Chapter 72 Extra 2
Song Xu was a man of action—once he decided to change locations, he did so immediately.
They took an early morning flight to Paris the next day. As soon as they stepped out of the airport, someone who looked like a secretary escorted them to a car that headed straight for the consulate. It wasn’t until they walked out of the consulate with documents bearing official stamps that Wen Bairan realized they had just gotten married.
She hadn’t expected things to progress so quickly. Still in a daze, she was taken to a hotel—a specially decorated honeymoon suite, where two swans with necks entwined, seemingly made of pure crystal, lay on the bed.
Wen Bairan picked one up to examine it, wondering if hotel service had advanced to this point.
The bellhop at the door, after receiving his tip, cheerily wished the newlyweds happiness. Only then did it dawn on her—all of this had been arranged by Song Xu well in advance.
Marriage, vacation, crystal.
She remembered him saying once that he would take her to Paris by the end of the year...
My God, had he been planning all this since then?
Someone embraced her from behind, nibbling on her earlobe as he asked, “Do you like it?”
Turning her gaze, she saw Song Xu’s eyes, dark with desire he’d held back for two nights—or perhaps longer—now washing over her like an unrestrained ocean.
Wen Bairan’s heart raced, and the crystal slipped from her hand, falling onto the foot of the bed before sliding down the white cotton duvet onto the carpet.
A low, pleased chuckle escaped Song Xu’s throat as he kissed her lips.
She didn’t know if all high-end hotels around the world preferred using dark carpets with intricate patterns. As she lowered her head under his kiss, her collar parted, exposing her slender shoulders completely to the air. A faint scent of orange blossoms emanated from her skin, mingling with their hurried breaths.
She knew he was already fully ready.
The sleep on the flight had left them well-rested for what was to come.
The soft European-style bed in the room was more than enough for the two of them to frolic without restraint, without worrying about being overheard.
She realized there was no need to resist, nor did she want to. As she fell into the bed, dizziness washed over her, and her vision filled with swirls of dark red—the rose petals scattered across the sheets.
Song Xu was too impatient to unbutton his shirt. Instead, he took her hand, pressed it against his chest, and leaned down, his body following.
In the midst of a nearly suffocating kiss, Wen Bairan felt his dedication for the first time. Unconsciously clutching his collar, she asked between ragged breaths, “You’d already prepared for me to fall into your plans, hadn’t you?”
Song Xu said, “Yes, and no.”
He was a man of his word, never making empty promises.
From the moment he decided to marry her, he had planned everything.
Work, vacation, even the wedding and reception—he had arranged it all.
Physical compatibility was key to his resolve, and mental resonance grew with every intimate moment they shared.
She said she couldn’t see through him, but the truth was, neither could he.
He had planned for everything, except that she would resign and run away.
In his view, it wasn’t even hiding.
He never intended to hide anything she would eventually find out.
He was simply accustomed to handling everything himself, accustomed to controlling the course of events—only, he hadn’t grown accustomed to the fact that loving someone required feeling what they felt first.
He leaned down, encircling her in his arms, his strong limbs holding her tightly against his chest as he softly called her, “Ran Ran.”
Wen Bairan cried. She didn’t even know why—only that it had been so long since they’d been together. His familiar scent and movements gave her the feeling of being cherished once more. She wondered if, from now on, he would only show this tenderness to her.
Love was such an all-consuming force. No matter how much reason tried to restrain it, possessiveness was in her bones. No matter how clear-headed she was, at this point, she could no longer refuse—only face it. Face her longing for someone entirely hers, for a relationship that belonged solely to the two of them.
She always feared this would make her seem unlikable.
Song Xu kissed every part of her body, tasting her tears. He slowed down, his voice low and husky as he apologized, his heartache palpable.
Wen Bairan asked why he was saying sorry. He tenderly kissed her damp eyelashes and replied that he would learn to inform her before making decisions in the future.
She asked, “And then? Will you change your decisions because of me?”
Her tear-reddened eyes were dangerously alluring, defiant yet calm as they met his. Her tears seeped into his skin, and Song Xu was instantly captivated.
His gaze darkened. Powerful arms lifted her, scooping her up in his embrace before lowering her again. Wen Bairan instinctively shut her eyes tightly, unsure whether it was pain or pleasure that made her moan.
From that moment on, both of them threw themselves wholeheartedly into this long-awaited feast.
Sometimes, being too physically compatible wasn’t a good thing. For instance, after going so long without making love to her, the mere tightening of her legs around his waist nearly made him lose control.
Waves of sensation crested quickly against the rocks on the shore. With a low groan, the man flipped her over, turning her back to him.
…
The weather in Paris was unpredictable.
The rain lasted the entire night without ceasing.
