My Husband's Eyes Have Been Looking Different Lately After Our Marriage of Convenience - Chapter 25

Chapter 25: He Might Be Physiologically Allergic to Lu Tingyun…

Song Huaiwan finished exchanging pleasantries with her friends and turned back to start her meal, only to inadvertently glimpse a strange, crimson flush spreading across her son’s face.

A mother’s intuition told her something was off. She asked point-blank, “Why is your face so red?”

Coming back to his senses, Song Ai quickly averted his gaze from the word “Husband” on his screen. He swallowed hard and offered a casual explanation: “It’s the spices.”

Song Huaiwan was baffled. “Is there even a spicy dish here??”

Song Ai scanned the table, searching for a lifeline. He grabbed a fork and pointed. “Isn’t there a ginger flower right there?”

Song Huaiwan: “…”

“You can’t even handle ginger flowers? You and your father—” The woman stopped mid-sentence, her expression shifting slightly. She didn’t finish the thought, turning instead to pick up her cutlery.

The sound of metal scraping against porcelain produced a harsh, grating screech. That heart-stabbing, ear-piercing sensation seemed to drag them both back to a certain part of their past.

Song Ai actually knew the second half of that sentence.

You and your father are becoming more and more alike.

He had heard this phrase countless times as a child. Back then, Ms. Song loved to make it as a joke; later, it gradually evolved into a taboo. Every time it was mentioned, both would tactfully fall silent.

Waiters began bringing the dishes to the table one after another.

Song Huaiwan tasted a bit of everything with “rain and dew” impartiality but showed great restraint in not overeating. Taking a sip of a specially prepared fruit drink, she asked again, “How have you been at the Lu family lately?”

This question resurfaced like clockwork every so often.

At the beginning, Song Ai would vent his genuine feelings, complaining about the Lu family’s excessive rules or how that old geezer, Lu Haichuan, was a master of passive-aggression.

Later, it turned into: Fine, haven’t died yet… and other such replies.

This time was no different. He answered dismissively, “Same old, I guess.”

Song Huaiwan was clearly used to his perfunctory attitude. She decided to ask about the specifics instead. “I heard that Tingyun took you to the Shen family daughter’s engagement banquet a while ago. Are you two becoming closer now?”

The word “closer” made Song Ai feel a bit guilty. He gave a light cough and explained, “Lu Tingyun said he wanted to cooperate with the Shens. Taking me along was just to make a better impression… there was no other reason.”

“So that’s how it is…” Hearing this answer, Song Huaiwan actually looked a bit disappointed, though the emotion vanished instantly. She pressed on, “I didn’t expect the Lu family to look for a partnership with the Shens… what exactly do they want to discuss?”

Song Ai let out a mocking laugh. “How would I know?”

He and Lu Tingyun were a marriage of convenience, not childhood sweethearts with no secrets between them.

Song Huaiwan stared at her son for a moment, sighed for no apparent reason, and asked, “By the way, what gift did you actually give the Old Madam for her birthday?”

Upon hearing this, Song Ai’s hand—poking at a vegetable with his fork—stiffened.

How was he still unable to escape this?

He could ignore the question over WeChat, but now that she was confronting him face-to-face, there was no hiding.

Adopting a “worst comes to worst, I’ll just die” mentality, Song Ai spoke the truth.

“A fountain pen.”

“A fountain pen?”

Song Huaiwan almost thought she had misheard. She repeated it, still holding onto a shred of hope. “What brand? How much did it cost?”

Song Ai raised an eyebrow. “An Italian brand. I don’t remember exactly, maybe several tens of thousands (Yuan)?”

“Several tens of thousands??” The exquisite makeup on Song Huaiwan’s face looked as if it were about to crack. She said in disbelief, “It was the Old Madam’s 70th birthday, and you gave her a fountain pen worth only a few tens of thousands??”

…

Although he had anticipated this outcome before speaking, facing his mother’s interrogation still brought an uncontrollable wave of sadness.

Song Ai looked at her calmly, suddenly adopting a “whatever” attitude. “Yeah, that’s what I sent.”

The more indifferent he acted, the more it fueled the woman’s outrage.

