Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 6 - Going to the hospital over such a minor injury makes him seem way too delicate for a man

June 11, 2025 Oyen 0 Comments

Happy Reading~

Chapter 6: Going to the hospital over such a minor injury makes him seem way too delicate for a man

 

Tangshe Hotel, Inside the Study.

 

When Secretary Song knocked on the door and brought in tea, Wen Shuchen was seated at the desk. The desk lamp cast a soft glow, illuminating his sharply defined features. His eyes were deep and focused on the documents in his hands.

 

“Mr. Wen, your tea,” Song Chao said as he stepped forward and placed the cup down.

 

Wen Shuchen lifted his eyelids, his gaze heavy and sweeping over, so intense it made Song Chao’s insides tremble.

 

It was already pitiful that he had lost this month’s salary—now it looked like even his year-end bonus was in jeopardy.

 

“Mr. Wen, the idea tonight wasn’t mine alone—it was the entire team’s,” Song Chao quickly shifted the blame to his teammates, eager to prove his “innocence.” He confessed readily, “I only said to send up a room key. It was them who said, in case you and Miss He hit it off upstairs, I should also deliver something else.”

 

The study door was ajar, and just then a man’s laughter from outside drifted in: “Director Song the Eunuch, weren’t you the one trying to take credit? How’d it turn into us setting you up?”

 

At the nickname “Director Song the Eunuch,” Song Chao nearly exploded with anger and protested, “I just thought maybe Mr. Wen wouldn’t know how to deal with girls…”

 

Wen Shuchen placed the file on the desk, his long fingers brushing over the page where the name He Qingchi appeared. He gently slid a fingertip across the last two characters of her name, then closed the folder. His tone was light: “When she arrives, don’t show up again tonight. Otherwise, your vacation starts this month.”

 

“M-Miss He?”

 

Song Chao had assumed that when it came to this kind of situation, his boss Wen Shuchen would be the one acting like a naive college student getting played.

 

But to his surprise, Mr. Wen was anything but hesitant in matters between men and women.

 

In just one night, he’d already gotten the girl to come to the hotel.

 

Half an hour later, He Qingchi arrived at the Tangshe Hotel suite. When a formally dressed man she didn’t recognize opened the door and welcomed her in, she noticed that Song Chao was indeed nowhere in sight.

 

She saw that the living room’s coffee table was scattered with documents and a laptop. Two or three men in suits were sitting quietly on the sofa, seemingly taking a break after a late-night business meeting.

 

Even this late, Wen Shuchen and his elite team were still working—it seemed this “top socialite” of Jiangcheng was truly a workaholic.

 

He Qingchi greeted everyone politely, trying to appear as composed as possible.

 

“Miss He, Mr. Wen is waiting for you in the study.”

 

“Thank you.” With everyone’s eyes following her, He Qingchi walked to the study door. Just as she raised her fair hand to knock, it opened slowly from the inside. The soft light outlined the tall silhouette of the man standing there, who greeted her with a smile.

 

He Qingchi paused for a moment, wondering why he was smiling at her so nicely.

 

Her thoughts started to get tangled, but she quickly pulled herself together and entered calmly.

 

Wen Shuchen didn’t close the door after opening it.

 

This thoughtful and subtly reassuring gesture gave He Qingchi a sense of safety.

 

She walked to the desk, then turned around to face the man standing three steps away. Through his figure, she could still see the view of the living room behind him.

 

Before she could speak, Wen Shuchen smiled slightly and asked, “How should I cooperate?”

 

He Qingchi took out a yellow measuring tape wrapped in lacquered cloth and slowly looped it around her fingers without saying anything.

 

Having come from an elite family—and with her grandmother’s ancestry being court-appointed tailors—He Qingchi knew very well that upper-class men like Wen Shuchen valued subtle elegance. Their wardrobe choices leaned more toward traditional custom tailoring rather than flashy luxury brands. So there was no way he had never been measured before.

 

He was asking deliberately, calm and collected, while she was the one flustered by the situation.

 

A true master, she thought—his composure revealed the gap between them.

 

The study was quiet for a moment, then He Qingchi suddenly looked up and walked closer. “Mr. Wen, how old are you?”

 

She asked casually, avoiding the awkwardness of the previous texts.

 

“Twenty-seven,” Wen Shuchen answered softly.

 

Four years older than me, He Qingchi thought. She smiled faintly and said, “Old enough to get legally married.”

 

A bit of feminine playfulness in her tone—it was her subtle way of throwing back the line he’d teased her with earlier in the ‘A Hint of Spring’ private room.

 

Wen Shuchen raised an eyebrow, then heard her ask, “Are you single, Mr. Wen?”

 

“Yes,” he replied, watching her intently, amusement building in his eyes.

 

He was curious to see if she would repeat the third question word for word.

 

He Qingchi suddenly stepped closer, lifting her slender wrist, lightly touching his shoulder with the tape, close enough to almost touch but always pulling away at the last second.

