Chapter 116 Riding the Wrong Bridal Sedan, Marrying the Right Groom

The two of them returned home from the supermarket, carrying bags both big and small.

Song Jingmo carefully put away each of the groceries into the fridge and cupboards, his movements practiced and efficient.

Lu Er, clutching a bag of snacks, happily settled on the living room sofa, crunching on potato chips and lazily flipping through channels with the remote.

After putting everything away, Song Jingmo walked into the living room. His eyes swept across the can of Coke on the coffee table, and his brow knitted ever so slightly.

He walked over to the sofa, picked up the can, and looked at Lu Er, who was completely engrossed in the TV, his tone tinged with helplessness: “How did you manage to sneak this out?”

He remembered very clearly that he had been strictly controlling Lu Er’s intake of carbonated drinks. Usually, he only bought sugar-free cold brew tea or freshly squeezed juice.

Lu Er, in the middle of a funny scene on TV, didn’t even look up and mumbled indignantly: “It doesn’t matter—I’m not having kids, so what does sperm count have to do with anything?”

He even turned the argument back on Song Jingmo, blinking his big, innocent eyes: “And why are you so nervous? Could it be… you want to have kids?”

Song Jingmo was momentarily silenced by this twisted logic, letting out a helpless sigh as he tried to reason: “This isn’t about having kids.

“Eating too many sugary things can cause acne, enlarge pores, and isn’t good for brain development or overall health.”

Lu Er, upon hearing this, became even more upset, puffing his cheeks like a little hamster hiding food.

He complained: “Why are you like Bai Zhi, controlling everything? Can’t eat this, can’t drink that—what fun is left in life?”

Song Jingmo recalled the last time Lu Er got carried away with hot pot, broke out in a pimple on his chin, and cried in front of the mirror for days, sighing repeatedly. He found it both frustrating and amusing.

He reached out to rub Lu Er’s soft hair, softening his tone: “Who was it last time that almost smashed the mirror over a single pimple?”

“Just pay attention to your diet. Healthy eating works better than any expensive skincare products.”

Lu Er, embarrassed by this mention of his past mishap, straightened his neck and retorted: “And you? How dare you talk about health?”

“You always drag me to exercise until four or five in the morning and won’t let me sleep. Why weren’t you talking about wellness then? Staying up late is the real enemy of the skin!”

Song Jingmo was unusually speechless, his ears tinged red.

Indeed, at certain moments, his self-control around Lu Er was almost nonexistent.

Clearing his throat, he tried to salvage his image, speaking seriously: “I’ll be careful from now on and try not to stay up late.”

Seeing Lu Er’s eyes light up instantly, he slowly added the second half: “From now on, we’ll go to bed at eight every night.”

Even if they only got four hours, it would still end before midnight—not technically staying up late.

“Four hours?”

Lu Er was so shocked he nearly jumped off the sofa, shouting: “Song Jingmo, you beast! Can’t we cut it by two hours?”

Song Jingmo shook his head seriously, as if discussing some academic matter: “Four hours already takes into account your physical limits. It can’t be less.”

Lu Er: “….”

Fuming, he grabbed a throw pillow and tossed it at him, wincing as his bottom throbbed again.

After a while, Lu Er rested his head back on Song Jingmo’s lap, watching the funny scenes on TV, but his smile slowly faded.

Song Jingmo keenly sensed the shift in mood, his fingers gently threading through Lu Er’s soft hair.

In a low voice, he asked: “Baby, about your mother… how do you plan to handle it? Do you want me to contact some international experts and arrange another consultation?”

Mentioning this topic dulled Lu Er’s smile.

After a brief silence, he turned over, lying on his back to look at Song Jingmo’s sharply defined jaw, and said: “I want to see Lu Yanyan tomorrow.”

Song Jingmo’s hand paused slightly as he stroked his hair.

Lu Er continued: “I’ve looked up some information. My mom’s illness is largely due to long-term emotional stress and worrying too much. I don’t want to provoke her with our situation right now or confront her head-on.”

His gaze was clear, calm, and mature. “I want to hear my sister-in-law’s advice, talk to Lu Yanyan, and cover for each other.”

Sensing Song Jingmo’s momentary tension, he immediately raised three fingers in a mock oath: “I promise, our relationship is purely strategic. She has a little girlfriend she adores, but because she hasn’t fully taken over the Lu Group, she has to follow her parents’ plan for appearances.”

His eyes sparkled. “I can make a deal with her: publicly follow the family’s arrangement, while she continues sweetly with her girlfriend. And I? I’ll just happily be with you. We cover for each other, mutually benefit, get through this phase first, and then figure out how to convince my mom to focus on treatment.”

Song Jingmo held his hand, gently stroking the back of it with his thumb, his deep eyes fixed on Lu Er.

He asked a crucial question: “Then if… your mother asks you to marry, what will you do?”

Lu Er, hearing this, didn’t frown. Instead, his eyes curved in a joyful smile.

He leaned in and planted a quick kiss on Song Jingmo’s lips, speaking lightly: “Then it’s easy! We can have a modern version of ‘Riding the Wrong Bridal Sedan, Marrying the Right Groom’!”

He intertwined his fingers with Song Jingmo’s, firm and gentle.

“No matter how she arranges things, in this lifetime, the bridal sedan goes only to you, and I marry… oh no, you marry only me.”

Looking into Lu Er’s sparkling eyes, listening to this childish yet sincere promise, Song Jingmo’s anxiety and jealousy finally eased.

He knew this was the best way to protect Lu Qinghua’s health and safeguard their relationship at the same time.

He couldn’t—and wouldn’t—force Lu Er to make a cruel choice between a seriously ill mother and himself.

Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to Lu Er’s smooth forehead and whispered: “Alright, we’ll do it your way.”

The two of them quietly embraced on the sofa for a while, feeling each other’s heartbeat and warmth.

After a while, Song Jingmo stood up: “I’ll cook.”

Lu Er bounced up from the sofa, following closely into the kitchen: “I’ll help. I can still wash the vegetables.”

In the warm kitchen, one of them, apron tied, expertly chopped meat and prepared ingredients, while the other carefully washed vegetables.

The sunset streamed through the window, casting their busy silhouettes long across the floor.

Water bubbled in the pot, the range hood hummed low, punctuated by Lu Er’s occasional clumsy exclamations and Song Jingmo’s helpless guidance.