Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 77 - The Call Was Hung Up by Shen Fu
Chapter 77: The Call Was Hung Up by Shen Fu
At the hospital, Qu Bixin first watched He Qingchi being placed on a patient’s emergency stretcher, letting the nurses and the man take her to the ER. She had left in a rush, still in pajamas with only a coat thrown over, and her eyes still felt vaguely uncomfortable.
Standing there without moving for a moment, she saw that He Qingchi was already being cared for by the man at her side. Only then did Qu Bixin take the loose change from her pocket, flag down a taxi, and head back to the hotel.
It was already past midnight.
Back in the suite, Qu Bixin rummaged through drawers to find her medication for her eyes.
She flopped onto the sofa without a care for her image, tilted her head back against the armrest, and sat there with half-closed eyes for several minutes. When the drops had more or less dried and the raw sting in her eyes finally faded, she reached into her pocket.
She hadn’t had a single chance all night to pause and sort out her thoughts. Now her head finally cleared a little, and she suddenly realized—before leaving the hospital, she hadn’t asked Wen Shuchen whether He Qingchi needed a change of clean clothes sent over.
Her lips pressed together slightly. She pulled out her phone, muttering under her breath, “If I’d known, I should’ve just spent a bit of money to hire a host to keep me company. Spending money to solve a problem is better than risking someone’s life.”
Her pale fingertip swiped open the screen and found Wen Shuchen’s contact in WeChat.
[Mr. Wen, will He Qingchi need a change of clothes tomorrow morning?]
The message went through, but there was no reply.
Qu Bixin had forgotten to ask Wen Shuchen for his phone number, so all she could do was wait until he saw the WeChat and replied.
She plugged her phone in at the bedside to charge but didn’t get under the covers. With her slight obsession for cleanliness, she went to the wardrobe for a fresh set of sleepwear, then headed to the bathroom for a wash.
After midnight, the city was quiet. The thick curtains blocked out the light, leaving only a desk lamp glowing.
Wrapped in a thin white bath towel that barely covered her hips, Qu Bixin walked out slowly. Her skin was pale everywhere, her figure slender and well-proportioned. After washing up, under the soft lighting, she looked especially fresh and tender.
She sat down at the edge of the bed and picked up her phone.
Half an hour passed, but still no reply from Wen Shuchen.
Even if she lived carefree, Qu Bixin wasn’t heartless enough to ignore He Qingchi’s condition.
She sent a question mark, then opened up her Moments feed.
Being in Japan, unfamiliar with everything around her, she relied on scrolling Moments every day to feel connected. And as usual, the shallow friends in her circle were the most active late at night. She wasn’t sleepy either, so she leaned back against the headboard in her towel, scrolling idly.
One photo, two, and then she suddenly froze.
Qu Bixin abruptly sat up straight, pinching the screen with two fingers to zoom in.
Even though the enlarged picture turned grainy, she could still vaguely make out two tall male figures in the upper left corner of the photo. One of them was Shen Fu—she could recognize him even if he turned to ashes. And the other man standing in profile… she checked three times, and the more she looked, the more it felt like she was seeing a ghost.
She backed out and looked at the post again.
Shen Fu had a longtime friend named Chen Gui, someone she always found insufferable.
She despised his desperate clinging to high society and how he never shut up about Shen Fu marrying into a wealthy family, constantly mocking her—calling her some pampered heiress sitting on a gold mine, implying Shen Fu had endured humiliation by marrying her.
When she deleted Shen Fu’s WeChat, she forgot to “wipe out his entire clan” and had left this jerk’s contact.
Now, Chen Gui’s post showed a banquet photo that clearly, and deliberately, captured Shen Fu in the frame—showing off, like a male version of a scheming socialite.
But the shocking part was that the man standing beside Shen Fu was Wen Shuchen???
Wasn’t this man the very same who had just gone with her to take He Qingchi to the hospital tonight?
Qu Bixin felt dizzy, unable to tell which way was up. Something wasn’t right. She left a comment under Chen Gui’s post: [Was this photo taken today?]
Within seconds, Chen Gui blocked her.
When she refreshed, the post was gone.
Her breath caught in anger. If she weren’t abroad, she would’ve torn that bastard apart.
Expressionless now, Qu Bixin sat back on the bed.
