My Husband's Eyes Have Been Looking Different Lately After Our Marriage of Convenience - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: “Come sit here, I’ll apply the medicine for you…”

The night was hazy.

Inside the west wing, one person sat on the sofa at the far east end, while the other sat on the chaise longue at the far west.

Song Ai’s gaze darted around, looking everywhere except at the person opposite him.

The events of last night were still vivid in his mind. Although one-night stands are common between adults and they had tacitly agreed not to mention it—perhaps letting the incident fade away naturally over time—that didn’t mean he could easily accept sharing a room with Lu Tingyun tonight! The level of awkwardness was enough to make him curl his toes and carve out a fantasy castle.

Song Ai wanted to flee, but unfortunately, there was no escape.

A knock sounded at the door; it was the butler who had led them here not long ago.

Having just finished his night patrol and seeing the lights still on, he came by to ask, “Young Master, are you two not sleeping yet? It’s almost 11 PM. Staying up much longer might be bad for your health.”

Lu Tingyun, sunk deep into the sofa, waited a long while before replying, “Alright, we’re heading to bed now.”

Hearing this, Song Ai’s lips twitched.

He agreed quite readily. There were two of them and only one bed. How were they supposed to sleep? Squeeze together? Or…

Ptooey, ptooey, ptooey.

Despite his reluctance, Song Ai couldn’t help but recall the images from yesterday… it made his palms break out in a nervous sweat.

Earlier in the restaurant, there was air conditioning, and outside there was a night breeze, so the few mosquito bites hadn’t felt like much. But now that it was getting warm, he felt itchy all over, especially on his calves.

Song Ai couldn’t help but reach down to scratch, but through his trousers, it wasn’t satisfying no matter how hard he tried.

Hearing the movement, Lu Tingyun looked up.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s itchy.”

…Something felt a bit off.

Song Ai, for some unknown reason, felt his cheeks flush. When people are embarrassed, they tend to act busy. He started grumbling, “Damned mosquitoes! Does your family not hire people for pest control? The bugs in this garden are numerous enough to drain me dry.”

“Mosquito control is usually handled by the servants who prune the trees. The butler mentioned that person took a temporary leave of absence yesterday, so a few more have popped up today.”

As he spoke, Lu Tingyun stood up.

Song Ai was startled. “What are you doing?!”

Lu Tingyun looked down from a distance and said calmly, “Getting some anti-itch ointment from the butler. He shouldn’t have gone far.”

Song Ai lowered his head awkwardly. “Oh, oh. Go ahead then.”

The door opened and closed; Lu Tingyun was gone.

The old lady had said this wing was the largest, but to Song Ai, it still felt too small—especially with Lu Tingyun around. Even 500 square meters wouldn’t feel like enough.

Now that the man was out, he finally breathed a sigh of relief, feeling his body relax.

Since the Lu family had been around all evening, Song Ai hadn’t been able to check his phone. Now that he was alone, he took the chance to scroll through his messages.

WeChat took a couple of seconds to refresh.

Song Ai tapped his foot while waiting. A contact labeled “Ms. Song” had bombarded him with five voice messages. Their mother-son relationship wasn’t particularly close; their last conversation was a week ago.

Song Ai was too lazy to listen, so he converted them all to text.

The first was a question: [Did you go to the Lu residence for the old lady’s birthday today?]

The second was a lecture: [Behave yourself at the Lu house. Don’t wear those flashy clothes of yours; buy something sensible, preferably a casual suit. Remember to bring plenty of health supplements—the more expensive, the better. That old lady has a sharp eye; she looks down on ordinary things.]

The third, fourth, and fifth were all more lecturing.

Song Ai glanced at the dense wall of text. It made him irritable, so he exited the chat.

The remaining messages were from Li Shang and Wang Ruijing, mostly asking how things were going at the Lu house and if they needed to “raid the prison” to rescue him.

Although Song Ai loved to hang out, his inner circle was narrow. Aside from “Big Voice Li” and “Old Wang,” he rarely kept in touch with anyone online. Song Ai was used to it.

However, today there was an extra red notification dot.

Someone added him?

Song Ai perked up and clicked on “New Friends.”

The other party’s nickname was “Zzz,” and the profile picture was a photo of a man.

Song Ai stared at the faint hint of fiery red at the top of the photo and felt a bad premonition. He clicked it and, sure enough, saw Zhou Jibai’s face… What a narcissistic guy!

A zero-frame selfie startle. It was an eyesore.

Song Ai immediately looked away, and with a flurry of taps, sent “Zzz” straight to his blacklist.

With a creak, Lu Tingyun pushed the door open and entered.

He stood against the moonlight, his figure tall and slender. The dim glow accentuated his excellent shoulder-to-waist ratio. As he slightly bowed his back, he looked like a masculine character straight out of a manga, dripping with charisma.

