The relationship between Song Zhaodi and Zhong Jianguo was simple—mutually beneficial. Even if Song Zhaodi planned to divorce Zhong Jianguo in the future, their relationship would last for at least seven or eight years.
In her past life, Liu Ling had never wronged herself in any aspect. After transmigrating into Song Zhaodi and marrying Zhong Jianguo, she figured that since she had to be with him for several years, she had no intention of making herself suffer.
Zhong Jianguo wasn’t like the men from her previous life. If she got involved with him, she couldn’t just kick him away at the slightest displeasure.
When Song Zhaodi was sick, she noticed how much Zhong Jianguo cared for her. Although it shocked her, she refrained from teasing him for the past few days.
Now, watching him seriously chopping scallions and stir-frying, she found herself thinking—such a man was rare, not just now, but even in modern times. Maybe being his wife for a lifetime wouldn’t be so bad.
“Commander, how exactly do you plan to ‘deal with’ me?” Song Zhaodi asked with a playful smile.
Zhong Jianguo’s breath hitched. He put down the knife and vegetables, staring at her seriously. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”
“Of course.” She naturally and skillfully hooked her arms around his neck. Feeling him tense up, she found it odd—he was already a father of three, yet he was acting like a nervous virgin. “If you want me, you don’t have to hold back. We’re husband and wife, after all.” She glanced around and nodded in satisfaction. “Right here would be fine.”
Zhong Jianguo’s face instantly turned red. He abruptly pushed her arms away and pointed toward the door. “Get out!”
Song Zhaodi was stunned. It took her a moment to process—had she just been rejected? By a man? No, by her own husband? Damn. First time in both lives.
“Zhong Jianguo, are you fucking insane?!” she gritted her teeth. “Fine! You better be a damn monk for life!” With that, she stormed off.
Zhong Jianguo watched her leave with large strides, let out a cold laugh, and continued cooking.
Later that night, around ten o’clock, Zhong Jianguo sat in the courtyard, watching the stars and moon. Guessing that the kids were asleep, he got up and headed upstairs. Opening his sons’ room, he rummaged through the desk drawer for the key to the eastern door. Standing at the threshold, he hesitated—then put the key back.
Hearing the bedroom door open, Song Zhaodi opened her eyes. “I thought you weren’t going to sleep tonight.”
Zhong Jianguo glanced at her with a blank expression, then pulled two quilts from the closet and left.
“You—” Song Zhaodi stopped mid-sentence. Getting out of bed, she followed him and saw him setting up on the long bench outside. “You’re sleeping on the bench?”
Zhong Jianguo ignored her and continued arranging the bedding.
Leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, she remarked, “It’ll be cold at night.”
He paused slightly, looked at her, then crawled under the covers. However, the bench was too short for his tall frame, leaving his feet dangling.
Seeing this, Song Zhaodi added, “What, are you afraid I’ll pounce on you in the middle of the night? My skin isn’t that thick.”
Zhong Jianguo pulled the blanket over his head.
Song Zhaodi rubbed her forehead. “The chamber pot is behind the bench. If Dawa or Erwa wakes up at night and sees you sleeping out here, they’ll think we had a fight.”
Zhong Jianguo threw back the blanket, carried the chamber pot to the boys’ room, and placed it inside. Without a word, he walked past her, lay back down on the bench, and once again covered his head.
Song Zhaodi was speechless. “Fine, suit yourself.”
Returning to her room, she poked at Sanwa’s chubby face. “Your dad? A coward. A petty man. A stubborn donkey!”
Zhong Jianguo sat up abruptly but, after a moment of thought, lay back down.
The next morning, when Song Zhaodi woke up, she found the bench empty. Peering outside, she noticed the car in the courtyard was gone. Sighing, she went downstairs and grabbed a large lock, securing the wardrobe shut.
That evening, Zhong Jianguo stared at the lock, dumbfounded. He turned to Song Zhaodi and silently asked, What’s the meaning of this?