A rare glimpse of sunlight gently filtered through her eyelids. Wen Bairan drowsily opened her eyes to find that dawn had arrived.
Before her was an European-style retro palace-style suite, as if she were in a medieval castle.
Yet on the windowsill remained the remains of their hastily eaten dinner from the night before.
An ache, as if her entire body had been broken apart, seeped into her bones. She lacked even the strength to move a finger.
Three empty wine bottles stood by the bed, with a fourth nearly finished.
Her hungover mind struggled to recall the unrestrained madness of the previous night, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember which morning this was.
It felt as though they had been here for a long time.
It seemed they had hardly left the room.
The insatiable man had nearly drained her dry.
Gradually regaining her senses, she turned to look at the man still asleep beside her. His body, exposed to the light, resembled a perfect work of art—his lips, the bridge of his nose, and especially those eyes.
Sharp and profound.
Capable of seeing through everything, yet also capable of devouring it all.
In the depths of the night, only she could witness the tenderness hidden within them.
At this moment, Song Xu’s arm was wrapped around her waist from behind, holding her effortlessly even in his dreams.
Wen Bairan felt an unreal sense of déjà vu, as though this scene had happened before.
Once, he had held her like this too, his large hand resting on her body, fingertips casually brushing her waist.
Her heart still fluttered, but there was no longer the urge to run away.
They had actually gotten married.
Wen Bairan quietly got up, kissed him on the lips, and turned to get out of bed, only to find she couldn’t locate her clothes. She decided to just drape something over herself and head to the bathroom. As she leaned over to grab the shirt he’d left at the foot of the bed, she was suddenly grabbed by the ankle and dragged back.
Song Xu’s hands were large, and her ankle looked as slender as a toy in his grasp.
Wen Bairan didn’t know when he had woken up. Turning to meet the depth in his gaze, her heart skipped a beat. "...You're awake?"
The pale dawn light streamed in from the small balcony, casting a graceful strip of light across her naked body. It was hard to tell whether she was glowing or the sunlight was just that gentle, but her fair skin was enveloped in a soft, glowing halo.
Like an angel captive in a classical mural, her surprised eyes shimmered with glistening tears, carrying a touch of innocence about what was to come—enough to make one want to do every wicked thing to her.
Song Xu’s eyes darkened, and with her facing him, they greeted the new day.
……
Wen Bairan truly couldn’t understand how he managed to be so energetic. It wasn’t until nightfall that she finally remembered she had spent seven days in this daze where opening her eyes meant being overcome.
For an entire week, they made love day and night.
On the windowsill, the sofa, the bathroom counter, even the room service cart.
If it weren’t for her finding the room service cart too cold and imagining that the last room this cart had entered might also have had a couple just as entwined, she would have found the food on it hard to swallow.
Song Xu said it was fine, he would buy it and have it sent home. From now on, it would be his exclusive food rack.
Wen Bairan blushed and punched him in the chest, calling him shameless. What did he mean, exclusive food rack? What did he take her for—something to eat or drink?
Song Xu nipped at her finger, his rapt expression clearly saying either was fine.
There was no helping it. His desire for her body grew stronger each day, beyond his control.
Wen Bairan: "......"
Not until the tenth day did they finally go out.
Winter in Paris was like a city sketched in charcoal.
The gray-white sky blended with the shadows and outlines of the buildings, every detail seeming to beg for an artist’s touch.
Wen Bairan took many photos. Song Xu didn’t like having his picture taken, but he indulged her, waiting for her to find the right angle and lighting before taking the camera from her.
They visited the Eiffel Tower and had a romantic candlelit dinner there. Wen Bairan wasn’t fond of French food—both the flavor and portion sizes were outside her comfort zone. After descending, they went to Chinatown to find something to eat, but the Westernized Chinese food didn’t compare to having hotpot at their landlady’s place.
On a whim, she asked Song Xu if they could use an electric hotpot in the hotel. She thought there might still be a prized package of hotpot base in her luggage. She recalled how many times Shi Yeliang had begged her to take it out, but she never agreed. Now seemed like the perfect time to use it.
Song Xu apologized, saying, "I’ve already packed your luggage and shipped it back to China. Besides, don’t you think bringing up another man during our honeymoon is a bit of a mood killer?"
Wen Bairan: "?"
She didn’t catch the threatening undertone in his words. After all, these past few days, he had nearly worn her out.
But why had her luggage been shipped away?
What was she going to wear after it was gone?
Being cooped up in the room all this time, she hadn’t given much thought to food or clothing. Even today, she was still wearing the same outfit she had arrived in.
She asked him if they were planning to return to China after the weekend.
Doing the math, they had already been away for half a month. He had just started at Yingchuang—shouldn’t he avoid taking such a long leave?
