Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 79 - A Gentleman and Gentlemanly Pervert

November 25, 2025 Oyen 0 Comments

Happy Reading~

Chapter 79: A Gentleman and Gentlemanly Pervert

 

In the afternoon at the hospital, He Qingchi’s condition had fully improved. She mainly rested, and when she woke from her nap, she could see Wen Shuchen sitting on the sofa, taking calls. From his low voice, he was clearly handling business with his secretary.

 

Since she was ill, she hadn’t been on her phone. Her cheek pressed to the pillow, she just watched him busily working.

 

In her heart, she counted—within just one short hour, Wen Shuchen had already taken several calls.

 

In a daze, his call ended, and he turned his head toward her: “Do you want some water?”

 

As he poured, his movements were so natural—he first leaned down, pressed his forehead to hers for a few seconds to check her temperature, then brushed a light kiss at the corner of her lips.

 

As if they had always been this close, with no problems at all.

 

Many times, He Qingchi admired his composure. While drinking a sip of water, she suddenly asked, “I might not remember that part of our childhood, not in ten years, maybe not even in twenty. Would you regret that?”

 

From the story Wen Shuchen had told her, the two of them had been kidnapped for a full month before being rescued—surely a lot must have happened then?

 

He wiped away a drop of water from her lips with his thumb and said softly: “No, because I remember.”

 

From his expression, she couldn’t read much. She continued: “No wonder your father, even while ill, would tirelessly tell me those stories every day in the old house, and even invited an elder over. He calculated that if I ever learned the truth behind those stories, I would reconsider the bond with your Wen family.”

 

Normally, any girl who learned her life might be endangered would have run away overnight in fear.

 

She muttered to herself: “Your family knows exactly what I’m afraid of. In the end, your father won’t just snap and kidnap me, will he?”

 

Her expression carried a trace of stiffness. Wen Shuchen saw through it, clasped her cold fingers, and said in a low, steady voice, as though to give her a sense of safety: “Qingchi, if I can’t even protect my own wife, what use is the Wen family’s power to me?”

 

“And besides—” He paused a couple of seconds before continuing, “my father doesn’t have much time left.”

 

He Qingchi counted the days—it had only been just over half a month since she left the Wen residence. How had it gotten so much worse?

 

Wen Shuchen told her, “In these ten days, he’s already been rushed into the emergency room twice. The news has been locked down; only the old house and two Wen shareholders know.”

 

“Your father…” He Qingchi struggled for words.

 

How could she put it?

 

Her impression of Wen Jingchun was of an old man who sometimes went alone to the kitchen in the morning to make sandwiches, often asked her to brew him coffee to satisfy a craving, and told her stories from Wen Shuchen’s childhood—like a kindly, aging father. From that surface, it didn’t seem at all like his relationship with Wen Shuchen was broken to the point of resentment.

 

Maybe the men of the Wen family were simply used to putting on a façade—even his biological father.

 

Wen Shuchen brushed over his father’s failing health without dwelling on it: “From now on, I’ll have Song Chao assign a few more bodyguards to follow you.”

 

He Qingchi lowered her eyes slightly, then raised them again: “I think I’ve fallen into one of your traps again—and I can’t even refuse.”

 

If she were a bit smarter, she could have chosen this moment to cut ties, wash her hands of the Wen family, and stay out of their internal strife. Her He family wouldn’t be dragged down either way.

 

Wen Shuchen listened, a faint smile between his brows. He pulled her into his arms: “I promise you, even if the Wen family collapses, it won’t touch you.”

 

She trusted him to do as he said. Resting her face against his shirt for a moment, she said, “Don’t I seem like a heartless woman who only wants money?”

 

With her wavering attitude, if Wen Shuchen thought too deeply about it… 

 

She really wasn’t someone you could marry to settle down with.

 

She might very well run the day he fell from power.

 

But Wen Shuchen only replied: “If that day ever comes… I’ll leave everything to you. That would be good too.”

 

“Who wants to inherit your things.” He Qingchi didn’t like such unlucky talk.

 

And after a pause, she added: “Better leave it to your son to inherit.”

