Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 5 - President Wen, I'm not someone who trades my body. Sorry for bothering you
Chapter 5: President Wen, I'm not someone who trades my body. Sorry for bothering you
Wen Shuchen only asked her out for one dinner. Before 9 p.m., he gentlemanly escorted the young lady back.
At the entrance of the neighborhood, the two got out of the car. He stood tall and poised under the dim yellow streetlight as He Qingchi walked ahead. After just a few steps, she suddenly turned around. Under the warm glow, the man stood straight where he was, giving her a polite nod goodbye.
He Qingchi had been out of sorts since leaving the restaurant. She almost took the Buddhist bead bracelet Wen Shuchen showed her by mistake, but thankfully remembered in time. She walked back to him in her heels and handed it over. “Mr. Wen, your bracelet.”
Wen Shuchen glanced at the bracelet she handed back. The deep red color set off her slender hand beautifully, her fingers delicate and fair.
There was something unreadable in his lowered gaze. His tone was calm and even: “Do you like it?”
A familiar tone, and almost the same words as before.
He Qingchi had a vague idea of his intentions. Even if she did like it, she didn’t dare accept it.
That red string bracelet looked simple, but it was a personal item he wore. If she accepted it without proper reason or status, it would only blur the already ambiguous lines between them.
She smiled slightly, returned it without a word, and let her gaze linger on his handsome face. Qin Chuan's words surfaced in her mind, but she quickly pushed them away.
Standing by the roadside, she watched Wen Shuchen get into the car and drive off, disappearing from view.
She never managed to say anything—
*
When He Qingchi opened the apartment door, she saw Qin Chuan lounging on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other. Seeing her return, he raised his eyebrows: “Tsk tsk, Wen Shuchen returned you safe and sound, huh?”
She walked over silently, picked up a throw pillow, and looked ready to commit murder.
Sensing a threat to his life, Qin Chuan surrendered at top speed: “Okay, okay! You didn’t follow my advice and get close to Wen Shuchen, did you…? Murder’s illegal, sis!”
He Qingchi: “…”
Qin Chuan snatched the pillow from her hands, winked, and said: “Something’s going on with you. Don’t tell me you’ve got your eyes on that top-tier rich guy?”
He Qingchi found it completely absurd. She pointed to herself: “You're talking about me?”
“Who else? You want to win over the investor, and you just happened to connect with someone who could help you get close to him. Any normal person would ask for help. What’s so hard about that?” Qin Chuan gave her a once-over with his sharp eyes.
His final conclusion was firm and unquestionable: “You're shy.”
“I’m not.”
Qin Chuan didn’t argue. He said, “Then just go ask Wen Shuchen for help. Even if he says no, it’s not like you’re losing a limb. I put in a lot of work to find out who your movie’s investor is. If this path doesn’t work out…”
He glanced sideways at He Qingchi’s cheongsam-clad figure and sighed with exaggerated regret: “Since the old man found out you were caught in a contract dispute in Jiangcheng, he got so excited he already booked a wedding venue for you in advance. He’s just waiting for you to surrender and come home to be his perfect rich daughter.”
He Qingchi had heard enough and headed for her bedroom.
“Hey, hey, don’t get shy on me—”
BANG. A loud door slam was her only response.
The lights in the room were off. Light from the floor-to-ceiling window filtered in.
He Qingchi lay on the bed without moving, staring at the white wall, her mind blank.
Time passed quietly until she suddenly buried her face into the pillow. After a while, she reached out and picked up her phone.
On the screen, their old text messages were still there.
——
He Qingchi: [Hello Mr. Wen, I’m He Qingchi. Would you be available for a meal sometime?]
Wen Shuchen: [Yes.]
Below these two messages, the conversation was completely blank.
Some things are hard to bring up in person, but can be said over text.
He Qingchi hesitated for a moment, then slowly typed: [Mr. Wen, have you gotten home yet?]
He had been gentlemanly enough to take her home; it was only polite for her to check in. Every word was formal and proper—nothing wrong with that, right?
Thinking this, she went ahead and sent the message.
But right after sending it, she regretted it.
Her fingers hovered over the screen. Two minutes later, a ding sounded—she had a new message. The glow of the phone lit up her delicate face. She blinked and opened it.
Wen Shuchen: [Mm.]
Just a single “Mm.” As if words were gold.
How was she supposed to get closer to someone like that? He Qingchi lightly pressed her lips together. She felt that if she sent even just a smile emoji, that would probably end the conversation for the night.
But she needed his help. After gathering her emotions for a while, she typed again: [That President Fu—are you close with him?]
She was being pretty clear, and Wen Shuchen didn’t beat around the bush either: [We’ve known each other for over ten years. He’s a family friend.]
With that many years of friendship, it should be easier to talk!
He Qingchi bit her lip, then gathered her courage and typed: [Mr. Wen, you know why I visited President Fu at the club tonight. Could I trouble you to do me a small favor?]
