"You've already made a fool of me, and now you care whether I dance or not?" Zhao Xiyin sat up, hugged his neck tightly, buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed, "Zhou Qishen, I even sent you a red envelope, and you didn't even say Happy New Year to me. Why do you always stand me up? Are you going to talk to me or not?"
Zhou Qi's heart was pierced by her tears. The girl's body temperature was so high that he couldn't think of anything else. He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.
Zhao Xiyin was placed on the bed, and Zhou Qishen turned around to find fever reducers.
His first-aid kit was quite well-stocked, with a whole bunch of random painkillers. He had her hold the thermometer in her mouth, took an ice pack from the refrigerator, wrapped it in a towel, and placed it on her forehead. Zhao Xiyin was incredibly uncooperative; she pushed the thermometer away with her tongue, tilted her head, and the iced towel fell to the floor. Her nose was pressed against his pillow, and despite the faint scent of shampoo, she still said with obvious disgust, "Zhou Qishen, your bed smells."
Zhou Qishen hesitated, his gaze darkening, before letting her speak.
Later, when her temperature was taken, it was 39.8 degrees Celsius. Zhao Xiyin successfully played the victim, whimpering that she was cold. Zhou Qishen wandered around the room aimlessly, rummaging through the storage room and finding a brand-new silk quilt. Before he even entered the bedroom, Zhao Xiyin covered her nose, saying, "I'm allergic to silkworms, take it away, take it away."
Zhou Qishen really couldn't do anything with her, and stood there feeling both frustrated and helpless.
The two stared at each other for a long time. Zhao Xiyin sat half-upright on the bed, her fair face flushed red. She reached out her hand to him and said pitifully, "Brother Zhou, I'm cold."
Zhou Qishen wanted to ignore her completely and become a Buddha on the spot. But the sorrowful and infatuated look in her eyes when she looked at people was like poison that could instantly destroy even the strongest will and determination.
Zhou Qishen put down the blanket, sat on the edge of the bed, and silently pulled her into his arms.
Zhao Xiyin grabbed his collar and said in a deep voice, "You've been using the Path to the Underworld for so many years, aren't you tired of this scent?"
Zhou Qishen hummed in agreement. "Didn't you just complain that my bed smelled bad? Now you're saying it smells good?"
Zhao Xiyin spat weakly, "You should change your name. Don't call yourself Zhou Qishen, call yourself Zhou Ganggang. You can argue with me no matter what I say. You have a stench, you stink."
His incoherent ramblings amused Zhou Qishen.
His chest heaved slightly, his heart pounding, each beat reaching Zhao Xiyin's ears. She quieted down, as if listening to a lullaby, and slowly closed her eyes. Zhou Qishen waited until she was sound asleep before gently laying her down.
With a fever approaching 40 degrees Celsius, one is already feeling dizzy and disoriented.
Zhou Qishen glanced at the fever reducers, relieved he hadn't taken them; he couldn't even remember when he'd bought them—they were a month past their expiration date. He stopped taking medication indiscriminately, changed the towels more frequently, and an hour later, a thermometer showed his temperature was dropping.
Zhou Qishen felt relieved, hooked a chair over and sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at Zhao Xiyin's sleeping face.
Looking back, he proposed twice.
Two months into their relationship, Zhao Xiyin found a proper job. The company was far from her home, requiring her to get up at six in the morning to take the subway, a two-hour journey. Zhou Qishen felt sorry for her and said, "I have an apartment over there, it's empty, you can stay there."
Zhao Xiyin refused, saying, "What kind of talk would it be if I lived in your house?"
Zhou Qishen smiled meaningfully, a mischievous thought suddenly popping into his head, "Oh, you need a legitimate reason to stay at your boyfriend's place?"
Zhao Xiyin was quite serious. "There's a way back from Qingmen, a straight path under the tall locust tree. My dad always said that, you can't be greedy for other people's advantages."
