Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 47 - I’m Jealous
Chapter 47: I’m Jealous
Half an hour later.
He Qingchi, dressed in a dark green gown, stood at the entrance of the old house. The bright light above her head illuminated her slender figure clearly. Two bodyguards in black suits followed on either side, keeping a respectful two-step distance.
Before she even stepped inside, she heard Qiu Jin in the living room—though it was unclear who exactly she was targeting, the tone was unmistakably sharp.
Each word was more cutting than the last, and the gentle grace she’d shown as a stepmother upon their first meeting was nowhere to be found.
“He’s already twenty-seven and still don’t know how to be steady. Do you think he’s still a child who can just start fights whenever you want?”
“So what if Yue’er made a phone call? Don’t tell me he and Shuchen have had misunderstandings since childhood and prefer to solve things with their fists. No matter how big the grudge, they’re still brothers. By blood, they can’t be cut apart—Yue’er is the closest brother he has in this world!”
“He doesn’t have a mother to love him, but Yue’er does. If I, as a mother, don’t care for him, who in this whole old house will?”
He Qingchi didn’t slow her pace at all. Only when her slender figure appeared at the living room doorway did Qiu Jin’s undignified sobbing suddenly stop. Sitting on the sofa, she dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief, while a middle-aged socialite beside her—likely a relative of the Wen family—tried to smooth over the awkwardness.
All eyes in the room turned toward He Qingchi.
Her delicate face showed no expression as she took in a mess in the living room. A few maids were cleaning up shattered porcelain from a vase. The atmosphere was heavy, and no one dared to make a sound.
When Qiu Jin saw He Qingchi, she slowly reined in her anger. She didn’t greet her warmly, but neither did she give her a cold face. “Qingchi, just in time. I was about to send someone to fetch you.”
Her voice was now soft and ladylike, her composure intact—as though she hadn’t just been tearing into Wen Shuchen moments before.
He Qingchi glanced upstairs, but didn’t head up immediately. Instead, she strolled over and sat on the side of the sofa.
Her clear, cool eyes and unsmiling face gave her an air of aloofness.
Qiu Jin pressed her handkerchief to the corner of her eyes, playing the aggrieved elder. “Shuchen got into a fight with Yue’er just because Yue’er privately called you. He didn’t even say much after arriving at the residence—just started swinging. No matter which one of them gets hurt, I feel awful. Qingchi, what’s really going on? Even if you and Yue’er are in contact… it’s not like you could do anything improper right under Shuchen’s nose.”
The last sentence was deliberately suggestive—forcing the implication that if things escalated, everyone’s reputation would suffer.
He Qingchi listened calmly before replying: “Wen Yue did harass me over the phone. As for why those two fought, Mrs. Qiu, why ask me? Why not ask your son what he’s been up to?”
Qiu Jin saw that she was not afraid of having unclear relationship with Wen Yue. If the matter became public, He Qingchi could easily claim she knew nothing beyond receiving harassing calls from Wen Yue and informing her husband.
In that case, the one losing face in Jiangcheng’s high society would be Qiu Jin.
A son who harasses his brother’s wife? If he isn’t beaten to a pulp, should they save him for the New Year’s festivities?
He Qingchi knew the Wen family valued face too much to let even the faintest hint of this leak out. She wasn’t afraid of Qiu Jin’s veiled threats. After sitting for a while, Song Chao hurried downstairs upon hearing movement.
“Madam!”
He Qingchi gave a soft “Mm” and, without so much as a goodbye to Qiu Jin, headed upstairs.
Song Chao led her to the third floor, toward Wen Shuchen’s master bedroom.
“Did Wen Shuchen win or lose?” she asked.
“He’s hurt, but the other one’s hurt worse,” Song Chao replied quietly.
He Qingchi glanced at him. “When you told me not to sleep too early after we left the hospital, you already guessed Wen Shuchen was coming here to settle accounts with Wen Yue?”
Song Chao gave an awkward smile, neither admitting nor denying it.
“Wen Shuchen really minds me having any contact with Wen Yue. Not even a phone call is allowed. Did someone steal a woman from him before or something?”
She said it casually but studied Song Chao’s face. “Didn’t know before. But if Wen Yue ever dared, it wouldn’t just be one beating,” Song Chao said evenly.