"First, my plan includes another half month before we head back to China. Second," Song Xu served her some food, his tone light but sincere, "I’m only getting married once. Everything else comes after that. Right now, nothing is more important than us enjoying ourselves here. Lastly, you’d better revise that workaholic idea you have of me in your mind, or else you might find it strange when you see me often later on."
Wen Bairan raised an eyebrow. "Don’t tell me you’re a family man?"
Song Xu smiled without answering, then after a moment said, "Maybe."
Wen Bairan thought he was joking and didn’t press further, laughing it off. It wasn’t until after the meal that she remembered—what was she going to wear from now on?
Song Xu held her as they strolled along the Seine. The night wind was chilly, but he was warm. Wen Bairan unconsciously snuggled closer into his embrace. He chuckled softly, kissed her forehead, and told her not to worry—he had everything prepared.
Back at the hotel, the wardrobe in the room was indeed stuffed full.
From underwear to outerwear, there were three down jackets and three coats, and even the inner layers offered various options.
Tucked deep inside was even an evening gown.
A deep purple with luxe subtle patterns, the outer layer sprinkled with a hint of silver dust that shimmered like a galaxy, radiating stunning brilliance. The floor-sweeping skirt flowed out like violet petals.
Wen Bairan was stunned. "When did you prepare all this?"
They had been together every day these past few days, and she hadn’t seen him contact anyone. These things couldn’t have just appeared out of thin air.
Song Xu sat on the bed, propping himself up with his right arm, watching her delighted expression in front of the wardrobe. A slight smile touched his lips. "From the moment I knew you’d walk right into my trap."
He masked all the effort behind it with a joking tone.
But Wen Bairan was no fool. How could she not know that every piece of clothing here, even the underwear, was exactly her size? Though he was always detail-oriented, this level of attention still required considerable effort.
The man by the bed leaned back slightly, his relaxed posture exuding an unspoken elegance and nobility. His tall frame, when slightly stretched out, highlighted his long limbs, making it impossible not to marvel at how someone’s figure could be so perfect.
Song Xu’s smiling eyes made her heart clench oddly.
Wen Bairan went over and gave him a kiss, a very light cheek kiss; she left before he could even taste it. She didn’t want him to know how touched she was, so she tilted her chin up and returned to the wardrobe. Picking up a random piece of clothing and looking at the label, she asked pointedly, "Come clean. Where did you get the money?"
The total value of this wardrobe had to be at least 500,000.
That evening gown alone was worth a fortune.
But hadn’t he already handed all his money over to her?
Wen Bairan suddenly felt the thrill and satisfaction of finally catching him red-handed. Even the way she crossed her arms carried a hint of smugness. "Do you have other hidden assets you haven’t reported? Mr. Song, you’re pretty sneaky."
The cozy mood shifted when she suddenly brought up checking the accounts, but it wasn’t out of awkwardness or tension—it was almost amusing.
Song Xu didn’t know when he had left such an impression on her. He stood up from the bed and walked toward her. "Although I don’t think the word 'honest' has much to do with me, since you’ve said it, I might as well earn the title."
He approached step by step with a smile. Wen Bairan sensed danger, her mind ringing alarm bells. But it was too late to retreat.
Everything spun before her eyes, and the next thing she knew, the ceiling had become the floor.
The rascal had without warning thrown her over his shoulder.
"Song Xu!"
His shoulders were as hard as rock, digging into her abdomen. Wen Bairan couldn't help but scream and kick her legs, "Put me down!"
The man remained completely unmoved.
His long arms, forged like iron, pinned her legs in place. "It seems I was too lenient the past few days. You actually still have the energy to resist? Then you won't be sleeping tonight."
Wen Bairan: "..."
She was wrong, she really knew she was wrong.
But it seemed too late to apologize now.
With this rough, fireman's carry posture, Song Xu hauled her effortlessly into the bathroom. Before he closed the door, she made one last attempt to struggle. "Song Xu, put me down! I'm going to throw up!"
Song Xu chuckled softly, tilting his head to bite her waist. "Go ahead. After you're done, I'll clean you up myself."
"..."
Thus, two more days passed in a bleary, disorienting haze, devoid of daylight.
On the third day, Song Xu took her to the Palace of Versailles.
Wen Bairan finally saw the Petit Trianon.
The lavish Rococo style, the flower-filled courtyard—though small, it was exquisitely crafted and surprisingly livable.
She remembered the first time Song Xu mentioned this place to her. He said it was beautiful and suggested she visit when she had time.
But at the time, she thought he was mocking her.
A chateau built for a mistress.
Wasn't that exactly what he was implying?
