Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 89 - Are You Even Afraid of His Voice Now?
Chapter 89: Are You Even Afraid of His Voice Now?
Shen Fu used only three minutes and a business card to send the driver of the other car away.
He stood straight outside the car in a fitted suit, a black overcoat draped over his arm but not yet worn. His clean, slender fingers tapped on the window a few times. When it was slowly rolled down, his gaze tightened as he looked at the two women inside. His thin lips moved slightly as he spoke: “Get out.”
Qu Bixin unfastened her seatbelt and stepped out first. The moment she stood on the curb, her slender shoulders were suddenly covered — he had draped the black coat over her.
On the other side, He Qingchi lifted the hem of her gown as she got out. Her shoulders were already wrapped in a soft shawl, so she wasn’t cold. But watching Shen Fu’s every movement under the dim night light, she couldn’t help but think how naturally he did it —
Coming to pick them up and still remembering to bring Qu Bixin a coat…
Shen Fu had them both get into his car, leaving the one parked at the roadside behind.
He Qingchi wanted to refuse, but didn’t feel like making the situation awkward for everyone.
Besides, if she didn’t get into Shen Fu’s car, she’d either have to take off her heels and tear her dress to drive herself home, or wait around for her bodyguards to come get her.
After weighing it over, she decided to let Shen Fu enjoy playing chauffeur.
After getting in the car.
Qu Bixin predictably abandoned her “plastic sisterhood” and went straight for the passenger seat beside Shen Fu. After her trip to Japan for cosmetic surgery, she seemed to have shed all traces of emotional immaturity — becoming sharper, calmer.
Whether she and Shen Fu still had a marriage certificate didn’t matter to her anymore.
Neither did whatever this current relationship was supposed to be.
The car started moving. He Qingchi sat quietly in the back seat. Occasionally, through the rearview mirror, she caught Shen Fu’s eyes flicking toward her — calm, unreadable.
She lowered her long lashes and glanced at her gown and the soft shawl on her shoulders, feeling nothing out of place.
Just as she began to wonder, Shen Fu’s phone rang. He picked up, said two short sentences, then hung up.
Qu Bixin yawned and looked at the street outside. Realizing they’d taken a wrong turn, she spoke: “I’m not going back to the Qu house. Drop me off in President Wen’s neighborhood — same direction as He Qingchi anyway.”
Even though things weren’t as tense between her and Shen Fu as during their divorce, Qu Bixin wasn’t dumb enough to start crawling back.
She ordered him around without guilt, clearly intent on taking advantage.
Shen Fu slowed the car, turned his head to look at her.
Qu Bixin smiled, idly spinning her phone in her fingers — clearly believing that whatever she held on that device gave her control.
After a pause, Shen Fu’s cool voice sounded: “I need to stop somewhere nearby. You can wait in the car.”
The steering wheel was in his hands — who could refuse?
Qu Bixin glared silently, folding her arms.
With Shen Fu present, the car might as well have been soundproof — the air between them was heavy with silence.
He said it was nearby, but ten minutes later the car only stopped in front of a private boxing gym.
After turning off the engine, Shen Fu handed Qu Bixin a bottle of water.
She was still looking out the window, distracted, until the bottle appeared in front of her. Her lips were dry, but she shook her head. “I’m not thirsty. Give it to He Qingchi.”
Shen Fu said nothing. He twisted the cap open, took a sip himself — and suddenly reached out, cupping the back of her head. Without caring that someone was sitting in the back seat, he leaned in close.
His broad shoulders blocked the view; He Qingchi couldn’t see exactly what he did.
But she wasn’t stupid — that posture meant only one thing. Mouth to mouth. Feeding her water. And kissing her, right in front of her.
If the free spectator was shocked, Qu Bixin was petrified. Her body stiffened, ears burning red as she stared wide-eyed at the man’s sharply defined features just inches away.
She forgot to even struggle as the cool water slid from his mouth to hers —
And the kiss slowly deepened…
He Qingchi wasn’t timing it, but after what felt like twenty minutes, she gave up pretending not to notice.
At first she thought it would end after one sip. But the longer she waited, the more endless it seemed. Two minutes turned to five, then ten — and still, from the looks of it, they were still kissing.
Finally, she lifted her skirt and got out of the car, walking a little way down the road on her heels.
She looked up at the moon, wondering what was worse — Shen Fu’s audacity or the fact that men seemed to think kissing had to last half an hour.
Either way, she was pretty sure she’d never ride in a car with Shen Fu and Qu Bixin again.
Who knew if they’d stop halfway next time just to make out?
A few minutes later, while she was still outside in the cold night air, the car door opened.
Shen Fu stepped out, straightening his collar — creased by a woman’s hand — his face calm as though nothing had happened, except for the faint redness of his lips.
He Qingchi didn’t look directly at him. She just thought to herself, please, just handle your business and don’t talk to me.
But of course, fate didn’t listen. Shen Fu walked toward her, his deep voice cutting through the quiet: “Qu Bixin’s accommodations are taken care of. I won’t be driving to the wealthy district tonight.”
He Qingchi blinked, confused — was he implying she should get her own ride?
Then he added, “President Wen is nearby. I’ll take you to him.”
He Qingchi had long suspected things between Shen Fu and Wen Shuchen weren’t as simple as they looked, but she had to be sure. “By President Wen, you mean Wen Shuchen, right?”
Because if he meant Wen Yue instead —
She’d honestly want to dig up Shen Fu’s ancestors just to curse them out.