Song Ai hadn’t noticed before, but staring blankly now, it was the first time he realized the man’s legs were incredibly long.

Wait, not the first time…

Yesterday, when he was pinned by those legs, he had subconsciously let out a similar gasp of admiration.

Wait, what was he thinking?!

Song Ai abruptly cut off the memory, but his earlobes turned traitorously red. He stiffened his back and looked away.

Lu Tingyun closed the door and turned around, only to see his “wife” burying his head, looking inexplicable.

“It’s getting late. Do you want to shower first, or should I?”

Song Ai, over-cautious, looked up in shock. “Why do we need to shower??”

“Are we going to sleep without washing up?”

“Sleep…” Song Ai wanted to say “Sleep my ass,” but he quickly realized that the “sleep” Lu Tingyun meant was likely literal. He blinked and immediately changed his tune. “Of course we have to shower before sleeping. I… I’ll go first.”

“Alright.”

Lu Tingyun didn’t think much of it. He turned and set down the items in his hand. Song Ai only saw a white box with small red characters on it, but the text was too small to read.

Giving up on trying to see it, Song Ai scrambled into the bathroom.

He was just about to pull his shirt off when, halfway through, he heard a “thump, thump” knock on the door. Song Ai’s horrified expression looked like he’d stepped into a horror movie. He instantly yanked his clothes back down to his waist.

Lu Tingyun pulled his hand back after knocking. Because he was so close, he could see a vague silhouette through the frosted glass. A slender waist, well-proportioned—enough to stir the imagination.

The person inside asked, “What do you want?!”

Lu Tingyun’s tone was flat: “You didn’t take your change of clothes.”

Song Ai: “…”

He might as well throw this useless brain away.

He was wearing a red-and-green floral shirt over a plain white T-shirt. Song Ai had already taken off the outer shirt, and he was too lazy to put it back on. He simply stuck his bare arm out and said dryly, “Give them to me.”

Lu Tingyun placed the clothes on his arm. Staring at that fair, smooth limb, he paused and added a reminder: “The disposable underwear is on top, don’t drop it.”

Song Ai’s face flushed crimson. He grabbed the clothes, snapped his arm back, and then tossed the whole pile into the sink like they were hot coals.

Fortunately, the sink was dry.

His legs weren’t weak this time.

In fact, due to the blunder just now, he felt a bit stiff.

Song Ai scrubbed himself clean in record time, changed, and stepped back out, shivering as the night wind hit him.

Lu Tingyun hadn’t moved. He was still nestled on the sofa, propping his chin up with his hand, idly looking at his phone. What stood out were his long, crossed legs. The well-fitted casual suit trousers traced the powerful lines of his leg muscles without reservation—a clear sign of a long-term gym habit.

For some reason, Song Ai swallowed hard. With a stiff face, he said, “I’m done.”

Lu Tingyun’s dark eyes looked over.

He didn’t reply. His Adam’s apple merely bobbed. He spoke with a brief, almost undeniable command: “Come here.”

Song Ai: “?”

Come where?

And do what?

Seeing his wife’s lack of reaction, Lu Tingyun picked up the white box from the coffee table and calmly finished his sentence: “Come sit here, I’ll apply the medicine for you.”

Song Ai: “…”

Can you finish your sentences in one breath next time?!

Though he had been enduring it until now, there was no denying that his calves were itching like crazy. For the sake of tonight’s sleep quality, Song Ai struggled for two seconds before biting the bullet and shuffling over slowly.

Stopping just before Lu Tingyun, Song Ai said stubbornly, “I can do it myself.”

Lu Tingyun said nothing but stood up to give him the seat.

Then he added, “There are spots you can’t reach.”

Song Ai opened his mouth but ended up sitting down obediently.

The natural leather of the sofa retained the warmth of the previous person, spreading through the thin fabric of his trousers.

Now it’s not just my legs that are itching, Song Ai thought miserably.

Lu Tingyun half-knelt in front of him. While opening the ointment packaging, he softly ordered his wife, “Roll up your pant legs a bit.”

The man’s voice had always been low and magnetic, but now, in the silence of the night, it sounded even more seductive in the empty room.

Song Ai never considered himself a “voice-chaser.”

But before his brain could react, his hands moved automatically.

Lu Tingyun dabbed a bit of the white cream onto his fingertip. Before applying it to the skin, he slowly looked up, meeting Song Ai’s eyes from below.

He hadn’t felt it when he first knelt.

But now that their eyes met, he realized they were incredibly close.

If they weren’t careful, their noses might touch.

Song Ai realized it too and instantly retreated 20 centimeters.

Yes. A reasonable social distance.

Lu Tingyun calmly looked away. He lowered his head and counted: there were exactly eight mosquito bites.

To be bitten eight times in such a short window.

