Chapter 75: Young Master Qiao Keeps Calling Someone Else’s Girlfriend “Honey”—Is That Appropriate?

Not at all. If anything, Song Mi only felt surprised—utterly surprised. Still, she did not express this outright, merely said, “I am grateful.” Given tonight’s circumstances, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say Qiao Yudong saved her life. Of course, she was thankful—there was nothing else to feel. She truly had no other emotions.

Upon hearing Song Mi’s response, Qiao Weiwei was momentarily unsure what to think. In principle, she did not wish for Mi’er to be moved by Qiao Yudong. Yet, emotionally, something seemed to stir. She had never expected her brother to be so serious about Mi’er! The shock was enough to overturn her entire understanding of him.

Since their school days, he’d never lacked female company. Women came and went, sometimes for a few weeks, sometimes for three or six months, rarely one or two years. Perhaps only when he was first married did he settle down for a couple of months, before returning to his old ways. She’d never imagined he would be earnest towards any woman; even with her sister-in-law, they were merely polite.

When he rushed to shield Mi’er from the knife, did he see it coming—or not? If he saw the blade and still threw himself in front of Mi’er, she truly needed to reconsider everything. Watching Qiao Weiwei’s face shift from hesitation to confusion, Song Mi decided not to probe further. She took a step forward. “Let’s go.”

“Mm.” Qiao Weiwei quickly followed.

After they stepped outside, Qiao Weiwei reminded her, “As for Ye Zhao, it’s best you don’t leave his sight for even a minute now.”

Song Mi glanced at her. “Mm.”

…

Once in the car, Ye Zhao briefed her on their interrogation of the two assassins. “They took the job from the dark web.”

“Their boss accepted the deposit through a virtual account, paid in bitcoin.”

Song Mi couldn’t help but laugh coldly. “Hiring killers is so sophisticated nowadays?”

—Virtual accounts, bitcoin?

It seemed her long-neglected hacking skills would soon be necessary. Once she tracked it down, Shen Yanye would learn the meaning of being outsmarted by himself. If he’d simply sent a subordinate to contact the hitman, even if the police got involved, they’d trace everything only to that subordinate. With enough hush money, who wouldn’t take the fall?

But he wanted to be trendy, using bitcoin. Perfect. Now Qiao Yudong’s medical expenses, compensation, and lost wages would be taken care of.

Soon, Song Mi raised another issue. “Tomorrow, have someone assemble a computer for me. I’ll send you the specs.”

Ye Zhao glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Alright.”

He then asked, “How long will those two be detained?”

“For assassins who failed and were caught on the spot, what becomes of them?” Song Mi didn’t know the rules of that trade, but Ye Zhao might. He had done similar work in the underworld before. Later he escaped, but his fiancée paid the price for him—with her life!

“I’m not sure. Every place has different rules. Here, it’s even harder to say.” Ye Zhao seemed unfazed by memories of the past, perhaps because pain had already become inseparable from his life; whether mentioned or not, it made no difference to him.

Song Mi spoke quickly. “Once Qiao Yudong wakes, I’ll ask his opinion. After all, he’s the one wounded.”

She didn’t actually value Qiao Yudong’s opinion. These two came for her, clearly. But without this pretext, how could she rightly expose Lu Zhiyuan, the true instigator?

Lu Zhiyuan hated her, and hated Shen Yanye even more. This was all a ploy—he wanted to watch the chaos unfold, then congratulate Huo Qingjue after tomorrow’s groundbreaking ceremony, seeking to claim credit and earn another favor.

Little did he know, Huo Qingjue would sell him out for the sake of a single proposal in her hands.

When Qiao Yudong woke and learned Lu Zhiyuan was behind his stabbing, even if he didn’t become an outright enemy of the Lu family, at the very least there would be some estrangement. With the Qiao family’s influence in the capital, even a hint of discord would mean the Lu family could no longer rely on them as before, should they need help in the future.

Wait and see.

Lu Zhiyuan wasn’t even the head of the Lu family yet, and he already blurred business and personal affairs, sabotaging her in the marketplace. How shortsighted!

She’d once thought Lu Zhiyuan was sensible at Lu Zhizhi’s art exhibition, but now realized her judgment was premature—she’d been blind.

Gathering her thoughts, Song Mi took out her phone and called Assistant Lin. “…Lu Corp has a batch of condiments they’re anxious to clear out… At present, Lu Corp is negotiating actively with the Wan family, but Wan is pressing the price too low. Lu Corp is dissatisfied, both sides are at an impasse.”

