Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 49 - Wen Shuchen’s perfectly cultivated, gentlemanly image in her heart was beginning to crumble

September 19, 2025 Oyen 0 Comments

Happy Reading~

Chapter 49: Wen Shuchen’s perfectly cultivated, gentlemanly image in her heart was beginning to crumble

 

When she woke again, daylight was already spilling in from outside.

 

He Qingchi lay on a comfortable snow-white double bed. Beside her, the tall, lean male figure slept with refined posture. He wasn’t in the habit of holding people in his sleep; his breathing was steady and shallow, his handsome features partly hidden in the dim light.

 

She lay there staring at the ceiling. Only after her eyes had mostly adjusted to the darkness of the master bedroom did she roll over. Her pale hand emerged from under the covers, fumbling on the nightstand until she found her phone.

 

The screen lit up briefly — exactly 5:00 a.m.

 

She calculated in her mind: she had probably slept for less than half an hour.

 

Sleep had left her entirely. Moving carefully, she set the phone back, turned over, and saw Wen Shuchen lying just a breath away from her. She didn’t know when, during the second half of the night, he had come to bed. Now, with his eyes closed and quiet like this, there was no trace of the loss of gentlemanly restraint he had shown when getting into a fight.

 

She lay there watching him for a long time, her stomach gradually starting to feel uncomfortable — 

 

Probably because she had been drinking last night without eating anything.

 

Throwing back the covers, she got up, grabbed a man’s suit jacket to put on, slipped her feet into slippers, and padded out of the room.

 

At this hour, the old house’s people were still asleep; the silence was absolute.

 

A warm yellow wall lamp lit the hallway.

 

He Qingchi made her way to the kitchen, intending to find something to settle her stomach. But the moment she stepped inside, she nearly collided head-on with Wen Shuchen’s father — Wen Jingchun, the master of the residence.

 

She hadn’t expected him to be in the kitchen eating at this hour!

 

They had only met once before and exchanged fewer than ten sentences; the scene was bound to be awkward.

 

Wen Jingchun’s gaze lingered on her briefly before he calmly added some bacon to his egg sandwich. He Qingchi, caught between retreating and advancing, was the first to speak: “Good morning, Mr. Wen.”

 

Even though Wen Shuchen and his father no longer shared deep father-son affection, as long as they hadn’t completely torn things apart, she would still give him the respect due.

 

She didn’t change how she addressed him — polite, but not intimate.

 

Wen Jingchun didn’t care about forms of address. His manner toward her was mild. “Can you make coffee?”

 

He Qingchi nodded and walked in without hesitation.

 

She wasn’t familiar with the kitchen layout, but Wen Jingchun pointed her to the coffee beans in the bottom shelf of a cabinet. She bent down, took some out, and brewed a pot.

 

Unsure of his taste, she glanced at him for guidance when it came time to add sugar or milk.

 

He had her add nothing at all, drinking the bitter espresso without a change in expression.

 

By way of courtesy, he shared some of his sandwich with her.

 

He Qingchi didn’t drink coffee on an empty stomach — she didn’t like the taste anyway — so she just poured herself a glass of warm water. She didn’t stand on ceremony; after all, she had brewed a pot of coffee herself, so exchanging it for a piece of sandwich seemed fair.

 

One drank coffee, the other ate a sandwich.

 

The kitchen was quiet for a long while, until Wen Jingchun suddenly asked, “Last night, Shuchen and Yue’er fought because of you?”

 

The bite in He Qingchi’s mouth paused. She looked up, her expression calm.

 

She didn’t know what he meant — was he blaming her for being restless so soon after marrying into the family?

 

If that was the case, she wasn’t about to shoulder blame for nothing. Without overthinking her answer, she simply said, “I suppose so.”

 

Wen Jingchun didn’t reproach her. He seemed to be recalling something, his brows drawing together. “Those two brothers have fought since they were young. Whatever grudges they have, every time they go all out, they won’t stop until someone’s injured. Even as they’ve grown older, they still haven’t shaken the habit.”

 

From the sound of it, this wasn’t the first time Wen Shuchen and Wen Yue had fought so fiercely.

 

Wen Jingchun spoke in a fatherly, instructive tone: “Now that you’re Shuchen’s wife, you should try to talk sense into him more often.”

 

He Qingchi’s lips curved in a faint smile, but she didn’t respond.

 

On the surface, Wen Jingchun seemed easygoing, and though he hadn’t appeared at all during last night’s incident, he had clearly learned about Wen Yue’s broken hand. Yet he neither reproached Wen Shuchen nor pressed the matter, merely offering a few words of advice before setting his half-finished coffee cup on the counter. 

 

The bitter aroma still lingered in the air.

 

He Qingchi stayed in the kitchen, quietly eating her sandwich and drinking water.

 

Her long lashes lowered as she mulled over Wen Jingchun’s few remarks.

 

What kind of family environment made parents so accustomed to watching their two sons fight seriously?

 

This clearly wasn’t the first time.

 

The perfectly gentle image Wen Shuchen had always presented to her seemed to be slowly unraveling in her mind.

 

By nearly six o’clock, He Qingchi had finished eating downstairs and returned to the bedroom.

 

Wen Shuchen’s internal clock had woken him on time. He sat alone on the edge of the bed, back straight. The navy blue robe he had worn all night hung loosely on him, creased from sleep; the sleeves were half-rolled as he methodically unwrapped the bandage around his fractured hand.

 

He Qingchi pushed the door open. Seeing he was already up, she made no effort to soften her footsteps.