“I threw the key into the sea,” she replied nonchalantly. It was also a reminder—You’ve pulled stunts like this too, so let’s not play the blame game.
Zhong Jianguo turned away, picked up Dawa and Erwa, and moved them to her room. Then, he went to their room himself.
Staring at the three kids beside her, Song Zhaodi laughed in frustration. Pushing open the next room’s door, she saw Zhong Jianguo taking off his shoes. She sighed. “It’s been a whole day, and you’re still mad?”
“Get out,” Zhong Jianguo pointed at the door. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
Sitting on the bed, she teased, “Commander Zhong, can you at least remember who’s the woman here? If anyone loses out, it’s me.”
“Didn’t feel like it,” he muttered, turning his back to her.
Song Zhaodi chuckled silently. “You don’t want to talk, and I should respect that. But you could at least tell me why you’re mad. Was it because I said you were insane?”
Knowing he wasn’t a match for her in an argument, Zhong Jianguo remained silent to avoid giving her any loopholes to exploit.
Song Zhaodi wasn’t the type to keep trying if someone was completely unresponsive. She had patience when she wanted to please someone, but if they were completely resistant, she wasn’t going to keep throwing herself at them.
Seeing him continue to play dead, she turned and left.
The next morning, Dawa woke up in his father’s room and immediately ran downstairs. When he didn’t find Zhong Jianguo, he switched to Song Zhaodi instead. “Mom, why did I wake up in your bed?”
“Your dad slept in your room last night,” she replied. “Go wake your brothers. I’ll make breakfast.”
Dawa didn’t move. “Why did Dad sleep in my room?”
“He didn’t want to sleep with me, and I made him angry.” Zhong Jianguo had been skipping breakfast at home for two days. If Dawa didn’t ask today, he would ask tomorrow. Song Zhaodi simply told the truth. “Your dad will be sleeping in your room for the next few days.”
Zhong Dawa quickly asked, “Dad is still angry? Mom, did you fight with Dad?”
“No,” Song Zhaodi replied. “I couldn’t beat your dad even if I wanted to. I just ran my mouth and said something I shouldn’t have. You know, the saying ‘loose lips sink ships’—that applies to me.”
This was the first time Zhong Dawa had encountered such a situation, and he couldn’t help scratching his head. “Did you apologise to Dad? When you do something wrong, you have to apologise.”
“Apologise?” I don’t even know exactly what I said that made him blow up—how am I supposed to apologise? Song Zhaodi thought it over and said, “I did. But your dad is really mad this time. I’m planning to apologise again tonight.”
Zhong Dawa thought for a moment. “If you apologise again and Dad still ignores you, then you ignore him too. Hmph, don’t spoil him.”
“Pfft!” Song Zhaodi laughed. “Alright, I’ll listen to you, Dawa. Now, go wake your brother up. I’ll start cooking.”
That night, however, Song Zhaodi did not apologise to Zhong Jianguo. She didn’t even glance at him. And so, the couple officially entered a cold war.
For two days straight, Song Zhaodi did not say a single word to Zhong Jianguo. He was surprised and started to get a headache—he couldn’t keep sleeping in his son’s room forever.
On Friday evening, Zhong Jianguo came home to find dinner already prepared. His bowl and chopsticks were on the table, but Song Zhaodi finished eating, washed the three children’s faces and feet, then took them upstairs—without saying a single word to him.
Zhong Jianguo couldn’t help but sigh. What kind of mess was this?
Later, while Song Zhaodi was downstairs taking a bath, Zhong Jianguo made a full mug of malted milk and carried it to the children’s room. “Dawa, I accidentally made too much malted milk. Do you want some?”
“No,” Zhong Dawa refused without hesitation.
Zhong Jianguo pretended to look distressed. “It’d be a waste to throw it out. Why don’t you and your brother drink it?”
