Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 57 - Chasing Wife Crematorium
Chapter 57: Chasing Wife Crematorium
At 6:10 in the morning, Wen Shuchen’s biological clock woke him on time.
He slept in a very proper posture, his body flat on the left side of the king-sized bed. Beside him, under the dark gray quilt, the faint outline of a woman’s slender figure could be seen. He Qingchi was still fast asleep, her black hair spilled across her snow-white back and pillow, her long lashes gently pressed together, her breathing so light it was barely audible.
Wen Shuchen slowly sat up, long fingers pressed to his forehead as his eyes swept across the spacious bedroom.
Perhaps because he had just woken up, he wasn’t fully clear-headed yet.
Flashes of last night’s reckless scenes flickered across his mind for a few seconds. Then he noticed the mess all over the floor at the foot of the bed—clothes scattered everywhere.
A moment later, he lifted the quilt and got out of bed, picking up a pair of briefs from the floor. Standing in the backlight, his tall frame revealed firm chest and abs in the sunlight pouring through the window.
When Wen Shuchen went to the bathroom to shower, He Qingchi—who had been lying in bed—was already awake.
She furrowed her brows, lying on her stomach at the edge of the bed, listening quietly to the sound of running water for a long time. Slowly, strength returned to her body, and only then did she open her eyes.
The master bedroom was bright, glaring sunlight spilling onto her bare shoulder.
As her mind cleared, He Qingchi endured the aching soreness and, struggling a little, wrapped herself in the quilt and sat up.
Compared to Wen Shuchen’s calm reaction upon seeing the mess, He Qingchi was far less composed as she gathered up the clothes.
Wrapped in the blanket, she got out of bed, bent down, and tossed the clothes onto the edge of the mattress. She then picked up the tissues from last night, her fingertips flushing hot as she touched them, and threw them all into the trash bin.
By the time she had mostly tidied the room, the bathroom door opened.
The moment Wen Shuchen came out, he saw He Qingchi wrapped in the entire quilt, moving about the bedroom.
A smile tugged first at his lips before he spoke: “Need any help?”
Hearing the voice of the culprit, He Qingchi immediately turned, tossing a piece of clothing at his chest. “Sober now?”
Seeing that she wanted to settle accounts, Wen Shuchen coughed lightly, feigning innocence. “What?”
He Qingchi narrowed her eyes, studying him. One hand clutched the quilt tight across her chest as she slowly walked over, her hair a mess, head tilted up. “Do you still remember last night?”
“What about last night?” Wen Shuchen’s eyes carried a smile as he said this.
His demeanor only convinced He Qingchi further—last night he had clearly been using alcohol as an excuse to act out. Even if he had lost control, it wasn’t to the extent of waking up with no memory.
Now that he was sober, he was pretending not to remember?
Not willing to lose the upper hand, she said deliberately, “Last night… you confessed something to me.”
“Oh?”
He Qingchi walked a few steps to sit on the edge of the bed. She looked up at Wen Shuchen, who was still standing where he was, eyes fixed intently on her. So she straightened her back, feigning calm, and said, “Turns out you and Song Chao are in that kind of relationship. You confessed it all to me last night. Haven’t forgotten, have you?”
Wen Shuchen didn’t get angry at her nonsense. Step by step, he slowly approached, his gaze lingering on her face as he lowered his voice: “What did you say? Repeat it.”
His tall figure loomed over her, leaving her nowhere to escape. In no time, his strong arms had pulled her into his embrace, and the two of them tumbled back onto the messy bed.
After a bit of playful struggling, she was the first to laugh, her face soft and beautiful.
“Last night…”
Her dark hair was in disarray, a few strands brushing her lips as she whispered: “You said you wanted me to get pregnant. Haven’t forgotten that, have you?”
Her long lashes fluttered lightly as she fixed her gaze on his handsome face.
Perhaps because the words were too embarrassing, she fell silent after saying them.
Wen Shuchen’s clean, striking features didn’t change expression. His long fingers slowly combed through the strands of her hair scattered across the pillow, movements gentle and meticulous. His thin lips, however, lowered to murmur: “After we go downstairs, have breakfast first. I’ll have my secretary prepare some medicine for you.”
Hearing the meaning hidden in his words, He Qingchi’s smile faded.
She hadn’t really been in a rush to have his child.
But last night, Wen Shuchen had clung to her, even bringing up several of his married friends who already had children—while he didn’t.
Spoiled by his coaxing, she had gradually given in.
They hadn’t used any protection at all last night—not once.
This morning, she brought it up while he was sober, wanting to discuss it with him properly.
If Wen Shuchen had good reasons for her to have a child young, she wouldn’t have resisted too much. She might even have gone along with it.
But before she even had the chance to decide, Wen Shuchen had already preemptively refused, hinting at it with his words.
For no reason, a strange feeling welled up in her chest. Outwardly calm, she accepted it, her smile returning faintly: “Just don’t get drunk again. Otherwise, I won’t take care of you.”
When drunk, Wen Shuchen did lose some self-control, though never to the extent of last night’s recklessness.
But facing her—standing before him so vividly alive—was enough to break his restraint.
Looking at her smiling face, Wen Shuchen murmured an apology: “This is the first and last time I’ll have you take that kind of medicine. It won’t happen again.”
After a second of silence, He Qingchi calmly pushed him away. “I’m going to wash up. Have your secretary bring me some painkillers. I’m not feeling well.”
