Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 37 - I’m Reserved and Talented
Chapter 37: I’m Reserved and Talented
Wen Shuchen, for a moment, thought he had misheard He Qingchi’s voice.
He calmly locked the master bedroom door, and with a press of the remote, the heavy floor-length curtains shut, dimming the room. Only two table lamps were left on, casting his shadow faintly against the wall.
He moved slowly, step by step, toward the woman lazily reclining at the edge of the bed.
“Take off your shirt,” He Qingchi repeated, her lips moving with quiet insistence.
Wen Shuchen stopped just a step away from the bed, his presence enveloping her completely. His handsome profile was calm and defined, his gaze fixed on the woman just inches away.
Seeing no movement from him, He Qingchi stared with her dark eyes, her gaze slowly traveling from his simple white shirt up to the neatly buttoned collar. She couldn’t hold back any longer. Her pale fingers gently hooked onto the button of his suit jacket.
Wen Shuchen played along, bending one knee slightly and half-kneeling at the bed’s edge.
Now his figure loomed completely over her, the masculine intensity so close it was almost suffocating.
He Qingchi tried to keep calm, her fingertips deliberately brushing against the smooth fabric of his suit. Her voice barely audible, she asked, “Do I need to do it myself?”
Wen Shuchen asked knowingly, “What do you want to do?”
“I want to see if you lied to me… about the marriage.” He Qingchi was trying to keep her composure, but it was slipping. Her fingers slid upward, now touching the shirt beneath. She could clearly feel the firm contours of his chest—not at all the fragile figure she had imagined.
Wen Shuchen lowered his gaze, expression unreadable. Without warning, his pale, long fingers gently gripped hers, guiding her to unbutton the top button at his collar, revealing a refined throat.
He Qingchi didn’t blink as she watched.
Next, she pulled his shirt loose, yanked off his neatly tied tie, and unfastened two or three more buttons. Even in the dim light, she could vaguely see the muscle lines just below his collarbone.
He still held her wrist, but moved to the buttons beneath the fabric. In a low voice, he asked, “Want to keep going?”
He Qingchi suddenly looked up, her throat tight, a bit hesitant: “If I take all your clothes off… will you be mad?”
She was someone good at empathy—if he undressed her completely, she’d definitely be angry.
So she wasn’t sure if he’d feel the same.
Wen Shuchen thought for a long moment, then said with a vague expression, “I’m afraid it might scare you.”
“Is it because of the kidnapping?” He Qingchi guessed his emotional detachment must stem from something deeper—either something innate, or shaped by trauma. She didn’t want a husband who always slept with his shirt on.
She was determined to unfasten every last button on that shirt.
Wen Shuchen let her. His tone was casual, calm, as if recounting someone else’s story—but every word struck her deeply: “I was kidnapped once. When the ransom negotiations didn’t go well, the kidnappers would hurt me.”
He Qingchi gasped just as she finished unbuttoning his shirt. She didn’t take it off—just opened it, exposing his chest.
His skin was pale, so any old wounds stood out starkly.
His waist revealed well-defined abs—firm and strong. On top, faint scars were still visible.
He Qingchi was transfixed. She wanted to touch him, but hesitated.
Part of her was shocked by how his slim, tall frame hid such muscles. Another part was realizing she was right—there were old wounds under that tightly fastened shirt.
She kept her head down for a while, her long black hair veiling her face, revealing only the sharp lines of her jaw.
Wen Shuchen couldn’t see her expression. Worried she might be frightened, he moved to rebutton his shirt.
But then, her slender, fair hand rose and gently caught his fingers.
After a quiet pause, He Qingchi steadied herself and murmured, “Are there any other injuries?”
“The old wounds have mostly healed. There are three slash scars on my left arm,” Wen Shuchen answered after a beat, telling the truth.
He Qingchi understood what that meant.
The ones on his left arm were probably the worst—deep enough to leave permanent scars.
Even so, she stubbornly said, “I want to see.”
Wen Shuchen hesitated for a second, his expression unreadable.
But the more reluctant he seemed, the more she insisted. She sat up on her knees at the edge of the bed, reached out, and pulled off his suit jacket, tossing it aside. Then she started to remove his shirt.
“You’ll be scared if you see it,” he said softly.
“It’s just a few scars. Why would I be scared?”
She had barely finished those brave words when she froze—staring at the glimpse of his arm.
Wen Shuchen sighed and let the crumpled shirt fall to the floor. Standing straight, he revealed his left arm. There, a black tattoo pattern stretched over his skin, covering up the old slash wounds.
His body was the result of strict self-discipline. He had abs… and now tattoos.
For a second, He Qingchi questioned her life choices—what kind of husband had she gotten herself?
Once she composed herself, her pale fingertips gently poked his firm arm, and she gasped again: “Wen Shuchen, you even have a full-sleeve tattoo?!”
His tattoo cleverly concealed the scars beneath, only adding to his dangerous allure.