Lu Tingyun didn’t know whether to credit the mosquitoes’ prowess or the “nourishing” quality of Song Ai’s blood.

The cool ointment was soon applied.

It felt icy and quite comfortable.

Except when Lu Tingyun’s fingertips occasionally brushed against him. It was itchy, but not the kind from a mosquito bite. It was a deep, bone-seeping, heart-scratching kind of itch.

Song Ai clenched his clothes tightly to keep from reacting.

Because he was deliberately maintaining his distance, Song Ai couldn’t see the situation even if he looked down, so he didn’t bother. He just tried to guess Lu Tingyun’s progress by sensation.

1, 2, 3… 6, 7, 8?

Those damn mosquitoes bit him that many times??

They really should die!!!

“All done.” Finally, Lu Tingyun pulled a tissue, wiped the remaining ointment from his finger, and stood up slightly to sit on a low stool. He instructed, “Wait for it to air dry before you sleep, otherwise it’ll rub off on the sheets.”

Song Ai blinked. He couldn’t bring himself to say thank you, so he just uttered a dry, “Oh.”

Lu Tingyun ignored him, picked up his own clothes, and headed into the bathroom.

He didn’t take as long as the first time.

Twenty minutes later, Lu Tingyun emerged.

Maybe he doesn’t like the heater in here? Song Ai guessed randomly. He caught a glimpse of the other man’s waist and abdomen—

Nothing was exposed.

Lu Tingyun was wearing a shirt.

Song Ai felt inexplicably relieved, and yet inexplicably disappointed. He fell back, sprawling across the sofa.

A moment later, Lu Tingyun suddenly patted his knee.

Song Ai flinched.

So hot.

How were Lu Tingyun’s hands so hot? It was like a piece of red-hot iron.

Song Ai sat up, confused, only to find the other man staring at him.

“Are you sleeping here?”

Song Ai: “No. It’s too narrow. How could I sleep here?”

He couldn’t even turn over.

Lu Tingyun shifted his gaze to the bed and asked, “Then are you sleeping in the bed or on that chaise longue?”

Song Ai froze.

Dammit, I forgot there were other places to sleep.

Song Ai didn’t hesitate for a second. “The bed.”

“Alright.”

Lu Tingyun grabbed a pillow and tossed it onto the chaise, then pulled a set of clean sheets from the wardrobe to use as a makeshift blanket.

By then, Song Ai had already climbed into the bed and lay down. Hearing the rustling finally stop, he knew Lu Tingyun had also lain down to sleep.

Song Ai closed his eyes, feeling safe.

He couldn’t sleep. His mind was a mess.

He opened his eyes and turned to look at the other side.

Aside from the rise and fall of the man’s chest as he breathed, there was no sound.

Song Ai looked away and tried to sleep again.

A few moments later—

Dammit.

Still couldn’t sleep.

He gave up and tried to strike up a conversation: “Lu Tingyun, are you… asleep?”

He thought that with the man’s regular schedule, he’d be in a deep sleep by now. But after two seconds, a reply came, sounding a bit nasal: “What is it?”

Song Ai hadn’t expected a response. His brain stalled for a moment before he closed his slightly open mouth. He picked a random topic out of curiosity: “What was the gift you gave?”

Lu Tingyun didn’t hesitate. “A painting.”

Song Ai: “A painting?”

“Yes,” Lu Tingyun explained. “It’s the first work by Grandma’s favorite artist.”

No wonder the gift box was so flat.

Song Ai clutched a corner of his quilt. If Ms. Song said the old lady had a sharp eye, then a painting by her favorite artist must be incredibly expensive, right?

He asked his question, and as expected, the answer confirmed his suspicion.

But for someone as wealthy as Lu Tingyun, buying a painting worth millions was probably as easy as buying a phone.

Song Ai racked his brain for an excuse.

Lu Tingyun flipped the question back: “What about you?”

This kind of topic is a boomerang; it always hits you back.

Thinking of the carefully wrapped pen worth tens of thousands, Song Ai silently curled into his quilt. “Nothing much.”

If I’d known, I would’ve sent a spinning pen.

At least that would’ve been creative.

He couldn’t imagine the old lady’s expression when she opened a pile of million-dollar gifts only to find a pen worth a few tens of thousands.

Song Ai felt his face burning with shame.

He buried his head deep under the covers, hoping to suffocate himself so he wouldn’t have to face the Lu family the next morning.

…

Some time passed.

Just as Song Ai was drifting off into a daze, he suddenly heard Lu Tingyun call his name.

“Song Ai.”

The call was very soft, ethereal, like something in a dream.

Song Ai didn’t know if he responded.

But he heard Lu Tingyun’s next sentence, voice somewhat hoarse, as if forced out from his throat—

“…Do you have any ‘needs’ today?”