“We can’t,” Erwa said. “Mom said if we drink too much water at night, we’ll wet the bed.”
Zhong Jianguo pointed to the chamber pot in the corner. “There’s a chamber pot right there. If you need to pee, just get up.”
Although there was a chamber pot upstairs, Dawa and Erwa rarely used it in the middle of the night. Usually, they would wake up at dawn, half-asleep, and relieve themselves before going back to sleep.
Dawa leaned over to look at the mug and saw that it was more than half full. He thought for a moment. “I can drink a little.”
“Me too!” Erwa chimed in.
Dawa figured he’d be able to wake up if he needed to pee, but Erwa had wet the bed before. So, Dawa warned him, “Don’t drink too much. If you wet the bed, Mom will spank you.”
“I won’t wet the bed! There’s a chamber pot!” Erwa grabbed the mug and chugged it down.
Zhong Jianguo pointed at his two sons. “Don’t tell your mom. If she finds out, she’ll definitely give me a hard time again.”
“You two still haven’t made up?” Dawa asked quickly. “Dad, Mom said she made you angry, which is why you’re ignoring her. But if you give us malted milk and she finds out, she’ll get mad too. Then you’ll be mad, and she’ll be mad—how about you both stop being mad and just make up, Dad?”
What a good son.
Zhong Jianguo ruffled Dawa’s hair and smiled. “Things between your mom and me aren’t that simple. Don’t worry about it. I know what I’m doing. Now go to sleep.”
“Dad, have you already forgiven Mom?” Dawa asked.
Zhong Jianguo paused mid-step. “Go to sleep!”
“You only dare to yell at me, but not at Mom. Bullying me just because I’m small, huh?” Dawa huffed.
Curious, Erwa asked, “Brother, how do you know Dad doesn’t dare yell at Mom?”
“Because he doesn’t even dare let her know he gave us malted milk,” Dawa said. “He’s still mad at Mom but scared of her at the same time. Dad is so useless.”
Erwa glanced at the door and saw that his dad hadn’t returned. “Stop talking. Dad is really strong.”
“Oh, right!” Dawa suddenly remembered that their dad commanded a whole unit of soldiers and was supposedly great at fighting. He quickly pulled the blanket over his head. “Cover up so he doesn’t hear us.”
When Song Zhaodi came upstairs and found all three kids sleeping with their heads covered, she was startled. She quickly pulled the blankets back and scooped up Sanwa, checking his face.
Sanwa, annoyed, waved his hand to push her away. Song Zhaodi sighed in relief, then reached over and pinched Dawa and Erwa’s faces. These mischievous boys—did they not consider how young their little brother was before covering him up like that?
Zhong Jianguo pulled open the half-closed door and saw that the light in the next room was already out. He stood at the doorway for a moment before going back to bed.
In the middle of the night, Song Zhaodi was startled awake by a wet sensation. She sat up and reached for her sanitary cloth, but then she remembered—her last period had been just ten days ago. It was too early.
So…?
A bad feeling rose in her chest. She lifted the blanket—Sanwa was drenched.
Sanwa was almost a year and a half old, but he didn’t yet understand the concept of not wetting the bed. That’s why, every night, Song Zhaodi wrapped him in cloth diapers before putting him to sleep. He couldn’t be the culprit. That left only Dawa or Erwa.
She threw off the entire blanket and saw that both Dawa and Erwa were soaked.
The widest blanket in the house—ruined by pee? Realising this, Song Zhaodi’s drowsiness vanished instantly. She wanted to drag the two of them up and spank them but knew that the priority was getting them dry before they caught a cold.
“Zhong Jianguo, wake up!” Song Zhaodi carried Sanwa to the doorway and called out.
Zhong Jianguo, who had been lying awake, immediately sat up and rubbed his eyes. “What are you doing up in the middle of the night?”
“Your sons wet the bed.” Song Zhaodi turned to the side. “Go downstairs and get some water. We need to clean them up.”