“Didn’t I tell you over WeChat that the Old Madam has a picky taste and doesn’t care for ordinary things?”

“Even if you didn’t buy something creative, you actually sent something so cheap and unpresentable??”

“Song Ai, you’re in your twenties now. Do you have no sense of how gift-giving works? All you know is how to hang around with those fair-weather friends… Can you ever stop making me worry?!”

A barrage of shock, disappointment, anger, and frustrated accusations slammed into him.

Song Ai could no longer maintain his facade of calm.

He looked at Song Huaiwan in silence. For a moment, he had many things he wanted to say.

Growing up, in the eyes of outsiders, he was indeed a “troublesome” child. Fighting, poor grades, being rebellious, speaking without filter… his rebellious phase was long and persistent. Anyone looking at him would find him a headache.

Anyone could say he was troublesome and immature.

Except Song Huaiwan.

If following her arrangements—transferring schools, going abroad, and even marrying a complete stranger—still counted as being “troublesome,” then he would take back his previous thoughts.

But seeing the look of utter disappointment in her eyes, Song Ai found himself unable to say a word.

If turning his eyes red with tears could earn his mother’s heartache or a concession, he would have left this city six months ago to pursue the freedom he desired.

With occasional glances from people around them, Song Huaiwan realized her reaction was a bit too extreme.

She took a sip of water to compose herself, quickly thinking of a solution. Her tone softened. “Forget it, I never taught you these things, so I can’t blame you. In a couple of days, I’ll have someone transfer 500,000 to your bank card. Ask Tingyun what the Old Madam likes, buy something decent, and find an opportunity to visit the Lu family estate again.”

Seeing Song Ai holding his glass in silence, she lowered her eyes and added, “My words were a bit harsh just now. The company is in a critical transition phase and can’t lose the Lu family’s support. Just consider this helping me out once? Okay?”

Song Ai’s fingertips pressed tightly against the glass.

Earlier, when the waiter asked what he wanted to drink, he happened to be parched, so he asked for ice. He didn’t feel it while drinking, but holding it now, he realized how cold ice could be in the spring.

Sending another gift wasn’t a difficult task, and that fountain pen was indeed unpresentable.

Song Ai didn’t reject the mission. He simply finished the last of the ice water and stated the reason why he had sent such a “lowly” gift with nonchalance.

“Mom, you haven’t given me any money in a long time.”

A fountain pen worth tens of thousands was nothing to people like Song Huaiwan or Lu Tingyun. But for Song Ai, who had no source of income and could neither leave the Lu family nor go out to earn money, it was already a significant expense.

Song Huaiwan froze. Her first instinct was to rebut.

How could that be? How could I have not given Song Ai living expenses?

But as she searched her memory, she realized it was the truth.

Since the Song family hit a financial crisis, she had been so busy she was spinning like a top. Even when she wasn’t handling company matters, she was busy maintaining relationships with partners to secure investment opportunities.

She was like a gyro that could never stop, maneuvering through every tiny detail, yet she had forgotten her own son.

If one were to check the transfer records, the last transaction between mother and son was over half a year ago—the day Song Ai moved into Lu Tingyun’s house.

Song Huaiwan opened her mouth, wanting to offer an explanation, but the words felt hollow.

“Xiao Ai, I…”

“I’m full.” Before those meaningless words could come out, Song Ai had already masked the disappointment in his eyes. He wiped his mouth casually with a napkin, returning to his heartless persona. “Li Shang just called me to go play.”

He said, “I’m leaving. Don’t forget to transfer the money.”

…

Coming out of the restaurant, the sun was at its strongest. It wasn’t scorching, but it was exceptionally bright.

Song Ai shielded his face with his hand and ducked into the car waiting at the curb. The door had barely slammed shut when the driver impatiently stepped on the gas.

“Hey—” Song Ai was stunned. He quickly asked, “I haven’t said where I’m going yet? Why are you leaving?”

The driver glanced back slightly and explained, “Apologies, Madam. I just received a call from the Master. He said to pick him up at the company immediately after getting you.”

