Beautiful Wife: The Cold Boss is My Husband - Chapter 2

“What happened? How did you drown?” Yan Chengming’s vision was blurred, his face full of confusion, the scent of grass filling his nostrils.

Zhuo Xiao closed his eyes for a moment, gritted his teeth, and threw the umbrella aside before Yan Chengming could look up, letting the rain pour down on him as well.

Meeting Yan Chengming’s gaze, his body shivered from the cold, his expression sincere and his tone soft: “Honey, it’s raining. I was in such a hurry to pick you up that I forgot the umbrella. I tried to steady you just now, but I wasn’t strong enough. Don’t be mad at me, okay? I didn’t mean to.”

Two drenched figures stared at each other. Yan Chengming pointed at the black umbrella lying behind Zhuo Xiao: “Isn’t that—”

Zhuo Xiao pushed his hand back down, blocking his view. “That’s someone else’s. Taking it without asking is stealing. We can’t just use it.”

“Oh, oh. You’re so principled, sweetheart. No wonder you’re such a top student.” Yan Chengming nodded, vaguely sensing something was off, but his alcohol-soaked brain couldn’t quite figure it out.

Zhuo Xiao exhaled in relief. He knew when Yan Chengming was drunk, he was practically an idiot.

Shooting a sympathetic glance at Yan Chengming, Zhuo Xiao dragged him toward the villa. “Honey, let’s hurry back before you catch a cold.”

After finally hauling Yan Chengming home, Zhuo Xiao stripped him on the carpet, tossed the dirty clothes into the dry-cleaning pile, wiped him down with a warm towel, and changed him into fresh pajamas before tending to himself.

When he stepped out of the shower, drying his hair, he checked the time—3:30 a.m.

Yan Chengming was snoring loudly in bed, his face an unnatural shade of red. Frowning, Zhuo Xiao touched his cheek, suspecting a fever, and rummaged through the cabinets for a thermometer, tucking it under Yan Chengming’s armpit.

Five minutes later, seeing the reading of 36.7°C, Zhuo Xiao relaxed. Yan Chengming was just flushed from drinking.

He went to the kitchen to make honey water. While fetching the honey, he noticed the fridge packed with dishes wrapped in cling film. His lips pressed into a thin line.

He’d cooked them for dinner earlier, waiting for Yan Chengming who never answered his calls, never came home, completely silent until a message arrived at 1 a.m., saying he was too drunk and needed a ride.

Maybe it was the exhaustion from the late-night ordeal, but as soon as he had a moment to himself, both his emotions and body felt utterly drained. Staring at Yan Chengming, dead to the world, Zhuo Xiao’s mood was complicated.

With a cold expression, he climbed onto the bed and patted Yan Chengming’s face—no reaction.

Hmph. He stood up, bare foot pressing down on Yan Chengming’s chest, the firm muscle beneath his sole. Glaring down, he demanded, “Why did you go drinking again? Didn’t you promise not to? Liar.”

Something heavy pressed against Yan Chengming’s chest. His eyelids fluttered open slightly, and in his blurred vision, Zhuo Xiao looked down at him with an expression he’d never seen before angry, icy. He froze.

The foot on his chest jerked back as if startled. Yan Chengming’s throat moved, and he grabbed it, pressing his face against it.

The slender ankle and smooth skin rubbed against his burning cheek. Zhuo Xiao’s leg trembled, his eyes flickering with panic.

Yan Chengming was sure he must be dreaming. Otherwise, how could his usually docile, obedient wife be staring down at him like some kind of dominatrix?

But such a wife had his own unique charm. Yan Chengming nuzzled his face against that foot a couple more times, mumbling, “Wife, I knew you’d come pick me up.”

“You…” His words were like a heat source melting ice and snow, instantly softening Zhuo Xiao’s heart. He stepped on Yan Chengming’s chest muscles a couple more times, murmuring, “Silly dog, you don’t even realize you’ve been tricked.”

“Hmph, you forgot all about me. What’s wrong with me playing a little trick on you?” With that, he twisted his foot and pulled it free from Yan Chengming’s grasp. Just as the other man, eyes hazy, reached out to find it again, Zhuo Xiao sat down on his abdomen.

