After Losing My Memory, I Became Sweet - Chapter 7

The wind in the parking lot kept blowing. Seeing this, Qin Huaichu ended his pleasantries with Principal Zhang and pulled Zhu Yun into the car.

As soon as they got in, he immediately opened his travel bag, took out a shirt, and handed it to Zhu Yun.

“This is mine. I originally planned to take a shower and change into it after the game. You wear it first, and change back into your own clothes once we’re home,” Qin Huaichu said. “Your vest is soaked, and you’ve been in the wind for so long—you’ll catch a cold.”

In two years of marriage with Qin Huaichu, it was the first time Zhu Yun had heard him say such a long sentence—and every word was gentle.

Holding the shirt, Zhu Yun could have refused in a hundred ways, but right now, he didn’t want to.

He showed a pure smile and softly said: “Thank you, brother, you’re so good to me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Zhu Yun saw Qin Huaichu’s fingers on the steering wheel tremble, his expression suddenly unnatural.

It was quite a while before Qin Huaichu forced composure and replied: “This is what I should do.”

Zhu Yun put on the shirt, leaned against the car window, and closed his eyes. Hearing that line, the corners of his lips tilted upward, as if he were dreaming something amusing.

Since his “amnesia,” he had unexpectedly received a side of Qin Huaichu he had never seen before—including that never-before-heard word “wife.”

He and Qin Huaichu had only a contractual marriage, later held a wedding under their parents’ insistence.

At the wedding, Qin Huaichu even skipped the “couple’s first kiss” segment—he simply placed the ring on Zhu Yun’s finger coldly, then walked off the stage.

These two years of married life made Zhu Yun feel as if he had never truly been married at all. He believed Qin Huaichu thought the same.

If not for that night, when he fainted from hypoglycemia after staying up late rushing a design draft, and for that fleeting, dazed moment upon waking when he caught a strange expression on Qin Huaichu’s face…

He never would have suddenly thought of pretending to have lost his memory.

He really wanted to know whether Qin Huaichu’s coldness toward him was because of some specific “preference.”

So he chose the persona of an eighteen-year-old. Unexpectedly, it seemed to suit Qin Huaichu perfectly.

Zhu Yun carefully recalled the past two days: Qin Huaichu’s completely different attitude seemed to hinge entirely on this persona.

In other words, Qin Huaichu had a weakness for the “clingy younger brother” type.

Though the only son of the Qin family, who would have thought he secretly liked playing the older brother role?

Zhu Yun’s heart was clear as a mirror, but on the surface he still looked innocent and harmless.

Qin Huaichu glanced at him occasionally out of the corner of his eye. After a while, he turned off the car radio, raised the air-conditioning temperature, and placed a small blanket gently over Zhu Yun’s chest.

Zhu Yun’s lashes fluttered. Then he opened his eyes, rubbed them in confusion, and drowsily asked: “Brother, why aren’t we there yet?”

“There’s some traffic—it won’t be long,” Qin Huaichu said, stopping at a red light. Turning to him, he added, “Sleep a little more, I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

After saying that, unable to resist, he reached out and ruffled the messy black hair on Zhu Yun’s forehead.

Clearly not wanting to sleep again, Zhu Yun picked up a pillow to hug, gazing idly out the window with innocent, clear eyes.

“What do you want for dinner?” Qin Huaichu restarted the car slowly and asked.

“Are you going to cook yourself?” Zhu Yun asked.

He recalled the “simple breakfast” this morning that had taken a full hour. If Qin Huaichu planned to cook tonight, they’d probably be eating late-night snacks instead of dinner.

Qin Huaichu answered seriously: “It’s not impossible, but I don’t know many dishes. If you want something more complicated, we might need to call Auntie Li over.”

Zhu Yun thought to himself: Great, I really like Auntie Li’s cooking.

But outwardly, he looked hesitant. “Auntie Li… who is she?”

On the way home, Qin Huaichu briefly introduced the few people who might appear in their household.

Aside from Auntie Li and the cleaner, there were several familiar faces at his company, as well as his assistant, Song Xiang.

When speaking of Auntie Li, Qin Huaichu suggested: “She felt very guilty about your sudden fainting. She’s probably still worried about your health. Why don’t we invite her over, take her to a restaurant for dinner together?

“When I’m not in Ming City, she’s the one who takes care of you.” Qin Huaichu looked at him meaningfully.

Zhu Yun met his eyes briefly before turning away, saying casually: “Sure. Even though I don’t remember her, from what you said, I ought to thank her properly.”

He wondered if he had misheard—when Qin Huaichu mentioned being away from Ming City, his tone had held faint regret, maybe even guilt.

When they reached a certain restaurant, Qin Huaichu called Auntie Li. Hearing that Zhu Yun was beside him, she was so overjoyed she nearly stumbled over her words.

