My Superstar Wife Is So Popular-Chapter 741 - 739: Honorifics and Terms of Endearment

"You ask, you ask."

Wen Qiao now felt her heart bloom whenever she saw Fu Jinghen; her attitude towards him had transformed drastically compared to when they were questioning each other on the street.

"What did Huo Mutian mean by ’big brother’?"

Wen Qiao’s expression stiffened, "Bro—big brother is just big brother. Haven’t I said it before? It’s a term of respect, really just respect."

"Is it?"

Fu Jinghen leaned in closer, causing Wen Qiao to unconsciously step back until she was about to hit the table. Fu Jinghen raised his hand to encircle her waist, cushioning her body against the table.

"So, you use terms of respect with me too?"

"Definitely not," Wen Qiao immediately retorted, raising an arm to circle his neck, "For you, it’s a term of endearment."

"I see."

"Yes, yes, that’s how it is."

Suddenly, Fu Jinghen’s expression darkened. He pinched Wen Qiao’s chin and kissed her, his lips pressing against hers as he whispered threateningly, "If I ever find out you’re casually calling someone else—"

"That won’t happen, that won’t happen," Wen Qiao hurriedly promised, raising three fingers together, "I swear."

Fu Jinghen grabbed her hand, their fingers interlocking and pressing down on the table, pushing Wen Qiao’s upper body involuntarily backwards as he moved closer.

The moment their tongues met, Wen Qiao was a bit puzzled.

Wasn’t she supposed to be the one questioning him? How had Fu Jinghen managed to take that role from her?

Feeling a sense of compression in her embrace, Wen Qiao snapped back to reality and pushed Fu Jinghen away forcefully.

Caught in a whirlwind of emotions, Fu Jinghen reacted too late and stumbled back a step from Wen Qiao’s push.

Wen Qiao lowered her gaze to the bag in her arms, her tone filled with affection, "My bag, luckily I reacted quickly, or it would have been crushed."

...

Fu Jinghen irritably tugged at his necktie.

How could that damn bag be so annoying?

-

Meanwhile, far away in Europe, Fu Qiang felt suffocated upon learning that the handbag she had long coveted had been snatched away by someone else, and she cursed Cheng Yaojin over and over.

Sitting on a lounger, the middle-aged man waited for her to finish before setting down his teacup and stating indifferently, "I know who took that handbag."

The man, dressed in a gray sweater and casual pants, had a face strikingly similar to Qi Ming’s but carried a more gentle demeanor.

Fu Qiang suddenly turned to him, "Who?"

Qi Zhao pointed at her phone, "You might want to ask Jinghen; he probably knows better than I do."

With that clear hint, what more was there for Fu Qiang not to understand?

The fury bubbling within her slowly subsided, and she felt relieved she hadn’t dragged Cheng Yaojin’s ancestors through the mud just now; otherwise, her mistake would have been huge.

"It must have been to please his wife, that little rascal. He’s grown so big and doesn’t even know how to pamper his sister," Fu Qiang said, "Since it’s in Qiaoqiao’s hands now, I’ll reluctantly accept it."

A love for bags is probably innate in all women, and it doesn’t subside with age. On the contrary, in Fu Qiang’s case, it had even intensified.

Qi Zhao patted the back of her hand and promised, "Next time, I’ll get it back for you."

"You said it," Fu Qiang eyed him, "If I don’t see the bag I want by next year, you can go back and live with your son."

Qi Zhao paused, then more solemnly promised, "Don’t worry."

After all, what was the fun in spending days with a younger version of himself compared to traveling everywhere with his wife?

For that reason alone, he had to get that bag back for his wife.