Marry by Relying on Favor: Chapter 96 - The Bond between Husband and Wife
Chapter 96: The Bond between Husband and Wife
The night outside the window was growing darker. Inside the hospital room, only a dim lamp was on. The man stood motionless by the bedside, his tall silhouette casting a distant, desolate air over the room.
He Qingchi stood outside the room and didn’t go in. She simply watched his calm, silent back.
Wen Jingchun’s passing caught everyone off guard. No one could guess what he was thinking in his final moments. Did he regret that even while lying on his deathbed, he still spent all his remaining effort revealing his last trump card to pave the way for Wen Yue in the company—delivering one final blow to Wen Shuchen with his own hands?
Parental favoritism—sometimes no matter how hard children think, they can never understand it.
He Qingchi gently closed the door and stood alone in the corridor, watching as the people who had rushed to the hospital after hearing the news gathered—she looked on like an outsider.
Some covered their faces in tears, others asked about arrangements. Most had already mentally prepared themselves long ago for this day to come.
Soft whispers and sobbing surrounded her. Seeing these family members, He Qingchi could already imagine what Wen Shuchen would be facing next—especially with Qiu Jin and Wen Yue still eyeing the situation greedily from the sidelines.
It was late at night when He Qingchi finally left the hospital, heavily shielded by bodyguards as she got into the car. Not even half of her face was captured by the reporters waiting outside.
Wen Shuchen still couldn’t return home—there was far too much he had to personally handle.
Inside the car.
He Qingchi leaned against the seat, looking pale as she gently massaged her temples.
Following orders, Song Chao was driving her back. From the front passenger seat, he handed her a cup of water. “Madam, get a good night’s rest when you get home. President Wen will handle everything else.”
She took the cup, only wetting her lips. “Back then, when Wen Jingchun was forcibly stripped of power by Wen Shuchen, he refused to play his final card. Now, to pave the way for Wen Yue, he’s doing all this even on his deathbed. I’m afraid there’s still more to come.”
“Isn’t that the truth.”
Song Chao also seemed to have a bellyful of complaints he couldn’t voice in front of Wen Shuchen. Now in private, he finally let some of it out: “Word’s already spread from the old house—Wen Jingchun left all of his assets to the illegitimate son and even listed President Wen’s ‘unfilial behavior’ in his will. Once that will is made public, the media will have more than enough to run with.”
“Madam, they’re both his sons, but the way he treats them… he’s acting as if President Wen was picked up from the streets—”
Just from these few sentences, He Qingchi could already picture how difficult Wen Shuchen’s youth must have been, and how hard the path to where he stood today really was.
“The old loyalists in the company are all siding with Wen Yue now… Madam, you must keep your principles. Don’t get swayed by those monsters outside.”
At first, He Qingchi didn’t fully understand Song Chao’s emotional advice, but she quickly realized what he meant.
She returned to Wen Shuchen’s private villa, leaving several bodyguards behind, and sent Song Chao back to the hospital to stay with Wen Shuchen.
After nine at night, the lights upstairs in the master bedroom were still on.
She had no intention of sleeping. After changing into a robe in the bathroom, she sat on the carpet before the floor-to-ceiling window, hugging her knees as she stared at the halo of the streetlights outside. If Wen Shuchen came home, she would see him from this angle the moment he returned.
Just then, He Qingchi received a call from an unfamiliar number.
At first she didn’t know who it was—until the caller stated his purpose: he wanted to buy her Wen family shares.
For a moment, she wondered if the man on the phone was joking with her.
The shares she held came from the old master of the Wen family—allocated to her in the will because she married Wen Shuchen. Even if she were to give them up, it certainly wouldn’t be to the people calling her now.
The caller seemed to expect that she would refuse and still suggested she “think it over.”
He Qingchi hung up immediately and blacklisted the number.
What kind of people were these?!
She tossed her phone aside and lay back on the carpet, turning her face toward the spotless glass. Her dark hair spread loosely around her.
From dusk until dawn, and then for the next three full days—
Wen Shuchen had no time to return to the villa. He stayed at the old house, personally managing Wen Jingchun’s funeral arrangements. He Qingchi also went there, but each time she didn’t stay long before being sent home again.
Wen Shuchen didn’t want her staying at the old house, nor did he want her interacting too much with the family members.
