After Losing My Memory, I Became Sweet - Chapter 20

Qin Huaichu knew the teapot he bought himself and naturally understood its material.

Holding Zhu Yun wasn’t entirely because he worried about him getting burned.

And once he held him, the motive no longer mattered.

The thing Qin Huaichu had wanted to do since returning home was now done, and he felt at ease.

He lowered his head and caught the fragrance of Zhu Yun’s hair, distinct from the medicinal aroma lingering around the kitchen.

But all he could do was hold Zhu Yun—nothing else.

After all, Zhu Yun was still in a state of amnesia. His dependence on Qin Huaichu was only temporary, and getting close to him now felt a bit like taking advantage of the situation.

Qin Huaichu hadn’t expected that holding his own husband would warrant the phrase “taking advantage of the situation.”

Zhu Yun was clearly startled by his actions. After a long silence, he timidly called out, “Gege…”

Qin Huaichu, knowingly prompting, asked, “Hmm? What’s the matter?”

“Tea… if you don’t drink it now, it’ll get cold.” Zhu Yun pointed at the purple clay teapot right in front of him.

Qin Huaichu released him, grabbed the teapot by the handle, poured a cup of tea, and lifted it to his lips.

He glanced down and noticed Zhu Yun’s cheeks were slightly flushed.

He took Zhu Yun’s fingers in his other hand and led him back to the living room.

“I’m actually not drunk,” he said casually while holding the teacup, “but tea made by Yun Yun, I will definitely finish it.”

Zhu Yun’s hand trembled slightly on his lap. He forced calm and softly asked, “Gege, have you always called me this?”

“What do you mean, called you what?” Qin Huaichu looked at him.

Zhu Yun pursed his lips, glancing away with an expression of mild accusation, as if saying: you’re asking that on purpose.

But in the end, he didn’t say it out loud and silently endured.

In fact, Qin Huaichu should have been the one feeling guilty. He had never called Zhu Yun this before, let alone “always.”

Yet Zhu Yun seemed even more flustered than he was.

Qin Huaichu took in every micro-expression, feeling a slight urge to laugh.

“I’ve always heard my father-in-law and mother-in-law call you this, and I wanted to try it for a long time,” Qin Huaichu answered seriously.

“Don’t you like me calling you this?” he asked Zhu Yun.

Zhu Yun couldn’t possibly tell the truth, nor did he seem to have a reason to stop Qin Huaichu.

Though he could ask, If you really want to, why have you never called me this before?

But he had amnesia; he shouldn’t remember the past, so the question didn’t exist.

Zhu Yun lowered his eyelids and softly said, “I don’t dislike it.”

For some reason, Qin Huaichu suddenly felt as if he were seizing something by force.

Yet their interactions were clearly harmonious—unprecedentedly harmonious.

That night, Qin Huaichu again rested his arm over Zhu Yun’s pillow, noticing that it improved Zhu Yun’s sleep quality.

Zhu Yun no longer tossed and turned, sleeping quietly until morning.

After falling asleep, Qin Huaichu shifted positions a few times but always left one arm free, providing subtle support for Zhu Yun’s restful sleep.

The next day, Zhu Yun continued to recuperate at home while Qin Huaichu entered a half-month stretch of fashion show duties.

QZ held seasonal product launches every year: winter focused on fashion, spring on jewelry.

With Zhu Yun’s amnesia showing little improvement, the spring jewelry launch might be missed. Qin Huaichu, however, remained optimistic.

He was confident in Zhu Yun’s memory recovery just as he was confident in their relationship, so he gave him no pressure regarding work.

The launch was in Mingshi, but once the new collection debuted, QZ would be invited to major domestic and international events, and Qin Huaichu would become a globe-trotting figure.

Zhu Yun’s design progress at home wasn’t smooth, and his creativity had hit a bottleneck, so he decided to go out for a walk.

If Song Xiang weren’t around, he could take Beibei for a stroll or visit the workshop.

When stuck in a creative bottleneck, Zhu Yun usually went to the workshop—a purely industrial environment with steel and concrete, devoid of emotion—to avoid outside distractions.

Recently, his emotional output had far exceeded the past, even if not in reality, draining him mentally.

He changed into light, casual clothes and put on a baseball cap, then saw Song Xiang in the living room holding a bag of chips, quietly laughing at the TV.

Zhu Yun took a glance, then clipped Beibei’s leash on, preparing to leave.

Song Xiang immediately put down the chips, sliding into his slippers. “Yun Zong, are you going out? I can drive you!”

Zhu Yun walked steadily without looking back. “I’m just taking Beibei for a quick walk. You don’t need to come.”

“No way!” Song Xiang hurriedly changed shoes. “I can come with you! I’ll hold the dog, and if you get tired, I can even carry you for a bit.”