Song Xu hadn’t expected her to make such an association. He explained the palace’s origins—how Madame de Pompadour had passed away before its completion, and how it later became the residence of Queen Marie Antoinette. In a way, both women were remarkable, not because of their noble status, but because they maintained free souls regardless of their circumstances.
He never thought there was anything wrong with women pursuing desire, just as men pursued power. And the same went the other way around. Morality, in this context, seemed superficial. At their core, humans are animals—whether driven by basic survival instincts or higher spiritual needs, it's all just evolution. All beings are equal.
The only difference is that the ability to rise above their base instincts is a trait unique to higher animals.
The constant awareness of being human and maintaining human qualities is what truly deserves respect.
Clearly, Wen Bairan had struck him that way back then.
She was trying to break free from the emotions of pain and sorrow that could consume a person.
Even if it meant using him.
In fact, he was glad to be used by her.
Wen Bairan asked him when he had fallen for her—was it during that business trip?
Song Xu replied calmly, "Earlier."
How much earlier?
She couldn’t figure it out.
Song Xu told her not to worry about it. She only needed to know that his view of marriage was for the long haul and exclusive.
Before sunset, he said to her in the garden, "Being faithful to one person for life goes against our animal nature, but I am willing to battle that instinct for you."
Perhaps he had never spoken romantic words to anyone before—he never needed to. With his qualities, just showing up was enough to captivate people.
But his detached expression on his face as he said this was no different from when he ran meetings at the company.
In such an environment and atmosphere, he should have at least looked at her with some tenderness—even a single adoring look would've kept it from sounding like he was setting a work goal.
Fortunately, Wen Bairan had learned to look for the tenderness beneath his aloofness. This time, too, she sensed the seriousness and sincerity of his conviction in the way he held her hand.
Perhaps love truly is something indescribable.
Making it last is even harder.
But if Song Xu said it, she believed him.
He'd do it.
/
On the way back from the Palace of Versailles, Song Xu made two phone calls in the car. Neither was in Chinese.
Using her limited French, Wen Bairan gathered he was inviting someone out for a drink. Based on his tone and expression, she guessed it was probably a local friend.
It was amazing—he seemed to have friends all over the world.
He'd even found her in Sydney through a friend who lived there.
So that's how he always managed to find her so accurately.
It felt like he had planted a tracker on her.
Song Xu smiled mysteriously, as if calling her naive, but it was too dark, and Wen Bairan couldn’t see clearly.
Around ten o’clock.
He took her to the bar downstairs in the hotel.
A Hong Kong-style beauty with bold red lips and big, wavy hair greeted them, offering a warm hug and kisses on the cheek.
Wen Bairan noticed the lipstick mark on Song Xu’s cheek and figured she probably had one too.
She thought to herself that his friends were certainly pretty outgoing.
First Fabiana, now another.
This woman, dressed in faux fur and a fiery red bodycon dress, looked a bit older than Song Xu. From their intimate conversation, Wen Bairan guessed they were very close.
But not like romantic partners.
Was she maybe a relative or a former boss?
The two, who had been speaking French, suddenly stopped and looked at her.
The woman’s charming eyes looked Wen Bairan up and down with an appraising glance before she gave a satisfied smile. "You must be Vivi! So beautiful! Did you like the clothes I picked for you? Oh, where are my manners? I'm Song Xu’s mother."
Wen Bairan was stunned. "..." His mother? She was Song Xu’s mom? She didn't look old enough!
At fifty-six years old, Ms. Cecilia couldn’t merely be described as well-preserved—she seemed to have found the fountain of youth altogether.
Her toned figure and youthful facial contours showed no signs of aging; even the fine lines at the corners of her eyes when she smiled were as charming as ripples on water. The red lips and big waves blended perfectly with her mature charm, making her resemble a poster girl from an '80s Hong Kong-style album cover, showing no trace of time's passage.
She hesitated, unsure whether to address her as "Auntie," "Madam," or if "Sister" would be more appropriate.
Lü Mingshu delighted in seeing people puzzled by her age. Covering her lips, she laughed joyfully, "You're so adorable! Since you're so torn, just call me Cecilia, like Song Xu does."
She wasn’t called "Mom"?
That was just as well—it reduced the burden she felt.
Yet she wasn’t accustomed to addressing an elder so informally, fearing it might seem disrespectful.
After a moment’s thought, she settled on, "...Ms. Cecilia."
Lü Mingshu wanted a cocktail and told Song Xu to get it. Before leaving, Song Xu smiled faintly, gave Wen Bairan’s waist a quick squeeze, and whispered in her ear, "Relax, she’s easy to talk to. Just compliment her on her youth and beauty, and she’ll even hand over the family heirlooms to you."
Wen Bairan: ...
Was now really the time to be talking about family heirlooms?
