Chapter Seventy-Seven: Hollow Inside

Hearing the slight tremor in Mo Qinghan’s voice as she spoke within his arms, Zhao Qingwu’s brows knitted tighter with guilt. He knew well that she had once tried to end her life by drowning, and must now harbor an inexplicable fear of water. Slowly, he raised a hand to gently stroke her wet hair, his voice rich and magnetic: “Don’t be afraid. If you really can’t stand having water poured over your head, you can bathe in the tub and I’ll take care of your hair for you. How does that sound?”

Only then did Mo Qinghan slowly pull away from his embrace. Zhao Qingwu noticed that her hospital gown, already buttoned too low, clung damply to her slender figure. Drops of water trickled from her hairline down into her chest. Taller than her by quite a bit, Zhao Qingwu’s gaze inadvertently swept over the faint glimpse revealed at her chest, his eyes darkening, a flush rising to his cheeks.

“Could you run the bath for me?” Mo Qinghan asked weakly.

Her voice pulled Zhao Qingwu back to his senses. He coughed awkwardly and replied, “Of course.” Glancing down, he saw her bare feet on the slippery floor. He slipped off his own slippers, saying, “The floor is slick. Put these on so you don’t fall.” After that, he went into the bathroom and put on the pair she had left there before.

When the tub was nearly full, he tested the water with the back of his hand. Satisfied, he went to the door and spoke to Mo Qinghan, who was standing in the bathroom, “Let me know when you’re done bathing and I’ll help you with your hair.” With that, he gently closed the door behind him.

After her bath, wrapped in a robe, Mo Qinghan opened the bathroom door and called softly toward the kitchen, “Um...” The first two syllables were barely audible, but then she raised her voice, “I’m finished.”

Zhao Qingwu turned the stove down, wiped his hands with a cloth, and brought out a basin from the kitchen. Seeing Mo Qinghan standing awkwardly in the living room, he smiled, “Go lie down on the rattan chair on the balcony. I’ll bring you some warm water.”

Like an obedient kitten, she did exactly as she was told, lying quietly on the chair, her gaze unfocused on the ceiling above. Her mind was full of questions: why could she remember nothing? What had happened to her to make her this way? Was Zhao Qingwu really her boyfriend? But if so, why did her heart not flutter at the sight of him?

Zhao Qingwu, having gently dipped her hair into the basin, noticed her distant, unmoving eyes. He spoke softly, “Is the pressure okay? If it’s too much, you must let me know.”

Mo Qinghan was dazed for a few seconds before she replied, “It’s just right.” She bit her lip, hesitated several times, then finally asked in a low voice, “How... did I used to address you?”

His hands paused in her hair, a sly smile curving his lips. “Do you really want to know?”

“Of course! I can’t just keep calling you ‘hey’ or ‘that guy’...”

Before she could finish, Zhao Qingwu blurted out, “Husband. That’s what you used to call me.”

The word sent a ringing shock through Mo Qinghan’s mind; her exposed toes curled in embarrassment, and after several awkward breaths, she stammered, “Did I really... call you that before?”

A low chuckle sounded beside her ear. “I was teasing you,” Zhao Qingwu said. Images of her previous ways of addressing him—‘Senior Zhao’, ‘Zhao Qingwu’—flashed through his mind, and he added with a gentle smile, “You always called me Qingwu before. That’s just fine now, too.”

“Alright, big brother,” Mo Qinghan replied playfully.

The sudden address sent a gentle warmth through Zhao Qingwu’s heart. He found himself liking it. Raising his brow, he said, “I actually quite like that. Why not call me ‘big brother’ from now on?”

He leaned down then, his lips barely brushing her brow. Their eyes met, his gaze full of tenderness, while Mo Qinghan, abashed, could not maintain eye contact, her eyes flickering away.

Not wishing to tease her further, Zhao Qingwu wrapped her freshly washed hair in a towel and helped her up from the chair, leading her to the bedroom to dry her hair.