Her fingers tightened around her phone. After thinking for a long while, she finally closed WeChat and opened the SMS app instead.
At the very top of the screen was Shen Fu’s number, still showing the message from earlier that day: [If I get implants and go from an A-cup to a big chest, will you still be cold to me?]
Scrolling down, the thread was empty. He hadn’t replied at all.
Seeing this made Qu Bixin seethe. Knowing Shen Fu’s cold personality, expecting a reply really was like seeing a ghost.
He probably looked at the message and thought she’d gone insane again.
Her resentment boiled over. In the span of moments, she silently cursed him a hundred times, then tapped his number and dialed.
During the few seconds before the call connected—
Her emotions were like a rollercoaster—regret, second thoughts, indecision. But before she could hang up, the line was picked up.
The man didn’t speak, only a faint sound of breathing came through, seeping into her ear.
Honestly, in Qu Bixin’s eyes, after a divorce, whoever reached out first was the loser.
She was unwilling to be that person. If Chen Gui hadn’t blocked her first, she wouldn’t have contacted Shen Fu at all.
The silence stretched. All she heard was Shen Fu’s breathing. Nothing in the background, no noise to suggest whether he was alone or with someone else.
But then again, even if Shen Tingji—the mute—was beside him, there would be no sound anyway.
Qu Bixin’s thoughts were running wild when the man on the other end finally broke the silence: “What is it?”
It was Shen Fu who spoke first. She cleared her throat and immediately set her stance: “I’m not calling to bother you, don’t flatter yourself. I just want to ask—was Wen Shuchen with you tonight?”
Maybe she had been trampled under this man’s shadow for too long—so much so that even asking a simple question required her to emphasize it over and over.
There was a long silence on Shen Fu’s end before he asked: “If I remember correctly, I’m not the one you’re supposed to be checking up on. And Wen Shuchen isn’t someone you have the right to check up on either.”
Was that a jab at her unworthy status?
Qu Bixin narrowed her eyes. The fragile calm she had just managed to regain was shattered instantly by his casual words. “Who I check up on is none of your business.”
The next second—
The line went dead. Shen Fu had hung up on her without another word.
Qu Bixin nearly jumped up in rage, clutching her phone and cursing through clenched teeth: “Bastard, do you even know your place? You’re just an ex-husband! And you still think I should be sweet-talking you?”
Her last words dragged into a faint, almost unnoticeable sob.
She sucked in lungfuls of cold air, trying desperately to steady her emotions.
Expressionless, she stood, yanked off her bath towel, walked naked to the wardrobe, picked out some clothes, and dressed to head out.
Wherever Wen Shuchen was didn’t matter. She only needed to find He Qingchi at the hospital.
Qu Bixin took the elevator down, paid triple fare for a late-night taxi, and rushed back to the hospital. Breathless, she hurried to the front desk, asking the smiling nurse for information.
The biggest hassle abroad was the language barrier. Qu Bixin only spoke simple Japanese, but thankfully the exchange went smoothly enough. Stumbling through, she managed to get the room number.
Two minutes later—
She found the ward door. Hand on the handle, she didn’t even knock before shoving it open, her face tight with urgency.
“He Qingchi!”
Her doll-like voice was a bit hoarse, with a trace of breathlessness. But as soon as she stepped in and lifted her head, she realized something was wrong.
The scene froze for a second or two.
He Qingchi was awake, her slim body wrapped in a thin blanket, half-reclining against the white hospital pillow. She looked frail and worn out, still on an IV, her pale face under the lights showing exhaustion.
And beside her stood the tall, composed figure of a man. They weren’t close, but the atmosphere between them felt… off.
After a moment, the man’s gaze finally left He Qingchi. He turned slightly, looking at the dumbstruck Qu Bixin, his tone cool with a hint of displeasure: “What brings Miss Qu here?”
From He Qingchi’s expression, Qu Bixin was immediately certain—this man was a fake!
He was impersonating Wen Shuchen, and he even dared to ask so calmly?
Qu Bixin’s temper flared. She didn’t care about saving face: “You’re not Wen Shuchen, are you?”
The man’s lips curved faintly, a habitual gesture, though he wasn’t really smiling. It was a feigned gentleness: “Did I ever claim I was?”
