Chapter 11: Her Heart Is a Little Soft 11

He opened his eyes slightly, looking at her.

The young woman sat up, her face full of grievance, head lowered, and said nothing.

He was a bit flustered, hastily pulling her into his arms, "Did I make you angry again?"

"I had a dream!"

"You had a dream?"

"Ah." Her aggrieved look made his heart ache.

"What did you dream about?" he asked curiously.

"I dreamed you pointed a gun at me and even shot me! You bastard, actually pointing a gun at me." The little trouble‑maker, always making a fuss, deliberately picked a fight.

He remained silent, bringing up the dream to vent his anger at me.

Yi Ruan saw his cold face and continued, "I never dream; my sudden dream must be an omen."

"What?" Seeing his helpless expression, she broke into a smile, "I don't know either."

The man helplessly pressed her into his embrace, "Keep sleeping."

The young woman unwillingly poked her head out, lifting her gaze to his chin, his thin lips, his nose.

She extended a finger, pointing at his thin lips and whispered, "Fu Qiwei, my mother said thin‑lipped men are the most fickle."

As soon as she finished speaking, she was struck as if by lightning.

"Your mother said?" the man frowned slightly, facing her.

She gave an embarrassed laugh, then suddenly turned serious, "Qiwei, past me and present me— which one do you love?"

She is innately proud, unwilling to be anyone's substitute; if his love for her is merely because of this body, then in the future she will love him but will not fall in love with him.

"Why ask this?" He couldn't answer either; he had loved her for a long time, it seemed, since five years ago when she was fifteen.

He had always regarded her as a sister; later he discovered that among the adopted children at home, she was the smartest— whatever he taught her, she grasped instantly, and even when he hired top coaches to teach her martial arts, she could match him in a couple of moves.

Sometime later, his kindness toward her turned into liking, then love, and he gradually began to seek her favor.

Yi Ruan never found in the book an explanation for why Fu Qiwei loves the female lead, so she could only seek the answer herself.

"Compared to the past you, I like the present you." The former her had too many hard thorns, often unintentionally hurting others.

Fu Qiwei possesses the ferocity and ruthlessness of the black‑gang prince from the novel, yet he is full of tenderness toward Yi Ruan.

She didn't know how to ask, stammered for a while, then hesitantly asked, "Suppose you really like a rose— it's white, thorny, often pricks you; one day it suddenly stops pricking, you're happy, but later you discover it's actually a red rose masquerading as white— would you still like her?"

In truth her heart held no expectations, she was just calm, merely afraid that her efforts would be in vain.

"Then, does that original white rose still exist?"

"It's gone."

"I will wear the red rose to mourn the white rose." His voice, terrifyingly clear, pronounced judgment word by word in her ear.

She nodded thoughtfully; she would never fall in love with him, never.

"You don't ask why? Red rose."

Her body stiffened, she stared blankly at him; the man smiled, lowered his head and seized her soft lips, until she beat his chest with her hands, trying to push him away.

He had known all along, from the moment she arrived in this world.

His "soft‑soft" is already dead, but he really likes this soft‑soft in his hands.

He released her, looking at her flushed face, and chuckled lightly, "You still haven't learned to catch your breath."

She hesitated for a long time before asking, "You, aren't you sad?"

Fu Qiwei shook his head.

"Then how did you figure it out?"

He took her hand, gently pinching it, and said, "Do you know you talk in your sleep? The first night, you clung to my arm and cried, crying in your dream, still murmuring you want to go home."

Good heavens, how could she not know this embarrassing thing?

"Later you laughed in your dream; I asked why you were so happy, and you said, 'Handsome guy, so handsome.' After saying that, he paused to observe her expression, and her little face grew even redder."

No way, no way— the things I usually think in my heart all come out while I'm sleeping.

"Your handwriting doesn't resemble mine at all."

The female lead's handwriting, taught by Fu Qiwei hand‑in‑hand, is strong and vigorous; in her running script there is the carefree spirit of "Let them purple and red bloom profusely, I alone will drink facing the wind."

Her handwriting, however, is delicate and pleasing to the eye, like savoring tea— the more you look, the more comfortable it feels.

"Your words are too many."

The female lead is the type who speaks little, seems cold, but has a sharp tongue and a soft heart.

And she— sharp‑tongued, ruthless‑hearted; he added her with a secondary WeChat account, and every sentence of hers cuts his heart.

"And besides, you don't love Gu Yunzhen."

Yi Ruan startled, immediately regretting it— right, she had forgotten this most infatuated second male lead; she lifted her head and met his teasing smile, his deep pupils gazing at her, all the rich expressions on her face captured in his sight.

After a moment's thought, she wondered, "I'm so terrible— why doesn't he expose me?"

"Because you're cute."

She eyed him suspiciously— could he know what she's thinking?

"I know everything you think."

"Really?"

"Really?"

"Hmm." He now has a doubt: "How did you come to inhabit this body?"

Speaking of this, Yi Ruan sighed and said, "That day I was reading a book, then I fell down the stairs; when I woke up, I was here."

She dare not tell him whether she was reading the novel, or the love‑hate entanglement between him and the female lead.

"Why aren't you upset? Don't you love the original owner?" she questioned.

Fu Qiwei fell silent for a moment, then said, "I don't know why I like her, and I don't know why I don't like her, but I can feel that I really like you."

He just wants to be with her, at the very least—not to force her, but to let her stay willingly by his side; if she wants to leave, he would be heartbroken, but he doesn't want to restrain her.

At that moment, Yi Ruan felt pity for him; the characters in the book have no feelings of their own, they love and judge only as the writer's words dictate, without independent thought—liking and disliking are just a few words written by the author.

She burrowed into his embrace, lowering her voice, "Fu Qiwei, I will love you, I will love you for a long time."

He nodded and kissed the top of her head.

He softly asked the little woman, "Are you still sleeping?"

The little woman shook her head in his arms, "I'm not sleeping, I'm not sleeping—there's so much to process."

Fu Qiwei patted her shoulder and ended up comforting her instead, "Ruanruan, just think of yourself as my fiancée; it's really nothing—white roses are pure, aloof, and thorny, while red roses are proud, gorgeous, and precious."

"So, I'm your cinnabar mole, right?"

The man poked her cinnabar mole and said, "I think so."

Poor me, my new book is doing so badly; could you all, sisters, give me a vote, click to favorite?