Mo Qinghan had assumed she’d be drying her own hair, but Zhao Qingwu had her sit on a stool, tested the hairdryer’s temperature, then gently began drying her hair himself. She sat stiffly, legs pressed together, her toes curled with nervousness. Sensing her discomfort, Zhao Qingwu deliberately lightened his touch. Then, instead of standing behind her, he moved to stand before her. Without knowing why, Mo Qinghan suddenly looked up—and her gaze fell exactly where it shouldn’t have. Her pale cheeks flushed scarlet, spreading quickly to her ears and neck. Seeing this, Zhao Qingwu immediately switched off the hairdryer.

“Is the heat too high? Your face and neck are all red,” he asked.

Mo Qinghan rose from the stool, laughing awkwardly, her fingers touching her burning cheeks and neck. “It is a bit hot, and my hair’s almost dry. Maybe I should just let it air dry,” she said, quickly scurrying away from the scene of her embarrassment.

Zhao Qingwu looked at himself, then at the stool, and suddenly understood her flush and awkwardness. He couldn’t suppress a sweet smile as he left the room.

By the time he emerged, Mo Qinghan had already set the soup and dishes on the table and taken her seat. She was so embarrassed she didn’t dare look at Zhao Qingwu, keeping her head down as she quietly ate her rice, not even picking at the dishes.

To break the awkward silence, Zhao Qingwu smiled and asked, “Why aren’t you eating any of the dishes? Don’t you like them?”

Only then did Mo Qinghan look up, smiling awkwardly. “No, I like them,” she replied, picking up a green pepper and placing it in her bowl.

A faint smile flickered in Zhao Qingwu’s eyes. “Green peppers are quite spicy. Are you sure you want to eat it?” But before he finished, Mo Qinghan had already popped the pepper into her mouth. A fiery heat spread across her tongue instantly.

She couldn’t spit it out, nor could she swallow it, her cheeks puffed and red, her eyes pleading as she looked at Zhao Qingwu across the table.

He quickly poured her a cup of warm water and handed it over. “Spit it out, silly!” he urged.

Taking his cue, Mo Qinghan spat the pepper into the trash and downed the warm water in one gulp. Her tongue, red and burning, stuck out as she fanned herself with her hands. “Why did you buy such spicy peppers?” she complained.

Zhao Qingwu came over, bent down to her, and blew warm breath over her cheek, asking gently, “Feeling any better?”

Their noses were nearly touching. At that moment, Mo Qinghan finally understood the meaning of a racing heart. She quickly drew her tongue back, licked her tingling lips, and stammered, “Big brother, you’re too close. How am I supposed to eat?”

Only then did Zhao Qingwu straighten up and return to his seat. They ate in silence from then on, with Zhao Qingwu always serving her more food.

After the meal, Mo Qinghan washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen. But soon another headache arose: though there were two bedrooms, only Zhao Qingwu’s had a bed. A thought flashed through her mind—had she and Zhao Qingwu once shared a bed? She wasn’t sure where she should sleep, so she paced the living room anxiously.

Fresh from his shower, Zhao Qingwu found her pacing and asked, “What’s going on?”

Tugging nervously at her robe’s sash, one hand clutching her chest, she asked, mortified, “How are we supposed to sleep tonight?”

A meaningful smile played on Zhao Qingwu’s lips as he leaned in close, his deep voice brushing her ear: “Of course we’ll sleep in the same bed. There’s only one set of bedding in the house. You wouldn’t make me sleep on the couch, would you?”

But Mo Qinghan’s next words left him stunned: “But I’m not wearing anything underneath... there’s nothing inside. How can I sleep in the same bed?” Her face flushed crimson, and her toes curled in embarrassment.

He stood speechless for a moment before replying, “I didn’t think of that. But there really is only one set of bedding. If I sleep on the couch, I’ll catch a cold. How about we share the bed just for tonight, and I’ll buy whatever’s needed first thing in the morning?”

Seeing her still rooted to the spot, Zhao Qingwu reassured her, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. I promise.”

Only then did Mo Qinghan finally move towards the bedroom.

Once inside, she dove under the covers. She always felt as if Zhao Qingwu could see right through her, that any secret thought she had would be betrayed by the slightest twitch of her lips in his presence.