Chapter 3: Wife

Shang Youqing retreated to the side of the road with housekeeper Chen, holding an umbrella. A black car drove towards them and stopped slightly in front of her. The window of the back seat slowly rolled down.

The sound of raindrops was heard, and the faint smell of burning incense flowed out of the car.

The man sitting in the expensive leather chair was dressed in a suit and tie, with the cuffs of his black shirt rolled up on his forearms. He lowered his handsome and cold face slightly, looking at a report without even raising his head.

Housekeeper Chen took Shang Youqing half a step forward, nodded slightly, and respectfully reported Shang Youqing's identity and subsequent instructions to the head of the family in the car.

After listening, He Cong raised his eyes symbolically. Through half of the window glass, he could only roughly see a slender and straight figure under the umbrella. Without even stopping for half a second, his eyes fell back on the documents in his hand. He said "hard work" lightly, and the car window closed again.

Seeing Shang Youqing still standing under his umbrella, staring at the departing car, Butler Chen explained, "Mr. He has always been rather aloof to outsiders, Miss Shang, please forgive me."

"No," Shang Youqing said, sniffing the air. "I just feel like the smell in the car is a little familiar."

"Oh, that's it! It might be because Mr. He recently went to the temple to worship and burn incense. I guess he picked it up there."

Shang Youqing suddenly realized why she was smelling a faint scent of incense.

Butler Chen sent a servant to take Shang Youqing to the small annex to rest, while he hurried back to the main house.

Upon entering the gate, he saw Mr. He standing under the stone pillars of the entrance, staring at two boxes of local specialties on the ground.

Butler Chen stepped forward to explain, "Mr. He, these are a little gift from Miss Shang."

He Cong's dark, calm eyes swept across the unknown dust covering the boxes, and he said coldly, "Don't bring such dirty things in again."

Butler Chen said "Yes" and immediately ordered his servants to take the two boxes away.

At that moment, the intermittent sound of a violin could be heard from upstairs.

He Cong glanced toward the piano room. "Is Momo practicing?"

Butler Chen nodded, then thought for a moment before adding, "The young master is still in a bad mood, and we don't let anyone in to disturb him."

The fluctuating strength of the piano music gradually became clearer as he ascended the elevator. The piano room door wasn't completely closed. He Cong hung his suit jacket over his arm and approached the doorway to take a look.

He Zhimo sat on the piano stool in front of the bay window, his small hands expertly plucking the violin resting against his neck. His face, bowed low, bore a faint resemblance to the wife he remembered.

The piano music in the room abruptly stopped; the little fellow had heard the noise and turned to look over.

He put down the violin, straightened the corner of his expensive clothes, and strode over to He Cong. His small hands twirled a string of green sandalwood Buddhist beads, and he bowed to him formally.

"Dad, I've decided to move to Changci Temple."

"..."

He Cong watched his youngest son's performance quietly.

"Dad, take good care of yourself when I'm not around,"

the young master said with a fearless attitude. He then picked up the bag he had packed that morning and prepared to leave home.

He Cong: "Ruibai's keeper is here today, and we'll probably be able to find Ruibai tomorrow."

Young Master He paused, his inky black eyes widened, and he pretended to be calm, clutching the strap of his schoolbag and taking a small step back. His little face looked old-fashioned and serious: "I suddenly still feel worried about Dad. What if Dad misses Mom again when he sleeps at night and gets sick? I'd better not leave."

He Cong expressionlessly: "Thank you, your father hasn't had a relapse in a year."

He Zhimo gently tugged at He Cong's clothes with his little hand and raised his head, "So can we really find Ruibai back, Dad?"

"Yeah." He Cong lowered his eyes and glanced at his youngest son, who was obviously in a better mood, and his low and cold voice softened a little, "I'll take you to see it then."

At night, He Cong personally coaxed the child to sleep, went to the study to deal with some things, and then returned to the master bedroom.

After emerging from the shower, He Cong picked up the black Buddha amulet on the bedside table, looking down at it silently for a moment before wiping it clean with his fingertips and tying it back around his neck.

