Chapter 4 The Tsundere Who’s Hard-Mouthed but Soft-Hearted

Private room of a high-end restaurant.

Qu Weiwei wore a full Chanel couture outfit—beautiful yet elegant.

After taking a few bites of her steak, she set down her knife and fork, her large, stunning eyes scanning Song Jingmo from head to toe.

“Mo Mo, give me a straight answer,” Qu Weiwei leaned forward, “why did you suddenly come back to develop your career here?”

The chief at Junstburg Hospital, starting salary in the hundreds of thousands of euros. The job was light and respectable—so many people would kill to get in.

And yet, Song Jingmo had just brushed it off.

He returned to China, entering the rat race full-force, yet lived like a person with the budget of a vegetable vendor but the mindset of a drug dealer. Nobody could understand it.

Was it for more excitement dealing with hospital troubles here?

Or did overtime somehow have better value for money?

It was incomprehensible. Could a normal person really act this way?

Seeing him silent, Qu Weiwei sincerely suggested, “Do you want to find some time to see a psychiatrist?”

“I can arrange a top professional for you—Dr. Mu, the best in the field.”

Song Jingmo calmly cut his steak, ignoring Qu Weiwei’s mockery. After a long pause, he finally gave a reason: “The winters over there are too long, the weather too cold.”

Qu Weiwei froze at this lame excuse.

“You just disappeared abroad for six years, quietly. Even polar bears would have called you a fellow villager.”

And now it’s because it’s too cold?

It’s not like you couldn’t pay the electricity bill—what a ridiculous excuse.

Song Jingmo didn’t respond, lifting his glass for a sip, eyes drifting toward the steaming matsutake soup.

Once again, he thought of Lu Er’s pitiful, wronged face in the hospital corner. His fingers tightened around the cup.

“Hey?”

Qu Weiwei waved her hand in front of his face. “If you want it, drink it. Why are you staring?”

Song Jingmo’s expression was perfectly controlled, indifferent: “Don’t feel like it.”

Qu Weiwei switched to gossip mode: “Hey, seriously. You’ve been back for a while now, have you contacted that kid Lu Er?”

“No.” Song Jingmo spoke sparingly.

“You two were as close as brothers. How come no contact?” Qu Weiwei frowned in confusion.

Then she went on, half to herself: “That kid’s mischievous as a husky. If you hadn’t held him back, he could poke a hole through the sky.”

“He pushed himself through A Medical University just to keep up with you, ignoring his family’s objections to study the same major as you.”

“Though he barely scraped by academically, nationwide he was still outstanding. And what does he do after graduation? Drops the scalpel and runs off to the entertainment industry?”

Song Jingmo unconsciously rubbed his fingers against the cold glass.

He could only think of that absurd graduation night where everything had gone haywire.

Song Jingmo lowered his eyelids, voice hard as frozen stone: “Don’t know.”

“Did you two fall out?”

Qu Weiwei set down her utensils, prying again: “Why? Weren’t you celebrating his graduation together?”

Song Jingmo’s tone sharpened: “Old history. Don’t mention it.”

Qu Weiwei elegantly rolled her eyes and didn’t press further, only muttering: “What a pity. That kid’s ridiculously handsome.”

“The entertainment industry’s a cesspool; it chews people up and spits nothing out. Someone’s bound to take an interest in him.”

Song Jingmo lazily replied: “Mm.”

Qu Weiwei: “?”

“Tonight, at the hospital.”

“What?” Qu Weiwei suddenly sat up. “Is that kid sick again?”

“No, someone poisoned him.”

Song Jingmo’s tone was calm, as if discussing a stranger. Only he knew how fast his heart was actually racing.

Qu Weiwei’s eyes went wide: “Wha—! How is he now?”

“On an IV drip.”

“Was he… you know?”

Song Jingmo shook his head.

Qu Weiwei let out a small sigh of relief: “That’s good. Did he report it?”

“He doesn’t want to.”

“Why?” Qu Weiwei cut her steak, speaking to herself: “With his status, it’s not really suitable to report. If it blows up, his future’s ruined.”

“Mm.”

Song Jingmo didn’t mention his own shady moves of “watching him suffer” and “rescuing him indirectly.”

“I’ll pack him some food and send it over.” Qu Weiwei’s maternal instincts kicked in.

In her memory, Lu Er was still that goofy, sunshine-filled dog. Always clinging to Song Jingmo like a living accessory, sticky and adorably sweet.

She waved to a waiter: “Quick! Pack the soup and these light dishes, put them in a thermal box.”

At the same time, she grabbed her phone and acted decisively: “Give me your number; I’ll call a courier. How can a sick person manage without anyone around?”

“You two are really something. Just a quarrel, and you treat him like this?”

“I tell you, you guys have plastic brotherhood. That kid’s innocent—you don’t get to use your brains to bully him all the time.”

Song Jingmo was speechless. Who was bullying whom?

That night, it was clearly Lu Er who had lunged first, biting and nagging.

It was Lu Er who cried and acted spoiled, begging him for help.

He had refused three times.

In the end, Lu Er threatened to end their friendship.

Little mouth babbling, constantly questioning his ability.

He was too young, believing Lu Er’s nonsense, which led to their mutual downfall.

“Go see Liu Yuan.”

At the hospital.

Lu Er curled up in bed, an IV line running along his hand.

The pink gift bag and that word “cannot” kept looping in his mind.

Frustrated and aggrieved like a child whose candy had been stolen.

While emo-ing, a young man in a high-end restaurant uniform walked in, carrying a blindingly shiny thermal bag.

He looked around and came straight to him.

“Hello, are you Mr. Lu?”

Lu Er looked up; his eyes behind the mask were still red.

“A gentleman ordered this meal for you. Eat it while it’s hot, and wishing you a speedy recovery.”

The young man politely placed the heavy bag on the small cabinet beside him and left.

A gentleman? Eat it while it’s hot?

He knew he was here and was so considerate…

Other than the cold, indifferent Song Jingmo, who else could it be?

So all that coldness earlier was an act?

Saying no with words but honest in action?

Song Jingmo regretted it, so he cared?

Lu Er felt as if thrown into a blender, overwhelmed with mixed emotions.

Anger, grievance, surprise, and a little bit of… smug satisfaction.

Hands trembling slightly, he opened the thermal bag.

On top was a steaming bowl of matsutake soup.

The familiar aroma—he used to beg Song Jingmo to drink it with him.

Song Jingmo remembered his preference, which meant he still cared.

This thought made Lu Er’s nose sting; he almost performed a dramatic “tough guy tears” act.

He quickly lowered his head, drinking the soup while lost in thought.

So maybe Song Jingmo didn’t hate him that much?

Maybe there was still hope between them?

Cradling the piping hot soup, Lu Er’s emotions tangled like a knot—sour, bitter, and oddly sweet.

Song Jingmo really was something. Cold words in front of him, but secretly sending warmth behind the scenes.

Truly a hard-mouthed but soft-hearted tsundere.