Wen Jingchun’s will was eventually made public. Even after death, in order to secure Wen Yue’s position in the company, he went as far as trying to drag Wen Shuchen down with him. The Wen family’s internal conflict had long been a favorite topic among the media—any hint of movement would instantly become a major headline.
The funeral hadn’t even begun, yet rumors were already spreading about the Wen family heir suffering from mental illness.
Such a despicable tactic—He Qingchi found herself once again witnessing Wen Yue’s shamelessness.
While the outside world buzzed with gossip, Wen Shuchen continued preparing the funeral. The weather remained gloomy with constant rain—just when it had finally begun to warm, the cold returned.
On the evening before the funeral, family members of status all gathered at the old house.
He Qingchi stayed on the second floor with the women of the Wen clan. With Wen Shuchen’s arrangements, she didn’t need to do anything—she just had to sit quietly, speaking very little.
Qiu Jin had already recovered after these days. She wore an elegant black dress with light makeup and a feathered black veil that covered half her face. Her eyes were always red, and she occasionally dabbed at tears with a handkerchief.
In the side sitting room, He Qingchi sat opposite her, lowering her lashes as she drank her tea.
When the middle-aged matriarch on the other sofa went downstairs, leaving no outsiders in the room, Qiu Jin finally spoke: “Why must Shuchen force us like this? Before his father died, he only wanted Yue’er to have a foothold in the Wen family. Now Shuchen is using such methods to drive us out—it’s as if he won’t rest until Jingchun dies with regrets.”
He Qingchi leisurely finished the last sip of tea and held the cup in her fingers. “The elders who actually have authority—your grandaunt and the uncles—are all sitting downstairs right now. If you want to go shout injustice, you can go. I won’t stop you.”
Qiu Jin’s position was shaky to begin with. If she dared act out at such an important moment, the respected elders would surely scold her harshly.
The grandaunt from Yancheng alone would never let her off. That was why Qiu Jin cried about “a pitiful mother and child” to everyone these days, cried to the media, cried whenever anyone was around—yet never dared to speak of “dying without peace.”
He Qingchi’s one sentence silenced her immediately—the look on her face was priceless.
After a long while, Qiu Jin wiped away the pretense of tears and said quietly, “What benefits did Wen Shuchen give your He family? Enough that your father supports him so fiercely—not even considering switching to a different son-in-law?”
After He Qingchi received that call from someone trying to buy her shares…
Wen Yue’s people also contacted the He family, offering countless “benefits” in exchange for her shares.
They even claimed she would forever remain the Wen family’s young madam, and that half of the Wen family’s future empire would be hers.
But neither He Qingchi nor the He family felt any temptation at all.
If Wen Shuchen was willing to give her something from the Wen family, then it was hers.
If he wasn’t, He Qingchi had never once thought of taking anything for herself.
She didn’t respond. Qiu Jin added, “Compared to Wen Shuchen, who’s had psychological problems for years and never been cured, my Yue’er is at least a normal person. How is he any worse? He Qingchi, don’t you have childhood trauma? Aren’t you afraid he might strangle you in bed one night?”
He Qingchi’s calm gaze instantly turned cold. She looked at Qiu Jin without emotion. “I haven’t done anything I’d be ashamed of—why should I be afraid? But you, Mrs. Qiu… You’ve lived in this old house for over ten years. Have you ever considered that Wen Shuchen’s mother might still be alive?”
Qiu Jin met her dark, cool stare and inexplicably felt a chill run down her back.
“You and he have less than a year of feelings between you. Where would any deep ‘marital affection’ come from!”
The implication was that He Qingchi was being insincere.
If this were any ordinary woman—married less than a year, hardly knowing the man for two months, her husband hiding countless secrets, burdened with a psychological condition untreated for years, with even hints of violent tendencies—
Any woman hearing that would feel fear, would hesitate whether she should continue the marriage.
That was why Qiu Jin felt confident saying at least Wen Yue was “normal.”
She had always thought He Qingchi was rational and calm—a woman who could assess situations clearly. If something better was placed before her, why cling stubbornly to Wen Shuchen?
What Wen Shuchen could give her, Wen Yue could give too…
But Qiu Jin viewed relationships too much as transactions. After a long pause, He Qingchi finally spoke: “You can assume Wen Shuchen and I are a plastic marriage if you want. But even so, Wen Yue is the last person qualified to replace him.”
Qiu Jin nearly slammed the table in anger, but accidentally knocked the teacup to the floor.
It shattered, splashing hot tea across her hand and reddening the skin. She hissed in pain.