 

His expression froze for an instant—perhaps because of her unintentional words.

 

He Qingchi quickly realized, her lashes fluttered: “I didn’t mean I want to give you a son, don’t misunderstand.”

 

She still thought back to how Wen Shuchen once gave her medicine—most likely, he wasn’t ready to be a father at all.

 

Wen Shuchen only seemed thoughtful, then gently patted her back: “Focus on recovering your health.”

 

He Qingchi stayed in the hospital for another two days before being discharged. By then, her body was almost fully recovered, full of energy again. Naturally, she was to return home with Wen Shuchen.

 

But before that, she remembered Qu Bixin was still at the hotel, so she gave her a call.

 

It took a long while for Qu Bixin to answer, and her first words were snarky: “Thank the Bodhisattva, congratulations on not dying.”

 

He Qingchi remembered how she had run around for her when she had that high fever two days ago, so she didn’t mind. She said: “I’m going back home. If you need someone around, I’ll have Wen Shuchen send a secretary over. He’ll keep it confidential.”

 

Qu Bixin yawned on the other end, her voice sounding muffled: “No need, I’ve already found someone to keep me company.”

 

He Qingchi didn’t ask who—it wasn’t in her nature to be curious about others’ private affairs.

 

Since Qu Bixin said no, she didn’t insist on sending a man to her.

 

After hanging up, she slid her phone back into her pocket. Beside her, Wen Shuchen was working, so she just quietly looked out the car window, watching the scenery fly by until they reached the airport.

 

Wen Shuchen had arranged everything: first-class tickets, a low-profile return home with her.

 

Fortunately, the flight wasn’t too long. He Qingchi slept for a while on the plane, then woke to eat something and chat with him. By the time they landed in Jiangcheng, it wasn’t even dark yet.

 

Bodyguards and secretaries were already waiting outside with the car. Song Chao, at the front, warmly opened the door for them.

 

When He Qingchi was brought back, Song Chao—true to his nature—talked too much as always: “Madam went to Japan and came back looking even more beautiful.”

 

Both He Qingchi and Wen Shuchen turned to look at him in unison.

 

The former thought, Did he just imply I went abroad for plastic surgery?

 

The latter’s displeasure was obvious—how could another man be praising his wife?

 

But Song Chao was still oblivious, his face full of smiles: “Then, President Wen, should I take Madam back to the villa first?”

 

Wen Shuchen had originally planned to separate from He Qingchi outside the airport and head to the company. But his steps halted, and instead of heading toward the other car, he supported her by the waist into the back seat and said in a flat tone: “I’ll take her back.”

 

He Qingchi found it a little funny but didn’t expose him.

 

Song Chao trotted over to open the front passenger door, but before he could, Wen Shuchen ordered: “You go back to the company first.”

 

Since the boss had made a last-minute decision, as a subordinate he didn’t dare disobey.

 

Once again, Song Chao was banished to the cold palace, left behind clueless. As the car pulled away, his figure shrank into a tiny dot by the roadside until he disappeared completely from sight. At that moment, He Qingchi suddenly leaned closer to Wen Shuchen and whispered into his ear: “Why are you even jealous about this?”

 

She was being considerate—lowering her voice so the driver’s phone up front wouldn’t catch anything that might harm President Wen’s dignity.

 

Wen Shuchen looked at her with a half-smile, not admitting it, and countered: “What makes you say that?”

 

He Qingchi raised a brow, then lifted her pale hand to pat his shoulder: “Relax. Even if I wanted to change my taste and take a fancy to some pretty boy, I wouldn’t possibly look at one of your people.”

 

Wen Shuchen maintained his calm demeanor, not rising to her provocation.

 

But the gentler his smile became, the stronger He Qingchi’s bad premonition grew.

 

Half an hour later, the driver pulled up in front of the villa.

 

The moment the car door opened, He Qingchi stepped out in her high heels and walked quickly, heading straight upstairs. 

 

In contrast, Wen Shuchen, immaculate in his suit with one hand in his trouser pocket, followed at a leisurely pace, looking much more composed.

