Does An Inferior Omega Also Have To Marry First, Then Fall In Love? - Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Ji Qingyu Opened His Mouth to Try…

Ji Qingyu opened his mouth, trying to offer an explanation.

Fu Han had already slammed the study door shut. Soon after, the secretary ran over three or four times, hurriedly delivering different documents to Fu Han.

Ji Qingyu completely lost the mood to write music that morning. Idly, he saw Wang Sao busy in the kitchen, so he walked over to greet her and lend a hand.

The Fu family kitchen was incredibly spacious, with lush greenery outside the windows, the green moving incessantly like a messenger of the wind.

Ji Qingyu rolled up his sleeves to help Wang Sao knead dough. He was skilled at this, as Lin Ying often made dumplings with him when he was little. Wang Sao repeatedly insisted he didn’t need to, only relenting due to Ji Qingyu’s persistence.

“I heard Madam likes kidney beans; I made them just for you,” Wang Sao told Ji Qingyu while rolling the dough.

Ji Qingyu was slightly taken aback, “I do like kidney beans.”

But he couldn’t remember telling anyone.

Wang Sao was a genuine person and thought the madam was unassuming and good-natured. Fearing he might feel uneasy newly arriving at the Fu residence, she quietly told Ji Qingyu: “Mr. Fu said so. He even told us about many of your habits.”

…Fu Han?

Ji Qingyu didn’t believe it, assuming Wang Sao was joking with him. He smiled and didn’t delve deeper.

“Actually, there’s a reason why the Master and Mr. Fu were so angry with each other today,” Wang Sao continued. “When Mr. Fu was little, his mother was still around, and the atmosphere at home was much better than now. The Master and Young Master weren’t nearly at the point of almost completely breaking ties.”

“But later, Mr. Fu’s mother left.” Wang Sao started the story but didn’t finish it. She seemed to realize it was inappropriate, mixed the dumpling filling, and fell silent.

Ji Qingyu, however, cautiously asked, “What do you mean by ‘left’?”

“He left without saying goodbye. He didn’t even take his phone or ID, just cash. We don’t know where he went,” Wang Sao said. “He was a very good Omega. He used to play cards with us servants and would dance in the living room after drinking. By the way, he was a national-level dancer. Madam, you might have heard his name; he was Luo Sheng, and he had many fans.”

Luo Sheng.

Ji Qingyu paused, surprised that the principal dancer of the National Theatre had retired at his peak to marry Fu Yunbo.

This incident had been kept a better secret than other news about the Fu family. Perhaps, besides a very few insiders, no one else knew the details.

Ji Qingyu rolled out the dumpling wrappers and wrapped them one by one.

Wang Sao hurriedly pushed him away, “That’s enough, Madam. You just got married; this isn’t the work you should be doing. You also had to endure the Master’s unjustified anger today. You should go rest.”

Ji Qingyu smiled warmly, “Let me finish wrapping them with you.”

The dumplings were served, but Fu Han’s meeting wasn’t over. The secretary simply stayed outside, waiting for Fu Han’s summons at any time.

Ji Qingyu invited him to eat with him.

The secretary looked distressed, with two large dark circles under his eyes, his face slightly red. He shyly scratched his head and repeatedly thanked Ji Qingyu.

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing. I didn’t do much. Please eat,” Ji Qingyu pushed the bowl toward him.

He wanted to send a bowl in for Fu Han, but he was afraid of disturbing him. That man was easily provoked, so he decided not to tempt fate.

While eating, the secretary chatted with Ji Qingyu: “Madam, are you comfortable using the piano and music equipment? Mr. Fu spent a long time choosing them. I went with him, and I thought they were meant as a gift, but he had them all sent home.”

“Ah?” Ji Qingyu was a bit confused, “Maybe it’s a coincidence. Perhaps he suddenly wanted to buy instruments after watching Ji Ran’s concert.”

“You don’t know, he also asked me to pack everything from his previous office and send it over. Before, he wouldn’t come home for ten days or half a month,” the secretary whispered. “I wish Mr. Fu would be as nice to us during work as he is to you.”

