Chapter 73: It Doesn't Hurt

Lu Yan followed her inside and closed the door behind him.

Shen Qingyi took a small white porcelain jar of ointment from a drawer by the desk. It had originally been prepared for An'an—for scrapes and bruises when the child fell or got scratched. A dab of this, and the wound would heal in two days.

"Sit down," Shen Qingyi said, pointing to the chair in front of the desk.

Lu Yan was too tall for her to reach otherwise.

Obediently, Lu Yan sat. Only then did Shen Qingyi open the porcelain jar, scoop out a small lump of pale yellow ointment with her finger, and lean closer to apply it to his wound.

Lu Yan felt her touch as gentle as a whisper; the cool ointment glided along his jaw, melting beneath her fingertips, which brought a delicate warmth. Her soft touch seemed to carry an electric charge, sending a tingling sensation down his spine. He couldn't help but shrink back a little.

"Does it hurt?" Shen Qingyi quickly withdrew her hand.

Lu Yan shook his head at once. "No, it doesn't."

She was so close that he could feel her warm breath against his face as she spoke, making his heart itch with longing.

Turning his head slightly, he saw his wife's furrowed brow, her cautious expression as if tending a child.

"It really doesn't hurt," he reassured her.

But how could a cut that long not hurt? "Why didn't you dodge just now?" she asked.

Lu Yan pressed his lips together. "If I let go, the person I was holding would have escaped. If I faced both at once, my odds of winning would drop, so I had to deal with the one in hand first.

“The way things turned out was the smallest price to pay—it was worth it.”

Shen Qingyi paused, gazing in surprise at the man before her. Even in a fight, did he calculate everything so precisely?

But he truly was swift and decisive; his strikes left no room for the other to react, as if he had already observed and predicted everything.

How could such a clever man…?

But never mind. Perhaps he simply didn't want to. After all, whatever Lu Yan set his mind to, he accomplished with ease.

Noticing the sudden shadow over his wife's expression, Lu Yan asked, “What’s wrong?”

She was silent for a moment. “Nothing. Thank you for today. Please, don’t be so reckless in the future. Don’t let yourself get hurt.”

At that moment, she truly felt grateful her husband was by her side.

“But he brought two others with him; he clearly wasn’t here for a reasonable conversation.” Lu Yan had been ready for trouble as soon as the other two appeared.

“I know.” Still, seeing Lu Yan get hurt had made her both anxious and distressed.

Shen Qingyi put the ointment away. “All right, get some rest early.”

Lu Yan wasn't ready to leave yet. “Does Professor Shen really have that notebook?”

Shen Qingyi hesitated, unsure how to answer. If she said no and produced it two years later, wouldn’t that expose her lie?

Seeing her silence, Lu Yan understood. “Then take good care of it. As for the Zhao family, I’ll have someone investigate why they’re so fixated on my father-in-law’s things. If you need anything, go to Wang Zhifang. I’ll give him instructions.”

He also wondered why, as soon as the professor died, Aunt Han remarried so quickly—barely three months later.

“All right,” she replied.

“I’ll save up my leave to come back and see you and An’an,” Lu Yan added.

Again, she replied, “All right.”

Yet, she felt stifled inside.

With nothing more to say, Lu Yan still wanted to linger, but his wife had already turned to straighten the bed.

Only then did he rise and quietly return to his own room.

An’an was still awake, lying on his stomach with his cheeks cupped in his hands, staring at the mat on the bed.

“Why aren’t you asleep yet, An’an?”

“I wanted to ask you a question, Dad.” An’an yawned, fighting off sleep.

“Go ahead.”

“Have you ever lost a fight?”

Lu Yan laughed. So boys really did care about this. “I have. In the beginning, I lost all the time.”

An’an looked surprised, then a little disappointed. “Why did you lose?”

“Losing isn’t important. What matters is that later, I never lost again.”

Hearing this, An’an was finally satisfied. He looked at Lu Yan again. “Dad, I really don’t want you to go on business trips.”

“I’ll come back to see you and your mom.”

An’an’s big eyes blinked up at him. “Will you miss me and Mom?”

“I will,” Lu Yan replied, gently stroking his son’s head.

Only then did An’an settle down beside him and fall asleep.

The next afternoon, Lu Yan went to work, Lu Caiqing went to mind the stall, and Shen Qingyi took An’an out to buy groceries.

After putting the groceries away in the fridge, she sat at the table but simply couldn’t summon the desire to draw.

She opened the wardrobe, took a small wooden box from the top shelf, found the key, and unlocked it. Inside were stacks of manuscripts and notebooks. Shen Qingyi took out a blue hardcover notebook.

She flipped through a few pages—there were formulas and diagrams she couldn’t understand at all. After a while, she closed it, checked that everything was in place, and then carefully wiped each manuscript with a cloth before locking them away again.

Her mind worked to recall the “Uncle Zhao” her mother had mentioned. After her father was devastated by that incident, he withered in just a few days. He called Lu Yan to his side, entrusted him with his last wish, and then passed away.

Her mother fell apart completely.

As soon as her father was buried, her mother took Shen Qingyi’s hand and said, “Qingyi, you can’t marry Lu Yan. Otherwise, you’ll never have a happy life.”

Shen Qingyi didn’t understand. Her father had never done her harm—he’d arranged the very best for her, the finest schools, teachers, toys, everything he could provide.

She asked, “Why?”

“Because he’s just like your father.”

Shen Qingyi didn’t understand. To outsiders, her parents were the image of a loving couple. She had never heard them argue, nor had her father ever quarreled with her.

Whatever her mother wanted, her father would give if he had it. She had always believed their marriage was happy—until her father died and she realized her mother was dissatisfied, even resentful.

“But…” Shen Qingyi had liked Lu Yan from the moment she first saw him, even if he’d barely glanced her way—always eating or discussing research with her father.

Her feelings weren’t just her own; she’d heard many girls at school liked him too. She was just one among many.

Her mother was deeply disappointed: “I raised you myself, yet you always listen to him, not me.”

Shen Qingyi felt wronged. Her father had never demanded obedience; it was her mother she rarely disobeyed. But this time, she wanted to follow her own heart.

What she hadn’t considered was whether Lu Yan was willing.

All that happened afterwards felt like fate’s retribution. She had planned to let him go, but now, with all misunderstandings resolved, she finally breathed easy.

As for Uncle Zhao, she had only met him once. He came to pick up her mother, dressed in a Chinese-style suit, looking more like a businessman than a researcher.

Why did he want her father’s notebook? Could he even understand it? And her mother—how had she grown so close to Uncle Zhao in just four months?

And now, four years had passed.