Leaning forward, pressing down, Zhuo Xiao cupped Yan Chengming’s face, their foreheads touching. He kissed Yan Chengming’s eyelids and said in an extremely gentle voice, “Husband, look at me.”

Yan Chengming lifted his eyelids, gazing into Zhuo Xiao’s eyes. The other’s gaze was like spring water, brimming with ambiguity. He swallowed hard. “What’s wrong?”

Zhuo Xiao lowered his eyes, biting his lip, his face pale from the cold. He pouted pitifully, “Earlier in the parking lot, you didn’t recognize me, and I hurt my waist.”

“Ah.” Yan Chengming struggled to think for two seconds before sitting up. “Yeah, I think that happened.”

“See if it’s bruised.” Zhuo Xiao, looking utterly pitiful, lifted his pajama top slightly, revealing a sliver of fair skin at his waist.

“Let me see, let me see.” Yan Chengming was mesmerized by that glimpse of waist, barely aware of what he was saying, just responding to Zhuo Xiao’s words.

He knelt on the bed, lowering his head to get closer to that waist. As the distance closed, Zhuo Xiao’s clothes were pulled higher and higher.

“Where’s the bruise? Where did you hurt it?” The expanse of pale skin before him left Yan Chengming dazzled and utterly distracted.

Zhuo Xiao tilted his body slightly to the left, revealing a small patch of skin on his right waist—a faint bluish mark the size of a fingernail, barely noticeable unless one looked closely.

Zhuo Xiao’s voice came from above Yan Chengming’s head, “Husband, does it look bad? It really hurts.”

Yan Chengming stared at the faint mark with utmost seriousness and nodded, his expression grave. “It does look serious. Let me blow on it for you.”

“Mhm.” Zhuo Xiao responded weakly.

Yan Chengming lowered his head even further, so close he was almost touching. He exhaled slowly, a warm breath laced with the scent of alcohol.

The touch of that warm air made Zhuo Xiao shiver. He had always been sensitive, and his eyes grew moist involuntarily. “Husband…”

The sound of his voice sent Yan Chengming’s soul soaring. He swallowed hard and leaned in even closer. Just as his lips were about to touch that enticing skin, a force pushed his head away.

Zhuo Xiao seemed to be doing it on purpose, his expression innocent as he crawled to the edge of the bed to grab the honey water on the nightstand. “Husband, I’m sorry. I forgot you’re feeling awful from drinking. Have some honey water to sober up.”

Yan Chengming’s temples throbbed. He was feeling awful but not from the alcohol. Glancing downward, he grabbed Zhuo Xiao’s calf and yanked him back. “We’ll drink that later. There’s something more important right now.”

Zhuo Xiao was dragged forcefully by his leg, unable to keep hold of the honey water. Quick as lightning, before the cup could slip from his hand, he spilled the water all over himself.

Crash. The glass shattered into pieces on the floor, like sparkling crystals under an ambiguous glow left unattended.

“Husband, I’m all wet now,” Zhuo Xiao bit his lip, complaining pitifully.

His pajamas were white, made of thin, soft fabric that clung to his chest when soaked by water, revealing its contours.

Yan Chengming’s breathing grew heavier as he looked. His large hand eagerly slid onto Zhuo Xiao’s abdomen, giving it a couple of teasing strokes in retaliation for earlier, before he leaned down and pressed his lips against the damp, prominent area, murmuring indistinctly, “This way works too.”

As dawn broke, the sound of running water echoed in the bathroom again.

Zhuo Xiao paused while cleaning himself, initially intending to go deeper but withdrawing instead. His expression remained calm as he washed the outer parts of his body.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, he felt inexplicably dizzy for some reason. Sniffling, he climbed into bed, pulled the covers over himself, and nestled into Yan Chengming’s embrace—warm as a furnace.

Even in the depths of satisfied sleep, Yan Chengming instinctively tightened his arms, enveloping Zhuo Xiao’s entire body.

When Yan Chengming opened his eyes again, he was assaulted by a throbbing headache and the dull ache of a wound on his forehead. He blinked in confusion before abruptly sitting up, wincing as he scrambled to find a mirror.

