, he was likely suffering a headache.

She was preoccupied, wandering into the adjacent dressing room.

Her assistant Lin had messaged earlier that the dry cleaning had been sorted and put away.

She opened the wardrobe—an array of men’s shirts, suits, trousers, ties, belts, and seven pairs of shoes in varying styles.

She pulled open the drawers: underwear, vests, socks, all neatly arranged.

Everything one could need.

She remembered she’d wanted to add another pair of cufflinks, but hadn’t found the right ones.

As she racked her brain for any she’d seen before—

The apartment’s electronic lock clicked.

Wen Yanli entered, and after a few steps, spotted her shoes—and bloodstains—on the floor.

His heart clenched. "Song Mi!"

He called her name again.

The bathroom was wet, her discarded clothes on the floor. Anxious, he rushed to the bedroom.

Then he noticed the dressing room door ajar, paused, and turned.

She emerged, dressed in a white bathrobe.

Her two-hundred-square-meter apartment’s most crowded space was the dressing room, crammed with closets for clothes, shoes, bags, jewelry, and accessories.

She’d been lost in thought, not sure if she’d imagined his arrival.

But it was really him.

Song Mi stood there, her eyes growing clearer and brighter, luminous as stars in the night sky.

He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, yet his steps toward her did not slow.

He reached her quickly and embraced her—gently, but wholly.

After a while, his voice was low. "Are you alright?"

Song Mi didn’t answer.

As if afraid to disturb the moment.

She wore a bath cap, a bathrobe; the air around her was fragrant with shampoo or shower gel—sweet, soothing.

His earlier tension and panic slowly dissipated.

He relaxed against her—chest, shoulders, arms—prompting a sudden softness in Song Mi’s heart. She called out again, "Attorney Wen."

Slowly, he let her go, stepping back a little to look at her. "What is it?"

"I think I like you," Song Mi confessed.

He frowned slightly, as if weighing her words. "How much do you like me?"

She thought for a moment. "I’ll take care of you."

Wen Yanli watched her, unmoved.

Song Mi seemed to remember something, took his hand, and led him forward.

He followed.

She stopped before the wardrobe and released him. "Is this enough?"

"And these, too."

She was like a child eager to share her candy.

Wen Yanli’s heart thundered in his chest.

It was hard to say what struck him so deeply—he appeared calm, but his eyes were turbulent as a river as he followed her gesture over the shirts, suits, trousers, shoes, ties...

When had she done all this? Why?

He didn’t want to dwell on it—his chest felt stirred, incited.

"Song Mi."

She leaned over, imitating his earlier tone. "What is it?"

He gazed at her, lips moving. "You and I are not the same."

She repeated his words in her mind, frowning slightly. "What do you mean?"

He looked at her for a long time before finally speaking, his voice husky:

"I like you."