Lu Tianming did not answer her, instead fixing his gaze upon the financial news report playing on the television.
Watching Lu Tianming, Xu Qian, his wife of many decades, knew all too well just how stubborn her husband could be. She pursed her lips and sighed silently once more. Ever since that incident, Jingchen and her husband, despite being father and son, behaved as if they were neses, taking issue with each other at every turn. Whenever they t, it only took an inadvertent comnt to spark an argunt.
As a diator, Xu Qian felt she was in a no-win situation, siding neither with her son nor her husband after all, one was her child, and the other her spouse.
Often, she preferred to turn a blind eye, letting them quarrel among themselves.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to intervene, but she knew all too well the temperants of both her husband and son – reasoning with them was futile.
Just as Xu Qian turned to leave, planning to go upstairs to check on Song Qiao, Lu Tianming, who had intended to remain silent, suddenly spoke up.
"When little Xia and the others arrive later, tell the chef to prepare what they like to eat."
The "little Xia" the old master ntioned could only be Yu Xia, and Xu Qian was well aware that those visiting would likely not just be Yu Xia herself, but potentially also her parents.
Yu Xia was the only woman Lu Tianming approved of, the one he deed worthy of Lu Jingchen. Since learning about Yu Xia, Lu Tianming had decided she was to be his future daughter-in-law. So, no matter who Lu Jingchen brought ho, if it wasn’t Yu Xia, he regarded them as won of dubious origin, utterly unsuitable for his son.
Nor could they possibly fill the role of the Lu Family’s Young Mistress.
Upon hearing that Yu Xia was coming, Xu Qian’s expression changed, hesitated for a mont, and then spoke, "Master, you are well aware that Jingchen will bring his wife ho today..."
"I’ve said it, except for little Xia, those indecent, ambiguous won of unclear background, I won’t acknowledge any of them." Xu Qian had not finished her sentence when Lu Tianming cut her off with a cold voice.
Startled by Lu Tianming’s anger, Xu Qian was at a loss for words. After a long while, she continued, "But didn’t you hear what Jingchen said earlier? The two of them have already registered their marriage..."
Hearing his wife’s words, Lu Tianming’s expression darkened, his face growing even colder and in the next mont, he scoffed, "Being married ans they can divorce. What difference does it make if he wants to have a wedding next month? As long as I, Lu Tianming, do not agree, that woman of dubious origin will not set foot in the Lu Family’s threshold."
Unable to challenge her husband’s obstinacy further, Xu Qian sighed deeply and turned to leave.
...
Upstairs, the servant directly helped open the bedroom that Lu Jingchen used to occupy. The man pursed his lips in silence and carried the woman who was whimpering in pain into the bedroom. The room’s decoration hadn’t changed and was still exactly the way it was when he left.
He placed Song Qiao onto the only large bed in the room. Lu Jingchen didn’t let Song Qiao lie down since her injury was on her back and it covered almost the entire area. He had her lie face down on the bed instead.
Seeing the soaked dress on her back, he knew the tea that had splashed on her must have been scaldingly hot. Watching Song Qiao bury her face deep into the bedding, her hands clenched into fists as she bravely endured the searing pain without a word, made Lu Jingchen’s eyes grow colder and his jaw clench even tighter. He gently touched Song Qiao’s back and imdiately heard her sharp intake of breath, darkening his expression further.
"Little Qiao." He called her na, showing no hint of emotional change, but those listening carefully could detect an undertone of restrained emotion, subtle yet discernible.
Song Qiao slowly lifted her face from the bedding. Her eyes, clouded with a misty haze, betrayed her desire to cry from the intense pain, yet she forced back the tears, her attempted smile appearing more pained than any cry, "What is it?"
Lu Jingchen crouched down by the bed, almost as if he were about to kneel on one knee, grabbed her clenched fist, and carefully uncurled each finger. His deep, slightly hoarse voice, undeniably appealing, said, "If it hurts, you can cry. There’s nobody else here."
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