Chapter 5 What do you think?

“Yiyi, take it, quick.”

Standing to the side and seeing Song Yiyi in a daze, Cen Bowen hurriedly reminded her. Only then did Song Yiyi take the cup, lift her eyes to glance at Cen Yue, and say, “Thank you.”

She took a sip—sweet—it was sugar water.

Cen Yue soon sat back behind his desk. While slowly rolling up his sleeves, he asked Cen Bowen, “How do you plan to handle this?”

Whatever the truth, the damage was already done. The troupe would never allow such rumors, which harmed morale, to keep spreading.

Cen Bowen understood that well. He clenched his fists, as if to steel himself, and loudly reported, “Commissar! This whole thing started because of me. I’ve thought it over—I want to establish a deeper revolutionary friendship with Comrade Song Yiyi! I want to marry her!”

The sudden volume made Song Yiyi’s eardrums ache; she couldn’t help but shoot him a sideways look.

Cen Yue, however, showed little reaction. His face remained calm and unreadable. “That’s your solution? Have you discussed it with Comrade Song? With her family?”

Cen Bowen instantly reverted to his usual grinning self. “Haven’t had the chance yet—big brother’s still away on a mission, after all.”

The way he said “big brother” was smooth and shameless, his skin as thick as armor. He glanced at Song Yiyi with a smile and continued, “I told Yiyi, once big brother comes back, I’ll propose! As for family, I’ll take her to send a telegram home later.”

Song Yiyi sat quietly beside him, sipping her water. She wasn’t without opinions—but everything was still playing out exactly like in the original novel. From start to finish, she hadn’t said a word; it was all Cen Bowen’s one-sided wishful thinking.

She wanted to stay uninvolved, but someone clearly wouldn’t allow that.

After Cen Bowen finished speaking, Cen Yue didn’t respond. His hands rested on the desk, fingers idly rubbing the scar at his thumb joint. With his sleeves rolled up, the thin scar on his wrist was also visible.

After a pause, his voice came, mild and slow: “Comrade Song, what do you think?”

The atmosphere in the office seemed to tighten.

Song Yiyi cautiously lifted her head, her most innocent eyes turning toward Cen Bowen, and even tugged at the hem of his jacket.

Looking down, Cen Bowen softly reassured her, “It’s fine—just say whatever you think.”

Her obedient demeanor made Cen Bowen’s heart itch. He couldn’t resist saying to Cen Yue, “Little uncle, Yiyi’s shy—if you’re too serious, you’ll scare her. Why don’t I just take her away for now? Don’t worry, I’ll definitely give the team an explanation!”

The office fell silent again for a few seconds.

Song Yiyi kept her head lowered, until she heard a faint tapping on the desk—followed by a clear, magnetic voice:

“Bowen, you can go out first. Of course Comrade Song’s wishes should be heard from her own mouth.”

Cen Bowen wanted to speak up for her again, but one look at his little uncle’s cold, heavy expression made him lose his nerve. Pressing his lips together, he forced a grin and said to Song Yiyi, “I’ll wait outside. Just answer whatever little uncle asks—don’t be scared.”

Then he left quickly—almost like he was fleeing in defeat.

The office door clicked shut behind him, and the room fell quiet.

Song Yiyi kept her gaze down for a while. The man across from her made no sound, so she finally looked up reluctantly. “Comrade Commander, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be going now?”

There was a trace of impatience in her tone. She wanted to play the part of the original owner’s meekness, but after a lifetime of being headstrong, cracks inevitably showed.

Cen Yue fixed her with a steady stare, his narrow eyes slightly narrowed. “Your big brother’s been gone a month—don’t you want to know how he’s doing?”

He pulled open a drawer and placed a letter on the desk.

Big brother? Gu Chengze?

Song Yiyi blinked, stood up, walked over, and—without even looking at it—folded the envelope and stuffed it in her pocket. “Thank you, Commander.”

She took the letter, but didn’t ask a single further question.

Something flickered in Cen Yue’s eyes—an emotion gone in an instant.

“Comrade Song, there’s no rush for your marriage to Bowen. Don’t make decisions lightly,” he said gently. “I’ve already called his family. His mother will arrive in a couple of days. Do you need me to notify your parents as well?”

Hearing the first sentence, Song Yiyi almost thought the commissar would be fair and respect her choice. But after the second, she knew she’d been overthinking.

In the original novel, Cen Yue’s name appeared too—when the original owner died, and when she married Cen Bowen. Always as a “senior elder.” Marriage approval required Cen Yue’s signature; the first time Cen Bowen submitted the application, it sat untouched for days.

Back then, the Cen family thought the original owner wasn’t good enough for Cen Bowen. Cen Yue must have thought so too—why else would he be so quick to call?

“Commander, whether his mother comes or not doesn’t affect my decision,” Song Yiyi said, frowning with displeasure. “Whether I marry Cen Bowen depends on me and him.”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an unprecedented firmness.

Their gazes met—and in Cen Yue’s eyes, she saw what looked like a trace of amusement. She thought she was mistaken, but the longer she looked, the more certain she became.

Was he… mocking her?

Anger flared in her chest. She opened her mouth to retort—but her stomach betrayed her first.

Gurgle gurgle gurgle…

Her empty stomach voiced its protest.

Song Yiyi: “……”

Before she could even enter the fray, her momentum was gone.

The corners of Cen Yue’s lips curved upward. He casually picked up the aluminum lunch box on his desk, opened it one by one, and pushed it toward her.

“Alright, I understand. Haven’t eaten lunch yet? You gave away the braised pork you made to someone else—without checking if they even appreciated it.”

Song Yiyi was growing more and more suspicious—how had Cen Yue become a commissar? With his style of political work, even the most well-behaved person could be provoked into trouble.

“Commander, is Cen Bowen really your biological nephew? Aren’t you worried that if you say things like that, I’ll walk out and break it off with him?”

Her mouth said that, but her eyes kept darting to the food laid neatly before her. The dishes were still steaming, and the fragrant aroma of corn and carrot pork rib soup drifted up to her nose.

Besides the soup, there were two dishes: steamed pork with rice flour, and steamed egg with clams. In these lean years, such food was clearly a perk reserved for someone of the commander’s rank.

Cen Yue leisurely took out chopsticks and a spoon, rinsed them in hot water, and handed them to her.

“Nothing would please me more,” he said slowly.

As expected, all the Cens were cut from the same cloth.

When Song Yiyi was hungry, everything else faded into the background. She took the chopsticks and spoon without hesitation and began eating.

One mouthful of the fresh, sweet pork rib soup, and her empty stomach immediately felt soothed.

Cen Yue sat across from her, lips curved in a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Then he spoke—words that nearly made her spit steamed egg in his face.

“Marrying Cen Bowen—would that help you forget your feelings for your big brother?”