Song Hanzhou turned around slowly, very slowly, his gaze locked dead on the person in the bed.
Shi Miao’s eyes were closed—she was talking in her sleep. But her brows were tightly furrowed; she was clearly sleeping restlessly.
Song Hanzhou leaned down, his palm resting against her cheek. The gesture was gentle, but his eyes were like knives, carving into her inch by inch.
His thin lips spat out a few cold words: “You don’t deserve to call that name.”
Xu Zhinian was already a thing of the past.
Song Hanzhou would not be lured by you so easily, would not repeat the same mistake.
Song Hanzhou left.
Early the next morning.
While eating breakfast, Song Shu keenly noticed that Aunt Zhou had prepared an extra portion.
Normally, there were only ever two settings at the table—his and his father’s.
Song Shu pinched his chopsticks, his little lips pressed together, thinking of the unknown woman upstairs.
He hesitated, then asked tentatively, ”Aunt Zhou, did Aunt Bai come by last night?”
He hoped not.
Aunt Zhou was carrying a tray, debating whether to bring the two portions of breakfast upstairs, when Song Shu’s question startled her.
Good grief—it wasn’t like she was the one hiding a woman. Why was she acting so guilty?
Aunt Zhou turned and said, “No. Grown-up matters are none of a child’s business.”
Song Shu only heard the “no.”
He said “oh,” finished the last bite of his sandwich, chewing and chewing, lost in thought.
Aunt Zhou crouched down, straightened Song Shu’s collar, and carefully helped him put on his little backpack. Thinking of the woman upstairs, the corners of her mouth couldn’t help curving upward.
Perhaps this cold, quiet villa would soon have a proper lady of the house.
She couldn’t help saying, “Young Master, would you like a new mommy?”
Who knew that the moment those words left her mouth, Song Shu would suddenly throw a tantrum, shoving Aunt Zhou away.
He shouted, “I don’t want a new mommy!” Then he bolted out the door.
Aunt Zhou sat on the floor, completely stunned.
She had been taking care of Song Shu for over two years.
The boy was gentle-natured, quiet, always calm and well-behaved—entirely different from those spoiled young masters of wealthy families. He was honestly the easiest child she had ever looked after.
This was the first time Song Shu had ever treated her like this.
Aunt Zhou didn’t take it to heart.
She carried the breakfast upstairs, but when she reached the second floor, she saw Song Hanzhou coming out of the guest room.
Aunt Zhou froze for a moment.
The Second Young Master slept in the guest room last night? He didn’t sleep with that woman?
So… she had misunderstood?
Song Hanzhou was wearing black satin loungewear, his expression weary, faint red streaks in his eyes as if he hadn’t slept well.
He glanced at the breakfast in Aunt Zhou’s hands and said flatly, “Don’t disturb her.”
Aunt Zhou quickly answered, “Yes, sir.” Not daring to ask anything more, she turned and went back downstairs.
…
Shi Miao woke up in a daze.
The moment consciousness returned, a long-unfamiliar, cool, crisp fragrance drifted into her nose. Shi Miao froze for a moment.
What met her eyes was an unfamiliar ceiling with a minimalist crystal chandelier hanging from it. Beneath her were silk bedsheets with an exquisite feel, soft to an almost excessive degree.
This was not her home.
Her phone and bag were nowhere nearby. Shi Miao immediately put on her shoes and got out of bed.
Because she had risen too quickly, her head suddenly felt dizzy, and she fell heavily back onto the bed.
After a moment’s rest, last night’s memories came flooding back.
Chen Zhigao’s relentless, pestering face. Song Hanzhou’s sudden appearance. And his mocking words—”hypocritical woman.”
And then, finally, the weightless feeling of collapsing into his arms when she could no longer hold on… She had been taken away by Song Hanzhou. So, this was his home?
Shi Miao snapped fully awake.
She pulled open the heavy blackout curtains.
With a “swish.”
Floods of sunlight poured in, instantly filling the entire room.
Shi Miao let her eyes adjust to the light before turning to survey the room’s layout.
Black, white, and gray as the dominant colors, without a trace of superfluous decoration, the furniture’s lines cold and clean—exactly like Song Hanzhou himself.
Soon, Shi Miao found her bag and phone on a sofa.
The phone still had half its battery; it was eleven in the morning.
Shi Miao had taken leave last night and didn’t need to hold clinic hours at the hospital today, but even so, she wanted to leave this place as soon as possible.
The aura of a man lingering all around her was suffocating.
Just then, a soft knock came from outside the door.
“Miss Cheng, are you awake?”
It was Aunt Zhao’s voice.
Shi Miao answered, “Come in.”
Aunt Zhao pushed the door open, her manner respectful: “Here are some disposable toiletries. The bathroom is right there.”