“Don’t tell me I messed up my face… Tsk, how did this even happen?” Pressing one hand to his temple and the other against the uneven scar beneath the roots of his hair at the back of his head, he muttered to himself as he walked into the bathroom.

In the mirror’s reflection, the man’s face was slightly swollen from a hangover, but his sharp features and strong bone structure ensured his handsomeness remained unaffected. A neatly wrapped bandage covered his temple, clearly tended to with care.

Two years ago, after a racing accident, Yan Chengming had escaped with no lasting side effects except for one: whenever he drank, it was as if he’d been drugged, leaving him with no memory of what happened.

Since he couldn’t recall, he decided not to dwell on it for now. He’d just ask Zhuo Xiao later.

Yan Chengming rubbed his face, the tension in his chest easing. Then he stripped off his pajamas, baring his toned upper body, and stepped into the shower.

Drying his hair as he emerged from the bathroom, Yan Chengming felt much more refreshed. He paused briefly at the bedroom door before walking away. Usually, Zhuo Xiao was the early riser, but today, the roles were reversed.

Since it wasn’t time for Zhuo Xiao to wake yet, Yan Chengming settled on the sofa and opened his phone to check yesterday’s messages.

WeChat was quieter than expected. None of the friends he’d been drinking with had sent him anything, except for Wang Lang, who had left a string of red notifications: How are you? Feeling better? How much do you remember from last night?

Yan Chengming replied with a question mark: Was there anything special about last night?

All he remembered was answering a call, followed by the group relentlessly pushing drinks on him. Later, Zhuo Xiao had arrived to take him home, and it seemed like it had been pouring rain.

The details were hazy, but the first half of the night had been rough. As for the latter half… all he could recall was the feel of Zhuo Xiao and the sound of his gasping moans in his ear.

Wang Lang sighed in relief and replied: Nothing much.

After sending that, Wang Lang couldn’t resist calling. “But, bro, about that Hao Tianlei last night…”

Listening intently to Wang Lang’s account, Yan Chengming’s expression darkened. After a long pause, he let out a cold laugh. “I heard he’s going to that auction in a few days?”

Wang Lang hesitated. “Yeah…”

“Alright, let’s leave it at that for now.” Yan Chengming gave a faint hum before hanging up.

Then, he scrolled further down his messages. When he reached a contact labeled Eldest Brother, whose profile picture was an image of the deep sea, he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

There was no response at all. Yan Chengming, already in a foul mood, grew even more irritated. He deleted the message box and blocked the sender, then opened his social media feed, ready to critique other people’s lives. After all, avoiding internal turmoil starts with externalizing it onto others.

Among his feed was a post from a director, someone Yan Chengming had dined with once due to Wang Lang’s connections, though they weren’t particularly close. The director had shared a trailer for his new project, supposedly a highlight reel from his upcoming film.

Yan Chengming was about to scroll past when, in a split second, the person on the cover struck him as oddly familiar.

He tapped on the video. The actor was a boy who looked about eighteen or nineteen, with curly hair and round, innocent eyes.

Yan Chengming stared intently for a moment before it suddenly clicked. This was Lin Xiao, who had pursued him back in school. Yan Chengming had found him too juvenile-looking and being a man of principles and standards had decisively rejected him after just two meals together.

As he pondered, the video continued playing. Lin Xiao’s character seemed to be a delicate, helpless ingénue, now red-eyed and apologizing humbly to someone. Yet, something about his tone sent a strange, unsettling wave of familiarity through Yan Chengming.

“Sir, I really didn’t mean to spill water on you. I was just in too much of a hurry. Please don’t be angry, okay?”

“Sir, you’re hurting me…”

Yan Chengming: “…”

His eyelid twitched. He slapped his thigh hard, suddenly recalling Zhuo Xiao’s usual way of speaking. That same exaggerated, affected manner, identical to Lin Xiao’s supposedly natural performance.

At the same time, fragments of memory, previously drowned in last night’s alcohol, began resurfacing.

The force that had slammed his forehead against the hard car door had unmistakably come from the direction where Zhuo Xiao had been standing.

Yan Chengming’s face darkened instantly, and he shot to his feet.