Chapter 49: Are You Two Practically Living Together Already?

"They're catching up," Pei Qiuyang whispered, swiftly pulling Qiao Weiwei into the roadside thicket. "Not a sound!"

This villa district was in a remote location, backed by a mountain, and, crucially, it was an abandoned development left half-finished by some unscrupulous real estate company—no one lived here. In fact, it was the perfect place for illegal hiding. His men had startled the enemy earlier, but at least their actions had pointed him down the right path; otherwise, he wouldn't have succeeded on his second attempt to sneak in himself.

From his observations, there weren’t many people guarding Qiao Weiwei, and in such a desolate area, anyone with a bit of wit and skill would hardly return empty-handed. In other words, these people’s vigilance was sorely lacking. Losing someone right under their noses, they’d have a hard time explaining themselves to their superiors, so now they must be scouring the area with all their energy.

If it came to a direct confrontation, two fists were no match for four hands—hiding was the best option.

Behind the man-high shrubs, Pei Qiuyang shielded her closely, holding his breath as he listened for sounds in the distance.

The footsteps drew ever nearer.

Qiao Weiwei was nearly suffocated. Every part of her ached, and she was mentally exhausted. If she hadn’t endured greater horrors before in the Outlands—facing people a hundred times more ruthless, surviving gun barrels pointed at her—she’d have probably broken down a hundred times over in the last twenty-four hours.

Courage, after all, is forged in moments of terror.

But what she never expected was that Pei Qiuyang would come to her rescue. And seeing him hold her close like an eagle guarding its chick… he did seem, surprisingly, quite manly.

But she truly couldn’t breathe! If he didn’t loosen his grip soon, she feared she’d suffocate in the arms of her would-be savior before any villain got to her.

A sudden, sharp pain shot through Pei Qiuyang’s hand—she’d bitten him hard. He stifled a groan, the pain making him shudder.

What was wrong with this woman? He’d risked himself to rescue her and received not a word of thanks—but a bite instead?

He’d never met a woman so ungrateful in his life. But he couldn’t react now; though the footsteps seemed to fade, the pursuers might well double back.

The safest course was still to keep hiding—until their searchers left empty-handed.

How long they hid, neither could tell.

All was silent; the night was deep and cold. Qiao Weiwei tried several times to peek out, but each time Pei Qiuyang was faster, pressing her down again. “Wait a bit longer!”

At last, unable to endure, Qiao Weiwei pushed him away and struggled to her feet. “I can’t. I’m cold, I’m hungry—if this goes on, I’ll…”

Pei Qiuyang quickly covered her mouth, hissing, “What are you babbling about? Keep it down—do you want them to hear?”

“If we’re leaving, we still have to be quiet!” He glared at this bizarre woman, his patience at its end. “What is wrong with you?”

“You…” Qiao Weiwei was so angry she nearly shouted, but managed to hold back—now wasn’t the time for a quarrel. “So, what do we do now?”

“How do we get out?”

Now she was panicking? Pei Qiuyang snorted to himself. He hadn’t entered the lion’s den unprepared.

To avoid detection, his backup—men and a car—were waiting near a small factory at the edge of the area. If they could just slip out, the car would pick them up, and in an hour and a half, he’d present himself before Mier to claim his credit.

Once she saw how he’d stormed the den alone and rescued her friend without a single casualty, surely Mier would see him in a new light.

Truth was, he was nearly at his wit’s end himself. The thought of Li Ge being so close to Mier—just the two of them, late into the night—gnawed at him with jealousy. He couldn’t let this stand. Now that he’d brought Qiao Weiwei back unscathed, Mier had to give him a chance!

With that, he grew even more impatient, half-dragging Qiao Weiwei toward the main road.

Qiao Weiwei was too exhausted to even curse; she lacked the strength to open her mouth. Once in the car, she collapsed completely, her eyes and nose stinging, mouth open, gasping for breath.

“Brother Pei, sit tight—we’re heading back to the city.” The car shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.

“Mhm!” Pei Qiuyang took out his phone and made a call. “Hello, Li Ge…”

…

At the apartment, after hanging up, Wen Yanli rose and walked toward Song Mi’s room.

It was nearly midnight; she’d only just fallen asleep. Pei Qiuyang and the others would return around two. He’d have to wake her then, but for now, he’d let her rest.

He stood at the door for a moment, then turned away—not to the living room, but to the kitchen, where he made himself a cup of instant coffee. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, drinking alone with the night as his companion.

Living here was inconvenient—no change of clothes, no razor. His own place was too far; going back every morning was a drain on time and energy.

