After Losing My Memory, I Became Sweet - Chapter 17

Qin Huaichu was surprised at his own message.

He had only thought that he should add a form of address at the end—calling someone by just their name clearly felt inappropriate. “Yunyun” was Zhu Yun’s nickname, and he had never called him that in person.

By the time he realized it, his fingers had already typed out those two characters.

He told himself that this form of address was nothing serious and fit Zhu Yun’s current mood perfectly.

For a moment, he didn’t consider that the reason it came out so naturally was that the first time he met Zhu Yun, Zhu Yun’s parents had been calling him “Yunyun, Yunyun,” which had left a strong impression on his subconscious.

After sending the message, five minutes passed without a reply from Zhu Yun, and Qin Huaichu couldn’t help overthinking.

At this moment, the bidding at the charity auction continued, with prices rising and falling. Sitting next to Qin Huaichu, the director of administration felt unprecedented pressure.

Their boss seemed very interested in the butterfly ring, yet after the first bid, he stopped, leaving the director momentarily at a loss.

Fortunately, Zhu Yun finally responded: “Sure, how much is this?”

Qin Huaichu nodded slightly to the director, who, with trembling hands, raised the bidding paddle and won the ring for 22 million yuan.

Meanwhile, Qin Huaichu replied to Zhu Yun: “Not too expensive.”

Charity auctions, by definition, are held for charitable purposes. The auction house collaborated with charitable organizations, and the full amount of the winning bids would be donated to children in mountain areas.

After the auction, all participating companies had to sign a registration sheet and accept the organizer’s thanks.

Qin Huaichu, representing QZ Group, had the highest transaction of the session and was naturally the first invited to sign.

He held the pen, wrote his name, and then added two more characters—Zhu Yun.

However, he didn’t attend the subsequent thank-you banquet; instead, he had pre-booked a flight and left in a hurry.

In fact, QZ Group’s invitation to this charity auction was tied to certain interests with the organizers, so the thank-you banquet and dinner were the real highlights.

The organizers didn’t expect Qin Huaichu seemed to participate solely to bid on that ring, completing his “task” and not attending the rest of the socializing.

Qin Huaichu only remembered on the flight back to Ming City that the last time he attended an auction, he hadn’t been in such a rush to return home.

Even then, when he heard Zhu Yun had fainted unexpectedly, it hadn’t affected his normal handling of social obligations.

Half a month later, Qin Huaichu inexplicably felt a twinge of guilt.

He had returned to Ming City early without informing Zhu Yun, hoping that if Zhu Yun saw him back home, it would be a surprise.

And with the ring, Zhu Yun would certainly be delighted.

Zhu Yun carried the box home, the large package blocking his view and almost colliding with Drees at the doorway.

He stared silently at the robot for a few seconds and gently patted its shoulder with one hand.

“I thought Song Xiang had come by,” he muttered.

The apartment occupied the entire 26th floor, large in size, with many unused rooms.

Zhu Yun chose a room at the end of the corridor and placed the box inside.

Although this apartment was their marital home, it had rarely been used. Even now, living there daily, they only used the master bedroom and two studies.

Walking into the empty rooms, the scent of new furniture was noticeable.

Despite being unused, there was not a speck of dust on the furniture—clearly, Qin Huaichu’s cleaning staff took care of every corner.

Zhu Yun examined the empty cabinets, placed the box in one, closed the door, and observed it for a long while until he was certain everything was perfect.

Then he went to the study to install a few configurations on the computer. He found that Qin Huaichu always worked on a laptop at home, while this desktop was used exclusively by Zhu Yun.

Each had their own study, agreeing at marriage to maintain personal space, including private workspaces.

Even after his amnesia, Qin Huaichu had never entered his personal space.

Zhu Yun, however, remained cautious. After setting up the system, he erased traces from the desktop and taskbar.

He couldn’t guarantee when Qin Huaichu would return, so after finishing the preparations, he left the study with his phone and lay on the sofa, focusing entirely on waiting.

This waiting lasted less than three minutes before Zhu Yun suddenly realized: why did his life revolve so much around Qin Huaichu?

If Qin Huaichu didn’t return, would he not live?

He was pretending to have amnesia, not actually forgetting.

During the past times when Qin Huaichu had left him, he had plenty of things to do beyond work—but now he nearly forgot all of them.

Zhu Yun composed himself, logged out of his current WeChat account, and switched to his private secondary account.

As soon as he logged in, unread messages flooded the screen, notifications blaring from the earpiece, nearly inducing sensory overload.

Zhu Yun immediately switched to vibration mode, but it almost numbed his fingers.

The messages came from a group named “Think Tank.”

It had originally been called “Yun’s Think Tank,” but Zhu Yun found the name awkward and stupid, shortening it to just three intelligent characters.

The group consisted of childhood friends from similar backgrounds, most of whom inherited their family businesses due to poor academic performance, becoming idle heirs.

Though unstudious, they admired prodigies. After Zhu Yun skipped two grades to become their senior, they eagerly became his “fans” in the group.

They saw Zhu Yun as the pinnacle of the idle rich; if they couldn’t match him, they would at least act as his think tank.

