The Spoiled Pet of the Crazy and Disabled Bigshot (3)
Song Chubai blinked and explained, “Because I am an illegitimate son, Madam Song was not willing to send her own biological son over, so she sent me instead.”
After a brief pause, he added, “They were more than willing to send me away.”
Duan Yimo’s eyes flashed subtly. Half a second later, he curved his lips. “You certainly are honest.”
Clearly, he had already mastered all of Song Chubai’s background information.
Song Chubai said while tidying up the bowls and chopsticks, “There is nothing to hide.”
He stood up and muttered softly, “You already know everything anyway.”
Duan Yimo raised an eyebrow slightly, taking in all of Song Chubai’s little reactions.
Song Chubai picked up the tableware and turned to walk toward the kitchen. As Duan Yimo watched his departing back, his fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, a dark gleam flashing through his eyes as he pondered.
Song Chubai found some bread in the refrigerator, heated it up, and finished eating at a leisurely pace before walking out of the kitchen.
When he came out, the living room was completely empty, and Duan Yimo was nowhere to be seen.
He probably went upstairs, Song Chubai thought to himself as he walked toward the guest bedrooms on the first floor.
There were roughly four rooms on the first floor, facing each other in pairs. All the doors were tightly shut, and there were no distinguishing marks on them, making it impossible to tell which one was the guest room.
He had no choice but to test the doors one by one.
The first door would not turn no matter how hard he twisted it, so it was likely not a guest room.
Song Chubai moved on to the second door, which still refused to turn.
Song Chubai: ??
Surely all four doors wouldn’t be locked? Where was he supposed to sleep then? On the doorstep?
Fortunately, the door of the room closest to the elevator shaft was unlocked. As the door handle was pressed downward, the door slowly swung open.
A stream of light spilled out from the room, and the yellowish glow gave off a strangely ambiguous atmosphere.
Song Chubai pushed the door wide open and took in the furnishings inside.
Facing the door was a large bed, and both the bedsheets and quilt cover appeared to be newly replaced.
The entire room was rendered in shades of white without a speck of other color, save for the yellowish lamp overhead.
Song Chubai lifted his foot and stepped inside.
The door closed from momentum, producing a loud bang that made Song Chubai jump in surprise.
Luckily, he quickly calmed down and stretched lazily.
The guest room even came equipped with an independent bathroom, which caught Song Chubai by surprise.
He stretched again, tidied up briefly, threw himself onto the large bed, and fell fast asleep in no time.
At the same time, upstairs on the second floor, Duan Yimo watched Song Chubai’s every move with a flicker of intrigue in his eyes.
His little daughter-in-law really knew how to take things as they came; that was fine too, as he had no desire to watch anyone burst into tears here.
The Duan family had sent him such a little treasure. How ought he to express his gratitude to them?
Duan Yimo’s lips curved upward. Why not seize the project they had been fighting tooth and nail for?
At the mere thought of Father Duan’s exasperated expression, the smile on Duan Yimo’s lips deepened.
The next day, Song Chubai slept in, not waking up until ten o’clock.
When he opened his eyes, he was still feeling somewhat dazed.
The familiar yet unfamiliar surroundings left his brain unresponsive for a moment.
It wasn’t until sunlight pierced through the heavy curtains and illuminated the dim room that he snapped back to reality.
He got up and pulled the curtains open.
Light poured in, casting a glow over him that made his fair skin seem to emit a radiance.
On the surveillance monitor, Duan Yimo took in this entire scene.
His throat bobbed as if he had tasted something sweet, and the color of his eyes deepened a fraction.
Downstairs in the bedroom, Song Chubai was completely oblivious to the fact that his every action had fallen under Duan Yimo’s watchful gaze. He stretched lazily and reached into his pocket to check the time, only to discover that he seemed to lack a phone.
Song Chubai: !!
In this modern age, how could anyone survive without a phone!
Where was his phone? Song Chubai quickly retraced his steps, only to realize that his phone had apparently been left behind at the Song household.
Or more accurately, the Song family had never intended to give him a phone in the first place.
They had probably confiscated his only means of communication just in case he tried to pull any more stunts.
At this thought, Song Chubai let out a sigh.
He couldn’t help wondering whether Duan Yimo would agree if he asked him for a phone.
After weighing his options, Song Chubai decided to give it a try.
After tidying himself up quickly, Song Chubai opened the door and set off to find Duan Yimo. Upon reaching the elevator lobby, he discovered that the elevator doors were operated by fingerprint recognition.
In other words, aside from Duan Yimo, no one else could ride the elevator up to the second floor.
With no staircases in the entire villa, the elevator was the sole path leading upward.
It seemed he had no choice but to wait for him downstairs.
Without a shred of disappointment, Song Chubai turned on his heel and headed toward the kitchen.
Since he couldn’t wait for Duan Yimo right away, he might as well cook a meal first!
The aroma of food quickly wafted out of the kitchen, rapidly drifting toward the second floor and awakening Duan Yimo’s appetite.
Duan Yimo pressed his lips together lightly, his tongue seemingly lingering on the flavor of the tomato and egg noodles from the previous night.
It wasn’t the best bowl of noodles he had ever eaten, but it was certainly the most flavorful.
It was as if the person who prepared it had poured their entire focus and heart into the cooking.
Noodles made with such dedication carried a special taste.
He liked it very much.
Recalling that flavor, Duan Yimo maneuvered his wheelchair downstairs, driven by an uncontrollable impulse.
When Song Chubai walked out carrying the dishes, he was greeted by the sight of Duan Yimo sitting at the dining table.
He blinked and placed the dishes on the table.
Just as Duan Yimo reached for his chopsticks, Song Chubai caught him by the wrist.
At that exact instant, a scorching dark red flared up in Duan Yimo’s pupils, his round pupils contracting into narrow slits. His breathing seemed to stall for a fraction of a second as he spoke with a trace of huskiness, “Do you know what you are doing?”
Song Chubai offered an ingratiating smile. “Mr. Duan, let us negotiate something.”
Duan Yimo narrowed his eyes and remained silent.
“I will cook for you, and you give me a phone. Deal?”
By the end of his sentence, his tone carried a touch of softness, and a faint blush bloomed across his exquisite face.
Seeming somewhat embarrassed, he continued to elaborate, “I left my phone behind at the Song house, and in this day and age, you simply cannot survive without one.”
Duan Yimo counter-grabbed Song Chubai’s wrist with a casual motion, exerting strength that left a red mark against his fair, tender skin.
“Is that so?” he asked flatly, as if it were a casual inquiry, though his gaze remained locked onto Song Chubai as though attempting to pierce straight through his pupils and see right through him.
Song Chubai felt a twinge of pain from the grip, though it remained within his tolerance threshold. He bit his lower lip lightly and stubbornly insisted, “Of course! It is impossible to survive without a phone.”
He belonged to the species that would perish without a mobile phone.