So, in these brief moments of rest—hydrating and clearing his mind—he considered how best to resolve this dilemma.

All his life, he’d rarely felt the need for outside counsel. Tonight was an exception.

Without much hesitation, he returned to the table, picked up his phone, and dialed an international number.

Back there, it was morning. He expected to hear a familiar voice, but instead, the call went to voicemail.

He hung up and tried again.

Still the automated message.

His mother always rose early—running or yoga. Though this was the first time the call had gone to voicemail, he wasn’t concerned.

He hadn’t even decided what to say; perhaps he wouldn’t have mentioned this at all—not yet. He’d been too hasty.

A wry smile flickered across his lips. He put the phone down and buried himself in work again.

At 1:48 a.m., his phone lit up. A message from Pei Qiuyang: “Ten minutes to downstairs.”

He had no choice but to wake her.

This time, Song Mi was sleeping deeply, perhaps reassured by the presence of a man outside her door.

“Song Mi… wake up…”

He didn’t know how many times he called her name before she finally, reluctantly, woke, her consciousness still foggy. “What is it?”

He seemed to be smiling, his handsome face softened by the light, glowing with a charm like moonlight. “Pei Qiuyang brought Qiao Weiwei back.”

Song Mi’s drowsiness vanished at once, but as she sat up, he reached out a hand to steady her. “Slowly.”

She matched his pace, sitting up. “Have him bring Qiao Weiwei directly to me.”

He looked at her. “Alright.”

A few minutes later, Qiao Weiwei, feeling as if she’d escaped death, rushed toward Song Mi the moment she saw her. “Mier…”

But a figure stepped between them.

Wen Yanli frowned at the person who nearly crashed into him. “She’s… not well.”

Qiao Weiwei almost didn’t stop in time, startled and flustered. “What’s going on?”

“Mier, what’s wrong with you?” She glared at the man blocking her. “No, what did you do to my Mier?”

“What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

Pei Qiuyang couldn’t hold back. “Li Ge, I… I have the same question.”

But his voice lacked conviction—perhaps he was deceiving himself, refusing to face reality.

These two… something was clearly going on!

Wen Yanli was momentarily speechless, but before he could reply, the woman behind him spoke first. “Ye Zhao had other matters to attend, so Lawyer Wen is acting as my… bodyguard for a few days.”

Song Mi deliberately paused before saying “bodyguard,” her eyes lingering on the man’s profile.

Sure enough, as soon as she finished, he shot her a sidelong glance.

Ignoring it, she changed the subject. “What happened to your face?”

Qiao Weiwei’s right cheek bore the clear mark of a blow.

“You’re one to talk!” At the mention, Qiao Weiwei gingerly touched her face, wincing. “I was calling you for help with a second phone when they caught me. One of the men slapped me so hard I saw stars!”

“My head’s still spinning!” She moved closer to Song Mi. “How bad is it? Is it swollen?”

“Thank goodness this face is all-natural. If I’d had any fillers, that slap would’ve sent them flying into his face!”

“Those bastards! Not only did they dare mess with Boss Qiao, they had the nerve to lay hands on me! Just wait—”

Seeing Qiao Weiwei so lively, cursing with gusto, Song Mi finally let go of her lingering worry. “Qiao Weiwei, I’m sorry.”

Her apology was solemn and heartfelt.

Immediately, Qiao Weiwei fell silent. She might seem brash, but she wasn’t foolish.

She’d been abducted out of nowhere, not even allowed a ransom call. Tonight, the maid had tried to strip and photograph her—that had truly panicked her. But otherwise, her captors had been relatively polite.

So she’d guessed as much. “It was the Shen family, wasn’t it? Using me to control you?”

Song Mi was gratified by her acuity. “Yes. I’m sorry for involving you.”

But Qiao Weiwei waved it off, full of bravado. “Don’t say that! You saved my life once, remember?”

“Besides, you warned me when you kicked me out—you were here to stir up trouble, and trouble would find anyone nearby—”

“Ahem—” Song Mi interrupted, “Aside from hitting you, did they do anything else?”

“And did you get a good look at them?”

Qiao Weiwei nodded repeatedly, then detailed everything that happened before Pei Qiuyang rescued her.

Song Mi’s questions were pointed—she suspected these people, like those who attacked Assistant Lin two nights ago, had once worked in Sihai Group’s security department. Shen Yanye recruiting them was quicker and simpler than hiring outsiders.

Still, even when Pei Qiuyang brought up old topics, Song Mi refused him once again without hesitation.