President Fu had casually brushed her off earlier. Big investors like him back countless films—she was just a small fry and didn’t stand out. Even with his business card, she doubted she could actually get an appointment.
She wasn’t sure if Wen Shuchen would agree. After all, they didn’t have that kind of relationship. It would be perfectly reasonable if he turned her down.
The phone was heating up from being held so tightly. Ten minutes passed before Wen Shuchen's reply finally came through—just two words: [I can.]
He Qingchi shot up from the bed, heart pounding in her throat. Before she could send a long message to thank him for agreeing to help, another message popped in unexpectedly: [I can help you. What will you bribe me with?]
Her pupils instantly contracted—she even suspected she’d read it wrong.
She read the message over and over, but those words were indeed there.
If it were two men talking, ‘bribe’ might mean money. But Wen Shuchen was the top figure among Jiangcheng’s elites—would someone like him really need to extort money from a woman who herself was short on cash?
He didn’t need the money, so saying something like that could only suggest something else. Just two simple words, and suddenly there was a subtle but unmistakable undertone of flirtation.
So much for his gentle and elegant image. Beneath the surface, he was clearly a schemer.
He Qingchi wasn’t an unreasonable person—if she asked someone for help, she should be grateful.
But if the help required selling herself, that was a different matter entirely. She straightened her expression, firmly typed her reply with stiff fingers, and sent: [Sorry, Mr. Wen. I’m not the type to sell my body. Sorry for bothering you. Good night.]
She thought she had made herself absolutely clear, leaving no room for discussion. But then the screen lit up again. Wen Shuchen replied: [Miss He, I only need to borrow your hands.]
He Qingchi’s red lips parted slightly in disbelief. She cursed under her breath.
He—he—he—
Did the women in Jiangcheng know that their number-one elite acted like this in private?
Did that dog Qin Chuan outside the bedroom know?!
She lowered her head, staring at her own pale, soft, and slender hands. She muttered through clenched teeth: “No way!”
She picked up her phone again, ready to righteously reject whatever perverted idea he had involving her hands. But it was as if Wen Shuchen had bugged her heart—another message arrived right on cue.
With a hint of embarrassment and annoyance in her eyes, she opened the message:
[I heard your family has a traditional craft. Could I trouble Miss He to design a shirt for me? I’ll reward you handsomely.]
Her delicate fingers paused against the screen.
Her grandmother’s family had once served as royal tailors, and the craft had been passed down through generations. Though the He family was based in Yancheng, her grandmother was from Jiangcheng, so He Qingchi had grown up between both cities. As the saying goes, “Talent comes from lineage”—naturally, He Qingchi knew how to sew. In fact, her favorite thing to make was traditional qipao.
She was stunned Wen Shuchen even knew that. But then she quickly realized:
For a man of his influence, learning everything about a woman probably took less than a blink.
The tips of her ears, hidden beneath her long hair, were starting to feel warm—she wasn’t sure if they’d turned red.
So… all along, Wen Shuchen just wanted her to make him a shirt.
Now she couldn’t help wondering—when he saw her sending that dramatic message about not selling her body, what expression had he worn?
Right now, He Qingchi wished she could play dead—maybe sleep it off and pretend none of this happened.
But she couldn’t!!!
She took a few deep breaths to calm down and typed: [My skills are average. I just hope you won’t mind, Mr. Wen.]
Then she asked: [Mr. Wen, what’s your size?]
A moment later, he replied slowly with just one word: [Hm?]
[Your body measurements—] He Qingchi tried to clarify, only to realize the more she explained, the worse it sounded.
Wen Shuchen: [You can take them yourself.]
She almost threw the now-blazing phone across the room: [Don’t you know them yourself?]
Wen Shuchen: [Hm.]
He really wasn’t going to say more than one word. He Qingchi held back her exasperation with a smile and asked: [When are you free, Mr. Wen? I need your measurements before I can start sewing.]
This time, he didn’t reply immediately.
She waited, her long lashes lowered as she watched the seconds tick by on the screen.
Finally, five minutes later, Wen Shuchen sent her his schedule.
He Qingchi was caught off guard. Hadn’t Qin Chuan said only Wen’s bodyguards knew his schedule? Was that false information?
More importantly—she looked at the itinerary and saw:
Wen Shuchen had a business trip to the U.S. at 7 a.m. the next morning, for half a month. No personal time in between.
Half a month?
By the time he returned and could help her, she’d be colder than a corpse.
He Qingchi stared at the time displayed on the screen, thought for three full minutes, and finally made a decision. She sent: [Mr. Wen, it’s 10:40 p.m. right now—not that late. I’ll come over right away. Is that convenient for you?]
Wen Shuchen replied with a smiling emoji.
A second later, he sent an address. The location: Tangshe Hotel.
----------
If you like my translation, please support me by buying me a coffee:
0 comments: