After Fu Linzhou brought Wen Yirou back, he went downstairs alone and sat in the car for half the night.
He lit a cigarette, the ember flickering on and off in the darkness.
He was still thinking about Su Qingsi.
A simple dress, a snow-white neck, eyes that were clean and clear—nothing in them at all.
No, wait. Later, there was fear in her eyes.
What was she afraid of? Of him?
He let out a self-deprecating laugh and stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray.
If she really had amnesia, then her fear of him was only natural.
His expression earlier had probably been quite intimidating—cold-faced, like he’d come looking for trouble.
If she hadn’t lost her memory, then she was putting on an act, a good show of amnesia to draw a clear line between them.
Either way, it made his chest feel tight.
Fu Linzhou closed his eyes, leaning back in the seat, his thoughts drifting uncontrollably back three years.
Even back then, he’d told himself that a woman like her wasn’t worth it.
But thinking about it now, at that time, he’d actually hoped she would call him—even just to ask, “A-zhou, are you okay?”
But she never did.
She’d been abroad for three years, without a word.
He’d assumed she was thriving and had simply forgotten her ex-boyfriend.
Now she was back, and she was telling him she’d forgotten him.
Fu Linzhou decided that whether it was real or fake, he was going to get to the bottom of it.
The next afternoon, Fu Linzhou went to the Su residence.
The Su family’s villa was in the western part of the city, taking up half a street.
Though the family had declined in recent years and was no longer as prominent as before, their foundation remained—still a distinguished household.
The door was opened by the Su family’s butler, surnamed Liu, in his fifties with graying hair. He froze for a moment when he saw Fu Linzhou.
“President Fu?”
Fu Linzhou nodded. “I’m here to see Su Qingsi.”
Butler Liu’s face showed reluctance. “Miss isn’t feeling well today. She’s resting upstairs.”
“What’s wrong?”
“She developed a low fever after coming back last night. She was delirious with it, talking nonsense.”
Butler Liu let out a sigh. “The doctor came by and said her constitution is weak, and combined with a fright, she needs to rest quietly.”
A fright?
Fu Linzhou’s brow furrowed. Was it because he’d been too harsh last night? Had he scared her?
She was that fragile? He’d only had a cold expression.
“I’ll go see her,” Fu Linzhou said.
Butler Liu hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside to let him in.
Su Qingsi’s room was on the third floor, facing south, with excellent natural light.
When Fu Linzhou pushed the door open, he saw her lying in bed, the blanket pulled up to her chin, only a small face visible.
She was asleep.
The curtains were half-drawn, sunlight leaking through the gap and falling across her face, beautiful beyond what seemed human.
Had Su Qingsi ever been beautiful enough to be called a siren before?
Fu Linzhou couldn’t remember.
He walked to the bedside.
The person before him was even more delicate and fragile than the pure-with-a-hint-of-allure version from last night.
Fu Linzhou reached out, unable to resist the urge to touch her face.
Before his fingers could make contact, Su Qingsi suddenly opened her eyes.
She looked at him, her gaze dazed, as if she couldn’t tell dream from reality. “A-zhou?”
Fu Linzhou’s hand froze mid-air. She’d called his name.
“You remember me?” His voice came out low and hoarse, carrying a tension he hadn’t even noticed himself.
Su Qingsi blinked, her eyes slowly clearing.
After she made out Fu Linzhou’s face, she seemed a little surprised. “Mr. Fu?”
Fu Linzhou’s gaze darkened. That title again—distant, polite.
“What did you call me just now?”
Su Qingsi shook her head. “I can’t remember. Mr. Fu?”
Fu Linzhou stared at her. Su Qingsi grew uneasy under his gaze, turning her face away, not daring to look at him—yet the tips of her ears quietly flushed red.
That hint of red made her skin look even fairer, like a single plum blossom fallen on snow—exquisite, breathtakingly beautiful.
Fu Linzhou suddenly reached out, gripping her chin, forcing her to turn her head back.
The feel of her skin under his fingertips made him pause.
So soft.
He had touched Wen Yirou’s face before; her skin was delicate too. But Su Qingsi was different.
Her face was so tender it seemed it could yield water at a pinch.
He felt he couldn’t hold it firmly enough, yet wanted to grip harder—to squeeze, to knead, to see if his fingerprints would truly leave a mark on her.
“Look at me.”
Forced to tilt her face up, Su Qingsi’s eyes quickly welled with a mist of tears.
She looked at him, as if about to say something, but didn’t dare.
That expression was innocent and dazed, delicate and alluring.
Fu Linzhou’s voice grew even hoarser. “Su Qingsi, do you really not remember me?”
Su Qingsi bit her lip lightly. His grip hurt, and tears of reflex fell, sliding down her cheek and landing on his fingers.
Scalding—burning straight into the man’s heart.
“I really don’t remember.”
“Qin Se said I knew you before, but I have no memory of it at all.”
“You were so fierce last night… I was afraid of you…”
She said she was afraid, but her expression didn’t seem like genuine fear—more like a spoiled, aggrieved plea.
Fu Linzhou watched her cry, his fingers loosening slightly.
She cried so beautifully.
Quiet, silent, tears like a broken string of pearls, falling one by one.
She didn’t wipe them away, just let the tears flow, the tip of her nose red, the whole of her pitifully soft and delicate.
Fu Linzhou suddenly thought of Wen Yirou.
When he had been cold and disgusted with her, she would look hurt and dejected, gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes, and cry.
But when Wen Yirou cried, he only felt annoyed, found it troublesome, and just wanted her to stop.
When Su Qingsi cried, however, he wanted her to cry even harder.
He wanted to see the corners of her eyes flush red, wanted to pull her into his arms, tousle her hair, kiss her eyes.
That thought made his heart skip a beat.
“Stop crying.” Fu Linzhou spoke, his voice far gentler than before.
“I won’t be fierce with you.”
Su Qingsi gave a small sniffle, looking up at him with a mix of coyness and confusion in her eyes.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Fu Linzhou suddenly leaned down, moving closer to her.
Su Qingsi’s eyes widened as she watched his face draw nearer, her breath catching.
“You—” She was about to speak when the door suddenly swung open.
“Qingsi, I made you some congee.” Qin Se’s voice cut off abruptly.
She stood at the doorway, tray in hand, and raised an eyebrow at the two by the bed. “Oh, CEO Fu is here too.”
Fu Linzhou straightened up, turning to look at her, his face returning to its usual coldness. “Qin Se.”
“CEO Fu here to visit the sick?” Qin Se walked in, setting the tray on the bedside table.
“Looks more like you’re here to bully her. Our Qingsi’s fever hasn’t even broken yet—don’t you go scaring her.”
Fu Linzhou said nothing.
He glanced at Su Qingsi, who had already buried herself back under the covers, leaving only her eyes visible, gazing at him with shy timidity.
With Qin Se as an outsider present, Fu Linzhou lost the mood to tease her.
“I’ll come again another day.” He turned and walked out.
The door closed, and his footsteps faded into the distance.
Qin Se sat down by the bed, taking Su Qingsi’s hand.
“Did he hurt you with that grip?” Qin Se looked at her chin—finger marks were indeed left behind, stark against her snow-white skin, glaringly visible.
Su Qingsi gently shook her head. “No.”
“Not yet? It’s already red.” Qin Se touched it with concern.
“Fu Linzhou really hasn’t changed at all—still so domineering, doing whatever he wants.”
“Did he do anything else?”
Su Qingsi blinked. “No, he just asked if I remembered him.”
Qin Se sighed. “Sisi, you’ve changed a bit since you lost your memory.”