Chapter Seventy-Two: A Little Secret Discovered

Wen Jingxing frowned as he looked at her pitiful little expression, helplessly saying, “Alright, alright, I’ll bring you with me.”
She used to be so bold—when had she become afraid of the dark?
Wen Jingxing felt something was strange. After all these years apart due to certain events, not only had her personality changed drastically, but even her habits seemed altered.
Could it be that since Song Zijiang married his new wife, he hadn’t treated Song Wanning as well as the rumors suggested?
It was right after Song Wanning’s mother passed away that Wen Jingxing never saw her again.
It wasn’t until last year, when Old Master Song fell gravely ill, that the childhood engagement between the Wen and Song families was brought up once more.
But a lot had happened in the meantime. Originally, Song Wanning was supposed to be engaged to the eldest Wen son—his older brother—but for some reason, it ended up being him instead.
The Song family didn’t mind; as long as they could form an alliance with the Wen family, it didn’t matter who the groom was.
But Song Wanning herself was full of objections. Her attitude toward him shifted from indifferent to downright hostile.
Wen Jingxing was not the kind of cruel, possessive hero found in novels, who forces and controls what he cannot obtain, binding the other to his side.
In this, he was quite reasonable—he knew affection could not be coerced.
So, even when Song Wanning’s attitude was unpleasant, he said nothing, choosing instead to pacify the old master for the time being and then find a reason to break off the engagement with her later.
Clearly, something must have happened in between.
Wen Jingxing’s instincts were always sharp; he let his gaze fall on Song Wanning.
“Did someone say something to you? Is that why you were so hostile toward me before?”
Song Wanning frowned right back at him, “Who could have said anything?”
She had no memory of the original host and, in the book’s plot, her role was so minor that she barely appeared at all.
This novel was intriguing in one way: nearly everyone met a tragic end.
Song Wanning had reread it several times in hopes of finding at least one character who had a good ending.
But there were none.
Even the main couple’s fate was just as bleak.
The rest either died before the end or were trapped by love and could not escape.
Seeing Wen Jingxing’s serious expression, Song Wanning tried to recall the plot and said, “She… er, I didn’t really go out much, mostly just stayed home and spoke only with family.”
Her words seemed to confirm Wen Jingxing’s suspicions.
His frown deepened, but he said nothing more. He led Song Wanning to the bedroom and knelt down to search under the bed.
He didn’t find the hot water bottle, but instead came across a thin piece of paper. Curious, he pulled it out—it was a photograph.

Taking a closer look, wasn’t this a picture of himself as a child?
He turned to look for Song Wanning and found her squatting right beside him, her eyes fixed on what he held.
Song Wanning pointed at the photo in his hand, exclaiming, “So that’s where it was! I lost this photo after I took it out the other day!”
In truth, the first day Song Wanning arrived, while rummaging through her luggage for a decent nightgown, she stumbled across the photo.
She’d wondered why the original host would carry around a picture of a child.
With a flick of her wrist, she’d tossed it under the bed.
How could she have known it was Wen Jingxing’s photo? Had she known, she would have done more than just toss it under the bed—she’d have thrown it far away, preferably into the trash.
Anyone with sense would know that carrying around someone else’s photo—bringing it even to work—meant that person was very important to you.
Wen Jingxing understood this as well. He asked sternly, “Why did you bring it with you?”
“I don’t know.” Song Wanning shook her head.
He didn’t believe her.
“If you don’t know, then I’ll just take it.”
“Go ahead.” Song Wanning’s expression was relaxed, showing not the slightest hint of reluctance.
Wen Jingxing wondered, was it really just an ordinary photo?
But if so, why would she bring his photo along to a program?
It didn’t make sense; the matter only grew more tangled.
He decided to wait until she sobered up to ask again.
After all, who knew what nonsense she might say while drunk?
He had no way of knowing that everything Song Wanning said while drunk was nonsense.
He slipped the photo into his pocket, then reached under the bed again and finally found the hot water bottle.
Carrying it to the bathroom to fill it, he was followed by Song Wanning.
When he returned to the bedroom, she trailed behind.
It seemed deliberate, yet almost absentminded—he left only a dim bedside lamp on, knowing Song Wanning was afraid of the dark, so wherever he went, she followed.

He wiped her face, washed his hands, soaked her feet, and, despite her reluctant resistance, tucked her into bed.
It took all his patience to coax this troublesome, tipsy woman to sleep.
After tucking her in, he quietly left the room, closing the door behind him with a sigh of relief.
Back in his own room, Wen Jingxing picked up his phone and told Chen Shaoyuan to investigate the Song family.
For instance, how Song Zijiang had met his current wife.
Chen Shaoyuan was unfazed—after all, it was normal for the boss to be concerned about the boss’s fiancée’s family matters.
Once he received the message, he arranged for people to look into it.
On the morning of the tenth day, when Song Wanning woke up, she found something soft under her feet and, startled, kicked it away.
Peeking out from under the covers, she saw the mysterious object wobbling on the floor—it was a squashed, ball-shaped thing.
There was a modern term for this… something like a hot water bag?
Curious, Song Wanning picked it up, wondering how it ended up in her room.
As she pondered, a memory flashed through her mind—last night, Wen Jingxing had been searching her room and had pulled a photo out from under her bed.
She vaguely recalled the hot water bag had come from there too.
“How strange. Why would something like that be under my bed? And how did Wen Jingxing know?”
She’d completely forgotten the significance of the photograph.
She’d glanced at it once—the boy in the picture had a dazzling smile, handsome features, and was squatting by a flowerbed.
Even his clothes betrayed the wealth of his family.
So young, yet with an angelic face—it was no wonder she still remembered him.
He seemed so familiar, yet she couldn’t recall where she had met him.
She’d only been puzzled why the original host would carry it around, and after searching her memory for any plot related to the photo and finding none, she simply tossed it aside.
Since she couldn’t figure it out, Song Wanning decided to take the hot water bottle and look for Wen Jingxing.
Just as she left her room, she ran into Wen Jingxing, who was also coming to find her, photo in hand.