“…Send someone to negotiate with Lu Corp, give them hope, let them think Wan isn’t their only option. Drag it to the last moment, then walk away. Lu Corp will have to return to Wan, and Wan will likely press the price even lower…”

Assistant Lin asked nothing, simply replied, “I’ll handle it immediately.”

After hanging up, Song Mi closed her eyes to rest. Her back ached, her whole body was exhausted and uncomfortable, as if even breathing tugged at some pain nerve.

She instinctively kept her mind busy, thinking to distract herself.

Following the plan she’d just given Assistant Lin, all benefits would go to the Wan family in the end. She herself lost nothing—consider it a congratulatory gift for Huo Qingjue’s ascendance.

Sometimes, harming others doesn’t always profit oneself. Sometimes, making a wedding dress for another is an investment.

Huo Qingjue probably thought she’d expose the backstory through some channel, forcing Wan to reject the goods due to public pressure.

Food safety is always a hot topic—simply the words “expiring soon” are enough to raise concern.

Moreover, Lu Corp’s condiments were stockpiled because the industry’s environmental standards recently rose, and many companies failed to meet wastewater treatment requirements. Lu Corp ended up on the blacklist.

Several Lu Corp factories were ordered to halt and rectify, causing masses of semi-finished goods to sit in storage.

If these condiments finally passed inspection, it must have been thanks to the Lu family’s extensive efforts.

Environmental issues—another hot topic.

Therefore, if one wanted to stir public opinion about this, there’s plenty of material. But she wouldn’t do it.

Because Huo Qingjue was almost certain she would, and Song Mi wouldn’t let herself be so easily predicted.

…

The car entered the underground garage. Ye Zhao escorted her right to her apartment door. As she entered the password, she hesitated, but ultimately didn’t change it.

When the door opened, she stepped inside, Ye Zhao following closely behind—never leaving her side.

Striding in, Ye Zhao checked every room and corner, then returned to her. “I’ll have Liang Liang come up.”

Song Mi’s brows twitched. “No need.”

Ye Zhao clearly disagreed. “There’s no absolute safety.”

She managed a smile. “So even if she sleeps beside me, there’s no absolute safety.”

“It’s late. Go downstairs and rest.”

With that, she walked further inside.

A voice soon sounded behind her. “Then we’ll take turns keeping watch at the door.”

Song Mi didn’t reply, heading straight for the bathroom.

After undressing, she instinctively approached the mirror to examine the scar on her back.

A pink scab—striking, with bluish skin around it.

Two spots looked especially pronounced, like faded whip marks.

She tried to touch them, but pain slowed her movement; the sensation was oddly unreal, as if separated by something.

It was swollen.

After showering, she filled the tub with hot water and soaked for a while, feeling much better—almost sleepy.

The water gradually cooled.

She struggled up from the bath, stepped out, grabbed a towel from the rack. Before she could drape it over herself, the door was pushed open from the outside. “Mi’er!”

Wen Yanli’s gaze was instantly filled with her snowy-white figure, bathed in warm golden light and swirling mist. She stood there, looking at him.

Nothing covered her.

She was exquisitely beautiful, water dripping from her hair and skin, bare feet on the wet floor.

Quickly, she opened the towel and wrapped herself.

Wen Yanli didn’t just stand there dumbly.

Just as she was calm and unembarrassed, so was he: he didn’t avert his gaze, lower his head, nor display any desire—he simply approached her as usual.

He instinctively reached to help dry her, but paused, then went to the sink to wash his hands thoroughly before returning. “Let me.”

They had slept together many times, lived together for over half a month. Song Mi showed no shyness, let him towel her dry from head to toe, then helped her into a bathrobe and led her to the dressing room to dry her hair.

Her hair was so long, he spent a long time blow-drying it. By the time he put down the hairdryer, she was nearly asleep.

Soon, he called to her, “Mi’er, I’ll carry you to bed.”

Song Mi struggled to open her eyes. “I’ll walk.”

“Alright.” He was half-crouched, but straightened quickly to take her hand. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

Song Mi only wanted to sleep.

He seemed to notice her fatigue, asked nothing, simply led her to the bedroom and helped her lie down.

Once in bed, sleep swept over her, and soon she drifted off.

…

When she awoke the next morning, the first thing she saw was his face, nestled in his arms.

As she had for the past half month of weekends—whenever he didn’t need to go to the law firm, she always woke to see his chin.

It had only been a night apart.

He hadn’t slept beside her for just one night.

Why did it feel like ages had passed?

It must be what they call “one day apart feels like three years.”

The reason she fell asleep so quickly last night wasn’t just exhaustion—it was also him.

With him nearby, she always felt especially safe.

Her trust and dependence on him were established; she was attuned to his presence, almost as a reflex.

