Grandma no longer resisted the seventeen-year-old girl in front of her calling herself Youyou.
She had developed curiosity and a desire to explore this girl.
“Are you really Youyou?”
Song Tingyou said, “Yes, Grandma, I’m Youyou.”
Grandma said, “My Youyou was a little child, but you’ve grown so big.”
Qin Yuhe interjected appropriately, “Grandma, you said it yourself—she’s grown up. Fourteen years have passed, so she’s different from when she was little.”
“Grandma, think about it: if you plant a small sapling in the ground, after fourteen years, doesn’t it turn into a towering tree?”
Grandma said, “That’s true.”
Qin Yuhe said, “Your little child Youyou—after fourteen years, shouldn’t she have grown into a young woman?”
Grandma said, “That makes sense.”
Qin Yuhe pointed at Song Tingyou and said, “She is your Youyou, the grown-up Youyou.”
Grandma let out a long, “Oh——”
And so, Song Tingyou successfully stayed by Grandma’s side in her identity as Youyou.
Qin Yuhe stood up, walked out of the hospital room, and left the spotlight for Song Tingyou.
Inside the room, Song Tingyou chatted warmly with Grandma.
She told Grandma about her experiences over the years, sharing only the joyful and fun things, leaving out all the hardships. She talked about her academic performance, which subjects she excelled in, and which ones needed more effort.
Song Xinya looked toward the doorway. On the corridor, the molten-gold light fell on Qin Yuhe. He wore a well-tailored black suit, his figure tall and upright, graceful and charming.
A warm breeze blew, gently stirring his thick, dark hair, which shimmered with bright light.
Song Xinya stood up, walked out of the room, and stood beside him. She reached out and stuffed a piece of apple into his mouth.
“Here’s the last bite—I’m giving it to you.”
Qin Yuhe said, “Giving me the leftover apple you couldn’t finish—what a thoughtful wife. Thank you.”
Song Xinya replied, “…You’re welcome. Next time I have leftovers, I’ll give them to you too.”
Qin Yuhe glanced at her from the corner of his eye, gave a faint smile, and said nothing.
Song Xinya turned her head to look at him. Qin Yuhe stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, his calm eyes fixed on empty space, his expression indifferent, lost in thought.
She thought for a moment and felt she needed to explain herself to him: “Han Jingyi is six years older than me. The Han family and the Song family have been close for generations. When I was little, he often came to the Song house to find me. He’d take me to the supermarket, to eat snacks, to the amusement park, to play claw machines, to buy clothes…”
Qin Yuhe cut in, “Sounds like the two of you did a lot of things together.”
“…,” Song Xinya said, “Let me finish, okay?”
Qin Yuhe replied, “Go ahead.”
At that time, Song Xinya’s situation in the Song family was dire. Her biological father, Song Xuanli, treated her like air. Her stepmother, Li Cuirou, made things difficult for her. Her stepsister, Zhang Yingying, mocked her. Life was bleak and hard.
Han Jingyi was like a beam of light, illuminating her cold and helpless existence.
Back then, everyone around her mocked Song Xinya for being overweight, openly insulting and secretly cursing her, calling her ugly, nicknaming her “Piggy Hero.”
Only Han Jingyi told her, “Song Xinya, you are beautiful—whether you’re thin or fat. No matter how heavy you are, you are beautiful.”
“‘Fat’ and ‘thin’ have never been standards for measuring a person’s beauty. If someone calls you ugly just because you’re fat, it doesn’t mean you’re ugly—it only proves their heart is ugly.”
While others called her fat, he called her beautiful.
Time and again, he told her, “Song Xinya, be a person with a strong heart. Don’t let others’ words make you unhappy. Being thin might look nice, but I’d rather you be happy every day, eat well, sleep well, and not worry about your body or looks. No matter how many people I meet, Little Sister Xinxin will always be the most beautiful person in Brother Jingyi’s heart.”
Because of Han Jingyi’s presence, Song Xinya had support both emotionally and materially.
Later, Han Jingyi had to go abroad for his doctorate. Before leaving, he left Song Xinya a sum of money.
A timely assistance, nothing less.
Song Xinya couldn’t help but be grateful for such kindness.
Of course, Song Xinya wouldn’t tell Qin Yuhe all the specifics and details.
Something like this—explaining a past relationship to a boyfriend—was asking for trouble, with more harm than good.
A man, first and foremost, is a man, and only then your boyfriend or husband.
Men, as a species, are born with possessiveness.
Babbling on about stories with another man was purely:
An eagle burping after a meal—it’s just too full.
Asking for trouble.
Song Xinya summed up her relationship with Han Jingyi in one brief sentence: “In my heart, Han Jingyi is like a brother to me.”
Qin Yuhe turned his head to look at her, his gaze deep and probing. “What kind of brother?”
Song Xinya said, “The sibling kind of brother.”
Qin Yuhe asked, “What about me?”
Song Xinya sidled up to him, her slender, graceful figure slipping between him and the wall. Her soft, bare arms wrapped around his waist, and her glistening eyes looked up at him as she said, “You’re my sweetheart.”
Qin Yuhe looked down at her, and his cold expression began to warm.
Song Xinya swayed in his arms, hugging his waist. “I’ve explained everything to you, so why do you still not look very happy?”
Qin Yuhe said, “If you want me to be happy, do something that makes me happy.”
Song Xinya stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the lips.
“Does that make you happy?”
Qin Yuhe said, “Do you see me smiling?”
Song Xinya said, “No.”
Qin Yuhe said, “Keep going.”
Song Xinya wrapped her arms around his waist again, stood on tiptoe, parted her lips, and took his lower lip into her mouth, sucking it hard.
After sucking, she released his lower lip, brushing her lips against his, gently pressing, nibbling, and rubbing—not fiercely, but in a tender, lingering way, full of affection.
She tasted the flavor of his lips, felt their soft perfection, breathed in his unique scent, and felt a flutter inside.
Given the limited circumstances—they were still in the corridor—Song Xinya felt shy about holding him and kissing him for too long.
She worried about being seen by others, and even more about being seen by her younger siblings.
She slowly pulled her lips away, her cheeks already flushed.
Song Xinya looked around the corridor like a thief, checking both sides.
Luckily, no one was there.
She nestled into his arms, letting out a long breath to calm her racing heart.
“Are you happy now?”
Qin Yuhe said, “You looked pretty happy doing that.”
Song Xinya’s face flushed even deeper.
“You say that like I’m taking advantage of you.”
Qin Yuhe said, “Aren’t you?”
Song Xinya thought, “…Yes.”
“Fine, I won’t cheer you up this way anymore. I knew you didn’t like kissing.”
She let go of his waist, puffed up in indignation, and turned to walk away.
Qin Yuhe reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her back. He cupped her face with both hands, pressing his lips to hers, his tongue exploring her mouth.
Their lips and tongues tangled and intertwined.
Soon, Song Xinya was panting, gasping for breath, letting out soft, weak whimpers.
They were still in the corridor—how could he be so bold?
At that moment, the corridor was empty and quiet, as if only the two of them existed.
In truth, at the far end of the dim corridor stood Han Jingyi in his white lab coat. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes were fixed—unblinking—on the man and woman kissing in the sunlight at the center of the hallway.
Qin Yuhe’s perception was razor-sharp. The moment he sensed someone lurking in the darkness at the end of the corridor, he guessed who it was.
And so, he kissed her even harder…