Qu Bixin: “…”
Thinking back, from the beginning, she had only ever called him “Mr. Wen.”
Never once had she said his full name.
And that was exactly the loophole he’d used. He wasn’t the least bit flustered. Instead, he pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to the furious woman: “My name is Wen Yue. If Miss Qu prefers calling me ‘Mr. Wen,’ you may continue to do so.”
Damn it. This shameless man!
Qu Bixin’s delicate face twisted into a mocking smile. As she took the card, her eyes locked on him: “Ha, so you’re Wen Shuchen’s brother?”
Wen Yue replied slowly: “By blood, yes.”
Qu Bixin brushed past him to He Qingchi’s side. She first glanced at the woman’s weak, wordless state, then turned back, her gaze cold: “I’ll take care of He Qingchi from here. No need for you to trouble yourself.”
By all rights, she should’ve thanked Wen Yue for bringing He Qingchi to the hospital. But any gratitude was soured by his deliberate deception.
At least she wasn’t openly hostile—just politely dismissing him.
Wen Yue glanced at He Qingchi again, a true smile finally spreading across his face.
But compared to that, He Qingchi’s response was cold, utterly indifferent to him.
Qu Bixin successfully drove him out. Once the door shut, she went back over. “If I hadn’t seen that photo of your husband at the banquet on my Moments feed, I would’ve been fooled in this pitch-black night by that counterfeit.”
Grumbling, she plopped onto the bed’s edge. This time her eyes were sharp.
Just as she was about to ask whether He Qingchi had been taken advantage of, her gaze caught on something—a man’s button lying on the floor beneath the bed.
Qu Bixin bent down, picked it up, and rolled it thoughtfully between her fingers.
Just one button, yet her mind immediately leapt to melodramatic soap-opera scenarios of domineering forced romance.
“Under what circumstances… would a man’s suit button end up on the floor beneath a hospital bed?”
Her eyes went wide as she stared at He Qingchi.
After some time on the IV, He Qingchi’s fever had finally eased a little. Her lips were pressed together. She hadn’t spoken a single word since before Qu Bixin entered.
Now, faced with Qu Bixin’s nosy question, she only leaned quietly against the headboard, her long lashes hiding her expression.
“I’ll help you destroy the evidence.”
Qu Bixin acted like she was covering up a crime. She marched into the bathroom and flushed the button down the toilet.
When she came back, she saw He Qingchi asking for some water.
Qu Bixin poured her a cup of warm water, letting her moisten her throat.
He Qingchi frowned. The IV drip was nearly finished; though her fever hadn’t clearly gone down, it wasn’t so high that she was confused. She watched as Qu Bixin pulled out her phone.
“I don’t have your husband’s number. I tried messaging him on WeChat earlier, but he didn’t reply… do you want to contact him yourself?”
But He Qingchi didn’t stretch her hand out from under the thin blanket to take it. Instead—ding—her phone lit up.
Qu Bixin’s sharp eyes caught it first: a text came in, no name attached, but the wording made it obvious who it was. [The top button’s gone. You owe me a new suit jacket.]
That amount of information… enormous!!!
Qu Bixin blinked, then held the phone out toward the woman. “I just want to ask one thing. A nod or a shake is enough… If you cheated, Wen Shuchen wouldn’t drag me down along with nine generations and wipe me out too, would he?”
He Qingchi’s frail face showed no expression. Even though Wen Yue’s words were dripping with innuendo, they couldn’t provoke the slightest reaction from her.
She simply deleted the message.
Qu Bixin, still lost in all the melodramatic romance novels she’d read, bit her lip and said: “Can’t you at least pick a different face for your affair? After all that, the second man turns out to be the same model—it’s so boring once the lights go on at night. Unless, of course, he’s… extraordinary in some other aspect? Hey, don’t ignore me. Was it you who tore that button off? Did Wen Yue try to take advantage and force a kiss on you?”
At last, He Qingchi lifted her long lashes and met Qu Bixin’s curious gaze.
Her fingertips still carried the phantom sting of a button scraping like it had cut her skin, a lingering chill in its wake.
The moment she’d regained consciousness after fainting from fever during the IV, she had recognized instantly—the man at her bedside was not Wen Shuchen.
That instinct had become second nature. No matter how well Wen Yue acted, he could never imitate the feeling Wen Shuchen gave her.