“I left the hospital early yesterday, and when I went back today I heard Mr. Zhu had already been discharged. I knew it! Mr. Zhu is a blessed person, heaven always protects the kind. Mr. Qin, how could you treat me to dinner? No, no. I won’t play third wheel tonight. Tomorrow I’ll buy fresh groceries early and make you both a big feast.”

Then she asked in a small voice: “By the way, Mr. Qin, which house are you two living in now?”

Qin Huaichu: “…”
Zhu Yun: “…”

That was indeed a very good question.

After hanging up, Qin Huaichu said with some regret: “She can’t come tonight. Looks like I’ll have to cook for you myself.”

Zhu Yun was even more regretful—he really didn’t want to eat Qin Huaichu’s cooking.

And with a perfectly good restaurant right here, why not just go in?

He looked longingly at the restaurant doors growing farther away as Qin Huaichu stepped on the accelerator.

In twenty-eight years of life, Qin Huaichu had cooked fewer than ten times.

He really didn’t want to, but he remembered Dr. Feng’s advice:

“Mr. Zhu is malnourished.”
“You need to stay with him more.”

Put together, that clearly meant: he needed to personally make Zhu Yun nutritious, healthy meals.

He couldn’t make soups, but cooking apps were endless. Surely one would be enough to get by.

As for quality ingredients—money solved everything.

After sending Zhu Yun home, Qin Huaichu didn’t leave again. Instead, he sat with his phone, looking so serious it was like managing a billion-dollar deal.

After showering, Zhu Yun spent time in the living room fiddling with the Delais robot.

Qin Huaichu set his phone aside, leaned on the sofa, and watched coldly as Zhu Yun greeted the robot.

The robot replied mechanically: “Hello, I am Delais.”

Zhu Yun immediately laughed with delight.

Qin Huaichu nearly mocked him—a robot costing over a million, and the cheapest program already makes him so happy.

But thinking of Zhu Yun’s condition, he held his tongue.

Delais was a full-automation robot, not only fluent in languages but with top-tier mechanical agility—able to climb or run like an athlete.

In a confined apartment, though, all it could really show off was a floor Thomas spin or a ballet pirouette.

Even so, Zhu Yun was amazed, practically ready to run up and hug it.

With a cold snort, Qin Huaichu went to the door and pressed the code. His assistant Song Xiang soon arrived with three hotel staff.

The strangers filed in, set down fresh food boxes in the kitchen under Song Xiang’s guidance, then slipped away.

Finally, Zhu Yun tore his gaze from the robot.

Puzzled, he asked: “What were they doing? I think they put something in the kitchen?”

“They were hotel staff. I had them bring some high-end ingredients,” Qin Huaichu said flatly. “Natural, organic, guaranteed healthy.”

“High-end ingredients?” Zhu Yun asked innocently. “Brother, do you… know how to cook them?”

How could Qin Huaichu admit he didn’t? He answered coldly: “Just wait to eat.”

But that “wait” stretched nearly two hours.

Unlike the chaos Zhu Yun expected, whenever he peeked into the kitchen, he found Qin Huaichu fully absorbed in either his phone or a sheet of paper.

The premium ingredients were still neatly wrapped in cling film, reverently arranged on the cutting board, untouched.

Starving, Zhu Yun searched the house for snacks but found nothing but a few pieces of fruit.

He washed a pear, took a bite, and his stomach sighed in relief.

Just as he picked up another pear to bring to Qin Huaichu, the sound of stir-frying finally came from the kitchen.

Glancing at the clock, Zhu Yun decided that no matter the outcome tonight, he would offer some words of encouragement—after all, Qin Huaichu had tried so hard.

At last, dinner was served: only three small dishes, one of them Western.

Perhaps because he was starving, Zhu Yun found the aroma surprisingly appetizing despite the plain presentation.

Qin Huaichu took off his apron, looking tired, and sat down with a glass of warm water, seemingly uninterested in his own two-hour effort.

Zhu Yun picked up a piece of steamed bass. The tender flesh melted in his mouth, so delicious it shocked him into wide eyes, and he quickly took another bite.

“How did you make this fish?” Zhu Yun asked in amazement. “It’s really delicious!”

“The chef had already prepared it, and the soup stock was made with their recipe,” Qin Huaichu said with a deep look. “All I did was reheat it.”

Zhu Yun replied without hesitation: “But even reheating takes skill. I think your technique is already master level, brother!”

Qin Huaichu: “…”

The second dish he tried was black pepper steak.

The sauce, provided by the restaurant, was perfect.

But unfortunately, Qin Huaichu had overcooked the steak slightly, leaving one edge charred and bitter.

Zhu Yun took a careful bite of the untouched side, mind racing on how best to “encourage” Qin Huaichu without showing it.

At that moment, Qin Huaichu finally picked up his chopsticks—and reached straight into Zhu Yun’s bowl.

Frowning, he muttered: “There’s still a burnt part? I thought I’d cut it off.”

With that, he moved the half-eaten steak from Zhu Yun’s bowl into his own, clearly not planning to give it back.