This time, Pei Qiuyang was truly bewildered and aggrieved. “Why can Li Ge stay and not me?”

“Mier, Li Ge—” Bruised by repeated rejections, Pei Qiuyang’s pride as a man was shattered. Now he just wanted answers. “Just tell me straight—what’s going on between you two?”

“Are you living together now?”

At that, Qiao Weiwei exclaimed, “What?”

“I’m kidnapped for one night and you’re living with him?” Her eyes widened in disbelief at Song Mi. “That’s way too fast!”

Song Mi was speechless.

But what truly left her at a loss wasn’t these two loudmouths—it was the man who, after she’d called him “bodyguard,” hadn’t said a word since.

Clearly, he was deeply dissatisfied with that title.

But what could she say? Call him part-time chef, housekeeper, and… bed partner?

Bodyguard sounded the most suitable—and the least awkward.

For a moment, the atmosphere was hard to describe.

Pei Qiuyang was determined to get an answer.

Qiao Weiwei, though unwilling, felt as if the cabbage she’d raised herself had been snatched by a wild boar. Still, Lawyer Wen was better than Pei Qiuyang—an elite, handsome, with a physique to match, and an air of aloof nobility. And, most importantly, not talkative!

Unlike the chatterbox to her left, who was not only verbose but petty.

She most despised small-minded men—just one word from her and Pei Qiuyang would retort thrice over. No gentlemanly grace at all!

Neither of the two involved responded.

Pei Qiuyang and Qiao Weiwei looked at each other, then quickly looked away in mutual disdain.

—“Mier,”

—“Mier…”

They spoke in unison, but were interrupted by a voice so icy it scraped the air: “How could President Song be living with a bodyguard?”

“You’re overthinking it.”

With that, Wen Yanli, under their stunned gazes, walked to Song Mi, bent down, and said, “I’ll take you back to your room.”

Meeting his cold, unfathomable eyes, Song Mi’s heart skipped a beat. As she opened her mouth, he lifted her into his arms.

“President Song may not be a model patient, but she’s found herself a model bodyguard.” With that, he carried her away. “I’ll pick you up at the door at one tomorrow afternoon.”

Song Mi was silent.

Behind her, Qiao Weiwei and Pei Qiuyang seemed frozen by a spell—or perhaps by the look Wen Yanli had just cast their way. Even the words echoing in their ears felt cold.

So the two of them just stared speechlessly as the pair left the living room together.

Once their figures vanished, Pei Qiuyang unfroze and hurried to follow. “Li Ge, Mier…”

Qiao Weiwei yanked him back. “Where are you going, to play the third wheel?”

“What third wheel? Didn’t you hear Mier and Li Ge—bodyguard,” Pei Qiuyang glared at her. “Don’t you get it? Mier…”

“Tsk, tsk!” Qiao Weiwei, suddenly uninterested in arguing, shook her head and looked at him with pity. “Self-deception has its limits. It’s as plain as day, and you still don’t see it. I worry for your eyesight.”

“See what? What have you seen?”

Just then, Qiao Weiwei’s stomach rumbled loudly. Not only she, but Pei Qiuyang heard it.

And he was hungry too.

Inexplicably, the two of them called a truce. “I need food!” Qiao Weiwei said quickly. “I’m starving!”

Pei Qiuyang was about to speak when Wen Yanli emerged. “Li Ge, is Mier asleep?”

Wen Yanli glanced at him, then, familiar as ever, took a suit jacket from the coat rack. “Miss Qiao will sleep in the same guest room as before.”

“A Pei, you’re going home.”

…

The next day, Song Mi woke early. After washing and dressing, she changed into a black suit in her dressing room and left.

It was eight o’clock when she got into the car.

Ye Zhao had come with a gold Phantom today. After reminding her to buckle up, Ye Zhao started the engine.

At nine, she had an interview with a financial magazine.

She could have scheduled it for any other time or declined entirely, but now she needed publicity.

At eleven-thirty, she was meeting Sister Tan for lunch.

Before one, she had to be back home, lying in bed, waiting for that man to pick her up.

Last night, when he’d said it so grandly, she hadn’t taken it seriously.

But just before she left today, she’d gone into the kitchen and changed her mind.

If, at the start, she’d only wanted to play—a spontaneous, mutual fling—then from now on, she’d play in earnest, or perhaps, play well.

With that in mind, she decided to add a touch of ceremony. She took out her phone and called Assistant Lin. “Tell the magazine I need to finish the interview half an hour early.”

Once Lin agreed, she added, “Afterward, I want to do some shopping.”