Chapter 6: Mangosteen

The car was cramped, but Pu Rou lived up to her name—she was soft as silk.

Her heels borrowed from a dancer's design, threads of shimmer winding around her ankles.

Now one shoe dangled by Sheng Kuang's ear. He reached for her calf and pulled her flush against him.

"Husband… do they all recognize your car?"

Pu Rou was dizzy, barely lucid. She caught his fingertip between her lips, and a vein jumped in Sheng Kuang's neck.

"So what if they do?" His voice came out ragged, barely held together. "What were you thinking when you came onto me back there…"

His tone thickened with each movement. "Now you're scared of getting caught?"

Pu Rou let out a short, startled cry. "Be gentle!"

"You're the one who started it," she shot back, tears welling. "We were playing cards just fine—why did you have to touch my hand?"

Turned into the guilty party, Sheng Kuang stopped and tilted her face toward him. "So you think I did it on purpose?"

Pu Rou squirmed. "Didn't you?"

Did he? Or didn't he?

Beneath him, Pu Rou's eyes were hazy, her pale body glowing warm in the dim light—a jade figure carved to perfection.

Sheng Kuang bent down and crushed his lips against hers, no time to untangle the question.

……

The underground parking garage of the Magnificent Club.

The card players said their goodbyes by the elevators. Jiang Zheng and the couple Cheng Muqing and Fu Xu headed the same way, just in time to catch the taillights of a black Maybach flick past the turn.

"Brother Sheng's car just left?"

Cheng Muqing checked his watch. "You must be seeing things. Look at the time."

Jiang Zheng scratched his head. "The plate looked like his…"

Cheng Muqing and Fu Xu exchanged a glance, and the couple burst into inexplicable laughter.

Jiang Zheng grew more confused. "What's so funny?"

Naturally, it had stirred up some fond and rather thrilling memories between husband and wife.

Cheng Muqing couldn't be bothered to explain to Jiang Zheng, a lifelong bachelor. "Go sit at the kids' table. We're out."

The black Maybach wove through the city lights.

In the driver's seat, Sheng Kuang glanced at the rearview mirror. Pu Rou was curled under his oversized suit jacket, fast asleep.

She was like a little disciple in a cultivation world, her emotional roots plucked out by her master before she ever understood what love was.

No worries. No love. Everything she did seemed to run on pure instinct.

The car rolled slowly into their new home, Lanting Villa. The person in the back seat stirred.

Pu Rou propped herself up, bleary-eyed, the pink gauze dress barely covering the essentials.

Sheng Kuang got out and opened her door.

The oversized jacket wrapped her up tight. Pu Rou stepped out, took two steps, and suddenly stopped dead.

Sheng Kuang halted too. "What is it?"

She bit her lower lip, eyes glistening. "…It's leaking out."

The man froze for half a second, then closed the distance in two strides and scooped her up.

His arms were warm and steady. Pu Rou clutched the hem of his jacket, her mind drifting, until he set her down in the bathroom and she snapped back.

"Do you need help tonight?"

Pu Rou shook her head gently. "I can manage."

"Alright."

Sheng Kuang loosened his tie. Her gaze dropped to the motion, and something in her eyes dimmed.

A flicker of unease passed through him. He stepped out of the bathroom.

After a slow shower, Pu Rou realized she had nothing to wear.

She called for Sheng Kuang and got no answer—probably showering in the guest room. Left with no choice, she wrapped herself in a towel and padded to the walk-in closet for a nightgown.

Barefoot, wearing nothing under a long dark green nightgown, she went downstairs to find a drink.

When Sheng Kuang found her in the wine cellar, she had already put away half a bottle of dry red on her own.

Crimson flushed from her neck to the tips of her ears. She lay sprawled on the sofa staring blankly at the ceiling, the wine glass on the floor beside her tipped over.

She looked like a medieval oil painting.

"Pu Rou." He said her name.

The alcohol had dulled her reactions. She turned her head slowly. "Something wrong?"

Sheng Kuang stood in the doorway without moving. "It's ten o'clock. Aren't you going to sleep?"

She looked puzzled. Ten o'clock—by her body clock, the night was just getting started.

"Do you need me to sync my schedule with yours?" Pu Rou asked.

Sheng Kuang considered it. "I don't make a habit of forcing people, but your hours aren't healthy."

Pu Rou understood. She sat up from the sofa. "Then I'll try to adjust."

She was a very qualified wife in Sheng Kuang's eyes—beautiful, obedient, seemingly hollow inside. But he figured he had no emotional needs that required anchoring in another person.

"Come back to the old residence with me after work tomorrow."

He paused, then added, "The family situation is complicated. When you're there, just focus on eating your fill."

Pu Rou nodded. She'd known before they signed the marriage certificate.

The Sheng family had four sons, each born to a different mother.

All of those wives had been formally married to Sheng Yuanhong.

The first and second wives had divorced. Sheng Kuang's mother had passed away when he was in elementary school.

Sheng Yuanhong's current wife was about the same age as his eldest son, with no blood relation to the three brothers.

The young madam probably felt too much like an outsider, because a couple of years ago she'd gone in for some technological assistance and produced a son of her own.

On her way back to the bedroom, Pu Rou was still thinking about it. An environment like that—no wonder Sheng Kuang had turned out the way he had, keeping everyone at arm's length, never wasting a word.

"Should I prepare some gifts?"

She hadn't been in bed at ten o'clock in ages, so sleep didn't come easily.

Sheng Kuang lay on his side, his voice low and pleasant. "My assistant has it handled."

Pu Rou hummed and rolled over again under the covers. "Can't sleep."

"Isn't this the time for some marital late-night talk?" she mumbled.

Sheng Kuang turned over, short on patience. "You could go out and get a job."

The implication being: if she had somewhere to be during the day, she wouldn't be this wired at night.

Pu Rou took it in stride. "Fine. I'll go to work tomorrow."

She was practically a good-luck mascot—say the word and she'd do it.

Sheng Kuang let out a soft scoff, then heard her ramble on. "When I was little, my favorite thing was squeezing between Mom and Dad to listen to them talk at night."

"They'd chat and crack each other up. I couldn't follow any of it, but I'd laugh along anyway, and somewhere in the laughing I'd fall asleep."

"But every morning I'd wake up in my own room. They probably carried me back after I nodded off…"

No response from the other side.

Pu Rou stopped talking. Only then did she remember—Sheng Kuang didn't have a mother anymore.

She pressed her lips together in the dark and rolled over to hug him.

His muscles went taut, almost imperceptibly. "What are you doing? Still hungry?"

Pu Rou's warm body radiated against him. She gave him a playful little swat.

"Husband, I'm going to treat you well."

Sheng Kuang frowned. "…What?"

Pu Rou rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, like a kitten washing its face.

"I said, I'm going to treat you well."

Sheng Kuang wasn't used to that kind of closeness, but he didn't mind it either. Nobody turns down being loved.

He pulled her into his arms, and drowsiness washed over him. "Sleep."

Pu Rou hadn't been tired before, but folded into his arms, she yawned too. "Goodnight, husband."