Zhong Jianguo was secretly delighted—his boys, indeed.
Without another word, he fetched a basin of cold water and mixed in some hot water from a thermos. After washing Dawa, he asked, “Where is he sleeping?”
“Obviously in your bed,” Song Zhaodi replied. “Hurry up before he gets cold.”
Zhong Jianguo tucked Dawa into his warm blanket, then pulled Erwa out next. Once the wet blanket was removed, he asked, “Give me the cabinet key—I need another blanket.”
“It’s in the small drawer under the cabinet,” Song Zhaodi said, pursing her lips.
Zhong Jianguo found the key, pulled out two blankets, and paused. “These seem a little thin.”
“No kidding,” Song Zhaodi scoffed. “They’re for spring and autumn—of course they’re thin. Put them back and get in bed. It’s almost dawn. I don’t know how you still have so much energy.”
Facing the cabinet, with his back to Song Zhaodi, Zhong Jianguo allowed himself a small smile. Then he turned around and, with a straight face, muttered, “Mm.”
Song Zhaodi raised an eyebrow. “Are you still mad at me? Zhong Jianguo, was it really that big of a deal?”
“It’s the middle of the night—why aren’t you sleeping? Where’s all your energy coming from?” Zhong Jianguo retorted.
Song Zhaodi choked for a moment. “I should’ve just let you sleep on the chair with a thin blanket.”
Smack!
Zhong Jianguo turned off the light.
Song Zhaodi was plunged into darkness and almost swore. “Are you a child?”
“You’re even more childish,” Zhong Jianguo chuckled in the dark.
The next morning, while Song Zhaodi was cooking, Zhong Jianguo was playing with Sanwa under the eaves. As soon as he heard footsteps coming downstairs, he quickly picked up Sanwa and headed inside. “Dawa, Erwa, go wash—”
“Dad, I didn’t wet the bed!” Dawa hurriedly cut him off. “It was Erwa.”
Erwa protested loudly, “I didn’t wet the bed! It was little brother! Dad, you’re not allowed to hit me.”
“Your little brother’s diaper isn’t wet,” Song Zhaodi said as she stepped out of the kitchen. “How many times have I told you two not to drink water before bed? Do you think my words are just hot air?!”
Dawa and Erwa answered in unison, “No!”
Zhong Jianguo’s heart clenched—this was bad!
“No?” Song Zhaodi’s eyes burned into them. “So I’m the one who wet the bed, huh?”
The two brothers exchanged a look and then, without hesitation, pointed at Zhong Jianguo. “It was Dad.”
“Your dad slept in your room last night,” Song Zhaodi reminded them.
Dawa piped up, “Dad gave us water to drink.”
“No, brother, it wasn’t water—it was malted milk,” Erwa corrected him. “Mom, Dad said drinking it wouldn’t make us wet the bed.”
Dawa waved his hand. “No, no, no, didi, Dad said he made too much malted milk and told us to help him drink it. Mom, we didn’t want to, but Dad said if we didn’t drink, he’d hit us.”
“When did I ever say that?” Zhong Jianguo had been preparing to make a run for it, but his sons’ words nearly made him freeze in place. “You two better not think—”
Song Zhaodi cut him off. “Whether or not you threatened them, we’ll deal with that later. Zhong Jianguo, I just want to ask—did you or did you not make malted milk last night?”
“…I did,” Zhong Jianguo admitted through clenched teeth.
Song Zhaodi took a deep breath, forcing down her anger. “Hand Sanwa to Dawa and Erwa. You, come with me to the kitchen.”
“Dad, hurry up and give me little brother,” Dawa patted Zhong Jianguo’s arm. Then, as soon as he saw Song Zhaodi turn away, he gave Zhong Jianguo a little push and whispered, “Go quick! Make up with Mom!”
Zhong Jianguo had a headache. He couldn’t help but wonder if his son had deliberately spoken so loudly on purpose.
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