Ji Qingyu lowered his head, poking the dumplings in his bowl. He thought, if he treated you like that, would he give you a mark on your neck, too?

Many things were hard to truly articulate. Ji Qingyu didn’t take these half-sincere compliments seriously, nor was he interested in bringing up certain matters, so he simply kept silent.

Fu Han didn’t come out to eat until very late that day, right when Ji Qingyu was heading to bed. Fu Han looked unusually tired, the top two buttons of his suit shirt undone. He lowered his eyes to look at Ji Qingyu.

“Uh, you keep working. I’m going to sleep in the guest room,” Ji Qingyu said with a smile. He was wearing well-fitting cotton pajamas, his hair slightly towel-dried, radiating warm steam.

Fu Han, however, seemed very displeased. “As a wife, aren’t you going to fulfill your required duties?”

“What, what duties?” Ji Qingyu’s throat tightened. He cursed Fu Han’s authoritarian nature inwardly but maintained an appearance of compliance, carefully watching Fu Han’s expression.

Fu Han laughed mockingly. He reached for a cigarette, then resisted and put it down. He leaned in close, his voice husky and slow, as if mixed with addictive opium, “What do you think? To warm your husband’s bed, of course.”

What is he saying…

Ji Qingyu blushed. His skin was sensitive, burning red over his entire face. Fu Han always delivered suggestive remarks effortlessly.

He hesitated for a long time but still went to the master bedroom. He expected to be very anxious, but he fell asleep the moment he lay down. The bedding must have been a very expensive set; the soft mattress enveloped him. He felt like he was floating on a cloud.

After an unknown period, a burning body wrapped around him. He vaguely opened his eyes and saw Fu Han’s bright gaze. Fu Han somewhat forcefully used his hand to block Ji Qingyu’s vision, then bit Ji Qingyu’s lips.

Ji Qingyu froze, passively accepting the kiss. Fu Han’s hot breath hit his face, making him dizzy. The scent of plum was like the rainy season in Jiangnan. Ji Qingyu had never been to Jiangnan, but whenever he thought of it, he would think of Fu Han.

Such a cold person, yet he possessed an incongruously gentle and slightly sour pheromone.

His own neck could only emit a pitiful hint of rain, unable to soothe Fu Han or convey his emotions. This subtle scent of rain was quickly overwhelmed by the dense plum aroma.

The entire room was filled with the scent of plum and didn’t dissipate until the next morning.

Ji Qingyu slept very soundly, his lip cracked. When he woke up, it was raining outside. Fu Han was gone again.

He sat on the bed in a daze for a while before slowly getting up. The rainy day brought wet, stifling heat. Green hues painted the entire window. A thin layer of sweat clung to his body. The air conditioning was running lightly but was still ineffective.

Ji Qingyu wandered around this space, which was still unfamiliar to him. He went to Fu Han’s study, hoping to find sheet music among the books lining the wall.

After looking around, he only found dull reference books and complete English volumes. The books on the top shelf looked more like recreational reading. He stood on the tallest stool and reached for them.

The sun was shining brightly outside. The cry of a bird distracted him. His foot slipped, and he tumbled from the shelf with a book he had grabbed, rubbing his sore backside.

It was a sketchbook, looking quite old. He sat on the floor and flipped through a few pages, realizing it wasn’t a printed collection but a child’s own portfolio. The artwork was highly polished, seeming to have been revised. The upper right corner of almost every drawing had a few lines of small text written carefully. Ji Qingyu slowly read through it.

What is this? A diary?

He frowned and continued turning the pages.

“Mom loves to drink. Mint-flavored ice cubes clink in the glass. He let me taste a sip. I tasted it. It was very bitter.”

The handwriting was childish and wobbly. Another hand had written an annotation next to it: “Children are not allowed to drink. Only this once!”

A smiley face was drawn below that.

“Mom and Dad had a fight. Mom got up in the middle of the night and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes. He thought I didn’t know. I went over and hugged him, and he cried. But he’s my mom. Moms and children have a psychic connection.”

