In the bedroom sat a chic white aromatherapy humidifier, curling white mist carrying the scent of agarwood.
Right in front of Chen Luoru, Meng Jianchen unbuckled his belt, pulled open his shirt, revealing honey-colored chest muscles and a firm waist and abdomen.
He usually paid great attention to maintaining his figure, working out at least twice a week. There was practically no excess flesh on him—he was the perfect example of “slim in clothes, muscular without.”
The man’s figure was cast by the light onto the wall opposite the bed, looking all the more tall and strong.
Chen Luoru’s face turned as red as a tomato. She covered her eyes with one hand while pushing against his waist with the other, crying out in alarm:
“Don’t take your clothes off!”
But her hand missed its mark, and ended up covering the one spot she absolutely should not be touching.
Chen Luoru: “……”
Like a cat struck by lightning, she leapt up from the bed.
“You hooligan!” A soft goose-feather pillow flew across and hit his lower abdomen, which Meng Jianchen caught easily and tossed onto the floor.
He grabbed her small foot. Chen Luoru was frightened—she was no match for his strength.
“Let me go!” Her pink fists rained down on him like raindrops—“thump thump thump”—but Meng Jianchen felt nothing at all.
Did he even care about face anymore? This was bad—she had played herself into trouble with her little act.
Not knowing how to make him stop, Chen Luoru grew so anxious she began to cry.
Bean-sized tears rolled down her cheeks and dropped with a “plop” onto his head, spreading warmth from a single spot.
“Ham-sup lo! (she said this is Cantonese: literally “salty-wet old man,” a nasty way of saying sleazy pervert.)
The insult tumbled from her lips, sharp and furious.
Realizing that Meng Jianchen couldn’t understand Cantonese, she switched to Mandarin and shouted:
“Old lecher!”
Meng Jianchen: “……”
“Lecher” was one thing—but “old”? What did she mean by that?
Seeing Meng Jianchen finally stop, Chen Luoru shoved him away, got out of bed, and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard it rattled the walls.
She stood in front of the mirror, inspecting herself.
Her lipstick had been completely chewed off by that dog of a man, her messy hair clung to her cheeks, and her clothes were in total disarray.
Chen Luoru felt so wronged she wanted to cry again.
But then—the bathroom door pushed open.
Meng Jianchen leaned lazily against the doorframe, his gaze cool and detached. He asked, “Did your memory come back yet?”
Chen Luoru glared at him, eyes red and swollen like a rabbit’s.
“Look at what you’ve done!” she exploded, puffed up with anger like a spiky little blowfish.
Meng Jianchen walked over and began straightening her clothes for her.
That tiny gesture set off all her emotions. When had she ever suffered such humiliation?
“Wuwuwu… you saw me naked!” She pummeled his chest with her little fists. “How are you going to make it up to me!? How!?”
She had completely forgotten that she was the one who started this prank in the first place.
“Didn’t you see me too?” Meng Jianchen caught her fists. “We’re even.”
Chen Luoru nearly choked on her own breath. “Who wanted to look at you? Ugh, I feel like my eyes are dirty now!”
Meng Jianchen chuckled softly, giving her a long look.
Under the glaring white bathroom light, her crescent-pale skin looked even more tender and translucent. Her soft lips still carried a faint strawberry gloss.
This little woman could kick up a fuss, sure—but cute was cute, and pretty was still pretty.
Back in the bedroom, Chen Luoru sat silently on the sofa.
She refused to get on the bed. The moment Meng Jianchen sat beside her, she bristled like a porcupine and turned away.
“Alright, enough. Don’t make a scene,” Meng Jianchen said. “Haven’t you raised enough fuss for one night?”
Chen Luoru pouted, refusing to answer.
Her sulking made him laugh. She was as full of little schemes as a field of mole tunnels, insisting on this amnesia game with him.
He’d even cut short the board meeting, postponed his appointment with President Peng, all to come home and play along with her act.
Chen Luoru held her breath, sniffed, and muttered, “You didn’t even apologize.”
“It’s my fault,” Meng Jianchen said quickly, unwilling to quarrel with her.
“And what exactly was your fault?” She fixed him with a prosecutor’s glare.
“My fault was…” He thought for a moment. “That I wasn’t at fault.”
Her pupils widened—she was about to die of sheer exasperation. “If you weren’t wrong, then why apologize!?”
“When you say I’m wrong but I’m actually not,” Meng Jianchen shook his head and sighed, “that’s where I’m gravely wrong.”
“You—!” She was so stunned she couldn’t even find words. Was this supposed to be an apology or just calling her unreasonable?
Her eyes fell on the bowl of noodles on the coffee table, and suddenly she had an idea.
Crossing one leg over the other, she slanted him a sideways glance and said, “If apologizing was enough, why would we need the police?”
“The police deal with family squabbles now?” Meng Jianchen shot back. “Which police? The ones in the middle of the Pacific Ocean?”
