Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 82 - Cajoling is Impossible
Chapter 82: Cajoling is Impossible
The sky outside gradually darkened. When He Qingchi walked into the villa, the lights on both floors were already on. The living room was so quiet there wasn’t a sound, and from where she stood she could clearly see the back of a woman sitting on the sofa—slender and fragile.
He Qingchi hadn’t lost her memory; she still remembered the deep impression Shen Tingji had left on her last time.
With nothing but a silent smile, she had completely crushed Qu Bixin.
The click of high heels drew her closer, and she saw Shen Tingji sitting with her head lowered on the sofa, dressed far too lightly in just a knit dress. Her pale ankles were exposed from the cold, her messy hair was still half-damp, and her shoes were dirt-stained, making her look utterly disheveled.
He Qingchi shifted her gaze toward the housekeeper, who was holding a thin cotton blanket and a cup of ginger tea. The woman looked helpless. “Madam, this young lady…”
“With the heater on she won’t freeze. If she doesn’t want it, take it away.” It wasn’t in her nature to coax Shen Tingji into anything.
The housekeeper, relieved by the instruction, quickly left the living room.
He Qingchi, meanwhile, sat down on the sofa, picked up the ginger tea that had been prepared for Shen Tingji, and slowly drank it without saying a word to the woman opposite her.
After quite a while, Shen Tingji finally lifted her head. Her eyes were red and watery, a pitiful sight that might have evoked sympathy in a man.
But He Qingchi had already witnessed how Shen Tingji used her weakness as a weapon, so she wasn’t buying it. Setting the teacup down with her fingertips, she called toward the kitchen, “When will dinner be ready?”
The reply came quickly: “Madam, ten minutes.”
He Qingchi shrugged off her coat, leaving only the white cheongsam underneath, and laid it on the armrest. Throughout, she treated Shen Tingji as if she were invisible. As for Wen Shuchen’s request that she “look after her if convenient”—she hadn’t taken it seriously in the slightest.
When the housekeeper brought the lavish dinner to the table, He Qingchi rose, didn’t bother to invite Shen Tingji, and sat down at the dining table by herself, spoon in hand, sipping soup.
Her expression was calm under the light, lashes lowered.
After a moment, Shen Tingji’s light footsteps approached. She stood in front of He Qingchi, though it wasn’t clear what she wanted.
He Qingchi, perfectly capable of patience, didn’t ask. Growing up in the He family as the eldest, she had never coddled younger cousins who tried to act spoiled—coaxing was impossible; cold treatment was the rule.
She liked interacting with people who knew how to show humility, but not with people like Shen Tingji, who relied on their flaws to win pity while stubbornly waiting for others to yield first.
The atmosphere at the dining table was suffocatingly quiet. The housekeeper just served the dishes silently and retreated back into the kitchen.
As He Qingchi swallowed the last mouthful of soup, a cold female voice suddenly sounded from a phone: “Mrs. Wen, is Shen Fu in Japan with Qu Bixin?”
She slowly swallowed, raised her head, and saw Shen Tingji holding a phone and looking at her.
So the voice had come from there.
It must have been some app that converted typed words into spoken audio.
Judging by her posture, Shen Tingji was ten to one here to ask about Shen Fu’s whereabouts.
He Qingchi pressed her lips together for a moment, then asked, “Wen Shuchen didn’t tell you?”
Shen Tingji’s face was pale as she gently shook her head.
He Qingchi said, “Then asking me won’t help either.”
Shen Tingji began typing on her phone again, her fingers stiff from the cold, moving very slowly.
After a minute, He Qingchi heard another synthetic voice: “Mrs. Wen and Qu Bixin are friends.”
Now that was interesting.
Shen Tingji was very clear about what she was doing, staring at her with stubborn determination.
He Qingchi calmly curved her lips and countered, “Since you know I’m Qu Bixin’s friend, why would I tell you?”
Shen Tingji lowered her head and typed again. The phone read aloud: “Shen Fu said he would be responsible for me for life. Mrs. Wen… if you really care about your friend, don’t let her keep entangling herself with Shen Fu. She can’t beat me.”
He Qingchi honestly felt no obligation to care about Qu Bixin. Their friendship was paper-thin—plastic sisterhood at best, the kind that could turn into a feud any day. Why should she get involved in someone else’s love life?
The most comfortable boundary in friendship was to never foolishly treat another person’s affairs as your own.
Everyone’s perspective and environment were different; it was impossible to truly see things from someone else’s position. Who knew if Qu Bixin wasn’t willingly tangling herself up with Shen Fu?
Maybe, in her eyes, it was worth hurting herself just to get back at him, rather than accepting four wasted years.
He Qingchi wasn’t swayed by a few words. Her smile was faint as she said, “Miss Shen, if you’re asking as Shen Fu’s sister, then all I can tell you is that wherever he is, he’s safe. But if you’re asking in some other capacity, then you’ve come to the wrong person. I have my own husband—why would I know Shen Fu’s whereabouts?”
Shen Tingji’s fingers clenched tightly around her phone, knuckles pale.