The annotation read: “Mom and Dad won’t fight in front of you again. We’re sorry…”

“Dad tore up my drawing. He said it was an idle pursuit. Mom and Dad had a huge argument. I was scared. I was afraid Mom wouldn’t smile anymore. Mom, I won’t draw anymore. Please don’t fight with Dad.”

From this page onward, there were no more revisions or annotations on the drawings.

“…” Ji Qingyu flipped through many pages. He lost track of time. By the last page, he felt a sense of sadness.

“Mom didn’t sleep all night. He thought I was asleep. That was the last time he kissed me. He said he was leaving and told me not to look for him. I didn’t open my eyes because I knew that if I woke up, he wouldn’t be able to leave.”

“Mom, in my heart, you are a free little white bird.”

The last page contained a drawing of a white bird. No one was there to revise it for Fu Han anymore. The white bird looked like a plump little chick, finally resembling a child’s simple drawing.

Ji Qingyu had never known that Fu Han’s childhood was like this. His own childhood was protected by Lin Ying, and he had a lot of fun playing with the older brother from the fruit stand next door. Even when bad things happened later, he had someone to support him internally.

Although he was critical of Fu Han’s current way of handling things, he felt sympathy for that child from the past.

He touched his own abdomen. He had once been a father, too, but he was as cruel as Fu Han’s mother, abandoning his own child.

He sighed. The phone lying next to him suddenly rang. The caller ID was Ji Ran. Ji Qingyu hesitated for a few seconds but answered.

“I called you this morning. Why didn’t you answer?” The voice, clearly suppressing anger, entered his ear.

This morning?

Ji Qingyu’s phone was always kept on, 24/7, in case of an emergency with Lin Ying, so Ji Ran could reach him. But he truly hadn’t heard the call this morning. He looked down at his phone. It had no password, and someone had put it in sleep mode.

“Perhaps the signal was bad because of the rain,” Ji Qingyu replied, still a bit confused.

“Send me the songs you have right now so I can listen to them. Half-finished ones are fine, too,” Ji Ran was saying. There was the sound of people talking on his end.

Ji Qingyu gripped the phone, his fingers curling, clutching a corner of the sketchbook. He said, “I don’t have new songs. Can’t you find a few from those forty songs?”

“I’ve already released all your songs,” Ji Ran said. “Don’t make me repeat myself. I asked you to write a song, and you keep stalling.”

In truth, Ji Ran could easily find someone else to write a few lyrical songs similar to Ji Qingyu’s style, mixing in some rock beats. His fans wouldn’t necessarily object.

Ji Qingyu didn’t understand why Ji Ran was so fixated on him.

Ji Ran sent a few pictures. He was standing in front of Lin Ying’s hospital room. Inside the glass window, doctors surrounded the entire bed, and one doctor held a needle.

Ji Ran’s voice was still calm, carrying a tone that could be described as gentle, “Don’t think marrying Fu Han can change anything. If you tell Fu Han things you shouldn’t, I can have Auntie say goodbye to you before she’s even transferred.”

Ji Qingyu’s heart leaped to his throat.

“Don’t touch her. I’ll write it,” Ji Qingyu tried to stabilize Ji Ran. “Tell them to put the needle down first. I’ll write it right away.”

Ji Ran tapped on the glass. The doctor inside received the signal, looked up, and one of them came out to ask what was wrong.

“No need for the injection for now,” Ji Ran said. “The family member is unwilling.”

Ji Qingyu’s fingers turned white. He forced himself to stand up from the floor, put the sketchbook back, and held onto the edge of the bookcase. His legs were shaky, barely able to support him.

Ji Ran was about to say something more when Fu Han’s voice suddenly came from outside the door.

“Where is he?” Fu Han was asking Wang Sao. Ji Ran seemed to have heard the voice too and quickly hung up the phone.

Ji Qingyu tried to stand up, but his legs were weak. He stumbled and fell to the floor. His wrists hurt, and his knees hurt.

Fu Han violently pushed the door open, looking imposing. But when he saw Ji Qingyu’s appearance, his tightly furrowed brow suddenly relaxed. His voice softened a little, still carrying a tone of blame, “What’s wrong with you?”