Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 87 - Seizing Every Chance to Get Jealous

December 12, 2025 Oyen 0 Comments

Happy Reading~

Chapter 87: Seizing Every Chance to Get Jealous

 

He carried He Qingchi out of the hospital in a princess hug. It was already close to eleven outside; aside from the dim streetlights, there were barely any pedestrians. She didn’t bother to walk on her own—too lazy—and simply let herself be held, pretending she’d just finished a checkup.

 

After all, no one would be surprised to see someone being carried out of a hospital.

 

Once they got in the car, Wen Shuchen directly ordered the driver to take them back to the villa.

 

In the car—

 

He Qingchi, dressed in a form-fitting gown, sat in the back seat wrapped in the man’s suit jacket. Sitting like that was a bit more comfortable; she didn’t have to keep her back perfectly straight. Watching the night scenery flash past outside the window, she thought that everything that had happened today had probably come to an end.

 

Wen Shuchen then slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently into his embrace.

 

At almost the same moment, they both lifted their heads and spoke at once—

 

“How’s your father’s condition?”

 

“What did Qiu Jin say to you?”

 

Their gazes met, and silence fell for a second.

 

In the end, Wen Shuchen spoke first, his tone calm and faint: “He’s out of danger.”

 

He Qingchi studied his expression—it didn’t look like anything serious had happened—and finally exhaled in relief. “Qiu Jin came to complain about you, then told me that Wen Yue and Shen Tingji are getting engaged. Said it’s a political marriage to stabilize relations with Shen Fu.”

 

He Qingchi didn’t take a single word from Qiu Jin at face value.

 

Still, she hadn’t expected Shen Fu to be so heartless as to push Shen Tingji into such a situation. She asked quietly, “Was this Shen Fu’s idea?”

 

Wen Shuchen brushed a hand against her cheek and instead asked, “Why did Qiu Jin bring up Wen Yue’s engagement to you?”

 

He was answering her with a question—his focus, as always, falling straight on his own jealousy.

 

He Qingchi blinked, deliberately playing coy: “Qu Bixin and Shen Fu still haven’t cut their ties completely, you know.”

 

Wen Shuchen simply watched her in silence, not taking the bait.

 

Pretending nothing had happened, He Qingchi pulled out her phone. “You and your people stole the spotlight at the auction tonight—you’ll probably make the headlines.”

 

The rest of the ride was quiet. When the car finally stopped in front of the villa, the bodyguard quickly came over to open the door.

 

He Qingchi lifted the hem of her dress and stepped out slowly, her heels clicking lightly against the ground. Wen Shuchen followed behind her, one hand tucked casually in his pocket.

 

Ever since the mention of Wen Yue, something had been off about his mood—

 

Subtle, but unmistakable.

 

He Qingchi knew that look all too well. Probably another fit of jealousy sneaking in wherever it could. She didn’t bother to soothe him this time. Inside, she bent down, took off her shoes, and stepped barefoot onto the soft carpet.

 

The bodyguards stayed outside; the villa was quiet except for a few dim lights in the corners.

 

“I’m going upstairs for a shower.”

 

She said, tossing his suit jacket onto the sofa before heading upstairs with her dress in hand.

 

Wen Shuchen remained where he was, his face hidden in the shadow, unreadable.

 

By the time she finished bathing and drying her long black hair, it was well past midnight.

 

The hot shower had drained away most of her fatigue. She walked out in a silk robe, lifted the blanket, and slipped under it, exposing only a pale length of her knee.

 

On the sofa by the window, Wen Shuchen was sitting completely still—like a statue.

 

He Qingchi looked at him and asked, “Aren’t you going to shower?”

 

He turned his head slightly, his expression tight, and after a long pause, murmured, “Just thinking about something. I’ll sit for a while.”

 

Seeing him like that, she asked kindly, “Do you need some medicine?”

 

Wen Shuchen’s gaze snapped toward her, intense and direct.

 

“…Okay, I was just asking,” she muttered.

 

The air in the bedroom grew still again. She turned over, resting her cheek on the white pillow, dark hair spilling over her shoulders, uncertain whether she actually planned to fall asleep.

 

A few minutes later, Wen Shuchen’s low, calm voice broke the silence: “When you were little… I washed your butt once.”

 

He Qingchi’s half-closed lashes trembled sharply—almost as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

 

And then he fell silent again.

 

He deliberately dangled the remark to get a reaction.