After a long silence, He Qingchi suddenly asked Qu Bixin: “Do you regret choosing Shen Fu?”
Qu Bixin had just been happily gossiping about He Qingchi’s love entanglements when the question caught her off guard. Her delicate face immediately stretched long: “Do you really have to get back at me like this?”
He Qingchi’s eyes shimmered faintly with tears—or perhaps it was simply the natural fragility of a sick woman, the tough shell stripped away. Her voice grew softer: “I never imagined that marrying a man could turn out this complicated. I used to think of marriage too simply—that if one day love faded, I could just leave freely. But I never considered… what if the feelings deepened instead? And then I realized things were far from simple.”
On this matter, Qu Bixin had more say than anyone.
She didn’t like to bring up her past with Shen Fu, because doing so always pulled her back into that old self—kneeling too long, trying too hard.
Seeing He Qingchi’s brief daze, she spoke with hard-earned understanding: “Back then, I thought even simpler than you. I believed that if I used money to successfully marry Shen Fu, then I’d be his woman for life. Who would’ve thought that one day this man would use money to force me into divorce?”
He Qingchi, frail and resigned, confessed: “Wen Shuchen says Wen Yue stole his identity to deceive me, while Wen Yue says Wen Shuchen used him as a pretext to meet me… I can’t even remember clearly anymore. To those brothers, I’m like some ‘white moonlight’ they can’t let go of—a fixation.”
Her pale lips trembled as she continued: “He even said that when I was little, I promised to marry him.”
“He—?”
Qu Bixin blinked in confusion, then asked: “You mean Wen Yue said that?”
After talking for so long, He Qingchi was exhausted. Her voice was barely a whisper between her lips and teeth: “If I had known back then, I wouldn’t have married either of them…”
Wasn’t it enough to live a life of wealth and luxury like a pampered flower? Why gamble her life away for this so-called love?
Qu Bixin, on the other hand, was love-first, never as rational or quick to cut losses as He Qingchi. Slowly, she said: “We only get one lifetime. We’ve already enjoyed riches and splendor for over twenty years. If we don’t try love after that, then what’s the point of living?”
If Heaven could grant her a perfect love, she’d willingly trade years off her life for it.
Qu Bixin saw that He Qingchi simply didn’t have the strength to talk, yet she kept rambling on: “I’ve already planned it out—when I turn fifty and my looks are gone, I’ll kill myself. I’ll take sleeping pills. I’d rather die than live to be old and ugly, despised by men.”
At this, He Qingchi couldn’t help but gather a weak breath to say: “Jump off a building instead. Dying from sleeping pills is the most painful way to go.”
“Unbelievable! I’ve been taking care of you without rest all night, and you actually tell me to jump off a building?” Qu Bixin finally saw through the cold-blooded side of He Qingchi’s nature.
The corner of He Qingchi’s lips curved faintly, and still feverish and muddle-headed, she drifted back into sleep.
During the first half of the night, the nurse came in twice to change her IV drip. Qu Bixin stayed in the ward to keep her company and dozed off herself. During that time, she received a phone call—from Wen Shuchen himself.
She didn’t know if Shen Fu had tipped him off, but nothing was mentioned over the phone.
Wen Shuchen only wanted to confirm which hospital He Qingchi was in. Throughout the whole call, he never once brought up Wen Yue’s name.
Qu Bixin felt embarrassed for having mistaken the two before, but since he didn’t mention it, she just pretended nothing had happened.
After hanging up, she turned to look at the already sleeping He Qingchi. Her forehead wasn’t burning as hot anymore, though her sleep still seemed uneasy.
Remembering their conversation from earlier, Qu Bixin parted her red lips and muttered with a little snort: “Your peach-blossom luck really is something else…”
The night passed without incident.
Just before eight in the morning, Qu Bixin was curled up under a blanket on the sofa, fast asleep. She was groggily awakened by a knock on the door, her eyes too sore to open fully. Through the blur, she vaguely saw a nurse pushing the door open and whispering to her: “There’s a gentleman outside. He says he’s the patient’s husband.”
Her drowsiness vanished in an instant. She straightened her clothes, then looked toward the woman still lying quietly on the hospital bed.
He Qingchi’s fever had nearly subsided.
And outside the door—Wen Shuchen had arrived.
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