Zhou Qishen readily agreed, "My dad is talented; he can quote famous sayings and proverbs with ease."
"Teacher Zhao is very talented; he can recite any poem." Halfway through her sentence, Zhao Xiyin suddenly realized her mistake and angrily retorted, "Who's your father? That's my father!"
“It will be like this from now on.” As he said this, Zhou Qishen sat at his desk, moved his swivel chair back a bit, hooked one arm around Zhao Xiyin’s waist and pressed her down onto his thigh. “Xiao Xi, why don’t you marry me?”
Zhao Xiyin blushed, pinched his thigh hard, but the muscles were too firm to hold, which only tickled the man's heart.
"Is this how you propose? You think you can get someone to marry you with just a few words? That's too easy for you." Zhao Xiyin raised her chin high, exuding a fierce and imposing aura.
Zhou Qishen pretended to get up, "I'll go buy a ring right now, and once I do, you'll have to marry me."
Zhao Xiyin was so anxious! "You, you, you..."
Zhou Qishen laughed heartily.
Zhao Xiyin dismissed it as a joke, thinking it was unrealistic after only two months of dating. But Zhou Qishen seemed to have taken it to heart; his words and actions all carried a long-term purpose.
The second proposal was successful.
But to be fair, that's when the knot started forming.
Back then, Meng Weixi was still the young master Meng, with a stubborn temper. He thought that his breakup with Zhao Xiyin was just a quarrel. Why break up? He thought they could reconcile after calming down. It wasn't like this had happened before.
After a period of aimless wandering, traveling both domestically and internationally to relax, and having used up all my annual leave over the past few years, I finally returned to Beijing. Holding roses, all dressed neatly and refreshed, I went to coax people back, but the carefree wanderer was nowhere to be found; everything had changed.
Meng Weixi and Zhao Xiyin had met once.
Zhao Xiyin did not tell Zhou Qishen about this, but Zhou Qishen had a way of finding out.
Even the most resolute former lovers wouldn't have such an ugly falling out. But that time, they were truly heartbroken. The argument was fierce and ruthless. Meng Weixi, who was 185 cm tall, cried like a baby. They argued and argued, and later Meng Weixi must have said something harsh, the content of which is unknown, but Zhao Xiyin didn't back down and retorted, making their breakup complete.
On this day, Zhou Qishen was preparing for his second marriage proposal.
The house was beautifully decorated, and the engagement ring was purchased at an exhibition in London—it's one of a kind in the world. Gu Heping and Lao Cheng even teased him at the time, saying, "Zhou Ge'er, it's time to prepare for a third time. You've got no chance this time either."
In fact, Zhou Qishen thought so too.
But Zhao Xiyin agreed anyway.
However, he only found out that she had met Meng Weixi after the marriage proposal was successful.
Zhou Qishen lacked love from a young age, making him extremely sensitive, perceptive, and insecure in his emotional understanding. He is a person with a very strong sense of territory; when he loves someone, everything belongs to her, and he also craves that she belong to him completely.
On the eve of the wedding, Meng Weixi, enraged, stormed into the Zhao family to snatch the bride, demanding that all the privileged young men be driven away, leaving him looking like a pathetic brute. Zhou Qishen's casual remark, "Will you come to the wedding tomorrow?" nearly cost Meng Weixi his life.
There were only the two of them outside the door at the time.
Meng Weixi remained composed for a long time before giving a sharp smile, her sarcasm and mockery like hidden arrows. "Zhou Qishen, do you really think she married you willingly? She's just being stubborn, trying to make me give up. We've been together for three years, and you've only been together for four months? Three months? You're nothing but a substitute, a substitute for her to heal her wounds."
May you be struck by lightning, may every word pierce your heart.
Zhou Qishen later returned to the room. Zhao Xiyin was sitting in front of the dressing mirror, her long, flowing black hair making her complexion appear even whiter. Zhou Qishen gently stroked her head and calmly said, "They haven't gone far yet."