Seeing that his mouth still tightlipped, He Qingchi didn’t ask any further questions.
When they reached the door, Song Chao stopped. The door wasn’t locked, so He Qingchi pushed it open.
The room was dim, the heavy gray curtains shutting out the night outside. The decor was minimal and spotless—clearly a place Wen Shuchen seldom stayed. A faint chill lingered in the air.
He Qingchi stood in the doorway, spotting his tall figure seated on the edge of the bed with his back to her.
His suit jacket lay discarded on the blanket, white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. A first-aid kit sat beside him, with bandages laid out.
For some reason, the warm but muted light of the floor lamp cast an air of loneliness over him.
Perhaps it was the alcohol making her think that way.
The sound of her heels clicking against the floor drew his attention after only a few steps.
In this house, there were almost no women who could walk into his bedroom in heels.
He kept his head down until the sweep of dark green fabric entered his peripheral vision. Then he slowly looked up at her. The room was so quiet that even a pin drop would be heard. After a pause, he loosened his tie with his injured left hand, as if to ease the tightness in his throat, and asked in a low voice: “Did Song Chao call you here?”
She didn’t deny it. She was about to step closer when she suddenly remembered the smell of alcohol on herself.
So, she stayed where she was and watched him wrap the bandage awkwardly.
“I’ll have Song Chao come help you,” she offered.
That drew a deep, direct gaze from him.
The moment she turned to leave, his arm shot out and pulled her into his embrace.
Even injured, he was still strong.
She nearly stumbled into him. Worried he might have other injuries, she froze, unsure where to place her hands, and just stared at him with wide, dark eyes.
“You’ve been drinking?” His deep voice was close to her ear, carrying both her perfume and the faint scent of wine.
His breath on her shoulder made her heart pound so fast she feared he’d notice. She tried to change the subject. “When I got here, your stepmother was crying about you fighting that man. Was that true?”
She’d never seen him fight—he was usually the picture of refinement.
Recalling the incident at the hospital, she deliberately avoided saying Wen Yue’s name.
His mood improved visibly. He didn’t let go, his bloodied knuckles forgotten, bandages left untouched, as though he simply wanted to hold her longer.
After a long silence, he murmured in her ear: “Don’t answer his calls again.”
She could feel the possessiveness in his gaze, the way his sharp features looked almost cold in focus.
After sitting there for a while, she gently took his injured hand and began wrapping it herself—clumsy but careful, her lowered lashes hiding the flicker of emotion in her eyes.
“I thought you’d be spending the night at the hospital with Shu Tongyi…” she said calmly, using this moment to be honest.
She paused briefly before continuing: “I was jealous. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask you to come back to the hotel. I stayed there alone, tossing and turning until I couldn’t sleep… so I met up with Qu Bixin for drinks. Then you went and got into a fight. Wen Shuchen, we have big problems between us. We lack communication. How long can just ‘liking each other’ really last?”
She stopped speaking.
Her hands were gentle, but the sight of his battered knuckles still made her heart ache.
He said nothing, only held her tighter—so tightly it felt as if he feared she would vanish the next second.
She didn’t know where that hidden strong emotion came from.
Resting her cheek against his chest, she eventually patted his back lightly.
He lowered his head, his expression unreadable in the dim light, and murmured against her forehead: “I haven’t given Shu Tongyi any resources in the past two years. She only got into the cast by lowering her pay to take a supporting role and negotiating with Director Guo—it wasn’t me who gave her the part.”
She tilted her head, wanting to see his face, but only caught the shadow of stubble on his jaw. “Then why did you visit the set with her, looking like a couple?”
It was something from a long time ago, but she’d apparently developed a knack for digging up old grievances.
Wen Shuchen recalled for a few seconds and explained, “I used her as cover to visit your set,” he admitted.
Afraid she wouldn’t believe him, he added: “You hadn’t contacted me for almost two weeks back then, Qingchi. I couldn’t find a reason to see you—this gave me the excuse.”
“…” She looked at him as though he was a fool.
His expression darkened. “Did someone say something to you?”
“What? Planning another fight?” she retorted, exasperated by him and Wen Yue brawling like that.
As Qiu Jin had said—twenty-seven years old and still acting like a three-year-old who fights whenever he feels like it.
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