Only when he drew closer did Song Guantang make out the words she was murmuring.
“Turning into a love-addled brain…”
Love-addled brain?
What kind of new term was that?
Though completely unfamiliar with the new slang of the younger generation, President Song sat back down again.
He let Meng Tang grip his tie as he took out his phone to look it up.
Even though he and his little wife were only three years apart, there shouldn’t be too great a gap between them.
Baidu Encyclopedia explained that a “love-addled brain” referred to someone who, when falling in love, develops extreme attachment and anxiety toward their partner, fears being abandoned, sometimes tries to please them, sometimes becomes hostile, and devalues their worth.
The further Song Guantang read, the deeper his cold brows furrowed.
Would he turn into such a fool with excessive dopamine secretion?
Utterly ridiculous.
Did she think this was some silly, sweet TV drama? Had over twenty years of elite education gone to waste?
Being insecure and losing rationality in love wasn’t being love-addled—it was just being foolish.
As if unable to contain his frustration, Song Guantang pinched the soft flesh on his little wife’s cheek.
“When you’re reaping the benefits, you call me ‘husband’ so sweetly, more affectionately than anyone else. Yet you understand me so little. Just wait until you wake up—I’ll make sure to settle this score with you.”
Though he threatened her with these words, Song Guantang was still worried that staying in the bath too long would let the water cool and cause her to catch a cold. He reached for the bath towel nearby.
Just as his large hand landed on his little wife’s slender waist, about to lift her out, Meng Tang unexpectedly leaned forward.
Perhaps after soaking for a while, her mind had cleared a bit. Meng Tang opened her almond-shaped eyes, hazy with steam, and blinked twice.
She even licked the corner of her lips, like a greedy little cat.
Then, releasing the hand that had been gripping Song Guantang’s tie, she instead used both hands to cup his face.
The posture was like that of a playboy teasing a virtuous woman.
“Such a handsome face—even in a dream, it’s so good-looking. The eyes and brows are beautiful, the nose is beautiful, the mouth… is also so good-looking.”
“Isn’t it a million times better than that freeloader surnamed Cheng? What kind of taste did the original… original owner have? No wonder she died from stupidity. I… I’m not stupid.”
Meng Tang, who claimed she wasn’t stupid, giggled foolishly, like a village bachelor who had been single for many years finally getting a wife and about to act indecently toward his new bride.
“I just like such a handsome one. He’s mine, and no one is allowed to take him away!”
With that, Meng Tang opened her mouth and bit down on Song Guantang’s lips with an “ah-woo.”
When it came to kissing, she truly had no technique. Rather than a kiss, it was more like a dog messily gnawing at its food.
She stirred up a wave of desire in Song Guantang, practically dancing repeatedly on his nerves.
What freeloader? And what original owner?
Song Guantang thought it must be because his little wife watched too many of those meaningless soap operas.
Plus, she was a director herself. In that industry, it was inevitable for one’s emotional world to be richer than most, often blurring the lines between reality and fantasy.
Song Guantang’s breathing grew ragged, heavy and stifled.
The strength of his arm around her slender waist tightened abruptly, as if wanting to embed her into his very bones and blood.
“You started it first. Don’t beg for mercy later.”
After gnawing for a while, Meng Tang felt it wasn’t as sweet as she had imagined and tried to pull back.
But how could Song Guantang allow her to escape unscathed after starting this fire?
Just as well—today, she had made him lose face and left him exhausted and sweaty.He had to collect some interest after all.
The water in the bathtub swayed continuously, splashing droplets that soaked the tiled floor.
Chen Ma, holding the hangover tea, timed it precisely to half an hour before bringing it upstairs.
She knocked on the door of the master bedroom. “Sir, the hangover tea is ready.”
After waiting for a while, she received no response. Could he have fallen asleep?
But the missus seemed heavily intoxicated. If she didn’t drink the hangover tea tonight, she’d likely wake up with a headache tomorrow morning.
“Sir, may I come in?”
After saying this, Chen Ma carefully pushed the door open.
Once the door was no longer a barrier, she could hear faint, whimpering sounds coming from the direction of the bathroom.
It sounded like someone pushed to their limit—a delicate yet hoarse plea for mercy.
A splashing sound.
It seemed like water, followed by rustling noises.
Not long after, Song Guanting emerged from the bathroom.
In his arms, he held someone completely wrapped in a large bathrobe, with only a cascade of jet-black hair slipping out, revealing that the person he was carrying was a woman.
At Cloud Peak Mansion, aside from the missus, there naturally wouldn’t be another woman whom the sir would carry like this.
“Leave the hangover tea here. No one is to enter without my permission.”
Chen Ma immediately understood that the young couple must have had quite the time in the bathroom.
Truly newlyweds—their ways of playing were quite adventurous.
But the sir was young and vigorous, his temper fiery, while the missus was delicate and slender. She wondered if the missus could handle it.
“Understood, sir.”
As soon as Song Guanting placed Meng Tang back on the bed, she, feeling sore and weak all over, instinctively grew angry in her dazed state.
Tilting her head, she bit down on Song Guanting’s index finger with a soft “chomp.”
The bite wasn’t hard, and Song Guanting could have easily pulled his finger back.
But at this moment, the young master, his dark eyes reflecting the satisfaction of being well-fed and content, showed rare patience. Not only did he not move, but he even allowed her to keep biting.
With his free hand, he picked up the hangover tea from the bedside table.
“Drink the hangover tea, or you’ll have a headache tomorrow morning. Be good.”
He stretched out his long arm and pulled her into his embrace.
Once she was settled, he scooped a spoonful, blew on it to ensure it wasn’t too hot, and brought it to Meng Tang’s lips.
But after tasting it, Meng Tang scrunched up her delicate little face in displeasure and turned her head to the other side.
“It’s bitter. I want something sweet.”
The hangover tea was indeed slightly bitter, though not as bitter as medicine.
So spoiled.
Though Song Guanting thought this to himself, his tone remained patient, almost as if coaxing a child.
“Finish this, and I’ll give you something sweet. Be good.”
But was Meng Tang easy to fool?
Of course not. Did he think she’d be easily tricked just because she was drunk?
She clenched her teeth tightly. “No, no, I don’t want it.”
Song Guanting even began to suspect she was pretending to be drunk.
But she had her ways, and he had his own methods to deal with her.
Song Guanting’s thin lips paused near her ear, less than half an inch away, his breath hot and dangerous.
“If you don’t drink the hangover tea, we’ll continue what we were doing in the bathroom. It’ll sober you up just the same. How about that?”
In the end, Meng Tang obediently drank it.
With each sip, she cursed.
“Song Guanting is a beast.”
“Song Guanting is inhuman.”
One sip of tea, one curse.
By the time the hangover tea was finished, Meng Tang had even cursed herself hoarse.
She licked the corner of her lips. “I’m thirsty. I want water.”She added in a sweet, delicate tone, “Honey water.”
It’s common to feel thirsty after getting drunk, though usually that happens after sobering up. In her case, it was clearly because she had talked too much.
Chen Ma was tidying up downstairs when she heard footsteps coming from the spiral staircase.
She saw Song Guanting come downstairs and head toward the kitchen.
“Where’s the honey?”