“Pick up Lu Tingyun??” Song Ai was even more confused. “Did he not take a driver out? Why does he need you?”

Driver: “Master said the car broke down and is being repaired.”

Song Ai: “Can’t they send another one from the Lu residence?”

Driver: “Master said we were closer.”

Song Ai: “…”

Fine, fine, fine. We absolutely have to pick him up, don’t we?

This car belonged to the Lu family, and the driver was employed by the Lu family. Song Ai knew full well he had the right to use it but no right to make decisions. He didn’t bother arguing.

If I have to pick him up, I’ll pick him up. Is he supposed to be afraid of sitting in a car with Lu Tingyun?

After leaving that street and passing through a roundabout, they arrived at the Lu Group building just a few kilometers away. It was indeed very close.

The car stopped, and the door was opened.

Lu Tingyun, wearing a suit, appeared behind the door. He leaned down and saw the young man inside, legs spread, leaning lazily against the backrest like a drowsy kitten that had to curl up but was trying its best to stretch out.

“What a coincidence,” Lu Tingyun said.

Song Ai thought he was being weird and retorted bluntly, “Didn’t you tell the driver to come here?”

Lu Tingyun got into the car. After the assistant outside closed the door, he said unhurriedly, “I meant I didn’t expect you to be so close to the company.”

“…” Song Ai fell silent.

The two stared at each other for a moment, ending only when Song Ai suddenly remembered something and hurriedly looked away.

He thought of the WeChat message “L” had sent him at noon. The more he thought about it, the more unbelievable it felt.

He actually went around looking for a “Husband” after getting drunk that day??

Is that something a normal person does? It was hard to imagine how horrifying that scene must have been…

And there was an even more terrifying question: Does Lu Tingyun know about this?

From the looks of it, he probably doesn’t? Otherwise, wouldn’t Lu Tingyun have brought it up yesterday?

While Song Ai was pondering, he kept an eye on the movement next to him.

At this point, the driver asked where they were going. Lu Tingyun said home.

Song Ai glanced at his watch. 13:53.

Usually, Lu Tingyun would never go back to the villa at this hour.

Song Ai couldn’t help but ask, “You’re getting off work this early today?”

Lu Tingyun gave a hum of affirmation. He leaned back, and when he spoke again, his voice had a bit of a nasal quality. “I still feel a bit dizzy. Going home to rest for a bit.”

Song Ai thought to himself that this guy had a fever of nearly 40 degrees yesterday, yet he still managed to get up early for work and stay at the company all morning. And now, he was “only a bit dizzy.”

He gave a precise critique: “You’re quite hard to kill.”

“I’ll manage.” Lu Tingyun was clearly used to his hedgehog-like, indiscriminate attacks and handled it well.

Song Ai stopped replying and was about to open his phone to play some Candy Crush when he heard Lu Tingyun speak again.

“By the way, what happened after I had the fever yesterday?”

The young man’s expression shifted instantly. He almost dropped his phone.

“Why the hell… are you asking that?”

“Just a bit curious.” Lu Tingyun’s tone was nothing if not innocent. “I remember I was lying on the sofa before my consciousness got blurry. How did I wake up in your bed?”

The man’s dark pupils looked over, a hidden heat seemingly buried deep within.

The image of this man licking his collarbone yesterday was still vivid in Song Ai’s mind, yet today the guy had supposedly forgotten. Song Ai was almost laughed at by the irony.

But forgetting was for the best.

Song Ai thought for a moment and immediately made up a story: “You were… burning up too badly yesterday. You fell off the sofa with a clatter, which woke me up. So I called Butler Wu and the doctor, and they carried you to the bed.”

Lu Tingyun stared at him without moving an inch. “As simple as that?”

Song Ai was actually feeling quite guilty, but he feigned impatience and clicked his tongue. “Why would I lie to you?”

Upon hearing this, Lu Tingyun suddenly let out a soft chuckle.

He had sharp features and thin brows; when expressionless, he seemed utterly cold. But when there was a smile in his eyes, he possessed an inexplicable allure—a stark contrast.

“Is that so?” he said softly. “But how come I remember someone promising me something yesterday?”

Song Ai: “…”