With him, all her defenses dropped.

Song Mi was keenly aware: her feelings for this man had grown dangerously uncontrollable.

Perhaps, they had already surpassed mere affection.

She couldn’t bear to let go.

She wanted him.

She even wanted to spend her whole life like this.

But it was impossible.

So she had to cut the knot swiftly.

She’d made up her mind last night, but emotionally couldn’t act decisively.

So she consoled herself, letting herself enjoy just one more morning.

Just this morning.

The man was exhausted too. She’d been watching him with open eyes for a long time, yet he showed no sign of waking.

And judging by the light, it was already late.

This had never happened in their half-month together.

But she was hungry!

Her stomach growled, uncomfortable. If she didn’t get up soon, it would start rumbling audibly.

Having decided to savor this last morning, Song Mi felt lighter and mischievous. She reached out to touch his face and was startled by the heat.

—He had a fever?

She quickly checked his forehead with her hand—burning hot!

Just then, the man finally woke, sounding nasal and thick, “Mi’er, you’re awake?”

Song Mi instinctively sat up. “You have a fever. I’ll get a thermometer.”

Wen Yanli, trying to move with her, felt his own discomfort. He hadn’t been ill for years; he thought he was just tired, with a headache, but now realized it was a fever. “Don’t move. I’ll go.”

Song Mi allowed him to press her back, but when he tried to stand, he nearly collapsed onto the bed, making her anxious. “Are you alright?”

Wen Yanli steadied himself. That moment felt like stepping off a ledge—something he’d never experienced, and the first time happened in front of her.

He turned to smile at her. “I’m fine.”

Song Mi wasn’t reassured. She slipped out of bed, “Don’t move. If you faint, I won’t be able to lift you!”

Her tone was playful.

She knew he must have been embarrassed.

A grown man fainting in front of his woman.

After a good night’s sleep, Song Mi felt much better, her back less sore, her movements easier. After a few steps, she heard him call behind her, “Mi’er, slow down!”

“Slow down.”

Song Mi fetched the medicine box from the living room, took out the thermometer.

His temperature was nearly forty degrees.

“To the hospital!” Song Mi said, reaching for her phone, but he pulled her into his arms, “No.”

He held her gently, but his tone was stubborn. “I’ll be fine after a nap! Stay with me.”

Song Mi was uneasy. “I’ll get some cold water for compresses.”

“There are antipyretics in the medicine box. If the fever doesn’t go down after taking them, we’ll have to go to the hospital.”

He released her, nasal voice agreeing, “Mm.”

He had always taken care of her; now it was her turn, and she was just as capable.

Back in Syria, in the refugee zone, she’d cared for sick elders, crying children, even lightly wounded frontline soldiers.

Her nursing experience rivaled that of a surgical nurse.

But now, with his fever, those skills seemed less useful.

He soon drifted into uneasy sleep, breathing sometimes light, sometimes heavy—it made her heart ache like water wrung from a cloth.

Was he always this uncomfortable when caring for her?

She forgot her hunger, but still checked the kitchen, intending to cook porridge, so he could eat when he woke.

She could cook simple meals.

Though it had been years, certain skills are never forgotten.

She quickly selected ingredients from the fridge, washed rice, and began preparing porridge.

While Song Mi was busy in the kitchen, the phone on the bedside table rang.

Wen Yanli was sleeping fitfully; the ringing vibrated stubbornly above his head. He forced himself awake, reached for her phone.

It was Qiao Weiwei.

Despite his fuzzy mind, he remembered that Qiao Yudong had taken a knife for Mi’er and was now in the hospital. Qiao Weiwei calling now—could it be something happened to Qiao Yudong?

The phone had been ringing a long time!

Still ringing!

He propped himself up, answered. But it wasn’t Qiao Weiwei—it was Qiao Yudong. “Mi’er, how heartless you are! I’m in this state, and you haven’t even come to see me!”

His voice sounded weak.

He was barely holding on, yet still managed to flirt with her!

Wen Yanli instinctively held the phone away, cleared his smoke-rough throat, then returned it to his ear and spoke with a thin smile, “Young Master Qiao, with wounds so severe, shouldn’t you rest?”

Qiao Yudong was clearly surprised. “…Attorney Wen?”

“…Where’s Mi’er?”

He too was ill and uncomfortable, so his manners slipped. “Is it appropriate for Young Master Qiao to call someone else’s girlfriend ‘Mi’er’ so intimately?”

“You took a knife for my girlfriend, and I’m grateful. But please remember your status as a married man. Best not to bother my girlfriend for no reason!”

“Wish you a speedy recovery. Goodbye!”