Zhu Yun turned, smiling faintly.

Song Xiang’s heart raced. In private, Zhu Yun rarely spoke and never showed the fragility Qin Huaichu described.

So Song Xiang felt as if Zhu Yun didn’t have amnesia, still the unapproachable Yun Zong.

Yet now, Yun Zong smiled at him.

It was surreal.

Song Xiang laughed foolishly, realizing he’d misspoken. He waved his hands: “No, I didn’t mean to take advantage of you, Qin Zong hasn’t told me to carry you. If you’re tired, I can drive you home—”

Zhu Yun shook his head. “No need, thank you.”

Encouraged by Zhu Yun’s smile, Song Xiang still followed him out, even taking the leash in the elevator.

Zhu Yun: “…planned foiled.”

Zhu Yun changed his plans. After walking Beibei, he suggested going to Mingchu Middle School to play basketball.

Qin Huaichu had been mostly out of the country, so his Kulinan was still in the garage. Conveniently, there was a basketball in its trunk.

Song Xiang had no choice but to accompany Zhu Yun, returning Beibei home and refilling water and dog food.

Then, sweating heavily, he drove Kulinan down to the basketball court.

Despite the freezing weather, he was drenched in sweat, as if he’d just played a full match.

Zhu Yun noticed the sweat but also saw the car’s interior was only 25°C—hardly hot.

“You—are you unwell?” Zhu Yun asked.

“No, Yun Zong. I’m strong and never get sick,” Song Xiang replied, sitting upright.

“But you’re sweating a lot,” Zhu Yun pointed out.

“I just sweat easily with exercise. My health is fine, Yun Zong,” Song Xiang insisted stubbornly.

They arrived at Mingchu Middle School. Being the weekend, the main gate was closed. Only one security guard sat in a lit booth.

Seeing Zhu Yun, he froze for a moment, then opened the gate. “Hello, Yun Zong. Last time you and Qin Zong visited, the principal told us, but we haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’d like to play basketball with a friend here today. Is that okay?” Zhu Yun smiled.

“Sure. The school is on holiday. The court was recently rented for a city match,” the guard said, opening a side door.

Song Xiang, feeling privileged to be called a friend, was determined to make sure Zhu Yun enjoyed the game.

Zhu Yun set the ball down, dribbled, and scored a basket effortlessly.

He noticed Song Xiang secretly taking a photo of him and texting.

Thinking Zhu Yun hadn’t noticed, Song Xiang pocketed his phone and warmed up, approaching him.

Zhu Yun lightly tossed the ball; Song Xiang hurried to catch it.

“You’re bringing your phone to play? Aren’t you worried about breaking it?” Zhu Yun asked lightly.

“Ah, no… I didn’t bring it…” Song Xiang stammered, eyes darting.

Alone on the court, it was 1v1.

Zhu Yun dribbled past him effortlessly, Song Xiang trying to steal the ball or block shots.

Initially hesitant to collide with Zhu Yun, Song Xiang realized he couldn’t interfere if he held back, and could only watch him score.

Even when Song Xiang went all out, it was as if a wall separated him from the ball in Zhu Yun’s hands.

He despaired: This is the weak Yun Zong Qin Zong mentioned?

Zhu Yun played half an hour without tiring. Even when Song Xiang gasped, Zhu Yun casually teased, “Did I see you take a photo with your phone?”

Song Xiang stammered: “Yes, just one. It’s part of work, for Qin Zong.”

Zhu Yun simply said, “I see,” not minding at all.

Song Xiang, physically and mentally exhausted, continued until evening.

Afterward, he could barely walk and looked like he’d collapse.

“I’ll drive. Where do you live? I’ll take you back,” Zhu Yun said effortlessly.

“No need… I can drive. Let me take you back,” Song Xiang insisted.

But before reaching the car, he puked violently into a nearby trash can.

Zhu Yun handed him water and said softly, “I’ll drive. Just tell me the address.”

Song Xiang had no energy left to argue.

Zhu Yun sent him home, ensuring he couldn’t follow again, then drove toward his workshop in the western suburbs.

Wearing a baseball cap and rare casual clothes, he entered the lab unnoticed.

Zhu Yun stayed at the workshop until 8 p.m., gradually clearing his mind and gaining inspiration.

He printed several cutting diagrams in the lab, planning to refine them at home.

On the way back to Yunshan, his phone displayed an incoming call.

The caller was Chen Leyu.

He pulled over and answered.

“Yun, finally! I’m at the Knights Club. Are you coming?” Chen Leyu’s background was noisy, so he spoke loudly.

“No, I’m heading home,” Zhu Yun said.

“But we’re all here,” Chen Leyu insisted. “Your husband is here too. Are you sure you won’t come?”