The young girl hugged her grandmother tightly, her arms encircling the old woman’s back, her face buried deep in her shoulder, full of affection.
“Grandma, Grandma, it’s me, Youyou, I’m your granddaughter, Youyou…”
She called out again and again, her voice soft, trembling, and filled with emotion.
Moisture gathered in Grandma’s eyes, more and more, until it formed a single teardrop as large as a bean, slipping out of her eye and falling onto Song Tingyou’s clothes, leaving a round, damp mark.
The girl holding her so tightly—her body was warm, she could cry, and she called her Grandma with such life—was nothing like the little granddaughter (a pillow) she had been clutching.
Grandma’s hands, which had been hanging limp at her sides, slowly rose as Song Tingyou called out again and again, finally resting on Song Tingyou’s back.
The sensation under her palms was gentle, resilient—completely different from the cold, limp feel of the pillow.
This was the unique touch of human tissue and skin.
So vivid, so alive.
Grandma’s heart gave a heavy lurch, and she held Song Tingyou tightly.
She closed her eyes, and two streams of hot tears slid down her cheeks as she whispered, “Youyou.”
Everyone in the room was deeply moved, overjoyed.
Song Tingye sniffled hard, “Ahhh, this is so touching, my eyes are peeing tears.”
He grabbed a tissue and pressed it to his face, “The cat pee I’m crying has soaked this tissue through.”
Song Tingye turned to Qin Yuhe. Even though Qin Yuhe wasn’t a doctor, instinct told Song Tingye that he could solve anything. His first reaction was to ask him.
“Brother-in-law, Grandma’s accepted Youyou. Is her illness cured?”
Qin Yuhe said, “I’ll call the psychiatrist over.”
The psychiatrist had taken the day off today. After treating Grandma, he had gone back to enjoy a romantic day with his wife.
Even though they already had three sons—the youngest ten years old—he still set aside one day each month to go on a date with her.
Today, they were spending it in a five-star hotel suite.
In the room, his beloved wife walked from the bathroom to the queen-sized bed in a newly bought, sheer-as-gossamer nightgown, her voluptuous, mature figure barely concealed.
Fresh out of the shower, she shot her husband a flirtatious look.
The psychiatrist grabbed his pants by the waistband and yanked them off in one motion.
He rolled on top of his wife, his body poised and ready to get down to business—when his phone rang.
Qin Yuhe’s voice came through: “Come back to the sanatorium now.”
The psychiatrist: “…”
He grabbed his just-removed pants and yanked them back on.
Talk about bad timing—he’d already gotten his pants off. What a mess!
At top speed, the psychiatrist arrived at the sanatorium.
Now, in his white coat and glasses, he was once again the picture of professionalism.
He conducted a thorough examination of Grandma and gave a comprehensive assessment of her condition.
“President Qin, Mrs. Qin, congratulations—Grandma’s illness is more than halfway healed.”
Song Tingye looked puzzled, “Only more than halfway? But Grandma has already accepted Youyou. Hasn’t she fully recovered?”
The psychiatrist explained, “One key feature of mental illnesses is that they tend to relapse. Grandma is lucid right now, but she could slip back into her imaginary world in the blink of an eye.”
Song Tingye asked, “So what do we do?”
The psychiatrist replied, “She still needs to stay hospitalized for observation and continued treatment.”
Song Tingye sighed, “I thought we could take Grandma home today.”
Song Xinya chimed in, “Listen to the doctor. Keep her here for observation and treatment a little longer.”
The psychiatrist adjusted Grandma’s treatment plan and tweaked her medication dosage.
Then, rubbing his hands nervously, he stood by Qin Yuhe and asked, “President Qin, may I go now?”
Qin Yuhe said, “You seem in a hurry. Something important to do?”
The psychiatrist answered, “Yes.”
Qin Yuhe gave him a look.
The psychiatrist quickly fabricated a reason in his head—his great-uncle on his mother’s side had died, and he needed to attend the funeral.
Such a tragic and legitimate excuse—President Qin couldn’t possibly refuse him, right?
The psychiatrist braced himself, waiting for Qin Yuhe to ask what the important matter was.
But Qin Yuhe simply waved his hand, letting him go.
President Qin had zero interest in what he was about to do.
The four, including Qin Yuhe and Song Xinya, stayed with Grandma until dark, finally heading home.
The car arrived at Zijing Mansion.
After Qin Yuhe got out, Song Xinya exited from the other side and ran around the front of the car like a little firecracker, stirring up a wave of heat.
Qin Yuhe reached out to steady her in her high heels, afraid she might trip.
Just as Song Xinya reached him, worried about bumping into his wounded abdomen, she braked herself by planting her hands on the car.
Qin Yuhe found it amusing, “Why are you running so fast?”
Song Xinya answered, “I want to check the wound on your stomach.”
Qin Yuhe raised an eyebrow, “Here?”
Song Xinya said, “I wanted to check it in the car earlier.”
Qin Yuhe’s tone turned lazy and suggestive, “You didn’t ask. If you had, I’d gladly let you look at my waist.”
Song Xinya pointed at his abdomen, “Is it okay?”
As her finger moved downward, from Qin Yuhe’s angle, it seemed to point toward his crotch.
Qin Yuhe grinned, “Just fine, still full of vigor, ready to give you happiness every night.”
Song Xinya scolded him playfully, “I meant your stomach.”
Qin Yuhe shot back without missing a beat, “So did I.”
He leaned into it.
It’s not his fault—he’s just messed up like that.
Song Xinya was still a bit uneasy. Qin Yuhe hated showing weakness; once, when his palms were burned raw and flesh scraped with steel wool, she asked if it hurt, and he said no.
Now, he wore a white shirt tucked into black dress pants, with his black suit jacket open.
Her slender fingers hooked his belt buckle and deftly undid it.
Qin Yuhe remarked, “Undoing my pants in the middle of the street? That’s a bit inappropriate, don’t you think?”
Song Xinya retorted, “…I’m not undoing your pants.”
With a click, his belt buckle came undone.
Okay, so maybe she was.
Song Xinya insisted, “I’m just checking your wound.”
Qin Yuhe laughed, “Even if you weren’t checking my wound and wanted to undress me for something else, I’d be happy to.”
Song Xinya pinched his waist hard.
A pained grunt escaped his chest.
She pulled the hem of his white shirt out of his pants and lifted it up, her eyes tracing down his waistline.
From this angle, it looked like she was peering into his pants, checking out a certain something.
Song Tingye and Song Tingyou came over and saw the scene, jumping to a completely wrong conclusion.
The two kids froze for a moment.
Song Tingye shouted, “Whoa! Sis, what are you doing?!”
Song Tingyou flushed bright red and quickly turned away.
Song Xinya straightened up unhurriedly, looked at Song Tingye, and asked, “What do you think I’m doing?”
Song Tingye stammered, “Looking for the bird.”
