Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 62 - I’m Going Next Door to Sleep with Wen Shuchen
Chapter 62: I’m Going Next Door to Sleep with Wen Shuchen
The lights on the first floor of the villa were all bright. Because no one had lived there for a long time, many rooms remained shut, looking cold and pristine.
Wen Shuchen had the bodyguards tidy up two rooms and bring over fresh clothes and daily necessities. He stayed unruffled in the living room, brewing tea, while He Qingchi brought the emotionally out-of-control Qu Bixin upstairs to the guest bedroom.
Once the door closed and there were no outsiders watching, Qu Bixin sat on the edge of the bed, head lowered. Her jet-black, ear-length short hair was a mess, and on her delicate, pale face, the tears she’d been holding back betrayed her, falling straight from her eyes. Her tightly pressed lips were trembling as well.
Seeing this, He Qingchi went to close the windows and drew the pale-gold curtains so not even the slightest sound could get out. Turning back calmly, she asked, “Do you want me to step out for a few minutes?”
Qu Bixin quickly wiped her tears with her hand, tilting her head back and taking several shuddering breaths.
He Qingchi didn’t know what kind of expression to make. Only after Qu Bixin’s emotions calmed a little did he hand her a tissue and say, “Shen Tingji has some scrapes. Shen Fu took her to the hospital.”
“I know.” Qu Bixin’s nose and eyes were red, yet her voice carried a murderous edge. “I was the one who pushed her.”
He Qingchi gave her a complicated look. “Next time you lash out, can you at least find a place without people around?”
Doing it in front of Shen Fu—are you afraid you won’t lose miserably enough?
“That little bitch smiled at me—how could I possibly endure that?” Qu Bixin finally couldn’t hold back her grievance anymore. The bitterness and fury festering in her chest found someone to spill onto. Gritting her teeth, she said, “When I walked into the villa, she was just sitting on the sofa, silent. I asked where Shen Fu was, and she smiled at me. Smiled! That damn girl!”
“Shen Tingji can’t speak,” He Qingchi reminded her.
But he also knew Shen Tingji had probably smiled at Qu Bixin on purpose—both then, and in the moment earlier.
Hearing this, Qu Bixin collapsed weakly onto the pillow, looking dejected and disheveled. He Qingchi rarely saw this side of her.
Normally, she was all about face, proud and competitive, always presenting her most flawless self. Even when she cried, it was mostly calculated, feigning pitifulness to win sympathy from her elders. Rarely did she cry so raw and unguarded.
She was just about to go over when she heard Qu Bixin choke out softly: “Ever since I met him at nineteen, I couldn’t hold any other man in my heart. I spent four whole years of my youth on him—gave him money, stood by him while he built his career, watched with my own eyes as he climbed up from the very bottom. Even when he suffered setbacks, I never once gave up on him…”
Her voice broke. “Shen Fu… how could he give up on me?”
A crystal tear slipped from the corner of her eye, soaking into the pillow and vanishing.
He Qingchi slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, raised her hand to touch Qu Bixin’s trembling shoulder, then paused. Instead, she said, “I don’t know what to say to comfort you. But regarding Shen Fu, you should lay things bare with your family. Otherwise, the Qu family’s resources in Jiangcheng will keep being exploited by him.”
Qu Bixin suddenly lifted her tear-streaked face. “My father would break his legs.”
“He hasn’t touched you in four years. Do you really think that’s normal?” He Qingchi wanted to shake some sense into her.
Qu Bixin’s lips trembled. She could no longer bring herself to utter the self-deluding excuse—that Shen Fu was cherishing her body.
He Qingchi laid it out: “You’ve lived with him for four years under the title of fiancée, and now you’ve even gotten the marriage certificate. And yet, faced every day with the body of a young, living woman, Shen Fu still manages to remain calm. He’s determined to at least act like a man. Beyond deceiving your feelings, he refuses to touch you lightly.”
Qu Bixin’s pride took a devastating blow.
To be treated with such coldness by one’s fiancé—and now husband—was as if her womanhood itself had been denied.
Trying to salvage some dignity, she said to He Qingchi, “Shen Fu has kissed me.”
“Otherwise, how else could he coax you into giving him your dowry money for his startup?” He Qingchi retorted lightly.
Qu Bixin was left speechless, clutching the pillow corner tightly. “I won’t let that mute off the hook!”
He Qingchi, worried she’d storm off to the hospital again, spoke gently: “Even if you cause trouble tonight, Shen Fu won’t have time for you. Just stay here and calm down for one night. Tomorrow, you can make whatever scene you want.”
“You want me to just sit here tonight, while that mute monopolizes Shen Fu all night long?” Qu Bixin was so furious at the thought of Shen Tingji’s smile that she nearly ground her teeth to dust.
“Then why don’t you try throwing yourself down a flight of stairs like she did? The second floor won’t kill you—at worst you’ll be crippled. Then you and Shen Tingji can both be disabled, and we’ll see which one Shen Fu pities more.”
