Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 56 - In Front of Her, He was Nothing More Than an Ordinary Man

October 06, 2025 Oyen 0 Comments

Happy Reading~

Chapter 56: In Front of Her, He was Nothing More Than an Ordinary Man

 

At nine in the evening, the lights in Wen Shuchen’s private mansion blazed brightly. His secretary brought up a cup of sobering tea.

 

Outside was silent, guarded only by a few bodyguards. Inside the vast living room, He Qingchi told the secretary to dim the lights on both floors. She turned on just two lamps, their warm yellow glow casting a soft halo across the room.

 

A moment later, she turned and looked at the man slouched on the sofa. His brows were furrowed as his long fingers tugged at his tie. His Adam’s apple moved slowly, as if loosening it finally gave him some relief. The stench of alcohol clung to his suit—so much so that even he seemed to find it unpleasant—and he began undoing his buttons.

 

The secretary, tactful as ever, slipped away without a trace.

 

Wen Shuchen tossed his jacket casually onto the armrest, unknotted his tie, and let his slender fingers travel down the line of his shirt buttons.

 

“I’ll let it cool a little—four or five minutes and you can drink it.” He Qingchi bent over, knees softly pressed against the marble floor, lowering her head. Her red lips blew carefully across the steaming cup.

 

But when she glanced up again after only a moment, Wen Shuchen had already stripped off his crisp white shirt, and was now reaching for his belt.

 

“Wen Shuchen!”

 

Her pupils widened, her voice rising. “What are you doing?”

 

The belt hung half-undone at his side.

 

His dark eyes were unfathomable as he replied in a steady tone: “Taking off my clothes. I reek of alcohol.”

 

“I know you like being clean…” He Qingchi instinctively glanced around, worried someone might suddenly walk in. She reminded him, “But this is the living room. Can’t you go to your room to undress?”

 

Wen Shuchen didn’t move. Seeing this, she pressed further: “When you get drunk, do you always like to strip down in public?”

 

“This is my home.”

 

The implication: it didn’t count as “public.”

 

Still, He Qingchi wasn’t about to let him keep going. But before she could stop him, Wen Shuchen yanked the belt off and tossed it by her feet.

 

The next second—

 

A pair of black suit trousers landed on the floor.

 

“......”

 

All semblance of refined manners vanished from Wen Shuchen. Not only did he strip himself bare, but he also stepped toward her.

 

He Qingchi felt like screaming on the spot and tried to back away, but she wasn’t fast enough.

 

The man was deliberately using drunkenness as an excuse to act shameless, even stripping in the middle of the living room.

 

Panicked, she was suddenly yanked straight into his arms. His weight bore down on her slender legs, pinning her beneath him. Without the slightest shame, he pressed his nose against the delicate curve of her neck, his breath deep and hot as he murmured, “Smell. Do you still catch the scent of alcohol?”

 

“Get off…” He Qingchi’s gaze kept darting to the living room doorway, terrified someone would walk in and see him, half-naked, pressing down on her.

 

When Wen Shuchen dropped his dignity, he was like a mischievous three-year-old child.

 

As if he’d actually listen.

 

His low voice repeated the question, while his palm traced her waistline—so soft it felt boneless—slowly inching upward.

 

Those long, pale fingers could nearly encircle her completely.

 

“Hm? Do you still smell the alcohol?”

 

Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as she struggled against him, her dark hair tumbling into disarray.

 

Even when she shook her head, insisting she smelled nothing, Wen Shuchen kept asking her again and again.

 

Whether he wanted her to smell the alcohol, or his body, was no longer clear.

 

Finally, He Qingchi broke free, fumbling for her phone on the sofa. Without a second thought, she dialed Song Chao’s number.

 

Behind her, a tattooed arm snaked around her waist again.

 

Ignoring the man’s closeness, she asked straightaway when the call connected: “When your President Wen gets drunk, what’s the best way to sober him up?”

 

Song Chao replied, “Madam, just let him go to bed.”

 

She wished she could.

 

The problem was, Wen Shuchen wanted to go to bed—with her. 

 

And his definition of “bed” was anything but peaceful.

 

After a pause, Song Chao added, “Perhaps President Wen is only joking with you.”

 

“…”

 

Before she could reply, Wen Shuchen snatched the phone away.

 

He hung up decisively. His gaze lingered on the call log, and the jealousy that had simmered in his chest all night surged anew. His hand clamped onto her shoulder, straightening her to face him.

 

Their eyes met. She saw the faint restraint in his expression.

 

Then his deep voice rumbled: “Do you want me to give Song Chao to you as your secretary?”

 

“He’s your man. Why would you give him to me?” He Qingchi blinked, confused.

 

“Yes, he’s my man…” Wen Shuchen agreed, then continued a beat later: “So stop thinking about him.”

 

Thinking about him???

 

He Qingchi froze, stunned. She didn’t care that Wen Shuchen’s upper body was still bare; her fair fingers gripped his tattooed arm tightly as her voice rose: “What do you mean he’s yours? You think he’s competing with me?”

 

The couple’s thoughts were completely on different channels tonight.

 

Even Wen Shuchen faltered at her question, his eyes hooded as he sank into thought.

