6 – Why Are Your Ears So Red?
She crouched by the kitchen doorway, sweeping her gaze around the perimeter, and only after confirming no one was there did she dash toward the living room.
Hearing the commotion, Pei Qingji, who had been staring at the floor, lifted his eyes and met Wen Song’s gaze without the slightest surprise.
Afraid that speaking would draw others’ attention, Wen Song quickly pressed a finger to her lips, signaling him to stay quiet.
Pei Qingji obeyed, his gaze simply following her as she ran over.
“Don’t run so fast.”
The moment he spoke, Wen Song, startled, shot a quick glance toward the dining room—no one seemed to have noticed.
Still, to be safe, she plopped down directly onto the floor, letting the sofa shield her from view so she wouldn’t be spotted right away.
Her antics made Pei Qingji want to laugh. He murmured softly, “Why are you sneaking around your own home like a thief?”
Wen Song rolled her eyes at him. “And whose fault is that?”
Pei Qingji lowered his head, trying to suppress the smile tugging at his lips.
“Mm,” he replied in a barely audible voice.
“When did you get up?” She held out the small cake in her hand. “Eat something to tide you over first. Later, you can sneak into the kitchen and have a proper bite.”
He looked at her, smiling without a word, and suddenly Song Wenhua’s words came back to Wen Song—that he could only get up once she forgave him.
“Why don’t you just get up? I really don’t blame you. My parents aren’t usually like this.”
“It wasn’t your parents who made me kneel—it was my own choice.”
After all, she was their daughter, raised with twenty-two years of care; it was only natural that any parent would be furious if their daughter, fresh out of college, turned up pregnant.
Though her pregnancy hadn’t been part of his plan, his desire to marry her was truer than gold itself.
Propriety couldn’t be skipped, and neither could his atonement.
Kneeling wasn’t a ploy for sympathy—it was genuine seeking of forgiveness, and a declaration of his sincerity.
They said Wen Song’s forgiveness would suffice, but in truth, it wouldn’t count until Wang Junlan and Wen Yuanbai gave their nod. So he had to keep kneeling.
If kneeling a little longer would help them cool down faster and let him bring Wen Song home sooner, he was more than willing.
Wen Song looked at him, a little embarrassed. “My parents are good people—they soften easily. After dinner, they’ll probably tell you to get up.”
Pei Qingji nodded with a quiet “Mm.”
“Hungry? Have some cake.” She nudged the small cake forward again—that was the real reason she’d snuck over.
“Hungry,” he admitted honestly.
He hadn’t slept well on the plane, his mind too tangled to eat much, and after landing he’d rushed straight to see Wen Song.
He’d even stopped by the company to handle an urgent matter, then gone home to take a scolding, and finally arrived at the Wen family villa, kneeling from the moment he stepped through the door until now.
Hungry didn’t even cover it—he was a little sleepy too, and the few cane strikes he’d taken hardly mattered anymore.
“Then eat.”
She reached for his hand to press the cake into it, but Pei Qingji pulled back, looking troubled. “I have a thing about cleanliness.”
“Hm? So?”
“I have to wash my hands before I eat.”
“Oh.” Wen Song nodded and glanced toward the dining room. “They probably won’t be out for a while. Go ahead, I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
“No.” Pei Qingji shook his head. “That would make it seem like I’m being dishonest, lacking sincerity.”
That did make sense. Wen Song nodded in silent agreement. “Then what do we do? Aren’t you hungry?”
Pei Qingji pressed his lips together, seemingly pondering a solution.
A moment later, he parted his lips and said softly, “You feed me?”
Wen Song’s pupils dilated. Wow, that was a path she’d never anticipated.
She looked up at him, wanting to refuse, but with that face and that slightly pitiful expression, it was really hard to say no.
She wasn’t made of stone, and besides, Pei Qingji was kneeling because of her in the first place.
She cleared her throat softly and carefully brought the small cake to his lips. “Try this first and see if you like the flavor. If not, I’ll go get you something else.”
Pei Qingji lowered his gaze to look at it. “You like this kind?”
“Mm.” Wen Song nodded. “I usually like eating these. I think they taste pretty good. See if it suits your palate.”
“It does.”
With that, he quickly lowered his head and took the small cake into his mouth.
He chewed earnestly, but Wen Song felt her entire hand grow hot.
His lips had just brushed against her fingertips—though it was only a fleeting moment, that warm, moist sensation lingered and refused to fade.
She was reminded of that night a month ago.
She had fed him the wine, and quite a bit had trickled down the corner of his mouth. When the kiss ended, she’d wiped her lips with her hand.
But after they’d sunk into the blankets, his lips, his kisses, had gently laved every place the red wine had touched—including her fingertips.
His soft, warm lips and tongue had tangled around her fingers, the tingling numbness of his sucking making her whole body tremble. She could still recall it even now.
“Why are your ears so red?”
Wen Song’s thoughts snapped back to the present. She gave a slight shake of her head and stammered in reply, “It’s nothing. Maybe the room’s a bit stuffy.”
“Is that so?”
“Mm.” With that, Wen Song stuffed another small cake into his mouth. “I’ll go get you something else.”
She then hurriedly got up and ran toward the kitchen.
Pei Qingji watched her fleeing figure and gently curved his lips upward. He called out, “Be careful.”
Afraid that others might hear, Wen Song turned back and shot him a glare, then scurried off in a fluster.
This time she was smarter—to grab more in one trip, she simply took a small plate.
Worried that it would be obvious a lot of desserts were missing, she only took one of each, but still filled the plate to the brim.
Once again crouching low to peek through the doorway, she confirmed no one was around before sneaking the supplies to the living room.
She’d barely been seated on the floor for five seconds when she heard Wang Junlan calling her name.
“Song Song? Where’d you go?”
Wen Song pressed her lips together, not daring to speak at all. If she answered, wouldn’t everything be exposed?
“Song Song?”
Wang Junlan kept calling her. At first, her footsteps wandered in another direction, but soon they headed toward the living room.
Wen Song held her breath, desperately praying in her heart that she wouldn’t come over. But the more you fear something, the more likely it is to happen.
She’d barely finished her wish for her not to come when Wang Junlan’s footsteps arrived at the living room.
“Song Song, have you been sneaking desserts again instead of eating properly?”
As the words fell, Wang Junlan stood by the sofa, lowering his head to meet his daughter’s watery eyes, a plate of sweets still in his hand.
He glanced again at Pei Qingji, who was still kneeling off to the side, a bit of cake crumb stuck to the corner of his lips.
Well, that settled it—it wasn’t Wen Song who had sneaked a bite, but Pei Qingji.