If he had told her earlier that they were meeting a parent, she would have at least put on some makeup before coming down. After returning from the day’s outing, she had washed her face as soon as she got to the hotel and had just grabbed a coat without coordinating her outfit, so she didn’t look very polished.
She was quite traditional when it came to elders, caring deeply about the first impression she made. In that moment, she glared daggers at Song Xu.
He pouted slightly and sauntered off toward the bar.
Leaving Wen Bairan alone with Cecilia.
Wen Bairan had always been the type to charm elders. Her gentle and quiet appearance was her greatest asset. After a brief moment of fluster, she quickly composed herself and sincerely praised Lü Mingshu’s beautiful appearance and elegant temperament.
Even though she knew in advance that Lü Mingshu enjoyed such compliments, Wen Bairan was 100% sincere. She had always wondered whom Song Xu took after in looks, and now it seemed he hadn’t even inherited a tenth of Lü Mingshu’s beauty.
Lü Mingshu was delighted by her words, laughing heartily, "Vivi, you have great taste! I’ve always thought he didn’t quite inherit my perfect genes—it’s all his father’s fault. If he were more like me, he’d definitely be a global superstar by now."
Wen Bairan nodded repeatedly in agreement. Even with just a tenth of those genes, Song Xu’s exceptionally handsome face could rival that of a television star.
Lü Mingshu was a designer with her own boutique in Paris. Her standards for liking people were simple: whoever respected her aesthetic was to her taste. When she received word from Song Xu that they were coming to Paris for their honeymoon, she immediately began preparing new clothes for Wen Bairan. After inquiring about her size and style, she had worried that her time abroad might have made her style too out there for Wen Bairan to embrace. But now, she saw her concerns were completely unnecessary.
Wen Bairan’s clean, elegant looks were like a blank canvas. Her tall, slender frame might seem delicate, but she was actually a natural clothes hanger. Even though her outfit appeared quickly thrown on, it wasn’t mismatched at all—instead, it had its own unique charm.
Lü Mingshu was very pleased with her taste and generously took a jewelry box from her bag. "This is for you."
Wen Bairan accepted it. "What is it?"
"Your wedding gift." Lü Mingshu winked at her. "You’re the first girl to join our family. His grandmother said this is meant for you."
Wen Bairan understood—this must be the so-called family heirloom?
She carefully opened the box to find a set of jade jewelry.
The moment the emerald on the ring, larger than a pigeon’s egg, came into view, she nervously snapped the box shut, afraid that keeping it open for even a second longer might result in it being stolen.
"This is too valuable. I can’t accept it." She tried to return the box to Lü Mingshu, but Lü Mingshu simply tucked it into her coat.
Wen Bairan: "Ms. Cecilia..."
"Don’t feel burdened. This was always meant for you." Lü Mingshu’s smile deepened. "Actually, I should thank you. We all thought Song Xu would never marry, but then he met you. I suppose he hasn’t told you about our family situation yet?"
Wen Bairan paused.
She truly had never heard anything about Song Xu’s family background.
Now that she thought about it, she had been quite bold to marry someone without even meeting his parents.
Lü Mingshu explained that their family was rather complicated—she and Song Xu’s father had divorced eighteen years ago.
To be precise, it wasn’t a divorce but a separation.
Song Xu’s father was the chairman of the European Chinese Lawyers Association, and his law firm was among the top in all of Europe.
When Lü Mingshu married him, they had been in love for a time, but her free-spirited nature couldn’t tolerate his rigid and reserved personality. Soon enough, they were living separate lives under the same roof. They never officially divorced, partly because their respective status and reputations would suffer significant financial losses if they announced their separation, and partly because Song Xu was still young at the time. To provide him with a relatively stable family environment, they maintained the tradition of holding family gatherings during Christmas and the New Year.
But Song Xu was clever—from the day they signed the separation agreement, he knew that the so-called home was just an empty shell.
Lü Mingshu loved traveling in her youth, often flying around the world for inspiration. Song Xu’s father was also an elusive workaholic. During Song Xu’s school years, they once went five years without seeing each other.
He lived alone domestically. Though there was a housekeeper and a cook, he rarely spoke with them. In his eyes, roles were clearly defined: his task was to study, and the housekeeper’s task was to care for him. That was all.
Once, when Lü Mingshu returned home early from a trip, she found Song Xu asleep in the bathtub with a book in his hands.
"He was really lonely back then. Only tight spaces like the bathtub made him feel safe." Lü Mingshu gazed toward Song Xu, who was chatting with the bartender, her chin resting on her hand like a naive young woman.
"Actually, I was once very worried that our family situation might turn him into an antisocial person. Thankfully, he didn’t turn out that way."
Perhaps this was a case of extremes meeting.
