Song Xinya pressed the power button, and the phone screen lit up with a bright glow.
She cheered, her face blooming with delight. “Qin Yuhe, you’re incredible!”
“I ran all over the city of Jingbei, and every repairman said it couldn’t be fixed. But you fixed it—in less than ten minutes!”
“Qin Yuhe, when Nuwa created the gods, did she scoop two extra spoonfuls of talent into you? Otherwise, how could you be this amazing?”
Qin Yuhe looked at the radiant smile on her face. “You’ve been miserable all this time just because of this?”
Song Xinya nodded. “Yes. I searched the entire city of Jingbei, and everyone told me it couldn’t be repaired. I was so upset.”
“Why didn’t you ask me first?”
“Who knew you could even repair phones, Mr. Big CEO?”
“When I was little, I was interested in fixing things. I took apart my dad’s phone to study it. He bought one, and I dismantled one.”
Song Xinya couldn’t hold back her laughter. “You really were the perfect son for your father.”
“And he was certainly the perfect dad for me.”
Song Xinya laughed so hard she doubled over.
Her finger slid across the screen, and she let out an “Oh,” followed by a long sigh.
Qin Yuhe guessed, “The phone has a passcode?”
“Yes. How am I supposed to get into it?”
She pursed her lips. “We solved one problem, and another one immediately popped up.”
“That counts as a problem?” Qin Yuhe chuckled as he reached for the phone in her hand.
His fingers tapped across the screen. Less than two minutes later, he handed the phone back to her. “The passcode’s cracked.”
Song Xinya was utterly dumbfounded. “How did you do that?”
“When I was little, my dad set a hundred different passwords to stop me from snooping through his phone. So I learned a hundred ways to crack phone passwords.”
When Qin Yuhe was a child, Qin Hanxiao’s daily routine had been: guard against fire, thieves, and his own son.
Qin Yuhe’s daily routine had been: steal his father’s phone, unlock his father’s phone, and take apart his father’s phone.
What a pair of father and son locked in an eternal battle.
The skills he had learned by tormenting his father as a child had unexpectedly come in handy after he grew up.
Song Xinya held Sheng Tianjun’s phone and opened the photo album.
A hundred videos appeared before her eyes.
She had a premonition that once she opened those videos, she would be exposed to a filthy, utterly depraved world filled with sin.
“Whose phone is that?” Qin Yuhe’s voice sounded beside her ear.
Song Xinya turned her head and saw his dark eyes fixed on her.
Whose phone could make her care so much?
Just like Qin Yuhe, who always insisted on shouldering every responsibility himself, Song Xinya wanted to handle the matter of treating his hands alone.
No one liked to suffer.
No one liked having hands covered in scars.
No one liked having their hands hurt from time to time.
Although Qin Yuhe never said anything and acted as if he didn’t care about the scars or the pain in his hands, Song Xinya understood. He was only pretending so that she wouldn’t feel guilty.
She had always known what a good man he was.
Song Xinya wasn’t someone who only knew how to take. She understood that true feelings could never be one-sided charity. A relationship in which one person only reached out to take would never make it to the end.
She knew how to give.
And she was willing to give for him.
When it came to treating Qin Yuhe’s hands, she wanted him to do nothing and take no part in it. She wanted him to remain safely under her protection and simply enjoy the victory she had fought through every obstacle to win for him.
Song Xinya didn’t want to lie to Qin Yuhe, but she didn’t want to tell him that it was Sheng Tianjun’s phone either. So she replied, “It belongs to someone else.”
Qin Yuhe naturally understood that this was a veiled refusal.
He didn’t ask again. Instead, he picked up the English book on the bedside table and opened it, holding a one-yuan coin between his fingers as his deep, shadowed gaze settled on the pages.
Song Xinya noticed the year stamped on the coin: 2000.
One year ago, on that hot, humid night—the room with the curtains drawn, the lights off, and her drunk beyond reason—
She hadn’t seen the man’s face clearly.
But the unforgettable sensations he had given her, the overwhelming pleasure that had made her tailbone tingle and sent every cell in her body floating blissfully into the clouds—she remembered them all with perfect clarity.
Seriously.
Why was her memory so good?
Even Song Xinya had to admire herself.
Qin Yuhe’s gaze moved from the book to her.
Once again, he saw that look in her eyes—the look of someone thinking about another man while looking at him.
Jealousy struck without warning, fierce and violent. It was as if an entire bucket of gasoline had been poured over Qin Yuhe’s heart. A spark flashed, and then—boom—the flames erupted, spreading like a wildfire. The blaze burned hot and savagely.
Qin Yuhe exhaled and set the book on the bedside table with a muffled thud.
He reached out and switched off the bedside lamp. Half the room sank into darkness.
“It’s late. Go to sleep.”
He pulled back the covers and lay down, sending a sharp gust of air across her face.
Song Xinya held the phone in her hand, the screen paused on the video page.
All she had to do was tap once to see what the hundred videos on Sheng Tianjun’s phone contained.
But she didn’t.
She knew that once she watched them, she would be shocked and consumed by the darkness and sin within.
There would be no hope of getting a good night’s sleep.
And it was already deep into the night. The world had been pressed into pause, and the hospital room was locked tight. She couldn’t find Sheng Changpu or Sheng Tianjun at this hour.
Knowing earlier would only disturb her sooner.
Song Xinya set the phone aside, planning to look through it tomorrow.
Tonight, she would conserve her energy and get some proper rest.
She lay flat beneath the covers.
The bedroom fell silent, save for the sound of two people breathing.
Qin Yuhe didn’t reach out to pull her into his arms.
They lay on opposite sides of the double bed, with what seemed like an entire galaxy between them.
Song Xinya sensed his mood.
She broke the silence. “Are you asleep?”
Qin Yuhe replied, “Don’t bother me. I’m on a date with the Duke of Zhou.”
“Your date is an old man. How does that feel?”
“Great.”
“If it feels that great, why did you bother marrying a wife? You should’ve just spent your whole life with that old man.”
The mattress shifted softly as Qin Yuhe turned over, presenting his back to her.
He was angry.
The Crown Prince Qin was being awfully petty tonight.
Song Xinya moved closer. Her chest pressed against his firm, powerful arm, and she blew gently into his ear with her rosy lips, her words filled with teasing seduction.
“Honey, I want you…”
Qin Yuhe said, “I’m not in the mood tonight. If you’re feeling especially desperate, you can take a cold shower like I’m going to.”
Song Xinya opened her mouth and caught his ear between her teeth. Her soft, wet tongue slid from the tip of his ear all the way to his earlobe.
“I don’t want a cold shower. I want my husband…”
Her voice was soft and seductive, as pliant as water. The coquettish lilt at the end of her words stretched out with irresistible allure, like a demoness from a strange tale who could steal a man’s soul.
Her slender jade fingers poked his abdomen.
“Are you really not going to?”
Qin Yuhe answered, “No.”
Song Xinya smiled seductively. Her fingers hooked beneath the waistband of his pajama pants and slipped inside, closing around him in one firm grip.
At once, the veins on Qin Yuhe’s body stood out—everywhere, the veins bulging…