Downstairs, the dining table was already laid out with a lavish breakfast.
Wen Shuchen had gone downstairs first to wait. He was already neatly dressed, having fully returned to his usual composed demeanor: a dark navy suit, a crisp shirt, his tie perfectly in place. Sitting at the table with his side profile straight and elegant, he was absorbed in the financial newspaper.
After being “banished to the cold palace” for a night, Song Chao reappeared.
He had bought the medicine He Qingchi wanted and placed it on the table. A short while later, he brought over a glass of warm water and two pills from the kitchen. Making sure no one else was around, he quietly handed them to Wen Shuchen: “President Wen, your medicine.”
Wen Shuchen set the newspaper aside and swallowed the pills without the slightest change in expression.
Upstairs, there was still no movement. Forty minutes passed, and He Qingchi remained in the master bedroom.
Seeing Wen Shuchen’s brow crease, Song Chao ventured a bold guess: “Could Madam be hiding in there crying?”
Wen Shuchen shot him a sideways glance, his expression shifting slightly.
Song Chao pressed on, “Madam’s afraid of pain, isn’t she? She’s taken painkillers several times already… Maybe this time she’s resenting you in her heart.”
The more Wen Shuchen looked at him, the more displeased he became. His tone sank: “You think you know her that well?”
Song Chao was still scrambling for an answer when a faint silhouette appeared at the top of the stairs. A few seconds later, He Qingchi descended slowly.
The two men immediately fell silent, tacitly agreeing to drop the subject.
She appeared perfectly composed as she walked to her seat at the table.
Even so, Song Chao picked up on the faintest trace of something amiss. To avoid being dragged into trouble, he excused himself and slipped away, leaving President Wen to face things alone.
“Try this soup dumpling—Song Chao bought it from outside.”
Wen Shuchen said, breaking the tension as his gaze lingered on her delicate side profile.
He Qingchi obligingly took a bite. The heat made her brow knit ever so slightly.
“It’s acceptable,” she commented after finishing it.
Wen Shuchen ladled her some red date porridge, attentive in his care.
The two of them finished breakfast in quiet harmony, with only the occasional idle remark. On the surface, everything seemed unchanged.
When she put down her chopsticks and lifted the cooled glass of water beside her, Wen Shuchen didn’t hurry off to work. Instead, he stayed seated, deliberately coaxing her with a story.
“Years ago, I knew a wealthy second-generation playboy—came from a nouveau riche family. He was always chasing women, haunting nightclubs and lounges. Then one day, he fell head over heels for a ballerina from an old aristocratic family. He pursued her relentlessly for half a year, and every time he saw her, his hands would shake from nerves. But guess what happened?”
He Qingchi sipped her water, humoring him with a guess: “That ballerina, seeing how deeply he cared, finally agreed to be his girlfriend.”
Wen Shuchen chuckled quietly. “He discovered that his father and the ballerina’s father were mortal enemies. The two families would rather feud for generations than be joined by marriage.”
“…”
Even though it wasn’t the least bit funny, He Qingchi curved her lips into a polite smile. “So, did your friend marry her in the end?”
“He did.”
Wen Shuchen finished the tale. “But afterward, he had to balance between his father and his father-in-law. He once complained to me that the hardest part of marriage wasn’t the mother-in-law—it was dealing with two stubborn old men.”
He Qingchi reached for her medicine, swallowing it without blinking before speaking. “My dad is difficult too. You’ve suffered for it.”
Her words were flat and even.
Naturally, Wen Shuchen wouldn’t dare utter a single complaint about his father-in-law. He immediately refuted with composure: “Your father and I get along very well. He’s only concerned about you.”
He Qingchi lifted her gaze to him, marveling at how Wen Shuchen, as a man, could bend and yield so seamlessly.
To say—with a straight face—that he and her father “got along well”?
After swallowing the last painkiller, she sipped some tea to wash away the bitterness. Just as she was about to speak, Wen Shuchen beat her to it, his eyes fixed on her lips:
“In the future, if you feel unwell, I’ll be more mindful. Don’t take painkillers again.”
Most of the time, she endured her discomfort in silence, brows faintly knitted. Since she never voiced her pain, Wen Shuchen couldn’t sense her unease during the moment.
“We’ll see.”
He Qingchi didn’t want to linger on the subject. She changed the topic: “Director Guo called this morning. It’s about time I return to the crew to film.”
Their eyes met and held for a second.
Wen Shuchen accepted the reality, rising slowly. “I’ll take you there.”
Twenty minutes later.
He Qingchi had packed clothes from the dressing room and brought down a suitcase.
The posture she carried—it was as if she were leaving on a long trip.
She offered a reasonable, flawless explanation: “The clothes I left at the crew’s hotel are too thin. I’ll catch a cold.”
Of course, Wen Shuchen couldn’t stop her from bringing clothes from home. He personally lifted her suitcase into the trunk.
He Qingchi got into the car first and shut the door before he could follow.
The tinted window slid down. As Wen Shuchen turned back, he saw her tilting her face up with a delicate smile, her eyes arched like crescents. “There’s no need for you to send me. Let the driver take me—go on to work.”
The author has something to say:
Wen Shuchen: My wife isn’t mad at me… right?
He Qingchi: Mad? No, I’m not mad. Not at all. Mad about what… Go to hell, you dog of a man!
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