Under this completely hands-off parenting style, having inherited his father’s rigid genes, Song Xu developed an extremely self-disciplined personality.
Wen Bairan had never quite understood where Song Xu’s self-focused nature came from, but now she thought she might know.
His entire family was like this.
A mother forever pursuing passion and freedom, and a father perpetually immersed in work—they shone brightly in their respective fields, leaving Song Xu to navigate the space between them alone. His lack of consideration for others likely stemmed from the fact that no one had ever truly considered him.
Though Lü Mingshu spoke of these matters with regret, Wen Bairan didn’t detect any shame or guilt on her face.
Perhaps in her and Song Xu’s father’s eyes, this was just one of the challenges he had to overcome growing up.
After a brief silence, Lü Mingshu immediately began talking about how content she was with her life now, not only doing the design work she loved but also changing boyfriends every six months.
"Men are the best youth serums, provided they themselves are fresh enough."
By this standard, none of Lü Mingshu’s boyfriends were over thirty-five. When some loved her too intensely to let go, she would excuse herself by saying her son didn’t approve of their relationship because he couldn’t accept someone his own age as a stepfather.
"..."
Wen Bairan was certain Song Xu had no idea Lü Mingshu was making up stories about him like this.
After chatting for a while, Lü Mingshu didn’t seem like she was there to meet her son and daughter-in-law but rather like she had made a new friend.
She soon mentioned that she had another event to attend and needed to leave.
Wen Bairan wanted her to wait until Song Xu returned to say goodbye, but Lü Mingshu shook her head and said it wasn’t necessary—he was already accustomed to their sudden comings and goings.
She was slightly taken aback and glanced in his direction.
Song Xu didn’t seem to notice the activity at their table at all. There were two finished cocktails beside him.
But the third drink the bartender was preparing wasn’t for him.
It seems he knew someone was about to leave.
Lü Mingshu stopped here and spoke to her earnestly, "That's just how he is. You might have a lot to adjust to in these early days of marriage, but Vivi, you need to cut him some slack. Before you, he was always on his own. Since he decided to marry you, he will definitely do right by you. Trust me, just give him a little more time."
Wen Bairan glanced back and finally saw a motherly side in Lü Mingshu as she said these words.
It wasn't that she didn't love Song Xu; it was just that they both loved themselves more.
Her eyes stung, and she nodded, saying, "I will."
Lü Mingshu smiled and hugged her, wishing them all the best in their new marriage.
Not long after she left, Song Xu returned.
He only showed up once he knew Lü Mingshu had left.
He handed the drink to Wen Bairan and asked offhandedly what they had been talking about.
Wen Bairan pretended not to detect his concern and said it was nothing, just that someone would now be in charge of the closet.
Song Xu hesitated for a second, then laughed, "That's great."
The two sat at the bar for a while. Having long heard about Paris's sketchy safety reputation, Wen Bairan, carrying something so valuable, felt increasingly uneasy. The bartender had seen her open the jewelry box earlier and was now gone missing. She couldn't help but think of heist movies and pestered Song Xu to return to the hotel so she could lock it away and feel at ease.
Song Xu found her wild imagination amusing and tugged her close. "Still suspecting me of stashing money now?"
Sitting together on one barstool, Wen Bairan was essentially seated on him, and the hand around her waist was getting frisky.
She slapped the back of his hand and shot back that it was hard to say—she would need to confirm the details after meeting another person.
Song Xu: "Who?"
Wen Bairan: "Lawyer Song."
She didn’t say "his father." From Lü Mingshu's words, it was clear that their relationship was less like parent and child and more like friends connected by blood.
Song Xu’s gaze intensified as she swayed into his space like a pendulum, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in gently.
"If you come back with me now, how about we don't get much sleep tonight?"
She was teasing him, her lips almost touching his.
He was a sucker for her slightly flushed cheeks and bright eyes.
His eyelids lowered, and just as he was about to kiss her, Wen Bairan suddenly jumped down and pulled him out of the tavern.
Although the hotel was just a street away, the moment she pulled him into the night rain, silver threads of rain stretched their shadows under the streetlights. The warm glow cut through the chill, blending into a warm tone that fell on his face.
Something clearly unfolded in his chest, overflowing in his chest.
/
That night, they held each other in the room, gazing at the city lights outside the window.
That’s just how nature works—when cold arrives, no one can escape it. Only by hiding in the embrace of someone nearby can one feel warmth.
Song Xu didn’t say much, but Wen Bairan could sense from his few words that she was connecting deeper with him.
Bit by bit, then a little more.
Unlike typical serious, highly-educated families, despite such privileged upbringing and a mother like Lü Mingshu, Song Xu’s childhood was actually very fulfilling. So much so that the loneliness that followed felt easier to bear because his childhood had been joyful enough.