 

She had absolutely no memory of such a humiliating thing—but thinking about it, it could’ve been during that month when they’d been kidnapped together. She’d been five, and he around ten. 

 

An older boy taking care of a younger girl wasn’t strange, really.

 

Ten minutes passed. When she still didn’t respond, Wen Shuchen spoke again: “You also peed on my pants.”

 

“……”

 

That—on any woman—was absolutely intolerable.

 

He Qingchi suddenly sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest, glaring at him with dark eyes. “Stop making things up!”

 

Wen Shuchen studied her flushed, indignant face, then said quietly, “If you don’t remember, how do you know I’m making it up?” 

 

She wasn’t quite angry enough to get out of bed, but she took a deep breath. “Even if you did wash me when I was little—and I did pee on your pants—what’s the big deal? The things we do at night now are a lot more intimate than that!”

 

Wen Shuchen paused, as if she’d just reminded him of something important. 

 

His expression turned thoughtful, focusing entirely on the wrong points.

 

“Are you tired?” 

 

He asked politely, loosening his belt.

 

He Qingchi nearly cursed out loud and threw a white pillow at him. “Go take your shower! Wen Shuchen, I’m going to sleep!”

 

Normally, Wen Shuchen would never actually lay a hand on her.

 

He knew better than anyone about her childhood trauma—the way she feared violence, blood, even minor pain that would send her reaching for painkillers to feel safe again.

 

So he never forced her. At most, he’d pull her into his arms, kiss her a few times, then let her go as calmly as he’d started.

 

The bathroom light flicked on, and the sound of running water filled the quiet.

 

Still waiting for him to come to bed, He Qingchi lay under the covers and reached for his phone on the nightstand.

 

Wen Shuchen, ever the man of self-discipline, hadn’t even set a password lock—just to show how “clean” he was.

 

Whether it was texts, emails, or WeChat Moments—everything on his phone was crystal clear.

 

Fortunately, He Qingchi had no real interest in snooping; she was only curious about his Moments.

 

After scrolling for a bit, she switched over to look at Shen Fu’s page.

 

The latest post was from last month—a photo of Qu Bixin, which she had taken using Shen Fu’s phone herself.

 

He Qingchi was a little surprised he hadn’t deleted it. In the comments, she noticed several mutual friends of Shen Fu and Wen Shuchen, all leaving confused question marks.

 

Shen Fu hadn’t replied.

 

Scrolling further, she saw Chen Gui’s post—a greasy selfie with unbearably cringey text. In the comments, he’d even replied to himself, trying to show off his “brotherhood” with Shen Fu.

 

Men were truly invincible when it came to shamelessness in the name of profit.

 

Then she saw Chen Gui sending Wen Shuchen a long, rambling WeChat message—pretending to stay neutral, insisting that even if Shen Fu had sided with Wen Yue, he himself would never pick sides.

 

If this were another era, people like him would’ve been dragged out and executed.

 

He Qingchi used Wen Shuchen’s phone to reply with a default smile emoji, then ignored the man completely.

 

By the time the shower stopped running, Wen Shuchen came out. He caught her just as she sneakily placed his phone back on the nightstand. His eyes held a faint smile; it seemed he’d cooled down and recovered his usual calm, composed demeanor.

 

When he got into bed and pulled her into his arms, everything felt normal again—until she was about to turn off the light, and he suddenly leaned close, his voice low and hoarse by her ear: “The man lying next to you right now is me.”

 

“Yes, yes—it’s you.”

 

Nobody was fighting him for the spot.

 

He paused, then added, “Even if Wen Yue’s jealous, it won’t change that.”

 

He Qingchi: “…”

 

She honestly thought Wen Shuchen needed medication.

 

That thought reminded her of something else. “Meng Qingchang said you’ve been so busy lately you don’t go see him anymore.”

 

“I barely have time to sleep with you,” Wen Shuchen replied evenly. “Why would I waste time chatting with him?”

 

It was true—he hadn’t gone to therapy in a long time. Ever since he’d started weaning off medication, he’d rejected Meng Qingchang’s treatment plan altogether.

 

If he didn’t have to spend every night with He Qingchi, he’d probably bury himself in work to cope with his mental strain—a method that, to him, felt more “productive” than being hypnotized into rest.