 

Wen Shuchen looked up, his gaze deep and unreadable as it fell on her.

 

Earlier, when she had gone downstairs, she had been wearing his men’s pajamas with a suit jacket layered over them. Her slender frame looked even more delicate wrapped in the oversized clothing; her black, silk-like hair hung loosely to her waist, still uncombed.

 

Their eyes met for a moment, both silent.

 

Still unsettled by last night’s fight between Wen Shuchen and Wen Yue, He Qingchi didn’t have much to say and didn’t know where to begin.

 

She walked over to the bed, reached out to straighten his robe, and said softly, “I just ran into your father downstairs.”

 

Wen Shuchen’s hands paused for a moment as he unwrapped the bandage, then quickly resumed, his clean, magnetic voice spilling from his closed, thin lips: “He talked to you?”

 

“A couple of sentences. He said you and Wen Yue used to fight all the time as kids.”

 

He Qingchi looked into his eyes, as if trying to see what lay behind them.

 

Wen Shuchen’s expression was casual as he replied, “That’s how boys communicate.”

 

“And the worst fight you ever had with him?”

 

“Don’t remember.”

 

His posture was low and quiet, making it impossible to tell whether he was telling the truth.

 

He Qingchi thought it was a lie — and that breaking a hand was probably considered a minor incident for them.

 

She tilted her head, studying Wen Shuchen for a long while, tracing from his brow bone down to the perfectly defined line of his jaw. Having just woken up and not yet washed up, he had a faint stubble along his chin.

 

“Can I touch it?”

 

“What?” Wen Shuchen didn’t quite follow her sudden change of topic.

 

Her overly fair fingertip lightly tapped his jaw. “A bit prickly.”

 

Wen Shuchen’s expression faltered slightly — he hadn’t expected that to be what she was curious about.

 

“You’ve never seen it before?”

 

Since she was curious, he naturally took her fingertip in his hand and guided it back to his jaw, letting the faint stubble gently rub against her soft skin.

 

He Qingchi’s fingers curled a little. The unfamiliar sensation was intriguing, and the corners of her lips curved upward. “The old man in my family treats skincare like a socialite — he treasures his face. Normally, his shave is so clean that I never get the chance to wonder about his chin.”

 

Wen Shuchen’s expression was visibly pleased. He slipped an arm around her slender waist, lowering his head slowly toward her, clearly inclined to continue last night’s intimacy.

 

He pushed her back onto the rumpled bedding; her knees bent slightly, her slender calves hanging over the edge of the bed, snow-white toes not quite touching the floor.

 

His pale lips first brushed lightly over her hair, unhurried, before gradually moving to press against her cheek. Their breaths mingled, and the air between them quickly shifted.

 

He Qingchi kept her eyes open, her dark pupils reflecting the flawless beauty of his face.

 

She couldn’t help lifting a hand, her fingertips tracing the contours of his features, the touch gentle yet intimate.

 

After a long moment, Wen Shuchen’s low voice asked, “Can I?”

 

Last night, she had refused him, saying she wasn’t in the mood.

 

Now, with the mood this far along, he restrained himself from pulling off her jacket, his thin lips brushing against her cheek and leaving a faint warmth.

 

He Qingchi blinked, hearing the sound of servants moving up and down the hallway outside as they cleaned.

 

The soundproofing didn’t seem great — and besides, he was still injured.

 

Seeing her stay silent for so long, Wen Shuchen’s brows furrowed. “Do I still smell bad?”

 

Having shared a bed with him, she had already grown used to even the strongest scent; she wasn’t that bothered anymore.

 

But Wen Shuchen had already moved off her — his nature wouldn’t allow him to tolerate himself in such a state.

 

“What’s the point of showering? When you come out, I’ll still have to reapply your medicine.”

 

He Qingchi slowly sat up, pulling the blanket over her bare legs.

 

Wen Shuchen gestured toward his waist, indicating there was no need for medicine.

 

Then he strode to the bathroom to shower, immune to persuasion.

 

Watching his uncompromising figure, He Qingchi thought of how Wen Jingchun had told her earlier in the kitchen to try and talk sense into Wen Shuchen more often. The problem was, once he decided on something, he never listened to her anyway.

 

While he was in the shower, He Qingchi called Song Chao to arrange for a bodyguard to deliver a set of her clothes.

 

After hanging up, she walked to the window and pulled open the curtains. The view outside the old house came into full sight.

 

She stood barefoot before the floor-to-ceiling window for a moment, then saw a black private car slowly pull in and stop at the entrance.

 

A tall, well-proportioned figure came into view — an expensive suit jacket over a simple shirt and trousers. Even with his side profile partly obscured, his refined looks couldn’t be hidden.

 

With that kind of presence, there was no doubt — it was Wen Yue.

 

His right hand was immobilized in a white bandage, and as he got out, several bodyguards stayed close at his side.

 

He Qingchi watched for a moment, until Wen Yue suddenly looked up — his gaze locking directly onto her, imprinting her into his eyes like a brand.

 

Almost instinctively, she took two steps back.

 

Her figure was hidden behind the heavy gray curtains, but that intense gaze did not shift away.

 

Wen Yue’s face seemed to curve into a smile — too far away to see clearly — before he strode toward the main house.

 

A night had passed, and it was clear he had just returned from having his injury treated at the hospital.

 

He Qingchi frowned slightly and quietly turned her eyes toward the bathroom, where the sound of running water continued, an uneasy feeling growing in her chest.

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