After I Was Gone, Mr. Song Said He Loved Me - Chapter 9 - Song Yu Takes a Drink

I admit, I’m starting to regret not taking Luo Yewen’s advice to drink some LiKe beforehand. Maybe my stomach wouldn’t be hurting so much now.

Ouch-it really hurts.

But what’s bothering me even more is the old lecher beside me, whose hands won’t stop wandering around my waist.

I squirmed, trying to evade his touch, but the old geezer, emboldened by alcohol, only got bolder. He yanked my shirt out from my pants, his rough hand sliding down my back.

My internal alarm bells went off. If it weren’t for the setting, I would’ve jumped up.

“President Wu, please don’t…” I gripped his hand, trying to stop him from going further, but I couldn’t make too much of a scene. I was practically twisted into a pretzel.

Yet, the old man seemed to take it as a challenge. The more I resisted, the more determined he was to reach further down, almost touching my backside.

Desperate, I looked to Song Yu, hoping he’d intervene.

Everyone at the table was watching the awkward struggle between President Wu and me, some even chuckling. I couldn’t believe Song Yu wasn’t noticing, but he never glanced my way, letting President Wu have his way.

I realized Song Yu wasn’t going to save me.

To distract President Wu, I forced myself to endure the stomach pain and repeatedly raised my glass to toast him, hoping to get him drunk.

But my plan backfired. I overestimated my tolerance for baijiu. After a few more glasses of Wuliangye, I could feel my cheeks burning-a rarity for me-and my mind started to fog. The conversations around the table seemed distant, like they were coming from across mountains.

Stomach aching, head spinning, even my fingertips tingling, I finally slumped back into my chair.

President Wu was also quite drunk, his words flowing freely as he bragged about his vast business empire and his close ties with those in power.

I listened half-heartedly, my eyelids growing heavier.

Then, there was a commotion beside me. I turned my head with effort, seeing two other executives, tipsy, approaching Nian Hua with full glasses of baijiu, insisting he drink with them.

Nian Hua tried to decline, suggesting beer instead, but they wouldn’t have it, tugging at his wrist, demanding he drink baijiu.

I scoffed quietly. These so-called “bosses,” parading as successful entrepreneurs, revealed their crude nature when drunk, worse than ordinary folk. Truly contemptible.

It seemed Nian Hua was in for trouble today.

I turned away, not wanting to witness the farce, because I couldn’t help him. Not watching was the best respect I could offer.

“I’ll drink it.” A male voice suddenly cut into the tug-of-war.

Instantly, the noisy chatter ceased.

My eyelids twitched, and I instinctively turned to see Song Yu stepping in, separating the two from Nian Hua, taking their glasses one by one. “I’ll drink it,” he repeated calmly.

I was stunned.

Didn’t Song Yu say he never drank alcohol? Why would he suddenly volunteer to drink, and for someone else?

Nian Hua gave Song Yu a complicated look, murmuring, “I can drink it myself, you don’t have to.”

Song Yu ignored Nian Hua’s refusal, taunting as if in a huff, “You didn’t drink before, but now you can?”

Oh!

I finally understood. This was a classic case of wanting to mend a broken relationship.

If I guessed right, this Nian Hua and Song Yu must have been very close, possibly even lovers.

Seeing a former lover being forced to drink, of course, he’d step in.

Unlike me, a mere escort for hire, who could be roasted or grilled without a care.

Honestly, I felt a bit bitter at that moment.

Not out of jealousy, but rather a sense of reflection. Nian Hua was an accomplished engineer, with someone to shield him from drinking.

And me…

Just goes to show, same world, different fates.

Because of Song Yu’s intervention, the two executives dared not pester Nian Hua any longer. After all, if I could see through the charade, how could these seasoned players not?

“President Song, we… were just joking with Mr. Nian. If he can’t drink, he doesn’t have to,” one of them said, signaling to his companion.

“Exactly, exactly. Alcohol isn’t a good thing anyway. If Mr. Nian can’t drink, he shouldn’t,” the other quickly chimed in.

I pressed my aching stomach, trying not to laugh out loud. Truly, these big shots could change faces faster than flipping a book. One moment, they were clinging to his arm; the next, they were saying, “Alcohol isn’t a good thing.”

I thought Song Yu would let it go, but he insisted on drinking both glasses.

“President Xu, President Fu are my guests. If you want to drink, how could I let you leave with full glasses?”

With that, he downed both glasses without spilling a drop.

58-degree Wuliangye, and he drank it like it was water, without even a frown.

I suddenly realized, Song Yu didn’t avoid drinking because he couldn’t; he just chose not to.

The two executives stood there, bewildered by Song Yu’s unexpected move.

“President Song… why are you doing this…” They exchanged glances, hesitant, as the atmosphere grew tense.

Song Yu removed his glasses, casually wiping the lenses with his sleeve, speaking softly, “I always mean what I say. It’s my principle in life and work.”

“I haven’t been back long, and you are veterans of Huanya. There are many things in the company that will rely on you…”

As Song Yu spoke, his eyes, unobstructed by glasses, fixed on them, cold and dangerous.

The two quickly waved their hands, “We wouldn’t dare, President Song. You’ve just returned and already secured the Qingguang project. Your capabilities are clearly above ours. Rest assured, we’ll serve you and Huanya well.”

Satisfied, Song Yu put his glasses back on, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Then I’ll be counting on you both.”