 

But she gave him no time. After a second of silence, she began analyzing on her own: “In the company, Song Chao’s status is like the Empress. Those young, pretty female employees can’t compare. A delicate, gentle-looking man becoming your favored secretary—it must be through this kind of underhanded method that he rose to the top!”

 

“Favored?” Wen Shuchen latched onto the word.

 

Then He Qingchi’s eyes lit with sudden realization. She shoved him down onto the leather sofa, switched on her phone’s flashlight, and leaned close. Her profile was serious as the bright beam swept over every inch of his body.

 

Wen Shuchen’s deep gaze lifted, and seeing her stare fixedly at him inevitably provoked a reaction. His throat gave a low cough. “What are you doing?”

 

This time, it was his turn to ask.

 

“Looking for scratch marks from Song Chao.” He Qingchi muttered under her breath.

 

She had trimmed her nails just days ago, leaving no marks on him herself. So she examined him meticulously, head to toe, determined not to miss even the faintest line.

 

After a couple of minutes, Wen Shuchen finally extended an arm, pulling her back down to him.

 

The phone, still with its flashlight on, fell to the floor.

 

“Drink the hangover tea first.”

 

He Qingchi frowned. Her slender body sank deep into the leather sofa, too drained to get up. She tried to bargain instead, but Wen Shuchen pressed his handsome face against her neck and stayed silent, pretending not to hear. With no other choice, her fingertips tugged at the waistband of his dark gray briefs.

 

At first, Wen Shuchen ignored her. But when he felt her restless fingers, his palm caught her delicate wrist. His voice, heavy and hoarse, pressed down on her: “What did you just call me?”

 

“Wen Shuchen?”

 

The man slowly raised his head, his dark eyes staring deeply at her. “You call Song Chao ‘baobao,’ yet you call me Wen Shuchen?”

 

He Qingchi blinked, her expression innocent: “Didn’t everyone used to call him Song Baobao?”

 

“That was before.” Wen Shuchen fixated on the wording, uncharacteristically petulant.

 

He Qingchi was speechless, and finally said: “Just don’t regret it tomorrow when you wake up and remember how you’re acting now—too ashamed to show your face.”

 

Whether Wen Shuchen would regret it the next day was still unknown. For now, unless she called him by a name he was satisfied with, he refused to drink the hangover tea.

 

The standoff dragged on, until He Qingchi raised the white flag and compromised: “Fine, I’ll call you Daddy, okay?”

 

The room fell silent in an instant.

 

Wen Shuchen’s gaze darkened, as if something in her tone felt different.

 

The moment the words slipped out, He Qingchi regretted them. She quickly tried to salvage it: “But you’re not allowed to make me call you Daddy in bed. That’s too perverted.”

 

“If you call Song Chao ‘baobao’ again in the future…” Wen Shuchen’s thin lips pressed together. After a pause, he seemed to be testing out the word himself. His expression shifted slightly, betraying a flicker of emotion. Then, leaning so close his lips brushed her ear, he murmured the rest: “…then I’ll make you call me that in bed.”

 

The whisper was so soft, so faint, that He Qingchi’s face instantly flushed red.

 

In the end, Wen Shuchen obediently drank the hangover tea.

 

But he still refused to put his alcohol-scented suit and shirt back on.

 

When He Qingchi picked up the messy clothes from the floor, she couldn’t help sneering: “You’re the one who drank outside, and now you’re the one sulking about not wanting to put your clothes back on. How are you harder to handle than a child?”

 

Wen Shuchen sat quietly on the sofa, slowly finishing the tea, enduring her scolding without saying a word.

 

After only a few months of marriage, He Qingchi had already learned one truth: distance creates beauty.

 

It applied perfectly to couples too.

 

No matter how polished, gentlemanly, and flawless a man might seem before marriage—as if Heaven had tailored him just for her— 

 

However!!!

 

Once you marry him, and live together day after day under the same roof, you realize he’s just an ordinary man.

 

All those labels the outside world had given Wen Shuchen were illusions, projections of admiration.

 

When he was in a bad mood, he’d deliberately drink. Though subtle in his drunken antics, he had once coaxed her into a pharmacy, where—ignoring the staff’s shocked stares—he grandly bought dozens of boxes of… supplies.

 

At home, he would toss his suit, shirt, and pants all over the floor, then cling to her and demand she smell him to see if there was still a trace of alcohol.

 

In doing all this, Wen Shuchen himself was dragging his image down from the pedestal.

 

Now, when He Qingchi looked at him, he was no different from any ordinary man.

 

She went upstairs to fetch him a clean robe, came back in under two minutes, and handed it to him with a firm tone: “If you catch a cold, don’t think about passing it to me these next few days.”

 

That line worked far better than any gentle coaxing.

 

Wen Shuchen finished the tea, put on the robe, and even tied the belt securely.

 

He Qingchi rolled her eyes, straightened the messy sofa, and caught sight of the black bag on the coffee table.

 

Her glance did not escape Wen Shuchen’s notice.

 

“Pick one you like tonight.”

 

The man lounged on the sofa, speaking as casually as if making small talk.

 

He Qingchi frowned, unwilling to let him have his way, and deliberately countered: “I’m going to throw them all out.”

 

“So you don’t even want a barrier thinner than paper? Seems you really love me deeply.”

 

Dark as ink, his eyes lit up with a sudden smile. After a two-second pause, he even added in a serious tone: “I must not let down your devotion.”

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