This WeChat account was originally his main one, but upon marriage, Qin Huaichu requested to add him. Not wanting to reveal this overly personal account, Zhu Yun registered a new one, which ironically became his primary account over time.

Opening the group, Zhu Yun saw several messages mentioning him.

Although he rarely used this account, over the past two years, he had logged in multiple times, always seeing discussions about him.

He didn’t understand why he was such a topic—his married life was boring, nothing like he had imagined.

Yet, the group seemed obsessed with discussing his marriage, even treating it as legendary.

Led by Chen Leyu and Wu Sufei, the duo generated over 999 messages daily.

At that moment, they were planning a gathering at the Knights’ Club and, for some reason, started talking about Zhu Yun.

This didn’t surprise him; the group was originally built for him, only now sidelined.

Chen Leyu: -Yun hasn’t joined our gatherings in over half a year
Wu Sufei: -Don’t mention it, the last time I went to the club, the bartender asked why Yun hadn’t been there in so long
Chen Leyu: -Don’t let him worry; Yun is not the type to care anyway

Zhu Yun casually quoted Chen Leyu, typing: -I’m busy.

Immediately, his phone buzzed endlessly. The silent watchers in the group chimed in.

Wu Sufei: -Did we finally get Yun to reply in the group?
Chen Leyu: -Don’t scare him off again with sarcasm. Yun’er, don’t reply, just tell us what you’ve been busy with.

Zhu Yun thought: busy with amnesia.

So he typed: -What do you think? What else could I be busy with?

Chen Leyu instantly understood: -I get it, busy with your husband.

Zhu Yun: …

Seeing him silent, the group quickly shifted topics, afraid he would log off and vanish.

Friends continued chatting:

-Not just the bartender, other regulars at the Knights always ask about Yun when they see me
-Even though Yun has been there less than ten times, they only remember him
-It’s probably because of the day he played the piano and sang
-Or when he was seen riding a horse
-Or maybe they were impressed by his drinking
-Or when he skydived, briefly crossing paths with Yun

The stories grew more absurd. Zhu Yun smirked, used to their chaotic chatter.

He typed: -Let’s find a time to meet up again

Thanks to himself, he had plenty of free time despite being secretly busy with work.

If Qin Huaichu asked, he could say he wanted to reconnect with old friends.

They had grown up together, entering his world long before Qin Huaichu, so there was no reason for him to oppose.

After sending that message, his phone started vibrating nonstop again.

He covered his wrist, hearing a soft click at the living room door.

Thinking he misheard, he turned and saw Qin Huaichu’s tall, upright figure at the doorway.

This time, no mistake—it was not Drees, it was Qin Huaichu.

Qin Huaichu hurried in, followed by Song Xiang.

Song Xiang looked distressed: “Mr. Qin, I didn’t mean to fall asleep in the car. You told me not to wake Mr. Yun, so I waited in the car, but I didn’t expect to wait until now.”

Zhu Yun’s eyelashes twitched imperceptibly.

Had Song Xiang been in the parking lot the whole time? Didn’t he see him leave in the Maybach?

“Today is a weekend; you’re not obliged to stay here,” Qin Huaichu lifted his chin. “Go home.”

Song Xiang’s heart sank. Was this the hint to never come again?

Qin Huaichu looked at him: “Still reluctant to leave? Want to stay and cook?”

Song Xiang thought it wasn’t impossible—it was a chance to show himself.

But seeing no invitation, he wisely retreated to the elevator, bidding the two bosses farewell: “Mr. Qin, Mr. Yun, I’ll leave now. Call me if needed.”

Qin Huaichu removed his coat, loosened his shirt buttons and tie.

He had rushed back to deliver the auctioned ring to Zhu Yun, but Song Xiang’s interruption seemed to kill the atmosphere.

Qin Huaichu went to the window, drew the curtains, dimming the room, adding an air of secrecy.

Zhu Yun blinked, adjusting his voice: “Brother, are you cold after being out? Want me to make you some tea?”

Qin Huaichu thought: now or never.

He cleared his throat twice, held the ring box tightly, and walked to Zhu Yun, squatting in front of him.

Zhu Yun, seated on the sofa, instinctively leaned back a little.

Qin Huaichu’s action suggested a prelude to kneeling and proposing.

But Zhu Yun quickly realized this wasn’t a proposal—they had never had one at engagement.

“The ring I brought back. Take a look,” Qin Huaichu said softly, opening the box. “The first time I saw it, I thought of you.”

It was a blue butterfly-shaped gemstone, so dazzling that the ring setting was barely visible. It was far too showy to serve as an engagement ring.

By Zhu Yun’s tastes, this flashy luxury style wasn’t to his liking, and the cut was ordinary, catering to most merchants.

But 18-year-old Zhu Yun didn’t know that—he would simply admire: “It’s beautiful! Can it really make you think of me?”

“Yes,” Qin Huaichu said confidently. “Yunyun is beautiful, pure, and crystal-clear.”

He said it so naturally that, only after seeing Zhu Yun’s wide eyes, he realized it sounded unnatural and turned his head, coughing awkwardly.

At that moment, Zhu Yun’s phone went wild with notifications again.

Distracted, he failed to hold it, and it slipped from his fingers straight into Qin Huaichu’s knees.