Chapter Thirty-Seven: Please, Let Me Cry

“Need to use the restroom?” The driver suddenly understood. Poor young man, he’s holding it in so hard his face has turned red. Of course, the most important thing is not to let him have an accident in the car.

The next moment, the driver floored the gas pedal. “Hang in there, son. If you really can’t take it, I’ll find a public restroom nearby.” Sweat broke out on the driver’s forehead; he was genuinely anxious. Last time, a passenger had stomach trouble and couldn’t hold back—left a mess that cost hundreds to clean, and the smell lingered, a true torment.

Chen Fang could only hold Ji Mei’s hand, take a deep breath, and say, “It’s alright, I can manage.”

The driver said nothing more, speeding onward. In just ten minutes, they reached Ji Mei’s home. Ji Mei picked up her bag, flashed Chen Fang a mischievous smile, and got out.

Chen Fang was about to exit when the driver stepped out first, opened the rear door, and inspected the seat carefully for any traces. Only after confirming everything was clean did he allow Chen Fang to leave.

The taxi drove away. Ji Mei clutched her stomach and burst out laughing.

“You like to laugh, huh!” Chen Fang scooped Ji Mei up in his arms. Ji Mei flustered for a moment, her long, shapely legs wrapped tightly around Chen Fang’s waist. She leaned down, whispering close to his ear, “Hurry inside, be careful not to get caught on camera.”

Chen Fang now enjoyed a bit of fame; paparazzi would surely be interested in his private life. Luckily, this was a high-end villa district—no outsiders could enter. But if some crazy paparazzo managed to snap a shot, it could affect Chen Fang’s reputation and future.

Chen Fang carried Ji Mei home. The luggage was tossed aside; he carried her straight to the bedroom. Ji Mei’s cheeks were flushed, her body tense.

Thud! Ji Mei landed on the bed. The mattress was exceptionally soft—Chen Fang had checked it before, so he wasn’t worried about hurting her.

“Still laughing?” Chen Fang asked with a smile.

Ji Mei propped her head up, gazing at him sideways, eyes shimmering with affection. “I beg you... let me cry.”

All Chen Fang had ever done was grant wishes.

Spring filled the bedroom, firm as a mountain, gentle as water. Clothes lay scattered across the floor. From around four in the afternoon until seven in the evening, passion didn't wane until breathless sighs finally faded.

This time, Ji Mei truly cried. She hadn’t expected Chen Fang to be so fierce.

In fact, as soon as Chen Fang undressed, Ji Mei regretted her earlier words. From his demeanor, making her cry wasn't enough—he seemed intent on exhausting her completely...

Thank goodness she survived.

Ji Mei lay languid and content in Chen Fang’s arms, unwilling to move an inch. Too tired, but thoroughly satisfied.

Chen Fang embraced her fragrant shoulders, still full of energy. At this moment, he finally understood the famous line from that foreign captain: “I could do this all day.”

He had to admit, the body-strengthening serum’s effects were unmatched. Too bad it was only available randomly; if he could trade for it directly, he’d stockpile several bottles.

Feeling Ji Mei's warmth, Chen Fang thought—after letting you escape twice, this time I’ll make sure you’re completely mine.

“I’m hungry~” Ji Mei rested her head on Chen Fang’s chest, her delicate hand tracing his abs—eight in total, smooth to the touch.

Chen Fang wasn’t much of a cook, but he could manage basic dishes. “Let me make some porridge,” he said, preparing to get up.

Ji Mei held him tight. “But I don’t want you to leave.”

“Then tie up your hair,” Chen Fang replied.

Ji Mei paused, then blushed deeply and gave him a playful punch. “Get lost! I really am hungry—call me when it’s ready.”

At last, Ji Mei let him go. Chen Fang walked out of the bedroom stark naked, not bothering with clothes. Though they’d seen each other countless times, Ji Mei still shyly asked, “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I’ll just have to take it off again soon,” Chen Fang quipped. Clothes? What’s the point! He had no intention of leaving tonight.

Ji Mei spat at him and hid under the covers, saying nothing more.

Of course, Chen Fang only said that; before leaving the bedroom, he found his pants amidst the scattered garments and wore them to the kitchen.

“How long has it been?” Chen Fang wondered. When was the last time he cooked for himself? He couldn’t recall, nor did he know if he still had the knack for making porridge.

Worried he’d make a mistake, he searched the steps for cooking porridge and frying eggs on his phone, following them carefully.

“Not hard at all,” he congratulated himself.

A few minutes later, still absorbed in frying eggs, he felt slender, fair arms wrap around his waist from behind, a warm cheek pressed tightly to his back.

Without turning, Chen Fang smiled, “Why did you come out?”

“I’m hungry,” Ji Mei replied softly.

Chen Fang flipped the eggs. “Almost done.”

Ji Mei hugged him tightly. This man, five years her junior, possessed a magic that made her reluctant to let go.

Smack! A crisp slap landed on her backside. Ji Mei flushed bright red.

Chen Fang glanced at the eggs—nearly burned. “If you keep teasing me, forget about eating.”

Ji Mei eyed the slightly charred pan. Never mind, better eat first, or she’d have no strength left for Chen Fang’s games.

Soon, Chen Fang brought out two bowls of porridge and two fried eggs.

Ji Mei wore nothing underneath, only a loose home shirt on top. According to Chen Fang, even that was unnecessary—she’d just take it off soon anyway.

Cooking porridge took no skill; Chen Fang only worried about burning the eggs.

Under his expectant gaze, Ji Mei took a bite and her eyes lit up. “Delicious!”

Worried she was just humoring him, Chen Fang tried it himself and immediately stood up. “Turns out I have a talent for cooking! I’m a genius.”

Ji Mei gave him a look.

They joked and laughed through their simple dinner.

Afterward, they sat together on the sofa, watching a bland variety show on TV. Ji Mei curled up in Chen Fang’s arms, docile as a kitten.

Seeing the program reminded Ji Mei of unfinished business. “Chen Fang...”

Smack! Another slap landed, leaving a handprint on her round hips.

“I’ll give you one more chance to address me properly,” Chen Fang teased, shaking his hand.

The sensation was irresistible—he wanted to do it again.

Ji Mei blushed, eyes filled with affection. “Little husband.”

Chen Fang was younger than her, and after their intimate closeness, calling him little husband felt natural.

Chen Fang nodded, pulling Ji Mei closer, and asked, “What did you want to say?”

“It’s about the third round of the auditions. The show has made some changes. The biggest one is that the third round will use masked performances on stage. Also, all the judges will be replaced, though I’m not sure who yet, but I have a tentative list. The most important thing—the theme for the third round is National Style.”

Chen Fang was stunned. He felt as if the changes were aimed directly at him.