Mr. Bo, Madam Is Pregnant!

Chapter 439: Chapter 439

Su Lu and Jing Qiao exchanged a glance and immediately walked into the hall.

Song Boyuan was facing away from them, and as they approached, they first saw Zhao Xiaole cradled in Song Boyuan’s arms, his face smeared with blood.

Song Boyuan was reaching out to wipe the blood from Zhao Xiaole’s face, but the smearing only made the crimson marks more pronounced.

Jing Qiao’s body reacted even faster than her brain seemed to, instinctively pulling out kitchen paper from her apron pocket and stuffing it onto Song Boyuan’s nose without a second thought.

"Uncle, are you okay?" Zhao Xiaole anxiously looked at Song Boyuan, his eyes filled with worry.

Song Boyuan still appeared indifferent and impassive, gently shaking his head.

He was holding Zhao Xiaole with one hand and lightly covered Jing Qiao’s hand—clutching the tissue on his nose—with the other.

The nosebleed was severe; shortly, the tissue was soaked through.

Su Lu took Zhao Xiaole from his hands. The child couldn’t bear the sight of so much blood; his lips pursed and eyes reddened, as if he was about to cry. "Uncle, are you all right?" His voice trembled, as if it could tremble into one’s heart.

Song Boyuan, undemonstrative as always, glanced towards Zhao Xiaole and shook his head lightly, but seeing the child’s reddened eyes, he felt a mere shake of his head might not be enough.

He paused and then said, "I’m fine. Go wash your face and play in the ball pit."

Because his nose was blocked, his usually cold, metallic voice seemed to carry a bit more warmth.

"Ball pit?" Zhao Xiaole was distracted by what he had said.

Zhao Xiaole had actually planned to go to the ball pit with Su Lu yesterday.

But visiting his aunt was more important than the ball pit, so he had to put his desire to visit the ball pit on hold. However, such is the way with children—the more they can’t go immediately, the more they want to go.

So, hearing Song Boyuan mention the ball pit was surprising.

Song Boyuan’s face still showed little emotion. "Go check the yard next door."

The hall in the building next door had been transformed by Song Boyuan into a dance room, and the courtyard swimming pool had been drained and filled with countless sea balls.

When Zhao Xiaole saw it, he almost jumped for joy!

"Mom!" he exclaimed joyfully, looking at Su Lu with sparkling eyes. He paused, then lowered his voice and whispered, "He’s really nice!"

Though his voice was lowered, the joy in it could hardly be suppressed.

Su Lu’s lips curved slightly, and she reached to pat her son’s head.

Zhao Xiaole, a kind-hearted child, didn’t immediately plan to go play in the ball pit but thought for a moment and showed a worried look again, "Is he all right? There was so much blood from his nose."

Zhao Xiaole remembered how, when his mother had led him out, he had turned his head to see his handsome uncle with the blood-soaked tissue by his nose. After removing the tissue, blood from his nose flowed like beads falling off a string, dousing his lips and chin.

Then, it dripped onto the chest of his shirt, spreading a crimson stain.

Su Lu also wondered, was Young Master Song really of a delicate constitution, disguised by his towering height of nearly 1.9 meters? noveldrama

"It’s okay, your aunt will take care of him," Su Lu said. "Go on and play."

Zhao Xiaole wanted to say more, but to prevent further nagging from the child, Su Lu nudged him into the ball pit, prompting a burst of crisp, giggling laughter from Zhao Xiaole.

In the villa nearby,

Several subordinates were somewhat serious and cautious, "President Song, do you really not need a doctor?"

"No need," Song Boyuan said indifferently.

"But..." The subordinate wanted to say more but was immediately cut off by Song Boyuan’s frowning and cold interruption, "Enough, isn’t it annoying?"

The subordinate dared not say more and stepped aside.

After a while, Jing Qiao came over with a medical kit from the room.

Jing Qiao’s eyebrows were tightly furrowed as she sat down in front of him, "It’s almost like a faucet, don’t you really need to go to the hospital?"

Song Boyuan didn’t speak, just gently shook his head. The nosebleed that had somewhat stopped now spurted out again as he shook his head. He raised his hand to wipe it.

A swath of crimson, all the more shocking to see.

Jing Qiao’s brows furrowed even tighter. She took out a disinfectant wipe and cleaned the shocking bloodstains on his face, then took out a hemostatic gauze, rolled it into a fine roll, dipped it in hemostatic powder, and carefully and slowly stuffed it in.

With his nose blocked, Song Boyuan could only slightly part his lips to breathe through his mouth.

Up close, his breath brushed across Jing Qiao’s face.

Jing Qiao couldn’t help but feel a tickle on her face and silently backed away a bit after she had packed his nose.

Yet, Song Boyuan was actually in a rather good mood—although his nosebleed flowed like a faucet—having Jing Qiao handle his nose and being able to watch Jing Qiao dance later, his spirits were clearly high.

However, it wasn’t particularly obvious on his cold poker face—it was only those perfectly shaped, slightly upturned phoenix eyes, which seemed to curve slightly more.

But Jing Qiao’s next words made that slight curve at the corners of those phoenix eyes disappear rapidly.

"You should go back to Beijing," said Jing Qiao.

Song Boyuan lightly pursed his lips, and as if he hadn’t heard her, stood up, "Let’s go and see the kid."

He walked ahead with his tall stature, quickly stepping out of the hall.

Jing Qiao could only follow. She didn’t understand why he stayed—aside from Beijing, he was unaccommodating to the water and soil anywhere.

But now, it seemed he truly did not intend to leave?

The reason Jing Qiao knew he wasn’t planning to leave was that she saw the manager of Yujing Villa come by yesterday and sign a long-term contract with Song Boyuan—securing both of these vacation villas and allowing him to make such alterations to the adjacent villa.

It was all built up with money.

For a hot spring resort hotel of Yujing Villa’s scale and caliber, the cost of a long-term contract—be it quarterly, semiannual, or annual—was nothing short of exorbitant.

Did he actually plan on staying long-term, waiting for a bloodbath?

Jing Qiao was not an outsider and didn’t have the perspective and view of one, so she wouldn’t think that Song Boyuan’s stay was merely because she was willing to dance again, to teach Zhao Xiaole.

Her heart was closed; a person with a closed heart wouldn’t associate everything with themselves, wouldn’t dare to wear any hat put on their head; the biggest common thing among those with a closed heart is self-doubt.

She could think of a hundred possible reasons for his actions, but none would be because of her.