Shi Miao didn’t recognize Aunt Zhao. She took the toiletries and thanked her.
“President Song… is he still here?”
Aunt Zhao recalled the man’s instructions and said, “You mean the Second Young Master? He went to the company early this morning. He’s not home.”
The Second Young Master.
Of course. Whether he bore the surname Xu or later changed it to Song, in others’ eyes he would always be that lofty Second Young Master.
Shi Miao suppressed the turmoil in her heart. Learning that Song Hanzhou wasn’t here, she immediately relaxed a great deal. “I see. Go attend to your duties—don’t mind me.”
Aunt Zhao: “Alright. If you need anything, just call for me anytime. I’ll be downstairs.”
Shi Miao wasted no time, quickly washing up and casually tying her long hair into a low ponytail with a hair tie.
Heading downstairs, as she passed the living room, she happened to overhear one of the aunties in the villa talking to someone.
“Miss Bai is coming this afternoon? Wonderful! The young master will be overjoyed to see you. Even without bringing a gift, he’d welcome your visit from the bottom of his heart…”
Shi Miao’s steps faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered, pretending not to hear and simply quickening her pace.
Aunt Zhou exchanged a few more words before hanging up with a smile. Turning her head, she caught sight of Shi Miao hurrying toward the entryway and couldn’t help but pause, startled.
Just as Shi Miao reached the entryway, Aunt Zhao called out to her: “Miss Cheng, I’ve warmed up some breakfast for you. Have a bite before you go.”
“No need to trouble yourself. I’m not hungry.” Shi Miao waved her hand.
Aunt Zhao chased after her holding a white medicine bag, pressing it into her hands: “These are medicines the doctor prescribed—fever reducers and supplements to restore your qi and blood. Please take them. Take them on schedule so your fever doesn’t come back.”
Shi Miao was a doctor herself; she understood her own condition. But looking at Aunt Zhao’s eyes, full of worry and concern, the words of refusal died on her lips.
In the end, she accepted it, saying softly, “Thank you.”
Behind the window of the third-floor study, a tall figure stood silently.
Song Hanzhou gazed down below, his eyes following that slender figure.
Only after she had completely disappeared from view did the man slowly withdraw his gaze, turn, and sit back down in the wide leather chair.
He closed his eyes for a moment before beginning to attend to his work.
Ten minutes later, Aunt Zhao came in carrying lunch, arranging the exquisite porcelain dishes one by one on the rosewood table beside him, and said softly, “Young Master Song, it’s time for lunch.”
She paused, then added, “Miss Cheng has already left.”
Song Hanzhou didn’t even lift his head, giving a soft “mm” of acknowledgment, as if he couldn’t care less.
Then, as if remembering something, he instructed, “Change the bedding in the master bedroom.”
Aunt Zhao glanced at him. She truly couldn’t figure out what the Young Master’s feelings toward Miss Cheng were.
If he didn’t care, why had he carried her home and personally taken care of her all night?
But if he did care, why was he so eager to throw out everything she’d touched the moment she left?
They say a woman’s heart is like a needle at the bottom of the sea, but in her opinion, a man’s heart—especially a man like the Young Master—was truly unfathomable.
Unable to guess his intentions, Aunt Zhao hesitated before asking, “Then… the old bedding—should it be sent to be washed, or just thrown away?”
Song Hanzhou finally lifted his eyelids slightly, his tone flat. “What do you think?”
Aunt Zhao understood—it was to be thrown away.
She grumbled inwardly: if he was so disgusted by her, why bring her back to the master bedroom last night? The villa was huge—it wasn’t as if there were no guest rooms.
But grumbling aside, Aunt Zhao still answered respectfully, “Understood.”
After Aunt Zhao left, the study returned to silence.
Song Hanzhou had been working at his computer for a while when a faint cramping pain suddenly shot through his stomach. Only then did he realize he hadn’t eaten anything since last night.
He raised a hand to rub his aching brow, and out of the corner of his eye, suddenly spotted a black plastic bag in the corner.
Cheap plastic, printed with a convenience store logo—utterly out of place among the valuable ornaments and the heavy rosewood desk.
Song Hanzhou paused for a moment before remembering—it was the things Shi Miao had bought at the convenience store last night.
As if possessed, he picked it up and rummaged through it casually, finding a cold, hardened rice ball and a bottle of mineral water.
Song Hanzhou unwrapped the rice ball. The seaweed on the wrapper had gone limp and soggy against the rice, with only scattered bits of pork floss visible inside. Something completely unappetizing.
He brought it to his lips and took a bite. His brow immediately furrowed, and a wave of instinctive revulsion rose in his throat.
It was awful.
Was this the kind of nutritionless food she usually ate?
How had she survived these seven years?