Chapter 31: Quan Qing’er in Peril

Lu Ming tried to speak, but his throat was sore, and he covered his mouth, letting out a low cough.

Lian Youyou picked up the forehead thermometer and checked his temperature.

“Thirty-nine point seven degrees! Professor, let me take you to the clinic for an injection—the fever is too high!” Lian Youyou felt a pang of guilt; she should have bought medicine for Lu Ming before leaving that morning. Even if she hadn’t had time to go herself, with such efficient delivery services nowadays, she could have ordered medicine online and had it delivered straight to the door.

How could she have been so careless?

“No need. I’ll be fine after a little more sleep.” Lu Ming’s eyes ached from the fever, and he pressed his lightly closed eyelids with his hand.

“Don’t sleep anymore! You’re delirious from the fever. If you keep sleeping, you’ll fry your brains.” Lian Youyou tugged at Lu Ming’s arm, pulling him up with determination.

She measured out the medicine according to the instructions, poured him a glass of warm water, and said, “Professor, take your medicine first. We’ll see if the fever goes down in a while. If it doesn’t, you’ll need an injection or an IV drip.”

Lu Ming took the medicine and, with his hoarse voice, said to her, “Youyou, you’d better go out. Don’t let me infect you.”

“If I was afraid of getting sick, I would have left already,” she muttered quietly. The professor was really keeping his distance from her.

Looking after a patient was rather dull. With Lu Ming sick, there wasn’t even anyone to chat with. He asked Lian Youyou to fetch a copy of “The Wealth of Nations” from his study, telling her it was a classic work in economics.

Lian Youyou was at a loss with economics. She read a few pages but couldn’t get into it.

“Youyou, you can play a game for a while,” Lu Ming suggested, noticing how bored she was, pacing back and forth in the room.

“Alright,” she agreed readily.

She had imagined that Lu Ming’s computer would be filled with games, because all the college boys she knew loved online gaming. But when she turned on the computer in his bedroom, she found only one game installed: “Tales of the Martial World.”

She registered an account, chose a class, customized her character’s appearance, picked a novice outfit at random, and entered the game.

“Why does this game make you walk with the keyboard? I don’t want to play anymore!” After barely two minutes of the tutorial, Lian Youyou was already fed up.

She’d played some mobile games recently, where you just guided your character with your finger—so intuitive and easy. But this game wanted her to move with the W, A, S, and D keys, and she had no idea how to handle that.

After a while, someone knocked at the door.

“Lu… Wait, aren’t you Miss Lian Youyou, the spokeswoman for our company?” At the door stood a burly man, about thirty years old, wearing a jet-black suit and carrying a briefcase. His bronzed skin, imposing presence, square face, thick brows, and large eyes made him the very image of what elders would call a traditional good-looking man.

“And you are?” If not for the suit and briefcase, Lian Youyou would have taken him for a fitness coach.

She wasn’t particularly fond of overly muscular men; at first glance they seemed fine, but over time they felt greasy. Lu Ming, on the other hand, was her ideal type: lean muscles without any excess, not skinny but tall and well-proportioned, exuding both freshness and allure.

“I’m Lu—” The man was about to introduce himself when he caught sight of Lu Ming at the bedroom door, signaling him with a discreet gesture.

“Oh, right, I’m Du Mao, special assistant to the president of VastTech. I’m here to see Professor Lu Ming about some matters.”

She had no idea why VastTech’s assistant would be looking for Lu Ming, but she didn’t pry. Instead, she politely opened the door wider. “Please, come in.”

She turned to see Lu Ming and, feigning exasperation with her hands on her hips, said, “Why aren’t you resting in bed properly, wandering around like this?”

“It’s alright, Youyou. I’ll talk business with Mr. Du in the study. Could you make us some tea—the English black tea that arrived from Britain a few days ago?”

Lian Youyou draped a jacket over Lu Ming’s shoulders and said crossly, “Why drink black tea when you have a cold?”

The study door was left open. Du Mao and Lu Ming sat facing each other, while Du Mao leaned over to watch Lian Youyou preparing tea at the bar.

“No wonder you skipped all the subsequent selection rounds, Lu. When I hadn’t seen her in person, I thought she was just somewhat attractive. But after seeing her now—well, well, well…”

“What about her?” Lu Ming put on his gold-rimmed glasses and picked up the document Du Mao had placed on the table.

“She’s breathtakingly beautiful in real life—several times more so than in photos.”

Anyone who could make their President Lu break with protocol was certainly not an ordinary beauty.

Whenever Lian Youyou was mentioned, Lu Ming’s eyes filled with pride. “She’s not photogenic; the camera can’t capture a fraction of her beauty.”

When serving English black tea, one must use the proper cups. Lu Ming’s home boasted a full array of tableware and teacups, so Lian Youyou took out a set of porcelain tea ware with English rose patterns.

Among all types of black tea, she still preferred Chinese Pu’er—its flavor growing richer with every sip, mellow and nourishing. As for English black tea, it was just something the socialites she used to know enjoyed at afternoon tea for a taste of leisure.

She carried the tea tray in, setting down two small plates before Lu Ming and Du Mao, followed by cups and spoons. Holding the teapot by its handle and steadying the lid with her other hand, she poured the freshly brewed tea into Du Mao’s cup.

For Lu Ming, however, she poured only warm water.

“Oh, and there are tea snacks. Please wait a moment.”

Once Lian Youyou had left, Du Mao covered his mouth and said in a low voice, “Personally, I still prefer her mother, Lian Meng—she has more feminine charm. Miss Lian Youyou is just too cute, like a little girl, not enough allure.”

Lu Ming took a sip of water. “You know nothing.”

Men like Du Mao, who judged only by appearance, could never understand. What he loved was not the superficial, but the soul within.

…

One week later

Quan Qing’er stood in her second-floor bedroom, leaning against the window, watching the cars’ headlights flicker along the road in the night, illuminating the dim street in intermittent bursts.

After much deliberation, she finally dialed Lian Youyou’s number.

“Hello… What are you doing up so late? Why aren’t you asleep?” Lian Youyou, deep in sleep, was jolted awake and sounded rather irritable.

“Youyou, could you come over?” Quan Qing’er’s voice trembled with terror. “Qu Wuyan… is coming to find me…”

“What!” The moment she heard the name Qu Wuyan, Lian Youyou shot upright as if jolted with adrenaline.

Anything involving Fan Chi or Qu Wuyan put her instantly on high alert, ready to fight.

“Youyou, I suppose you’ve seen from the recent news— The man I was involved with is your father, Fan Chi. Now everything’s blown up, and Qu Wuyan seems to have lost her mind. She called me this evening saying she’d come to settle accounts. What should I do, Youyou? Should I hide somewhere first?”

Lian Youyou scratched her messy hair and cursed Quan Qing’er inwardly. She should have thought of the consequences before acting.

It was bad enough being the other woman, but to get tangled up with Fan Chi and Qu Wuyan—those two troublemakers—was just asking for disaster.