Volume One, Chapter 35: Unprotected Softness...

Su Yu’s voice was cold as ice, laced with a cruel calmness that cut through the receiver with chilling clarity.

“You must have enjoyed lying to me, didn’t you? Lu Jingyan’s girlfriend? Ha… I just found out his real fiancée is Fu Yuting. You’re nothing but an impostor!”

Without waiting for any reaction—be it shock, fear, or defense—Su Yu slammed the call to an end.

She pictured the panic that would seize Xu Qian at this moment, and a twisted sense of satisfaction finally smothered some of her rage.

The venomous fire of jealousy roared anew.

Wasn’t Fu Yuting the one who stole Bo Xingzhou?

Then who was it?

Who could be so formidable as to silently seize his heart?

Who took the name Bo Xingzhou away?

She had to know.

The darkness outside pressed thick and impenetrable as ink.

Standing in the chaos around her, Su Yu’s eyes slowly lost their wildness, hardening into a resolve as cold as frost. Settling accounts with Xu Qian was only the beginning—Fu Yuting was a thorn lodged in her throat.

But the mysterious woman lurking behind Bo Xingzhou… That was the prey she most yearned to tear apart.

“Mom, help me find out who Bo Xingzhou’s girlfriend is now,” Su Yu said through clenched teeth, spitting out the word “girlfriend” with particular force.

—

Time slipped by quietly in the hospital room.

Fu Yuting had curled up on the wide sofa and fallen asleep without realizing it, her head tipped to the side, a few strands of hair trailing across her cheek, her breathing shallow and even.

The day’s shocks and the night’s reckonings had drained her completely; now, in sleep, all the sharpness had faded from her expression, revealing a rare, defenseless softness.

All was silent.

Only the steady beeping of the heart monitor ticked away, a hypnotic lull.

Suddenly, a muffled groan of pain, suppressed and raw, broke the calm—accompanied by the rasp of fabric and the faint creak of a bed frame, like a stone dropped into a still pool, shattering the quiet.

Fu Yuting woke with a start.

In the dim light, Bo Xingzhou’s tall figure was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, his back to her.

His head was bowed, his spine taut as a bowstring, his uninjured right hand gripping the bedrail so hard his knuckles had turned white.

Every slight movement made him tremble uncontrollably, and beads of cold sweat glistened on his temple in the light.

He was trying to get out of bed by himself.

“What are you doing?!”

Fu Yuting’s voice was hoarse with sleep and unconcealed fury as she leapt up from the sofa and rushed to his side in a few strides.

She grabbed his shoulder, steadying him as he swayed from the pain, feeling the fierce tremor and burning heat beneath his taut muscles. “You can’t put pressure on your wound! Are you out of your mind?! Why didn’t you call me?!”

Her sudden movements and barrage of questions made Bo Xingzhou freeze.

His brows were knitted in pain, and behind the lingering ache in his eyes, there was a flash of embarrassment at being caught, mingled with a reluctant pleasure at her concern.

“It’s nothing.” His voice was deeply hoarse, rough from sleep and pain, his words clipped and almost brusque: “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Couldn’t you call me if you needed the bathroom?” Fu Yuting’s worry flared into anger as she caught sight of the bandage on his hand, now stained a deeper red from his efforts. “Did the doctor’s words mean nothing to you? Do you want to lose that hand?”

Bo Xingzhou’s brows furrowed tighter at her scolding, but he did not argue. He pressed his lips together and let her, with irresistible firmness, carefully help him up from the bed.

Even the few steps to the bathroom were slow and heavy.

Bo Xingzhou’s body was strung tight; every step tugged at his wounded left hand, sending sharp pains through him, his breath coming hard and fast, sweat streaming down his temple.

Fu Yuting could feel his rigidity and the tremors he fought to suppress. She held her breath, moving as if she were carrying a priceless yet fragile piece of porcelain.

At last, they reached the bathroom door.

Without thinking, she tried to follow him inside, her arm still wrapped firmly around his waist, ready to guide him to the toilet as she had just done.

But just as she stepped over the threshold—

Bang!

A clear, unmistakable sound as the door closed right in her face.

Fu Yuting stood stunned on the spot.

“Why did you close the door?!” she blurted, half-panicked, half-annoyed, knocking on the door with a confusion and a faint tinge of hurt in her voice. “I’m trying to help you! You only have one good hand—what if you fall?!”

Silence inside.

A few moments passed before Bo Xingzhou’s voice emerged, strained by pain and another, stronger emotion, squeezed out between clenched teeth—low, hoarse, and tinged with an exasperation she had never heard from him before:

“Fu Yuting.”

Those three syllables, hammered out by embarrassment and frustration, struck the door with a dull echo. Every sound brimmed with barely contained irritation and the despair of “why can’t you understand?”

“My hand is injured, I’m not disabled.”

Outside, Fu Yuting said nothing.

Her raised hand froze in midair.

The urgency and self-righteousness that had driven her vanished in an instant, leaving only cold, awkward embarrassment in their wake.

Only now did she fully realize what she’d been about to do—

She’d actually tried to follow him into the bathroom… to “help” Bo Xingzhou use the toilet?!

To… to… handle… that?

Oh god, what had possessed her?

The mortification was so intense that she wished she could disappear on the spot.

Time crawled by painfully in the suffocating awkwardness.

It may have been only a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

Click.

The bathroom lock turned softly.

The door opened a crack from inside.

Bo Xingzhou stood behind it.

He lifted his gaze to the hallway.

Fu Yuting was still stiff against the wall, her cheeks flushed a startling red that crept down her slender neck, her eyes darting away, unable to meet his.

Where was the composed, collected Secretary Fu now?

She looked for all the world like a little girl caught in a mortifying misdeed, ready to die of shame.

Bo Xingzhou’s eyes lingered on her scarlet cheeks and averted gaze for a few seconds.

His tightly pressed lips seemed to relax, almost imperceptibly, as the last traces of embarrassment and frustration in his eyes faded, replaced by a strange, helpless amusement.

“Help me back.”

It was as if she’d been pardoned; Fu Yuting’s head shot up, her eyes still wild with embarrassment, but her movements swift and efficient.

Even after they’d returned to the companion’s sofa, her heart wouldn’t calm, pounding with an inexplicable agitation.

She thought of the way he had risked everything to save her, and of his cold, unfeeling gaze when they first met.

Bo Xingzhou—

What kind of man are you, really?