Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 21 - Damn man, always adding your own drama!

July 16, 2025 Oyen 0 Comments

Happy Reading~

Chapter 21: Damn man, always adding your own drama!

 

After He Qingchi’s knee crashed hard against the cold marble floor, her silky black hair scattered messily around her, partially hiding the dazed expression on her face. Even when the man gently helped her up, she still couldn’t believe she’d made such a spectacle of herself.

 

Her dark eyes met Wen Shuchen’s face, now just inches away, and she was momentarily speechless.

 

Wen Shuchen supported her by the shoulders, a look of concern softening his refined features. He spoke in a gentler tone: “Can you still walk?”

 

Beneath the dark green hem of her dress, a faint red mark had already begun to bloom over her knee.

 

He Qingchi had to lean on him just to stay standing. Her stiletto heel had snapped when it got caught earlier. She looked down at it, then up at him, her pale face twisting into a smile that hovered between amusement and despair. She looked like she wanted to cry but couldn’t muster the tears.

 

Wen Shuchen followed her gaze and saw how embarrassed she was.

 

“Put this on.”

 

He said, slipping off his suit jacket and draping it around her shoulders.

 

The warmth from the fabric—and his familiar scent—settled over her.

 

In full view of others outside the elevator, Wen Shuchen scooped her up into his arms and carried her steadily toward the club’s entrance. His long strides were calm and unhurried.

 

Unable to walk and too embarrassed to struggle, He Qingchi gripped a corner of his shirt with her slender fingers. Her flushed face peeked out from under the suit jacket, and she curled up like an ostrich, trying to hide. She could sense they’d reached the outside.

 

The driver and bodyguards, who had been waiting outside, immediately brought the car around when they saw him. 

 

No one dared ask a single question. It was as if they didn’t even see the woman in their boss’s arms.

 

He Qingchi felt the leather seat beneath her back, and the cool night breeze replaced by the warm air inside the car. Only then did she slowly peek her head out from under the jacket. Frowning slightly, her gaze met the man who was now finishing instructions to his bodyguard outside the car.

 

Wen Shuchen climbed in after her, shutting the door with a dull thud.

 

The driver got out to smoke, so the car stayed put.

 

Outside, the bustling city lights of Penglai Palace glittered, but inside the car, it felt like a separate world.

 

He Qingchi tried to return the jacket to him, but he didn’t take it.

 

Following his line of sight, she looked down and noticed her knee.

 

Wen Shuchen spoke first, breaking the silence. “I asked the bodyguard to buy some medicine. Does your knee still hurt?”

 

He Qingchi nodded. She was being very well-behaved now.

 

Her heels were uncomfortable, but it felt improper to be barefoot in front of him.

 

After sitting with her in the backseat for a couple of minutes, Wen Shuchen got out again.

 

Confused, He Qingchi watched through the window as he went to the trunk and retrieved something.

 

He returned soon after.

 

He held a soft, thin blanket in hand. Sitting beside her, he gently lifted her calf and rested it across his own knee, then covered her legs with the blanket.

 

The thoughtful gesture eased some of her embarrassment.

 

Through the blanket, his fingers gently massaged her lightly sprained ankle. Under the warm car lights, his focus was both calming and irresistibly charming.

 

He Qingchi’s long lashes fluttered. Her gaze was cast downward, fixed on the sculpted lines of his hand.

 

How could she even think about distancing herself from him? Even she couldn’t convince herself now.

 

Once her ankle began to feel better, the bodyguard returned with the medicine—remarkably efficient.

 

He Qingchi tried to lower her leg, but Wen Shuchen pressed his hand gently over the blanket, stopping her. His voice was low and soothing: “Be good.”

 

He unwrapped the patch meant for her knee.

 

He Qingchi sat stiffly, legs slightly chilled as the blanket was lifted along with part of her dark green dress, exposing the upper part of her knee.

 

Her skin was pale and smooth, with a faint red mark clearly visible.

 

Wen Shuchen only glanced at it briefly before looking away.

 

He carefully applied the medicine and said in a calm tone, “This will reduce the swelling. It won’t hurt when you wake up tomorrow.”

 

The coolness at her knee relieved the discomfort. She didn't know where to look, and her gaze shifted toward the medicine bag. She asked hesitantly, “Did the bodyguard also get you something for the alcohol?”

 

Wen Shuchen calmly adjusted the hem of her skirt, covering her pale legs.

 

Without answering, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, she could feel everything about him—his warmth, his scent, the quiet strength that defined Wen Shuchen.

 

He Qingchi’s mind went blank. She forgot what she was even going to say.

 

She could feel his firm chest, warmer than a woman's, a contrast to the gentle cadence of his voice: “Just let me hold you for three minutes, okay?”

 

Her ears turned red. She really should have insisted he take the hangover medicine.

 

“Did someone force you to drink tonight?” she asked.

 

With her nestled in his arms, his head lowered so their foreheads nearly touched. His eyes were fixed on her long lashes, admiring their perfect curve.

 

Then he smiled faintly, murmuring, “I didn’t drink much.”

 

He Qingchi thought, If this is him after a little alcohol, what would he be like drunk? 

 

She’d really be doomed.

 

Ignoring her inner complaints, Wen Shuchen gently slid his fingers down her hand.

 

He Qingchi’s fingertips trembled as he interlocked their fingers.