The room was filled with the sleep-inducing scent of sandalwood. With the lights out, the sound of rain outside the window seemed amplified.

He Cong closed his eyelashes and, as expected, dreamed of his wife, who had perished in the fire three years earlier, her body completely untouched.

In the middle of the night, He Cong suddenly opened his eyes.

His dark eyes, moist, stared blankly at a point in the direction of the door.

The emotions he usually suppressed were now silently released in the darkness.

He Cong mechanically opened the door and, following the faint, familiar scent, walked slowly in.

"

Aqiu."

Perhaps because of the drizzle outside, Shang Youqing couldn't help but sneeze as he entered his assigned first-floor guest room.

She poured herself a cup of hot water and took a few sips, feeling a little warmer. She took out her cell phone from her backpack and called her baby who was far away in Ning City. She also informed him that she might have to delay her return for a day.

The rain was still drizzling, and the night in Bindao seemed to be chilly to the bone.

Shang Youqing was a bit sleepy to begin with. After washing up, she lay on the bed and talked to her baby for a while before she felt sleepy. She didn't even notice when she hung up the phone, and fell into a deep sleep without realizing it.

In the middle of the night, Shang Youqing was awakened by a loud thunder outside the window. She turned over and tried to continue sleeping. She faintly heard the sound of the door edge hitting the wall, and a cool breeze blew in.

Did she forget to close the door when she went to bed just now?

Shang Youqing rubbed her eyes and got up from the bed. She opened her eyelids and suddenly took a breath.

The He family patriarch, who had sat in his car during the day, impeccably dressed in a suit, handsome and aloof, never even glancing at anyone, was now sitting beside Shang Youqing's bed, draped in a loose robe, his short black hair tangled and soft, wet with raindrops. He stared at her intently

, his gaze fixed on her. Shang Youqing felt a pang of pain in her heart.

She had no idea why this man had come so late at night, or how long he had been sitting there. She forced herself to stay calm, leaning against the bed and asking, "Mr. He, what are you doing here?"

He Cong continued to stare at her intently, his steady, sharp eyes like a thin layer of ice melting in the rainy night, gazing deeply into her.

After a long pause, he replied, somewhat dejectedly, "I don't know either."

Shang Youqing frowned slightly, then suddenly realized something. She raised her hand and waved it in front of his face. Sure enough, He Cong didn't move.

Was this... sleepwalking?

Shang Youqing hadn't expected such a human elite to suffer from sleepwalking. Just

as he was about to call for someone to escort him back home, He Cong suddenly lowered his head to Shang Youqing's abdomen.

Through the cotton fabric, He Cong gently nuzzled his face against her thin, narrow waist and abdomen, his hot breath suffusing him as he mumbled two words.

"Wife..."

"?"

Shang Youqing snapped awake, and without a second thought, he kicked the man out and locked the door.

Before arriving at Yanyuan, she'd heard Old Yan mention the He family patriarch before, and naturally knew some of the rumors surrounding him.

But she'd never imagined she'd be mistaken for his deceased wife by this man, sleepwalking...

Rain pattered outside, and Shang Youqing had just picked up her phone when she heard a soft clatter against the door.

She swiped the screen, calmly walked to the window, and slightly parted the curtains. Then, she caught a glimpse of this scene.

He Cong leaned against the door, his head bowed. Rain from the archway, carried by the wind, splattered on him. He pounded his head against the door, his voice hoarse.

"Wife, I'm a little cold,"

Shang Youqing finally found the number of housekeeper Chen, whom she'd added earlier that day. But after hearing the muffled complaint, her fingers curled slightly, and she didn't press it immediately.

She stared at He Cong, unable to tell that Mr. He was so deeply concerned for his deceased wife.

Just as she came to her senses and was about to call housekeeper Chen, He Cong suddenly stopped knocking on the door. He stood quietly outside the door, his body straight as if he was standing there as punishment, or as if the computer had crashed. After a while, He Cong turned around silently and left her room with steady and mechanical steps.