It was around middle school that the half of his genes inherited from his father seemed to kick in.
He was naturally gifted, and learning came effortlessly. In the late nights alone, he lost himself in books, and his rich inner world meant he never overly cared about external opinions or evaluations.
That confidence was certainly an inheritance, but it was also because his core was sufficiently rich that he didn’t seek external stimulation.
Lü Mingshu once regretted that he didn’t inherit her romantic streak, but in reality, this helped him greatly in adulthood.
His way with women was the best proof.
Wen Bairan asked him what he thought about his parents' separation.
Song Xu said he actually didn’t mind whether they divorced or stayed together. Even if they didn’t divorce, the times both were home were extremely rare. His life in a two-parent household was hardly different from that of a single-parent or even an orphan. It was better for them to separate this way; everyone was happier and more at ease.
But at the same time, he felt marriage was a weird thing.
It could tightly bind two people who clearly no longer loved each other.
Family, money, emotions.
Which of these tangible or intangible things creates the strongest bond with people?
Perhaps even those before us had no answer, which is why they lumped it all together, giving rise to the concept of marriage.
His view on marriage might be warped, but he always believed the best way to keep someone was to marry them.
Wen Bairan’s heart skipped a beat. She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him softly. "You want to keep me?"
Song Xu: "Yes."
From the moment he realized he seemed to be in love with her, he had been thinking about it.
At first, his curiosity about love was greater than the thing itself. Later, he gradually focused his attention on her. When she left his sight, he would feel a very subtle sense of loss, as if he didn’t know where to look.
In the month she left the company, he often zoned out during meetings. Others might not have noticed, but Xiang Sun sighed at him several times, saying, "If you can’t handle it, just go find her now. What’s the point of sticking it out here?"
He would go find her, but not now.
Song Xu had a plan for when to do what.
He had to stick to the plan.
Xiang Sun said, "But like this, you clearly won’t accomplish anything."
He had underestimated Song Xu.
Not only did he accomplish it, he accomplished many things at once.
And then?
What to do next?
For the first time, Song Xu felt he couldn’t find a clear goal.
That feeling of aimlessness almost made him feel defeated.
It was a terrible experience.
He began to recall when exactly all of this started to go wrong and later realized it began with that night Wen Bairan stood him up.
He spent the entire night in the hotel watching the river.
The finality in her voice on the phone was as sharp as a knife.
He remembered saying something like how she couldn’t hurt him—no one could.
Then what was this now?
Why did he feel so agitated, even suffocated?
On a cold winter night, the wind at high altitudes felt as piercing as a bone-chilling wind.
But only this way could he distract himself from what he was truly experiencing.
Who was it that said the void of love only appears when it’s lost?
And that void consumes everything.
It was only then that he saw what love and affection truly meant.
He swore never to feel that pain a second time.
Wen Bairan had never heard him speak like this, nor had she ever known he possessed such a vulnerable side.
No, she actually did know.
People aren’t made of steel, nor are they lifeless objects.
Anything that lives can feel.
Song Xu’s cold exterior, ruthless actions—every gesture told everyone not to come close.
So she convinced herself that since he said so, she could take whatever she wanted without restraint.
While teaching him what it meant to feel as a human, she repeatedly twisted the knife in those very feelings. She knew he had fallen for her, yet she still said many hurtful things. His unease wasn’t mere unease—it was unfamiliar territory to him. When she was gentle with Zhou Lin, it never crossed her mind that Song Xu could get hurt too.
He appeared too strong, so she truly believed he was invulnerable.
Come to think of it, was she any less selfish?
Didn’t she also only care about herself?
Her heart ached and felt heavy, and she couldn’t help but want to hold him tight.
Even at this moment, Song Xu wasn’t the fragile one—she was.
“Song Xu.”
“Hold me, please.”
He tightened his arms, saying he was already holding her.
Wen Bairan shook her head, “Not like this.”
He looked down at her; the tip of her nose was slightly red, as if she was about to cry.
“What’s wrong?” Song Xu asked gently.
Wen Bairan said it was nothing, just that she felt pitiful.
He asked who she pitied.
After a pause, she said, “Me.”
Song Xu laughed, “Why are you pitiful?”
Because she was starting to feel guilty toward him, she recognized that familiar urge to indulge someone. Even though she knew Song Xu wouldn’t treat her the way Zhou Lin did, she still felt miserable.
The boomerang from her past had finally come back to hit her.
But what could she do? When she loved someone, she gave her all.
She climbed onto Song Xu, lay on his chest, sniffing, and said, “Song Xu, I’m going to start loving you.”
Song Xu froze, his large hand resting on her waist stiffening mid-air as if adjusting to her presence. After a moment, his hand moved up to stroke the back of her head, and his low voice let out a sigh that seemed to settle everything.