He Qingchi watched coldly and slowly rose to leave the side room.
Outside, the rain was pouring heavier. All the windows on the second floor were tightly shut. The hallway lights were dim, giving the entire place a suffocating air.
He Qingchi had barely stepped out when she ran directly into a man emerging from a nearby room.
Wen Yue had his black sleeves rolled up, revealing a strong forearm, and was wiping something off with a handkerchief. His eyelids lifted, and his gaze landed on He Qingchi standing not far down the hallway—and then he didn’t look away.
The atmosphere seemed to freeze. He Qingchi lowered her gaze, intending to pass by quietly.
There was nothing to say between her and Wen Yue.
As they brushed past each other, Wen Yue looked closely at her cool side profile and asked, “Back then, the kidnappers were targeting Wen Shuchen. You were dragged in only because you were with him, yet your He family accepted him afterward—and even despise me more. Don’t you think that’s unfair?”
Her footsteps paused. She turned to look at him.
Wen Yue extended a finger as if wanting to touch her hair.
He Qingchi’s eyes cooled, but she didn’t dodge—she simply stared straight at him.
In the end, Wen Yue didn’t touch her. The faint smile at the corner of his mouth was barely there. “Wen Shuchen has always been too lucky. He even managed to marry you before I could. People like him… Heaven won’t let them live their lives too perfectly.”
It sounded like a warning, delivered with a poisonous mind.
He Qingchi didn’t want to waste a single word on him. Her lightly colored lips pressed together.
Wen Yue didn’t care about her attitude. He didn’t particularly love He Qingchi.
But among all the women he had encountered in his life, she was the most unique existence.
Why was it always Wen Shuchen who obtained the best things? Whatever Wen Yue wanted, he had to fight and claw for himself.
Wen Yue’s gaze darkened, his voice low and unnervingly obsessed as he told her, “If you want it, Shen Tingji can step aside for you anytime. When I topple Wen Shuchen in the future, your position won’t be affected at all. Everyone in the Wen family will still call you Madam Wen.”
“I think you’re the one who needs medication.”
He Qingchi looked at him as if he were insane. She tossed the words coldly and turned away, ignoring Wen Yue’s unrestrained quiet laughter behind her as she headed toward the third floor.
When she reached another master bedroom, she paused, closed her eyes, and only after smoothing away all traces of emotion did she push the door open.
Inside, the lights were dim—only the bedside lamp was on.
He Qingchi gently closed the door. In the quiet darkness, she saw Wen Shuchen sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to her, his long hand resting on his knee, gripping a white medicine bottle.
For some reason, it felt like he was holding it too tightly.
These past few days, he alone had been dealing with everything—the entire family, the company, every crisis.
She hadn’t even had the chance to rest with him for a moment. She didn’t know how he spent his nights at the old house. Because the funeral was tomorrow, she also wasn’t planning to return to the villa tonight.
Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she walked toward him, slowing until she stopped directly in front of him.
She bent down, kneeling lightly on the floor, and lifted her cool, fair hand to cup Wen Shuchen’s handsome face.
Under the dim light, she saw the redness in his eyes.
They had barely spoken or seen each other all day. Seeing him like this made her chest tighten. She asked softly, “Do you want to take your meds? I can get you some water.”
Wen Shuchen held the bottle tightly in his left hand but didn’t open it.
After a long while, he suddenly lowered his head. His voice rolled in his throat several times before coming out hoarse and unclear: “I’m fine.”
As if afraid she wouldn’t believe him, he added in a low, heavy tone, “I’m doing well.”
He Qingchi’s fingertips brushed the corner of his eye—bloodshot and strained.
“If you won’t take the medicine and just hold the bottle like this… I’ll worry.”
She directly confessed her most genuine emotion—that she was worried about him.
Ever since Wen Jingchun died, Wen Shuchen hadn’t opened up to anyone. He spoke normally to others, perfectly normal—but the more normal he acted, the more she feared for his mental state.
When he reached up and switched off the only lamp, as if not wanting her to see the bloodshot in his eyes, He Qingchi’s breathing hitched slightly. Her fingers searched along the contours of his sculpted, slightly gaunt face. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking… okay?”
Wen Shuchen took her cool fingertips into his hand. The medicine bottle slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor, scattering tablets across her black skirt. Neither of them cared. His deep eyes fixed on the woman before him, and after a long time, he pulled her tightly into his arms.
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