Wen Xi waited for him to finish that sentence, but he did not continue.
“In any case,”
he changed his wording, “bringing you back today is just to make them give up. So they won’t keep introducing people endlessly.”
Wen Xi lowered her head, her fingers tightening around the small handbag on her lap.
Make his parents give up. So that was it.
This dinner was not “bringing you to meet my parents,” but “bringing you so they shut up.”
She did not know why she still felt a trace of disappointment.
“I understand,” she said softly, so softly it was almost inaudible.
Fu Linfeng’s gaze swept over her from the rearview mirror.
His fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel, then relaxed.
“Also,”
he spoke again, his tone carrying a hint of awkward stiffness that had not been there before,
“don’t think too much. They won’t make things difficult for you.”
Wen Xi did not answer. She only nodded.
The car fell silent again.
Wen Xi looked out at the plane trees, one after another passing outside the window, as if they would never end.
Suddenly, she remembered something and turned her head abruptly.
“Gifts!”
Her voice rose sharply, clearly panicked.
“I didn’t prepare anything! It’s my first time meeting your parents and I didn’t even bring a gift—”
“What do I do…”
Her voice grew smaller and more anxious.
“It’s my first time meeting your parents, going empty-handed… they’ll think I’m inconsiderate, right? They’ll think I have no manners, right? I—”
“Wen Xi.”
Fu Linfeng called her name, interrupting her rambling.
She stopped and turned to look at him.
The car had stopped at a traffic light.
Fu Linfeng turned his head and looked at her.
Streetlight poured in through the window, landing on her face, illuminating her wide, anxious eyes.
He looked at her for two seconds.
“There are gifts in the trunk.”
Wen Xi froze.
“What?”
“Gifts.”
Fu Linfeng withdrew his gaze as the light turned green and the car moved forward again.
“They were prepared in advance. In the trunk.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice muffled.
Fu Linfeng did not respond.
The car continued forward, passing through the long tree-lined road.
It eventually stopped in front of a massive iron gate.
The gate slid open silently to both sides, revealing a wide driveway lined with meticulously trimmed French plane trees. Their canopies interwove overhead, forming a dense green dome.
At the end of the driveway stood an old three-story building, quietly resting in the night.
Fu Linfeng parked the car and turned off the engine. He unbuckled his seatbelt and glanced at Wen Xi.
“Nervous?” he asked again.
Wen Xi turned to look at him and nodded hard.
He said nothing.
He opened the door and got out.
Wen Xi thought he was leaving first and hurried to unbuckle her seatbelt, fumbling slightly. The latch took several tries before it finally released.
Then her door was opened from the outside.
Fu Linfeng stood there, one hand holding the door, the other extended toward her.
His hand reached directly in front of her, palm facing down, fingers slightly spread, as if saying—give me your hand.
Wen Xi froze for a moment and looked up at him.
His expression was still the same—cold, composed, unreadable.
But his eyes—
his eyes were on her.
She placed her hand in his.
His fingers closed around hers.
He pulled her out of the car.
She was wearing heels and staggered slightly as she stood. His other hand naturally supported her waist.
His palm pressed against her side through the thin fabric, burning hot.
Once she steadied herself, he released her waist—but did not let go of her hand.
He turned and walked toward the trunk.
She followed behind him, still held by his hand. Her heels clicked lightly against the gravel path.
He opened the trunk. Inside were several neatly arranged gift boxes—clearly carefully selected and elegantly wrapped.
“When did you prepare these…” Wen Xi asked softly.
Fu Linfeng did not answer. He took out the gift boxes and placed them into her hands.
They were slightly heavy. She nearly dropped them while holding them with both hands.
He glanced at her, then took two back from her and carried them himself.
Then he held her hand again.
“Let’s go,” he said.
The door opened.
It was opened by a woman in her fifties, dressed in an elegant cheongsam. Her hair was neatly pinned up, her expression gentle and refined.
When she saw Fu Linfeng, her eyes lit up slightly. Then her gaze shifted to Wen Xi behind him—those eyes were exactly like Fu Linfeng’s.
“You’re here,” she said calmly and warmly.
Then she looked at Wen Xi, her lips slowly curving into a smile.
“You must be Wen Xi?”
Wen Xi was too nervous. Fu Linfeng squeezed her hand slightly, as if saying: it’s fine.
She took a deep breath.
“Mom… Mother. I am Wen Xi.”
Fu’s mother’s smile widened.
She reached out and directly “took” Wen Xi from Fu Linfeng, holding both of Wen Xi’s hands and examining her up and down.
“Good child,” she said, her voice filled with unconcealed joy. “You’re finally here. Come in quickly.”
The living room was larger than Wen Xi had imagined.
On the sofa sat a man in his fifties wearing glasses, holding a newspaper. Hearing the movement, he looked up.
Fu Linfeng’s father.
The master of the Fu family. One of the true centers of power in this city.
He removed his glasses and examined Wen Xi from head to toe.
That gaze was exactly like Fu Linfeng’s—calm, assessing, unreadable.
Wen Xi stiffened completely under his gaze, her fingers unconsciously gripping her dress.
Then he smiled.
Not a polite social smile, but a genuine, heartfelt one.
The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes softened, and he transformed from the distant “Fu family head” into an ordinary father waiting to meet his daughter-in-law.
“Good that you’re here,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Sit down. Don’t stand.”
Fu’s mother pulled Wen Xi to sit on the sofa, staying right beside her without letting go of her hand.
Fu Linfeng placed the gift boxes on the coffee table and sat down next to Wen Xi.
She noticed he did not sit far away—his knee was almost touching hers, his body slightly angled, as if forming an invisible shield behind her.
“She’s really pretty,”
Fu’s mother said, looking Wen Xi up and down with satisfaction.
“Her skin is so nice too, fair and clean. Wen Xi, how old are you?”
“Twenty-one,” Wen Xi answered, her voice still tense.
“Twenty-one?” Fu’s mother turned and glared at Fu Linfeng. “She’s eight years younger than you. You really know how to pick.”
Fu Linfeng leaned back on the sofa, one hand resting on his knee, expression indifferent.
“Age isn’t a problem.”