 

He quietly held her like that in the car. They could hear each other’s heartbeats. More than three minutes passed, and he showed no sign of letting go.

 

He Qingchi finally looked up, her soft black hair brushing against his sharp jawline. “Three minutes are up.”

 

She reminded him, hoping he’d show some restraint.

 

Wen Shuchen’s warm smile returned as he shed his gentlemanly facade: “Are they? Looks like we’re in different time zones.”

 

Just three minutes — what difference could it make?

 

He Qingchi wanted to roll her eyes. Who would've thought that before she crashed into his car, Wen Shuchen was someone from a completely different world? He belonged to that secretive, high-society circle, the kind of elite who was praised and admired from afar in her world — someone she would never have any interaction with in her entire life.

 

Yet, two months later, she was in his arms.

 

Fate can be strange like that — even He Qingchi herself felt like it was all too surreal.

 

She quietly curled her fingers around Wen Shuchen’s hand. “Do you really like me?”

 

Wen Shuchen responded by slowly leaning closer, his warm breath brushing past her ear. “Would I lie?”

 

The way he approached this relationship made it seem so natural — like it was a given.

 

As if she was destined to belong only to him, Wen Shuchen.

 

The words turned over twice on her lips before she asked softly, “Your family… they haven’t arranged a marriage for you, right?”

 

Back when Wen Shuchen had bluntly questioned her, He Qingchi had completely forgotten to ask about his family.

 

“My family can’t make decisions for me.”

 

Wen Shuchen came across as low-key and gentle, not particularly aggressive. But his manner and words often carried a subtle yet undeniable pressure.

 

He had taken over the Wen family enterprise in Jiangcheng at a young age — no one could make decisions for him.

 

He Qingchi’s lips moved slightly, debating whether to play along and cling to his coattails.

 

But then Wen Shuchen’s next sentence came slowly and directly: “If you marry into my family one day… then you can make decisions for me.”

 

“….” There was no way to respond to that.

 

If she nodded, wouldn’t that be the same as agreeing to a marriage proposal?

 

At that moment, He Qingchi really wanted to use Qu Bixin’s catchphrase to curse him: Damn man, always adding your own drama!

 

But she held it in.

 

Her expression was a fake smile with no real joy. “I don’t have time to manage you.”

 

There was laughter in Wen Shuchen’s eyes. As they chatted, he gently lifted her hand and brought her fingertips toward his lips.

 

It was a natural movement, not an attempt to take advantage of her.

 

He Qingchi’s dark eyes widened slightly in nervous surprise.

 

Thankfully, Wen Shuchen sensed her tension and didn’t actually kiss her overly clean fingertips.

 

“Don’t be nervous.”

 

His expression and voice were unusually gentle and comforting. “I won’t do anything reckless.”

 

He Qingchi thought again — maybe he really needed that hangover medicine.

 

“Your bodyguard… only bought the ointment for me?” she asked, pretending to rummage through the bag — but Wen Shuchen was still holding her hand, not letting go.

 

So He Qingchi used her other hand to pull the medicine bag closer.

 

She rummaged through it. The bodyguard had bought hangover medicine.

 

Seeing it felt like spotting a lifeline. She pulled it out and handed it to Wen Shuchen.

 

He obediently cooperated, smiling to himself: “Didn’t you say you didn’t have time to manage me?”

 

“…”

 

He Qingchi paused for a second — then shoved the pill rudely into his mouth.

 

Wen Shuchen chuckled quietly. His laugh was subtle, not the loud kind.

 

His features were clean and handsome, the kind that softened with a smile — untainted and refined.

 

He must’ve been a well-behaved boy when he was little, the type adored by all the elders.

 

He Qingchi thought to herself: If she ever had a son, she’d want to raise him just like this.

 

Probably every woman in Jiangcheng had the same dream.

 

With the medicine swallowed, Wen Shuchen closed his eyes and leaned back to rest.

 

His slender fingers were still gently caressing her fingertips. They sat side by side, barely inches apart — if He Qingchi tilted her head just a little, she could rest it on his shoulder.

 

But she didn’t dare. She still held back.

 

In the quiet car, He Qingchi pulled out her phone to kill time.

 

The group chat she’d muted earlier was created by Qu Bixin.

 

It was full of chatter — so much that it was hard to catch up.

 

He Qingchi scrolled randomly for a bit and suddenly got a direct message from Qu Bixin.

 

The private chat exploded with dozens of messages.

 

Luckily, her phone was on silent. He Qingchi instinctively glanced at Wen Shuchen.

 

Seeing no reaction from him, she turned back to the screen.

 

There were at least five angry emojis from Qu Bixin — totally different from her usual goody-two-shoes persona: [He Qingchi, you dead woman! You left my party without a word — don’t tell me you’re hooking up with that top-tier elite?!!]

 

Then came a voice message. He Qingchi, struggling with one hand, accidentally swiped to play it. Qu Bixin's shrill voice blasted through the quiet, enclosed space — crystal clear: [Don’t forget… when we were twelve, we swore in front of Grandma Bodhisattva that we’d keep our virginity for our wedding night — together!!]

 

He Qingchi was stunned speechless, breaking into a cold sweat. She instinctively looked to the side.

 

And met Wen Shuchen’s deep, unreadable gaze as he slowly opened his eyes.

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