Shen Fu’s tone was flat. “Who else would I mean?”
Hearing it was indeed Wen Shuchen, He Qingchi felt a bit relieved.
Still, she glanced toward the car, the tinted windows hiding the passenger seat. “Qu Bixin isn’t getting out?”
Shen Fu’s lips parted slightly. His answer was short: “She’s asleep.”
Kissing for half an hour—
And Qu Bixin could actually fall asleep?
He Qingchi’s eyes were filled with disbelief. She was about to go over and check when Shen Fu had already opened the car door first. From a few steps away, she could see Qu Bixin leaning quietly against the seatback.
A second later, the car door closed with a sharp bang.
Shen Fu pointed toward the private boxing gym ahead, his tone as calm as ever. “President Wen is inside.”
Normally, a private boxing club like this would be busy.
But tonight, the owner had closed it to the public — and the atmosphere inside was unmistakably off.
The moment He Qingchi lifted her gown and stepped through the door, she wanted to turn right back. But Shen Fu noticed and turned his head, his voice quiet and even: “Miss He, there are no outsiders here.”
The meaning was clear — don’t worry, no one will hurt you.
He Qingchi’s gaze swept forward — among the men in black suits, she spotted a familiar face.
Song Chao’s cousin — Song Beibei.
She resumed walking and stopped beside Shen Fu, eyes forward. “Aren’t you afraid someone will see you meeting with Wen Shuchen?”
Shen Fu’s expression was unreadable, his reply deliberately vague. “Once you’re with President Wen, I’ll leave.”
As she followed him inside, He Qingchi looked around in confusion. Soon, she saw two rows of black-suited bodyguards standing face-to-face below an elevated platform.
They stood perfectly still, disciplined — and on the platform in the center were two all-too-familiar figures.
Her breath caught for a few seconds. She turned to look at Shen Fu.
He said lightly, with a trace of amusement, “Wen Yue isn’t an outsider either, is he?”
Playing with words again. His face, however, was utterly composed. He Qingchi’s eyelashes trembled as she looked at the two men on the platform — Wen Shuchen and Wen Yue, stripped of shirts and ties, locked in a brutal, close-quarters fight. Her eyelashes trembled several times, and she almost instinctively wanted to leave. She stepped on the ground with high heels and just lifted them up, but was blocked by Shen Fu.
The next second.
Wen Yue’s vague gaze on the stage scanned the distance below the stage and then returned to Wen Shuchen.
Under the lights, their chests were taut with muscle, their sharp features half-hidden by shadows and bruises. Sweat dripped from their foreheads. Their eyes were cold, fierce, and merciless.
Ever since Wen Yue’s true identity had been revealed at the Wen family estate, Wen Shuchen’s attitude had completely changed. Whenever he got the chance, he’d beat this half-brother — the “elder brother” in name only — to the ground.
Half of their skill came from years of fighting each other.
Wen Yue took a punch but only gave a low, dark laugh, wiping blood from his mouth. Each word was deliberate, provocative, and venomous: “Sooner or later, I’ll have He Qingchi.”
That line crossed every boundary.
Wen Shuchen’s attacks turned vicious — his movements sharp, precise, fueled by rage that could kill.
There was an unspoken rule between them: until one of them was thrown off the platform, the bodyguards wouldn’t intervene.
Even if Wen Shuchen beat Wen Yue half to death, as long as Wen Yue didn’t call for help.
Everyone else remained bystanders.
Tonight, after provoking Wen Shuchen, Wen Yue was getting the worst beating of his life — yet barely fought back.
His face was a mask of blood, but he still smiled. Once, he might have countered, but not now. Now, he didn’t even want to fight — only to provoke. His voice was hoarse, steady: “He Qingchi’s hair smells so good…”
……
On the platform, it was no longer a match — it was a blood fight.
He Qingchi stood frozen, her fingers unconsciously digging into her palm until thin lines of blood seeped through. The sting was nothing compared to the pounding of her heart.
Shen Fu was gone, just as he’d said he would be.
He Qingchi closed her eyes briefly, but she couldn’t erase the image of Wen Shuchen on the platform.
The man who, in her presence, had always been calm, gentle, and restrained. But this—this was someone she didn’t know
Even after knocking Wen Yue to the ground, after clearly winning, he didn’t stop.
The guards must have sensed something wrong, because two of them finally rushed forward to separate the brothers.
Chaos erupted. He Qingchi stepped back slowly, little by little, until her slender figure melted into the shadows.
Ten minutes later.
Wen Shuchen strode down from the platform. Under the bright lights, his handsome face was streaked with blood — a red line running down his jaw.
His chest rose and fell with deep breaths. A bodyguard handed him a clean white towel. His expression was tight, emotionless, as he wiped the blood from his fingers.
The towel, now stained with Wen Yue’s blood, was tossed into the trash.
The air around him was ice-cold. The guards didn’t dare approach as he headed toward the exit.
A few steps later, he stopped.
In the corner — the shadows — he saw her. A woman standing quietly, wrapped in a sleek black evening gown that hugged every curve, blending into the dark. Silent, nearly invisible — unless one looked closely.
Wen Shuchen didn’t know how long she’d been there. The violent intensity in his eyes vanished in an instant, replaced by a practiced, gentle calm. “Qingchi…” he said softly.
But as soon as he spoke, he saw her shoulders flinch.
Was she… even afraid of his voice now?
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