After a moment of silence, Wen Shuchen moved as if to put on a new shirt.
But He Qingchi wouldn’t let him. She grabbed his hand urgently: “Let me see—I want to see more!”
At this moment, her curiosity was completely piqued. Her eyes sparkled brightly, beautiful even in the depths of the night. “Don’t leave, Wen Shuchen… Let me see your tattoo sleeve clearly.”
“There’s nothing worth looking at.” Wen Shuchen couldn’t do anything with her, so he gave in and pulled her into his arms.
He Qingchi’s long lashes didn’t even blink—she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Then she looked up, staring at his composed and handsome face. “Do you have a little monster hidden inside you?”
Outwardly, he was refined and gentlemanly to the extreme—he looked so proper, like the last person you'd expect to have a full-sleeve tattoo.
Finally, she reached out, her pale fingertips brushing against his arm, inch by inch upward, making the muscles there suddenly tighten.
It was novel—she’d accidentally touched Qin Chuan’s arm before and had never seen such a reaction.
Wen Shuchen sat with her on the bed for a few minutes. Once she had enough, he looked down and asked calmly, “I’ve taken off my shirt—can this prove I didn’t trick you into marrying me?”
He Qingchi still couldn’t get enough of his tattoo sleeve. Her eyes blinked slowly, and she pressed her cheek against his long neck. “Mm… that’s fair.”
He had abs and tattoos—such traditionally masculine traits. There was no way he liked men.
Though she had never really doubted that, seeing it with her own eyes just confirmed even more that Wen Shuchen liked women.
Her mood was improving tonight. As for the emotional detachment… that could be treated, right?
He Qingchi gave a half-smile and teased him on purpose: “Wen Shuchen, you’re really not what you seem.”
Wen Shuchen felt unfairly labeled and gently corrected, “Mrs. Wen, you should think of your husband as… inwardly cultivated.”
He Qingchi had no words for that phrase.
Back to the point, she asked softly: “Did you get this emotional disorder because you were kidnapped so many times as a kid?”
Wen Shuchen held her in his arms again and didn’t want to talk more about it. “I’ve recovered well.”
He Qingchi agreed. If he hadn’t told her about his condition, there’d be no way to tell from his behavior—he was just too good at hiding it.
She nodded in acknowledgment, then remembered something. “It’s said that people with emotional disorders can get… extreme. At the worst point, they become sadistic, enjoying hurting others. That’s considered a classic antisocial personality disorder too.”
She didn’t think much of it when she said it. But once the words were out—
She suddenly realized something and widened her eyes, staring at the man holding her. “Yours hasn’t gotten that bad… right?”
“…” Wen Shuchen.
He Qingchi didn’t want him holding her anymore. She figured now that he had a full sleeve and still made time to build eight-pack abs despite all his social events, it wasn’t hard to imagine he’d “prepare his body perfectly” before going full psycho.
“You’re scared now?” Wen Shuchen asked.
He didn’t stop her from pulling away. Calmly, he watched her scramble off the bed.
He Qingchi couldn’t help it—it was like a natural physiological reflex. She stood there, a bit unsteady. When he asked again, she muttered awkwardly, “I’ve been scared of stuff like this since I was little.”
Wen Shuchen noticed her pale expression and wondered if letting her see all this tonight was a mistake.
Fortunately, she didn’t flee the master bedroom. She stared at the carpet for a long while before asking, “You’re not going to hit me, are you?”
“No.”
His voice was still warm and pleasant, but this time it lacked its usual ease.
He Qingchi still didn’t look up, and the atmosphere turned awkward.
She had been the one who insisted on seeing what was under his shirt, and now she was the one freaking out.
After a while, she spoke softly, even clearing her throat deliberately: “Your abs are… pretty good.”
Trying to ease the mood, she praised his abs, then followed up with: “Your tattoo’s nice too.”
The expression on Wen Shuchen’s handsome face softened. Amused by her change in tone, he gave a quiet laugh, stepped forward with his long legs, and—ignoring her startled reaction—swept her up in one sudden motion.
“Hey—!”
He Qingchi gasped, instinctively clutching his arm. It was warm and felt like it was burning.
Wen Shuchen carried her to the bed, his body leaning in close, breath brushing her cheek. “How long are you going to punish yourself like this?”
If he didn’t carry her back, she probably wouldn’t dare get on the bed tonight at all.
He Qingchi sank deep into the soft bedding. Her long black hair was messy, clinging to her cheeks, her expression nervous. “I-I’m not ready yet.”
She thought he intended that, and her body froze in fear.
Wen Shuchen had already shocked her too much tonight. He wasn’t rushing anything—but he also didn’t want to miss the chance to tease her. His hand slipped slowly under her skirt, his touch both controlled and indulgent, lingering longer than necessary.
He Qingchi clutched the corner of the white pillow and turned her face away, refusing to look at him, whispering through gritted teeth: “Pervert!”
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