 

“My grandmother used to say, you should avoid marrying someone four years older. No matter how much love there is, you’ll always end up arguing,” she said calmly, then tossed the question his way: “Mr. Wen, have you heard that before?”

 

Wen Shuchen slightly turned his face to make it easier for her to measure, her scent faintly brushing his senses. He chuckled and replied in an even tone, “I did hear of a study from overseas that showed the ideal age difference between a couple is four years—it’s when they’re most likely to have children. So, some would say a four-year gap makes for a perfect match.”

 

He Qingchi’s words got stuck in her throat. As she was measuring his waist through his shirt, her movements halted. She looked up, and by accident, her smooth forehead brushed lightly against his sculpted jawline.

 

The unexpected softness made her freeze for a couple of seconds.

 

Wen Shuchen suddenly smiled, the curve of his lips light and brief, quickly fading.

 

But He Qingchi’s face was already burning. She pulled the measuring tape away and took two steps back.

 

“All done measuring?”

 

Wen Shuchen didn’t move closer. He just looked at her fluttering lashes, his smile deepening. He could tell—she was nervous.

 

He Qingchi seemed to blank out for a moment, then nodded.

 

“Memorized my measurements?”

 

She had only measured his upper body, and that too through a layer of clothing. She hadn’t even touched him directly, yet Wen Shuchen’s words made the whole situation feel… suggestive.

 

She admitted defeat—she wasn’t his match in this game.

 

Rather than continue trying to one-up him in this flirtatious back-and-forth, she followed his lead and said, “May I borrow a piece of paper to write it down?”

 

If she’d said she memorized it, who knew what kind of innuendo Wen Shuchen might make of that.

 

Facing the desk, He Qingchi stepped away. As the distance between them grew, the subtle tension and ambiguous atmosphere hanging in the air seemed to dissolve. Her elegant eyes lowered, scanning the surface of the desk.

 

Apart from a pile of documents and a few files, there didn’t seem to be any scrap paper.

 

Of course, He Qingchi wasn’t going to dig through the files for a piece of waste paper. She turned around and asked the man directly.

 

Wen Shuchen stepped over, and from his pants pocket, he pulled out a blue handkerchief. The fabric was clearly high quality. He handed it to her.

 

He Qingchi hesitated for two seconds before reaching out to take it.

 

She then picked up a men’s fountain pen from the desk and began to neatly write down the measurements she had memorized. Her handwriting was graceful.

 

Her delicate expression looked like she was writing out an IOU.

 

But then again, in a way—it was an IOU.

 

He had agreed to help her, and she had recorded his measurements on the blue handkerchief, intending to repay the favor with a custom-tailored shirt.

 

After finishing, He Qingchi carefully folded the handkerchief.

 

Behind her, Wen Shuchen asked casually, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll back out afterward?” 

 

“......”

 

He Qingchi turned around in shock, her dark eyes wide open, not even blinking.

 

She’d sacrificed sleep to come all the way to the hotel, spending all this time—if he really dared to go back on his word, she swore she’d curse him from head to toe.

 

Wen Shuchen watched her amusing reaction, a smile playing in his eyes.

 

Under her long, fixed gaze, he walked over to the desk and pulled open a drawer. In the stillness of the room, his every move seemed magnified. He retrieved a red string bracelet and walked back toward her.

 

Before He Qingchi could dodge, her wrist was caught in his long fingers.

 

His warm touch spread through her skin, followed by a slight chill as he fastened the red bracelet on her wrist. The smooth texture of the beads snapped her out of her thoughts.

 

The next moment, Wen Shuchen released her wrist, seemingly unaffected by the soft feel of her skin under his fingers.

 

His tone was composed, his expression unreadable: “This is your deposit.”

 

He Qingchi wanted to return the bracelet, her lips parting, but no words came out.

 

Seeing her so tense, with her slender wrist frozen stiff, Wen Shuchen kindly poured her a cup of tea and handed it over. “Careful, it’s hot…”

 

Just as the word “hot” escaped his lips, He Qingchi’s fingers twitched at the touch of the cup and instinctively drew back before fully grasping it. A sharp clatter followed—clang!—and her pupils shrank as she saw the hot tea spill all over the back of his hand, turning it bright red.

 

She jumped in fright too, her voice hoarse with alarm. “I spaced out—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to burn you.”

 

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” Wen Shuchen still calmly held the saucer, setting it aside without flinching, then gently wiped the tea leaves from the back of his hand. He reached for his pants pocket for a handkerchief, but then remembered—he’d already given it to her.

 

Though he claimed to be fine, it didn’t ease He Qingchi’s guilt.

 

That tea had poured straight onto him—how could he possibly be okay?

 

“Let me see your hand,” she insisted, having clearly seen the red mark earlier and wanting to check the burn.

