Chapter 70: Let's Go to Sleep**
In Ye Xiwen's living room, Wu Yifan and Fu Junyao slouched in their chairs, faces flushed, breath reeking of strong liquor. Their eyes were glassy, and their words came in slurred, disjointed bursts. Wu Yifan lifted a half-empty cup of baijiu, its contents sloshing over the rim as he clinked it against Fu Junyao's.
"Wu Yifan, you… you bastard, pervert, scoundrel!" Fu Junyao's voice cracked, her tongue thick. "You're drunk! I told you… you're no match for me. Still pretending to be a wine god…" She'd long since shed her police uniform, leaving her in a tight pink camisole that accentuated her full, heaving chest—softly trembling, as if straining against the fabric, a raw, unintended allure in her drunken state.
"Pfft, little girl, talking big after just two bottles?" Wu Yifan's eyes swam, his words wandering. "Back in the day, I could down three bottles of baijiu and still strut a catwalk. This? This is nothing. I'll show you… what a *real* wine god looks like!"
"Two bottles? *Two*?!" Fu Junyao's temper flared, her eyes narrowing. "I once drank three bottles alone and walked straight! This? This is child's play! How dare you look down on me? I'll make you pay!"
"Please, I'd never fear a little tigress like you!" Wu Yifan shot back, waving his cup.
Ye Xiwen watched them bicker like two醉猫 (zuìmāo, drunk cats), a wave of helplessness washing over her. *Why does my best friend have to be so stubborn?* she thought.明明 (míngmíng, clearly) she can't hold her liquor, yet she insists on competing with Wu Yifan. If this goes on, who knows what mess they'll make?
She hurried to hide the remaining bottles of Maotai, then reached over to pry the cup from Fu Junyao's grip, her tone sharp with frustration. "Yaoyao, stop drinking! Look at you—you can barely sit up, let alone hold a cup. Enough!"
Fu Junyao, riding a wave of drunken bravado, snatched the cup back, her words muddled. "Wenwen jie, don't stop me… I, Fu Junyao, swear to heaven… today, I'll make Wu Yifan regret underestimating me!"
"Tch, little woman, full of hot air," Wu Yifan muttered, his head resting heavily on the table, eyes half-closed.
"You… you call me a little woman?!" Fu Junyao slammed her fist on the table, springing to her feet, pointing at him. "I'll teach you a lesson!"
"Will you two *stop*?!" Ye Xiwen snapped, raising her voice.
"Fine… fine," Fu Junyao and Wu Yifan mumbled in unison.
They fell silent, slumping onto the table, too intoxicated to move—let alone argue.
Ye Xiwen stared at the spread of dishes she'd spent over an hour preparing, most of them untouched, now cold. It stung—all that effort, wasted on two people too busy bickering to take a bite. For a moment, she wanted to haul them both outside and hang them from a tree.
She nudged Fu Junyao, who was nearly snoring. "Yaoyao, it's late. You should go home."
"Mmm… go home… time to go home…" Fu Junyao mumbled, eyes still shut, not moving an inch.
Ye Xiwen sighed. No way could she let her drunk friend risk driving. She'd have to stay.
Next, she turned to Wu Yifan, prodding his arm. "Wu Yifan, you should go too."
"Zzz… zzz…" He didn't stir.
"Wu Yifan, wake up! You can't be this drunk after just one bottle—are you faking it to avoid leaving?" Ye Xiwen pushed harder, but he only snored louder.
"Zzz… zzz…"
Ye Xiwen felt her patience snap. *These two are impossible.* She couldn't just throw them out—one was her best friend, the other her employee. But leaving them here? Chaos would ensue.
After a moment's panic, she hatched a plan: drag Fu Junyao to her bedroom, then tuck Wu Yifan onto the couch. It wasn't ideal, but it would keep them apart—and prevent any… *incidents*.
She tidied the table, then mustered all her strength to haul Fu Junyao, who flailed like a sack of potatoes, arms and legs swinging wildly. Twice, Ye Xiwen barely dodged a stray elbow. *What a handful*, she grumbled, finally dumping her friend onto the bed.
Wiping sweat from her brow, she turned to Wu Yifan, still sprawled on the table. He was a solid, broad-shouldered man—no match for her alone.
"Wu Yifan, the table's cold. Come sleep on the couch," she urged gently.
"I… I'm not leaving," he mumbled, half-asleep.
"Fine, fine, we'll go to sleep, okay?" Ye Xiwen said, desperation making her voice softer than she intended. The words *"we'll go to sleep"* hung awkwardly in the air—too intimate, like a lovers' whisper. She cringed. *If anyone hears this, they'll laugh themselves silly.*
"Sleep? We… we'll sleep?" Wu Yifan抬起头 (tái qǐ tóu, lifted his head), confusion clouding his eyes.
"Cough—*you* sleep, not 'we'!" Ye Xiwen blushed, quickly correcting herself.
Suddenly, Wu Yifan's face lit up, a delirious joy breaking through his drunken haze. "Feng'er? Is that you? You… you came to see me? I knew you wouldn't abandon me, Feng'er… Feng'er…" He reached out, pulling Ye Xiwen into a tight hug, as if afraid she'd vanish.
"You… you… Wu Yifan, you pervert! Let go!" Ye Xiwen froze, her cheeks burning. It was her first time being held so tightly by a man—his warm, masculine scent wrapping around her, stirring something unfamiliar in her chest. She struggled, but his grip only tightened. "I'll scream! You rogue—ouch! Let me go!"
"Feng'er, I'll never let you go… never," Wu Yifan murmured, tears spilling from his eyes.
Ye Xiwen faltered. *Feng'er?* Who was that? His raw emotion—pain, longing, fear—took her aback. She softened, patting his back gently. "Yifan, it's me, Feng'er. I won't leave. But first… let me go, okay?"
"Feng'er… you won't leave?" Wu Yifan loosened his hold, still wary.
"I won't," she lied, her heart twinging.
She led him to the couch, her voice soft. "Yifan, lie down. Rest. When you wake up, Feng'er will be right here. I promise."
"You'll… you'll leave," he mumbled, panicking, grabbing her again.
"I won't. But if you don't listen, I'll never see you again," Ye Xiwen said, half-exasperated, half-amused. It was the first time she'd said something so bold—if anyone heard, they'd tease her mercilessly. But for a drunk man clinging to a memory, it worked.
Wu Yifan fell silent, lying down obediently, his eyes fluttering shut.
Ye Xiwen fetched a blanket, tucking it around him. Watching him sleep—peaceful, like a child—her curiosity grew. *Who is Feng'er?* she wondered. *Could she be linked to his amnesia?*
She said nothing, though, just sighed and slipped back to her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.