"No need."
Qing Muye shook his head, got up, picked up his clothes from the hanger, and walked out.
The Public Relations Director was bewildered. "President Qing, then I... Hey, President Qing?"
He still wanted to say something, but Qing Muye gave him no chance. Carrying his jacket, he left the office without looking back.
Less than half an hour later, Qing Muye appeared in the ward.
He was holding a paper bag, placed the contents on the bedside table, and gazed at Meng Jingwei affectionately.
Meng Jingwei leaned against the head of the bed, a laptop on her lap. Their eyes met, and they exchanged a knowing smile, neither of them mentioning the matter on Weibo.
"I brought you dessert."
He took out a Tiramisu from the bag. "I know this is your favorite. I specifically had the head chef from Yipinjin cook it for you."
"Aren't the chefs at Yipinjin National Banquet chefs?"
"Who told you National Banquet chefs can't make desserts?" Qing Muye opened the lid and was about to feed Meng Jingwei with a fork when she snatched it away.
"I can feed myself. I'm just on bed rest, not high-level paraplegic."
Meng Jingwei teased.
Hearing this, Qing Muye raised his hand and tapped her forehead. "What nonsense are you talking about."
"Ow, that hurt. I was just joking." Meng Jingwei glared at him, took a forkful of Tiramisu, and was about to put it in her mouth. Seeing Qing Muye's expectant expression for her to taste it, she offered it to him. "You eat first."
While writing the Weibo content, Meng Jingwei couldn't help but recall past moments and realized belatedly that it had always been Qing Muye making 'sacrifices' for her, and she hadn't done anything for him.
Every time she thought of this, Meng Jingwei felt immensely guilty and self-reproachful.
"I bought it specifically for you."
Qing Muye shook his head, his words filled with endless tenderness.
He seemed to be doting on her to the bone.
"You won't let me feed you?"
Meng Jingwei frowned unhappily.
"That depends on how you 'feed' me."
He raised an eyebrow, implying more.
But Meng Jingwei wouldn't indulge him.
She directly placed the box of Tiramisu on the table, leaned forward slightly, and moved close to Qing Muye. Then, with lightning speed, she cupped Qing Muye's cheeks and put the Tiramisu on the spoon into his mouth. "How about this method?"
She couldn't help but chuckle.
The man's face darkened, and his brow furrowed. He pulled Meng Jingwei into his arms, leaned down, and kissed her lips.
After 'sharing' the dessert with her, he released her with satisfaction. "This is the correct way to open it."
Meng Jingwei frowned tightly, wearing an expression of disgust, but her tongue couldn't help but lick the dessert from her lips, saying coyly, "Ugh, Qing Muye, you're so disgusting."
"Really? I thought you were enjoying it."
"No, I wasn't."
Her cheeks flushed, she turned her face away, lowered her head, and quietly ate the Tiramisu.
Watching her before him, quiet and well-behaved, her sharpness hidden, like a lazy little kitten, he couldn't resist wanting to pinch her.
Qing Muye did just that, reaching out to pinch Meng Jingwei's plump, collagen-rich face. It felt wonderful.
"Why are you pinching me?"
Meng Jingwei chewed the dessert in her mouth. Perhaps some had gotten on her lips, and she stuck out her tongue to lick her red lips again.
This action, though unintentional, exuded a deadly allure.
A flame ignited in Qing Muye's heart. He pulled her into his arms, leaned down, and pressed his lips onto hers.
The kiss was hot and frenzied, an uncontrollable passion, wanting to crush her into his bones.