 

They hadn’t stayed in this private mansion for some time, but the housekeeper had kept both floors spotless, and the master bedroom’s linens had been freshly changed. Before He Qingchi could even close the door, Wen Shuchen entered from the hallway.

 

His long fingers loosened his tie, tossing it casually onto the nightstand. Then he pulled out a small square box from the drawer.

 

He Qingchi stood a few steps away, her back stiff, her pale fingers subconsciously clutching at her dress as she watched him tear open the box without expression. Turning toward her, his voice low and steady, he said: “I’ll sleep with you for a while.”

 

Did you really need that kind of thing just to sleep?

 

He Qingchi backed away until she hit the edge of the bed…

 

There was no one else in the villa. Even if she screamed, no one would dare to come upstairs. There was nowhere to run.

 

Wen Shuchen’s so-called “sleep” lasted more than two hours.

 

He Qingchi lay quietly sprawled on two large pillows, her long black hair draped over her shoulders and pale back. Her waist was covered by the quilt, her delicate face showing restrained emotion, brows furrowed.

 

From the bathroom came the sound of running water. He had used three of those little boxes and was now refreshed, heading off to shower.

 

Ten minutes later, Wen Shuchen came out with only a bath towel around his waist. He poured himself some water, took a few sips, then brought the glass to her lips. “We’ve done this many times already. How are you still not used to it?”

 

He Qingchi moistened her throat but didn’t want to speak.

 

Wen Shuchen’s long fingers smoothed her disheveled hair, his voice gentle and full of satisfied pleasure: “What do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll cook for you.”

 

He almost never cooked—

 

Sure enough, when a man was gratified in certain ways, his mood could improve so much it was almost shocking.

 

He Qingchi roused herself, half-opening her eyes to look at him: “If you keep this up, I might die next time.”

 

She couldn’t take being tormented like this.

 

Wen Shuchen dragged her out of the quilt, wrapped her in his bath towel, and carried her slowly to the bathroom, all the while reasoning with her: “Think about it—how long has it been since we last did this?”

 

From his business trip until now, it had been nearly two months. If he still had no desire, could he even be considered a man?

 

He Qingchi had always been rather indifferent about this side of things—and she couldn’t be blamed.

 

Every time she usually ended up uncomfortable. Over time, no matter how enjoyable the process might be, it was meaningless for her.

 

Warm water filled the tub, soothing her sore body.

 

Looking at him, the blood slowly returned to her pale face: “I suddenly remembered a line.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Are you a gentle gentleman, or a perverted gentleman?” He Qingchi said first, then continued on her own: “Should I think of myself as enjoying the perversion of a gentle gentleman—or the gentleness of a perverted gentleman?”

 

Wen Shuchen rubbed foam over her slender shoulders, paused for two seconds, then said with calm lips: “Neither.”

 

He Qingchi tilted her head curiously: “What do you mean?”

 

Without a change in expression, the man bathing her said: “If I were truly perverted with you, you’d probably think I was forcing you—”

 

He didn’t say the last harsh word, leaving some space.

 

He Qingchi’s breath hitched. Then he gently lifted her fingers, washing them carefully, his low voice magnetic: “I call this restraint.”

 

“You really are…” violent, aren’t you?

 

He Qingchi almost blurted out the second half, but stopped, her gaze falling instead on the firm muscles of his arm.

 

The more refined a man seemed, the more impossible he was to handle.

 

A man with tattooed arms is even more not to be trifled with.

 

……

After being washed clean from head to toe, He Qingchi was wrapped in a towel and carried out by him. This time Wen Shuchen let her be—gentle and considerate—laying her on the bed to rest for a while: “I’ll cook tonight. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

 

A husband so good he deserved an award…

 

He Qingchi had spent two hours earlier indulging him; now she accepted the benefits without shame and said bluntly, “I want garlic shrimp.”

 

“All right. Anything else?” Wen Shuchen adopted the tone of a man confident in his culinary skills.

 

He Qingchi shook her head and left him to it.

 

After the man left the master bedroom, the light outside gradually dimmed.

 

She saw Wen Shuchen’s phone on the nightstand, reached for it, and noticed it was already past seven.

