11 – Don’t Even Think About It
This move was completely unexpected—his hand was still resting on her waist.
Wen Song squirmed in protest, but he only tightened his grip, his voice turning slightly husky.
He said, “Song Song, don’t move.”
Wen Song ignored him and kept squirming. “Then let go of me.”
Pei Qingji said nothing, but his grip didn’t loosen in the slightest, and even his breathing had grown a little unsteady.
“Song Song.” This time, his voice was noticeably hoarser than before. “Stop moving. If you keep this up, neither of us is getting any sleep tonight.”
Wen Song froze. When she stopped, she could clearly feel the change in him.
“You can’t touch me. My mom said the first three months aren’t good for the baby.”
Pei Qingji laughed. Wen Song was half-lying on top of him, and she could even feel the vibration in his chest.
“So you’re saying after three months it’s fine?”
“No, I mean… even after three months, it’s still not fine.”
“Then when is it fine?”
Wen Song actually started thinking about the question. When she realized she’d been led astray, she smacked Pei Qingji on the chest.
“Don’t you even think about it!”
He chuckled lowly. “How can you be so domineering? You even want to control what I think about.”
“Anyway, you’re not allowed to!”
“I’m going to think about it anyway.”
“No.”
“I will.”
“No!”
“I—”
Wen Song simply didn’t give Pei Qingji a chance to argue. She reached up and covered his mouth with her hand, leaving him to only make muffled “mmph mmph mmph” sounds.
“Go to sleep now. Don’t think about any nonsense.”
After saying that, she waited a few seconds before letting go. Pei Qingji didn’t argue further, but with a faint smile, he said, “Sleep well. Good night.”
With that, he pressed his hand against the back of her head, guiding her ear to rest against his chest.
Wen Song vaguely felt like things were heading in a direction that wasn’t quite right, but she couldn’t quite figure out what was off.
Listening to the steady, powerful beat of his heart and their gradually synchronizing breaths, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Before long, she was off to meet the Sandman.
It was a good night’s sleep, but she didn’t wake up naturally.
The next morning, when she heard knocking at the door and someone calling her name, Wen Song pulled the blanket over her head.
She had morning temper. If her own alarm woke her up, a few minutes of lying in bed would be enough to recover. But if it was anything else, it might take her a long time to get over it.
“Song Song, Xiao Pei, are you two up yet?” Wang Junlan called out again from outside the door.
“Mom, give us a moment.”
Pei Qingji had woken up at the very first knock, but Wen Song was still asleep.
He responded, carefully got out of bed, and tucked the blanket around Wen Song before going to open the door.
Seeing that it was him who opened the door, Wang Junlan wasn’t surprised in the least—after all, she knew her own daughter best.
She smiled. “Xiao Pei, there’s a styling team outside the door. Did you arrange for them?”
“Yeah, I did.”
Though it wasn’t as grand as a wedding, getting the marriage certificate was no small matter either.
A good styling team like this was usually very hard to squeeze into, but as long as you had enough money and a sincere enough attitude, they could still make an exception.
Before coming to the Wen family yesterday, he’d asked several friends to help him find a styling team on short notice.
This was the team he’d settled on after reviewing their portfolio. Their style suited Wen Song very well—she should like it.
“Then I’ll go invite them in. You and Song Song hurry up and get out of bed.”
“Okay, thanks, Mom.”
Wang Junlan nodded repeatedly—this son-in-law really did look better and better the more she saw of him.
Watching Wang Junlan head downstairs, Pei Qingji went back into the room.
Wen Song had hidden herself again, a lump bulging under the blanket as she buried herself completely out of sight.
“Song Song?” He walked over and patted the blanket gently. There was no movement from inside.
He called out several more times. Wen Song neither answered nor moved, but Pei Qingji was certain that under these circumstances, she was definitely awake.
There was no helping it—forcibly pulling her up would only make her angrier, so he had to coax her slowly.
Pei Qingji sat on the bed, gently patting the blanket, and began counting off points one by one.
“I’ve hired a styling team to come over. For getting the marriage certificate, you need to have your makeup done beautifully and wear a pretty dress.”
“Or would you mind them coming into your room? You can keep sleeping, and I’ll have them do your makeup?”
“No.”
At least that got a reaction this time.
Wen Song kicked at the blanket and repeated herself: “No.”
She really didn’t like strangers in her room.
Seeing that this tactic worked, Pei Qingji continued: “I also called in a photographer. We’ll take photos before going to get the certificate, that way the pictures can be retouched. Getting them taken in a rush at the civil affairs bureau definitely wouldn’t look good.”
This time, after two seconds of silence, there was another reaction.
Wen Song lifted a corner of the blanket and complained with a yawn: “But I’m really so sleepy.”
Pei Qingji held back a laugh—he knew this trick would work best on a girl who cared about looking pretty.
He simply grabbed the corner she’d lifted and pulled the whole blanket down, then took both her hands and tugged her up.
Wen Song was like she had no bones in her body, letting him drag her upright as her head thumped straight into Pei Qingji.
He coaxed her patiently: “Then just sit here and wake yourself up a bit.”
Two minutes later, he picked up the pillow, folded it, and propped it behind Wen Song’s back.
His intention had been to let her sit and wake up, but by the time Pei Qingji came back from the bathroom with a wet towel, Wen Song had already toppled sideways onto the bed and gone back to sleep.
He felt a mix of helplessness and amusement as he sat down beside her and wiped her face with the towel.
They say washing your face wakes you up, and that’s not wrong.
Wen Song finally managed to open her eyes, sitting up with a yawn.
“Awake?”
“Half awake.”
With that, she squirmed and crawled out of bed, while Pei Qingji kept a protective hand hovering near her—her eyes, which kept closing at random moments, were truly dangerous.
Afraid she might actually fall, Pei Qingji simply scooped her up by the waist.
Setting Wen Song on the vanity counter, he squeezed toothpaste onto a brush before handing it to her.
He quickly brushed his own teeth and washed his face, then took care of Wen Song once he was done.
Fortunately, by the end of all this, Wen Song wasn’t nearly as sleepy anymore, and by the time she got downstairs, she was completely wide awake.
All the betrothal gifts from last night had been cleared away, replaced by rows of clothing racks filled with all kinds of white dresses and a variety of veils.
She loved shopping—she loved this kind of dazzling, overwhelming feeling.
“Go take a look?” Pei Qingji bent down and asked softly by her ear.
Wen Song nodded, her eyes sparkling and a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
The staff from this team were all women, and Pei Qingji figured women would have more in common with each other, share similar aesthetics, and work together more comfortably.
Just as he had expected, Wen Song quickly struck up a conversation with the stylist in charge of today’s makeup and styling.
After roughly settling on one outfit for the photo session and another to change into at the civil affairs bureau, Wen Song began picking out clothes.
She flipped through the racks casually—both high-end international luxury brands and niche labels were available, and it didn’t seem like the kind of selection an ordinary styling studio could easily pull together.
Wen Song glanced at Pei Qingji, who smiled warmly and said softly, “As long as you like it, take your time.”
“Song Song, Xiao Pei, come eat breakfast!” Wang Junlan emerged from the kitchen.
“You two go ahead and eat—I’ll be there in a bit. Once you’re done, if you need to get to work, just head off!” Wen Song replied, then looked at Pei Qingji beside her. “You go too.”
Pei Qingji nodded, but returned five minutes later.