 

He Qingchi had no idea this was what went through his mind. In the dim light, she traced the tattoo along his arm and murmured drowsily, “Your father’s health probably collapsed from overwork, right? The men in your Wen family are all workaholics… My dad knew better—he took things easy, kept himself chubby and happy.”

 

Wen Shuchen understood her gentle way of expressing concern.

 

He thought about how good she was to him, pressed his handsome face against her hair, and murmured in a low voice, “Qingchi, I can’t afford to lose. If I lose… I lose you, too.”

 

The last part was so soft she barely caught it.

 

She only heard the first half—I can’t lose—and felt a faint ache in her chest.

 

What kind of life had he lived before she entered his world?

 

His biological mother had passed away years ago. His beloved grandfather was gone, too.

 

All that remained around him were a cold, ruthless father, a half-brother, and a scheming stepmother.

 

For over twenty years, the only path open to Wen Shuchen had been to seize control of the Wen family’s power.

 

Now, he had a wife—and maybe, someday, a child of his own.

 

That only made losing impossible. Even when his father was rushed into the ICU, the old man still found the strength to collude with senior board members and secretly pass his last remaining assets to Wen Yue. Wen Shuchen had to win this internal war.

 

Otherwise, the price of failure would be far too high.

 

He Qingchi rested her cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “I won’t leave you,” she whispered.

 

The day she chose to go to the civil office and sign those marriage papers, she had already decided—she would see this through, even on her knees if she had to.

 

In the months leading up to the New Year, ever since Wen Shuchen brought her to that charity auction, He Qingchi had become a familiar face among Jiangcheng’s elite wives and socialites.

 

She accepted most of the invitations she couldn’t politely refuse—showing her face, keeping appearances.

 

Wen Shuchen was barely home anyway, always buried in work. She kept herself busy, until film promotion season rolled around near the Spring Festival.

 

Since she had terminated her contract earlier, the production team called her directly.

 

After several months, she met Shu Tongyi again at the promotional event.

 

The woman’s beautiful face was still as cold and detached as ever, as if nothing in the world concerned her.

 

Everyone at the venue was curious about the relationship between the lead actress and the second female lead—hungry for gossip.

 

In the backstage lounge, He Qingchi hurriedly accepted a thin blanket from her bodyguard, covering her bare white shoulders tightly. Beside her, Shu Tongyi sat unfazed by the cold, her skin pale and bloodless under the chill air.

 

He Qingchi glanced sideways and asked, “Aren’t you cold? It’s snowing today.”

 

Shu Tongyi, ever composed, replied in her soft, cool voice, “President Wen has been busy lately, hasn’t he?”

 

Straight to the point—asking about her husband.

 

He Qingchi lowered her lashes and took a slow sip of hot water before answering, “If you want to see him, you’ll have to make an appointment with me first.”

 

In other words, depends on my mood.

 

Shu Tongyi went on, “I heard from Meng Qingchang that President Wen hasn’t visited him for more than two months.”

 

He Qingchi looked up at that.

 

“President Wen has been in treatment with Meng Qingchang for years,” Shu Tongyi continued. “Even when he was abroad, he kept regular sessions online. How could he possibly be cured after just two months?”

 

Her tone was open, not even bothering to hide her concern. Even if it crossed the line, she was determined to remind Mrs. Wen what she might be ignoring.

 

He Qingchi’s dark eyes fixed on her, then—without warning—she asked quietly, “Wen Shuchen isn’t just emotionally detached, is he?”

 

Shu Tongyi’s expression faltered slightly, her cool voice turning sharp. “I’m not at liberty to discuss President Wen’s condition.”

 

“He also has violent tendencies,” He Qingchi said evenly, finishing the thought for her.

 

Shu Tongyi’s lips went pale—whether from the cold or something else, it was impossible to tell.

 

He Qingchi understood immediately. She finished the last sip of her hot water and smiled faintly. “I already guessed. There’s no point hiding it.”

 

His sculpted abs and full-sleeve tattoos were evidence enough.

 

Shu Tongyi didn’t deny it. “Are you afraid of him?”

 

“I’m trying to overcome it.” 

 

He Qingchi answered plainly—no evasion, no self-deception.

 

With her childhood trauma, it was impossible not to fear him. All she could do was fight through it, one step at a time.

 

Shu Tongyi added in the same calm tone, “You’d better persuade him to see a doctor soon—and to take his medication regularly. Those things can’t be stopped at will.”

 

In that regard, she spoke as someone with deep personal experience—and not a single lie in her words. 

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