 

She was tired but not sleepy, so she rolled into the covers and, too lazy to fetch her own phone, opened Wen Shuchen’s phone and checked his Moments.

 

She never bothered with texts or private messages, but she did glance at public posts.

 

Wen Shuchen hardly ever posted—scrolling through was dull. 

 

Her own Moments were more interesting than his.

 

She half-sat up, grabbed a cup to sip, but choked on the drink, eyes widening in disbelief as if she’d seen something shocking.

 

A moment before, she’d been scrolling; now a new Moments post popped up.

 

From Shen Fu.

 

That wasn’t the key—what surprised her was that Shen Fu had posted a photo of Qu Bixin wearing a Japanese cherry-blossom yukata. The woman’s eyes were blindfolded with a lace ribbon, making her features look delicate and alluring. She was reclining on a black leather sofa with one shoulder exposed, the skirt revealing long, pale, straight legs.

 

The photo’s background was a floor-to-ceiling window mirror; the blurred reflection in it was Shen Fu himself.

 

Just one photo—no caption.

 

He Qingchi coughed awkwardly a few times and noticed a comment by someone named Chen Gui under Shen Fu’s post. Using Wen Shuchen’s phone, she could see they were mutual friends.

 

Chen Gui: [Shen Fu, did you take the wrong medicine? Why are you entangled with this gold-digging vixen again?]

 

He posted another comment: [Bro, you finally got rid of her—don’t go off the rails again.]

 

Suddenly, He Qingchi’s impression of this Chen Gui soured.

 

Putting aside Qu Bixin’s usual scheming, He Qingchi believed her feelings for Shen Fu were sincere and pure.

 

Which woman would spend four years of her youth and her own money to help a man rise from the bottom? She had been true to Shen Fu year after year, and even when forced into divorce she refused the house and car—signed the papers and walked away with nothing.

 

Such a woman could be wrong in many ways, but before Shen Fu she was blameless.

 

So who was Chen Gui to comment on Qu Bixin and Shen Fu’s relationship?

 

He Qingchi thought a moment and refreshed—the comment vanished.

 

It didn’t look like it had been deleted; it looked like Chen Gui was blocked.

 

That straightforward, brazen move felt like something Qu Bixin herself would do.

 

Feeling uneasy, He Qingchi sent an emoji to Shen Fu via Wen Shuchen’s WeChat.

 

Soon after, a message came in with Qu Bixin’s typical chatty tone: “President Wen, what’s up?”

 

He Qingchi didn’t feel like typing, so she sent a voice note: just two words, “It’s me.”

 

Qu Bixin immediately sent a video—very direct.

 

He Qingchi nearly dropped the phone, hastily straightened her loose robe, and accepted the video call.

 

The image was dim, but it was clearly the familiar hotel living room.

 

Qu Bixin put on a smug, triumphant smile into the camera: “Don’t you think big sister is amazing?”

 

He Qingchi asked, “How did you get Shen Fu to come to Japan with you?”

 

She’d thought by now their meeting would be a jealous, tense thing.

 

Qu Bixin hadn’t turned on the lights; she sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, leaning on the cold glass with the city lights behind her. She covered her mouth and laughed into the phone: “He came to talk to me about Shen Tingji being framed as the other woman in the article. I said we could settle—if he accompanied me for a week first.”

 

 “Shen Fu agreed to that?”

 

“Mm. He reluctantly agreed a couple of days ago—so unwilling, even when he canceled his flight his voice was ice-cold. But he’ll endure it for that mute kid, so he put up with me.”

 

Qu Bixin gleefully mocked Shen Fu, then laughed and added: “He even tried to buy me off with money—what a joke. Do you think I’m the kind of woman he could buy off a second time?”

 

He Qingchi saw through it and said bluntly: “So you used your body to settle things with him?”

 

“Oh my, how did you guess?” Qu Bixin exaggeratedly clutched her face in an extremely coquettish voice.

 

He Qingchi, seeing her excitement, guessed further: “Shen Fu touched you?”