He Qingchi picked up her chopsticks again and said lazily, “Don’t say I didn’t offer you a meal. Sit down.”
Dinner passed. By the time darkness had completely fallen outside.
Meng Qingchang arrived by car. It seemed to be his first time meeting Shen Tingji, since he formally presented his business card from his psychology clinic, polite and professional.
Watching from the side, He Qingchi had assumed Wen Shuchen had called Meng Qingchang to pick her up because they at least knew each other.
Turned out they didn’t.
So Wen Shuchen had sent a psychologist to fetch her? Looked an awful lot like an insult.
Shen Tingji sat there without leaving. She ignored Meng Qingchang’s words, quietly staying in the living room, refusing to go anywhere.
When spoken to, she wouldn’t even nod or shake her head.
Meng Qingchang frowned and glanced at He Qingchi, who was just watching the show: “You know her better—say something to her.”
He Qingchi cleanly distanced herself: “I don’t know her, thanks.”
If it were his own patient, Meng Qingchang might still have some methods. But facing someone who was merely stubborn by nature and unable to speak, there was no coaxing her away. In the end, he had to turn back to He Qingchi and say, “Miss Shen might be planning to stay here tonight.”
“......”
Shen Tingji clearly had no intention of leaving without Shen Fu’s whereabouts. From the short time in contact, she had already figured out He Qingchi’s temperament—thick-skinned, she just sat on the sofa and wouldn’t move, her pale fingertips clutching her skirt tightly.
He Qingchi asked her, “If I admit Shen Fu is in Japan with Qu Bixin, will you go back?”
Shen Tingji typed on her phone to bargain: “I need Shen Fu’s address in Japan.”
“Oh, then keep sitting.” He Qingchi tossed off the words lightly, stood up, and went upstairs.
Meng Qingchang felt his head ache. He couldn’t get her to leave, and the lady of the house was washing her hands of it.
As an outsider, what could he do?
He Qingchi went upstairs, bathed, changed out of her cheongsam, and truly didn’t care what happened to Shen Tingji in the living room.
Half an hour later, wrapped in a robe, she sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the night, and sent a message to Qu Bixin.
When Qu Bixin heard that Shen Tingji had the nerve to come make a scene at Wen Shuchen’s house, she sneered: “What? Now that it’s her turn to be the official wife, she finally understands how exhausting it is to check up on men? I suddenly think being the mistress is much more fun.”
He Qingchi only reported the situation. As for whether Qu Bixin was willing to give Shen Fu back early—that was her own business.
Qu Bixin’s tone turned vicious, and she sent a voice message: “If she asks you again, just say I haven’t had enough of Shen Fu yet. I’m not returning him for at least another two or three days.”
“I’m not helping you provoke her. Handle your own rival in love yourself.” He Qingchi flatly refused. If she said something too sharp and Shen Tingji threw a hysterical fit in the villa, who would be responsible?
Qu Bixin snorted. “Heartless.”
He Qingchi: “As if you didn’t already know.”
The two of them bickered back and forth again.
Meanwhile, Meng Qingchang eventually drove off, apparently still unable to take Shen Tingji away.
The night deepened quickly.
Shen Tingji remained quietly in the living room. The housekeeper kindly left her a floor lamp and a thin blanket, but she didn’t cover her legs, only sat with her head slightly lowered, her breathing so soft it was almost soundless.
By around eleven, the whole villa had fallen silent.
Then Wen Shuchen returned from a social dinner, striding in neatly dressed in his suit, and immediately noticed the woman still there.
Shen Tingji’s dark eyes fixed on him, her face pale. Slowly, she held up her phone for him to see.
On the screen: [Please take me to find Shen Fu.]
Wen Shuchen glanced at it, calmly replied, “He’ll be back in Jiangcheng in about three days.”
Shen Tingji typed again: [The puppy he gave me is sick, about to die.]
Wen Shuchen slipped one hand into his pocket, answering evenly, “I’ll have the bodyguards take your puppy to the vet.”
Shen Tingji’s gaze was full of stubbornness. She typed out word by word: [I only want Shen Fu.]
Wen Shuchen was silent for two seconds, then turned and called Song Chao inside, giving the order: “Stay with her.”
Having said that, he ignored Shen Tingji’s helplessness and headed upstairs.
Shen Tingji tried to follow, but Song Chao quickly blocked her, speaking kindly: “Miss Shen, this afternoon you nearly disrupted President Wen’s major life event. Don’t stir up more trouble tonight. Please sit and calm down first…”
Upstairs, in the master bedroom, He Qingchi was already curled up on the wide, soft bed, breathing lightly, sound asleep—unbothered by the fact that another sleepless woman remained downstairs.
When Wen Shuchen entered, he saw her sleeping peacefully.
His footsteps were deliberately light as he removed his suit jacket, shirt, and tie, tossing them at the foot of the bed. Lifting the quilt, he lay down.
As soon as the familiar scent of smoke and alcohol drew near, He Qingchi’s tightly shut lashes fluttered open.
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