 

Wen Shuchen’s smile deepened, seemingly immune to pain. “I’m really fine.”

 

But He Qingchi was adamant now, no longer caring about keeping her distance. She reached for his sleeve. When she finally saw the burn up close, she bit her lip hard and said, “I’ll take you to the hospital. If you don’t treat a burn properly, it can get infected.”

 

To go to the hospital over a minor burn might seem overly dramatic, unmanly even.

 

Still composed, Wen Shuchen glanced at her pale fingers gripping his sleeve tightly and said in a low voice, “It’s just a small injury. No big deal.”

 

He Qingchi’s ears flushed red. She lowered her eyes and rolled up his sleeve an inch, ready to persuade him again—

 

Only to notice a short, cleanly-treated cut on his wrist that hadn’t yet healed.

 

It reminded her of the night of the car accident—he’d been inside the car making a call, and there’d been a few drops of blood sliding down his hand.

 

This must’ve been… a cut from the shattered car glass.

 

Caught off guard, He Qingchi looked up and asked seriously, “Mr. Wen, have you considered going to a temple sometime for a blessing?”

 

“What do you mean?” The sudden shift in topic even threw off the normally smooth-talking Wen Shuchen.

 

He Qingchi pointed to his hand, her cheeks tinged pink. “We’ve only known each other for less than two days, and you’ve already gotten hurt twice. Could it be we had some unresolved karmic grudge in a past life, and now…”

 

She was about to say “this is retribution” but wisely bit her tongue.

 

That would basically be accusing him of being a bad guy in his past life.

 

Wen Shuchen clearly understood what she meant and chuckled, unoffended.

 

This man had truly fine features—when he smiled, his sculpted face softened into something unexpectedly gentle and… charming. He Qingchi averted her gaze and returned to the earlier topic. “Even if you don’t go to the hospital, you should at least apply some ointment.”

 

Wen Shuchen called in his secretary, Song Chao, to fetch supplies.

 

Song Chao hadn’t expected to still be of use tonight.

 

As he reached the study door, he saw Mr. Wen and Miss He standing very close together. The man in his white shirt and black trousers looked sharp and refined, while the woman in her fitted dark cyan cheongsam added a rich brushstroke to the scene.

 

Oddly… they looked quite a match.

 

And! Song Chao noticed that Miss He was still holding onto Mr. Wen’s sleeve, her cheeks pink with hesitation…

 

He instantly understood and rushed off to prepare.

 

He Qingchi noticed the secretary staring at her hand and quickly looked down—only to realize that she was still clutching Wen Shuchen’s sleeve in nervous conversation.

 

It seemed like his secretary might’ve gotten the wrong idea.

 

Embarrassed, He Qingchi let go and awkwardly changed the subject: “Mr. Wen, why don’t you sit on the couch?”

 

Wen Shuchen did so, watching as He Qingchi fidgeted, clearly wanting to help but unfamiliar with the room, as if wishing she could dig a hole to disappear into. His smile never left his eyes, his long fingers tapping leisurely on his knee. The pain on his hand didn’t seem to bother him one bit.

 

Ten minutes later.

 

Song Chao returned with a black plastic bag—clearly a last-minute pharmacy run.

 

He didn’t enter the study, just handed the bag to He Qingchi from outside.

 

She thanked him softly, feeling bad for making him run errands so late.

 

Song Chao, ever cheerful, smiled brightly. “No need to thank me, Miss He. Just doing my job.”

 

She took a real liking to him—Wen Shuchen had hired a truly sunny, good-natured secretary.

 

“Miss He, would you like me to close the door for you?”

 

“Ah—no, no need.” It’s just applying ointment, why shut the door?

 

Song Chao hadn’t expected Mr. Wen’s “first time” to be this intense.

 

His grin widened as he winked: “Don’t worry, I won’t peek.”

 

He Qingchi took the black bag, feeling a little confused.

 

She didn’t think much of it. After Song Chao left, she turned to get the ointment ready. As she glanced into the bag— Her pupils widened slightly.

 

Her fingers tightened on the bag as she looked up—straight into Wen Shuchen’s calm, unruffled gaze.

 

This man… what on earth had he asked his secretary to buy!?

 

Wen Shuchen remained seated on the couch, noting the change in her expression. He frowned slightly and asked, “What’s wrong?”

 

He Qingchi had just been feeling guilty, her impression of him gradually improving. She’d thought maybe she’d misunderstood him—that he had no ulterior motives. But now, the contents of that black bag had shattered that illusion. This man—so poised and proper on the surface—had kept his distance, never even brushing against her skin. But behind the scenes, who knew how many traps he’d set to get her to do that with him.

 

Forcing herself to remain calm, He Qingchi walked over and placed the plastic bag on the coffee table. “These,” she said flatly, “you can use yourself.”

 

Then she turned and left without waiting for Wen Shuchen to offer her a ride.

 

As for the burn on his hand? Serves him right. Karma.

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