He Qingchi’s sarcasm carried no smile.
Qu Bixin instantly fell silent, unwilling to accept it.
She flopped heavily onto the pillow, then yanked He Qingchi down too. “Tonight you stay with me!”
Even if she hadn’t wanted to, He Qingchi was pulled into her embrace and couldn’t escape.
They both bathed, changed into clean pajamas, and lay on the double bed in the guest room. Qu Bixin stayed wide awake, tossing and turning, while He Qingchi gradually grew drowsy.
Within minutes, Qu Bixin was reaching over, shaking her, and shoving her phone in front of her. “Shen Fu hasn’t called me once. Not even once.”
He Qingchi forced herself awake, eyes stung by the bright screen.
The time showed nearly five in the morning—ten minutes away.
“He’s probably gone to sleep.”
“Asleep? Sleeping with who?” Qu Bixin’s head was filled with images of betrayal.
After enduring ten minutes more, He Qingchi gave up, picked up her pillow, and got out of bed.
Qu Bixin’s eyes snapped open. “Where are you going?”
Finding her slippers, He Qingchi answered calmly, “I’m going next door to sleep with Wen Shuchen.”
She refused to be woken every ten minutes.
Qu Bixin stared at her phone all night, waiting for Shen Fu’s call—or even just a message to explain. But nothing came. Furious, she lay back down, slammed off the lamp, and let the room fall into darkness.
It was pitch black and everything was finally quiet.
Outside, hugging her pillow, He Qingchi quietly opened the next room’s door. The curtains only half-draped the floor-to-ceiling windows, so even without lights she could make out the space.
Yawning silently, she shuffled to the bed and lifted the quilt, slipping beneath it.
Beside her lay the familiar body of a man. His clean, crisp scent filled the covers, lulling her almost instantly. Her lashes lowered, and she instinctively edged closer.
Almost at once, Wen Shuchen’s arm wrapped around her, as naturally as if holding a child.
“Did I wake you?” He Qingchi murmured sleepily, her forehead resting against his collarbone.
In the dark, his fingers found her cheek and ear, brushing against soft skin. His voice came low and gentle: “What brings you to sleep here?”
For the moment, He Qingchi set aside her usual awkwardness with him. Compared to sleep, everything else seemed minor.
Barely awake, she simply answered whatever he asked: “Qu Bixin won’t sleep. I need to.”
Seeing how exhausted she was—even unresponsive to his kisses—Wen Shuchen refrained from teasing her further. “Sleep. Tomorrow I’ll ask the crew for leave on your behalf.”
With that reassurance, she finally relaxed, nestling closer to him.
She leaned her face against his arms. She hadn’t known about it before and hand’t felt much.
Only now did she realize how comfortable it was in his arms—so much warmer than the cold hotel beds she usually endured on set.
The next morning, the second floor remained quiet until nearly ten.
Wen Shuchen alone sat leisurely at the dining table. Across from him this time wasn’t He Qingchi.
“Miss Qu, here’s the Chen’s soymilk you asked for.” Song Chao had driven several streets to buy it, since she insisted on that brand. Seeing that President Wen didn’t object, he had no choice but to serve her.
Qu Bixin took the cup, tested the warmth, and asked, “Less sugar, right?”
“Yes. One cup hot, less sugar,” Song Chao recited, committing it firmly to memory. He wondered how Shen Fu usually put up with this pampered young lady, who even needed to specify which soymilk brand to drink each morning.
“I grew up on Chen’s soymilk—twenty-three years and it’s never changed.” Qu Bixin, satisfied with her drink, even spared him a line of praise so he wouldn’t have to force a smile.
Song Chao blinked, then glanced at Wen Shuchen reading his newspaper across the table. He couldn’t resist asking, “But Miss Qu, didn’t you leave Jiangcheng for four years? How did you manage then?”
His words carried a hint of mockery. For once, Qu Bixin didn’t take offense. Taking a sip, her mood sank instantly. “Shen Fu paid a fortune to have Chen’s open franchise stores outside Jiangcheng, so I could have fresh soymilk every morning.”
“….” Song Chao regretted his question immediately.
“Later, when we returned to Jiangcheng, he invested in Chen’s, turning it into a breakfast chain all over the city. That way, no matter which corner of Jiangcheng I lived in, I could always get it.” Qu Bixin gave a small laugh, though her chest ached faintly.
The more vivid the memories, the sharper the pain. Sweetness then—now knives.
Song Chao offered a dry comment: “President Shen was really good to you.”
“Yes—so good that he raised another woman behind my back.” Qu Bixin’s eyes crinkled in a smile, her composure restored. After a night’s rest, she looked once again like her usual spirited self.
Song Chao didn’t dare respond, sneaking a look toward President Wen—
As if to say: Ask him. Go on, ask him!
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