“Alright, I’m ready.”
//
After exploring Paris for a full month, Wen Bairan had worn every piece of clothing in her wardrobe except for that evening gown.
She complained there’d be no chance to wear it anymore since they were returning to China in two days.
Song Xu told her not to worry.
Hearing him say that, Wen Bairan immediately understood there was still an event. She asked him when and where.
These days, they had almost explored all of Paris and attended numerous upscale events. No matter where he was, Song Xu could always network and make friends as usual. She accompanied him, using it as listening practice, and her French came along quickly. Occasionally, she would pick up useful intel for P&t, make notes, and send it back to China.
Every time Qiao Yi received her emails, she would wonder whether Wen Bairan was on her honeymoon or on a business trip.
Wen Bairan had no choice—now that she held shares, she had to work hard.
Song Xu found her mischievous look amusing and said this was entirely a private gathering: the UCLA alumni reunion in Paris.
An alumni reunion—that meant she would meet many of his former classmates. She wondered if Xiang Sun would come.
But if it was just an alumni reunion, wouldn’t wearing an evening gown be a bit too formal?
Song Xu said everyone would dress very formally—it was the custom.
Wen Bairan didn’t doubt him.
The alumni reunion was held the night before they left Paris.
It wasn’t until Wen Bairan arrived at the venue and saw their school photos on the signature board at the entrance that she suddenly realized: since it was an alumni reunion, would she meet Zhu Qiwei?
Perhaps due to the power of the term “first love,” she recalled Xiang Sun saying how deeply in love and perfectly matched they’d been on campus, how famous they were as a couple. Subconsciously, she held herself apart from others.
As Song Xu had said, today’s alumni reunion was more like a dance.
The room was filled with elegantly dressed guests and the clink of glasses.
Every romantic notion of a ball came to life here.
Song Xu was very popular, with people constantly coming to chat with him. Upon seeing the female companion by his side, they all unfailingly showed the same knowing look, as if searching for traces of someone else in her features.
Wen Bairan knew these people must have witnessed Song Xu and Zhu Qiwei’s love from their school days. She actually wanted to meet Zhu Qiwei too, but it seemed she hadn’t come today.
Someone said she was away on vacation with her husband.
That reason sounded more like an excuse in such a setting.
She simply didn’t come because she didn’t want to see her ex's new partner.
Wen Bairan was acutely aware of her own biased thoughts and stepped out for some air, leaving the venue.
She didn’t go far, lingering by the signature board at the entrance.
After searching for a long time, she finally spotted a barely visible silhouette at the edge of Song Xu’s class photo.
Though she couldn’t make out any useful details, she knew immediately that shadow was Zhu Qiwei.
The date in the lower right corner of the photo read August 21, 2012.
A year before they broke up.
Waiting nearby while her boyfriend took a group photo, Zhu Qiwei’s sweetness and melancholy at the time were as evident as the smudges on the photo.
Wen Bairan stared hard at that corner of the photo, trying to discern something, but she could see nothing.
The light was dim and the place was crowded. Music floated out from inside the venue, and the sounds of conversation and laughter seemed to come from another world.
Suddenly, she snapped out of it and asked herself what she was really doing.
Was she here to accompany Song Xu to the alumni reunion or to pick a fight with his ex-girlfriend?
She hadn’t even shown up—what was she being so sensitive about?
Wen Bairan cursed herself under her breath for being tacky.
She walked to a quiet spot, her bare shoulders hunched up.
A wall light glowed in the corner of the garden, illuminating the figure beneath it, who looked as beautiful as a fairy. The mysterious and noble deep purple hue accentuated the snow-white tone of her skin, while silver beading shimmered subtly in the night. The moonlight was serene, adding a touch of loneliness.
This dress was one of Lv Mingshu’s proudest creations, pretty much made for Wen Bairan, and she adored it. Before leaving, she had even sent a WeChat message to thank Lv Mingshu for her skillful work, which delighted Lv Mingshu so much that she video-called to rave about it.
Lv Mingshu and Song Xu were complete opposites—one could charm people effortlessly with words alone, while the other also used his mouth, but not to speak. Instead, he kissed Wen Bairan until her makeup was nearly ruined before letting her go.
Song Xu had said, "What should I do? I don’t want to let you out like this."
Wen Bairan had felt quite happy at the time, so why did she now feel so listless?
Latecomers who hadn’t seen her arrive with Song Xu approached to strike up a conversation. "Are you an alumna too? I haven’t seen you before. Would you mind sharing your contact information?"
Wen Bairan didn’t want to be disturbed and was about to say she wasn’t an alumna when another man’s voice answered for her.
"Sorry, my wife’s phone is here."