 

Qu Bixin admitted it outright and slipped the yukata open on camera, showing a startling red handprint on her left shoulder: “I sedated him. Japan really is top-tier in this sort of thing. I was worried I’d buy fake sedatives, but it worked, He Qingchi… When I get back, want me to buy you a few boxes?”

 

He Qingchi deadpanned: “If Wen Shuchen finds out, I might actually die.”

 

Qu Bixin burst into a fit of girlish laughter, almost crying from it: “Shen Fu fell asleep, and I stole his phone. What a boring man—he hardly has any women sending him flirty messages on WeChat.”

 

But out of spite, she still posted her own photo on his Moments.

 

The circle would probably explode again, speculating whether this couple was just faking their divorce.

 

Qu Bixin said: “My main goal is to disgust that little mute.”

 

He Qingchi’s brow twitched. “You didn’t send a message to provoke Shen Tingji, did you?”

 

“How did I not think of that! Thanks for the reminder.” Qu Bixin’s eyes lit up with delight, laughter brimming inside them.

 

It was like she had just scored a comeback, triumphant and smug.

 

He Qingchi rubbed her forehead—it was her mistake, she shouldn’t have asked.

 

Once reminded, Qu Bixin had no mind to keep chatting and hung up the video after a few words.

 

The screen went dark, and the living room lights were still off.

 

Only the glow from the floor-to-ceiling window faintly illuminated her thin figure.

 

A string of crystalline tears suddenly fell from her eyes, without warning.

 

Her pale hand grew damp, and she lifted it to cover her eyes. Her sobs were small, but after a long time, once she had cried enough, she breathed deeply and forced herself back under control.

 

Qu Bixin lit up Shen Fu’s phone and quickly entered his password.

 

All these years, he still used the same one—even after she had discovered it, he never changed it.

 

She found Shen Tingji’s WeChat contact. To her shock, the note beside it was just two simple characters: [Jiji.]

 

Jealousy flared in her chest. Enraged, she sent a photo of herself lying in bed beside Shen Fu, smug as a mistress flaunting her conquest. Then she added a voice message to Shen Tingji: [Sorry, I’ll be borrowing this man for a few days.]

 

The messages went through. Qu Bixin muted the phone.

 

She sat quietly in the dark, her messy short hair half-framing her face, her thin figure swallowed by silence. She was utterly alone, soaking in the coldness of the dazzling city night.

 

Minutes later, Shen Tingji’s call came in.

 

The phone lit up again and again, call after call.

 

Qu Bixin didn’t answer. Her sore eyes stared at the screen while her fingers slowly adjusted the silk lining of her cherry-blossom yukata. Inside the pristine white fabric, a deep red stain had spread.

 

The sight made her thighs ache faintly.

 

She extended her pale fingertips, tore the fabric, ripping away the white lining along with that patch of crimson.

 

Then she stood, carrying Shen Fu’s phone and the torn cloth into the bathroom, dropped both into the toilet, and flushed them away with her own hand.

 

Five minutes later.

 

She emerged from the bathroom. Her face had been rinsed clean, leaving no trace of tears.

 

She reapplied medicine to her eyes, tied the silk band back in place, and walked barefoot into the master bedroom. As the door opened, the air inside was stifling and heavy.

 

A floor lamp cast its quiet glow. Qu Bixin stepped on the man’s suit and shirt as she approached the bed, bending down to look at the man asleep, hugging a pillow.

 

Asleep, Shen Fu wasn’t so hateful. His delicate features were softened, the gold-rimmed glasses gone, his thin lips lightly pressed in ease.

 

Qu Bixin knelt by the bed and watched him for a long while. She knew that once this man woke tomorrow, she would no longer have the right to look at him so openly.

 

Thinking this, she lowered her head and let out a self-mocking laugh.

 

But soon, her expression calmed again. She got up, retrieved her own phone, turned on every light in the master bedroom, and then returned to the bed. She pulled back Shen Fu’s blanket…

 

The author has something to say:

Qu Bixin: Sorry, I just went ahead and performed the entire “vicious supporting actress” script in one breath, leaving my love rival with no moves to play.

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