“I don’t care. This matter needs a proper resolution.”
“And what resolution is that?” he asked.
Chen Luoru picked up the bowl of noodles. “I made this specially for you.”
“That’s your dinner,” Meng Jianchen said.
He’d never let her go hungry. Worried she’d mess it up, he’d even arranged for the head chef to coach her from the side.
“No way. I worked hard to make it—you must eat it. This is my first time cooking. You’d better give me face.”
Meng Jianchen looked from her to the noodles. “I’ve already eaten. You haven’t had dinner yet.”
She wouldn’t let it go. “Are you eating or not?”
Hands on hips, eyes blazing, she looked exactly like a little tigress.
Seeing her so fierce only confirmed his suspicion: something was definitely wrong with this bowl of noodles. No wonder she’d rather starve than eat it herself.
The air in the room froze. Neither of them would touch the bowl.
Chen Luoru covered her face and pretended to cry: “My husband rejects the noodles I slaved over… how can I go on living like this, wuwuwu!”
“You treat me so coldly, and then blame me for threatening divorce every day. Is that my fault?”
She flopped dramatically against the sofa armrest, shoulders trembling—whether with real tears or fake ones was anyone’s guess.
Meng Jianchen sat motionless on the sofa, staring at the noodles in silence.
At last, he said, “Fine. I’ll take a bite. Happy?”
She stopped crying immediately, rubbed her eyes, and urged, “Then hurry up. They won’t taste good once they’re cold.”
So caring—what did he ever do to deserve such a considerate wife?
Under her eager gaze, he picked up the chopsticks.
Then, suddenly thinking of something, he set them back down.
“From now on, no more talk of divorce,” Meng Jianchen said solemnly.
“Just eat first.” Chen Luoru cupped her face in her hands, batting her damp lashes at him.
“Promise me first,” he pressed.
“Fine, fine, I promise,” she said perfunctorily, her real attention fixed on watching him make a fool of himself.
Only then did he pick up some noodles and put them in his mouth.
Chen Luoru braced for him to grimace in agony—but his expression stayed calm and composed. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
Wait, what? She’d dumped in handfuls of salt. How could he take it so easily?
“You’re not… affected?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“What reaction were you hoping for?” He raised an eyebrow.
Chen Luoru: “……”
She couldn’t exactly admit she’d wanted him to keel over from salt overdose.
He gave her a meaningful look. “I’m going to shower.”
With that, he set the chopsticks down and headed to the bathroom.
Chen Luoru was unwilling to accept it. No way he could stay so calm after that!
She picked up the chopsticks, cautiously lifted a strand of noodle, and tasted it with her tongue.
Pfft!
It was sweet! She’d mistaken sugar for salt!
No wonder that damn man had eaten it so calmly!!!
The next morning, Chen Luoru acted like nothing had happened as she ate breakfast in the dining room.
The butler and servants of the villa all seemed to have collectively “forgotten” last night’s prank—after all, the mistress of the house had to be shown some face.
On the surface she ate calmly, but inside her heart was scratching like a cat.
Her painstakingly staged “amnesia battle” hadn’t hurt him at all—it had only backfired on her a thousandfold.
Not only had she been made to do chores, she’d been kissed, looked at, and—humiliated!
And the one time she’d managed to trick him into eating her noodles… they turned out sweet! Tragic!
She bit viciously into a custard bun, imagining it was Meng Jianchen’s head.
“I’m off to the office,” Meng Jianchen said after finishing breakfast, as usual bidding her goodbye.
Chen Luoru turned her head away, her expression clearly saying Get lost.
【Chen Luoru: This marriage is unlivable.】
【Chen Xiao: Weekly complaint log, 3 out of 7.】
【Chen Luoru: 3 out of 7? What do you mean?】
【Chen Xiao: Today’s Wednesday. This is your third day this week complaining your life is unbearable. At this rate, you’ll hit 7 out of 7 by Sunday.】
【Chen Luoru: This time it’s really unlivable. You don’t know the inhuman torment I suffered last night.】
【Chen Xiao: Covers my little ears, can’t hear you.jpg】
Ignoring Chen Xiao’s cat-with-ears-covered meme, Chen Luoru began pouring out her grievances.
Chen Xiao, ever the efficient summarizer, quickly highlighted the “key points” of her essay of complaints:
【Chen Xiao: So, the ‘torment’ was: 1) Mopping one room’s floor; 2) Pouring a glass of red wine; 3) Cooking a bowl of noodles (two steps: add noodles, sprinkle scallions).】
【Chen Xiao: If that counts as torment, then every couple on earth should just get divorced.】
【Chen Luoru: This was an attack on my dignity. My spirit suffered unbearable trauma. That’s what you can’t see with the naked eye.】
【Chen Xiao: Honestly, I think your husband’s trauma is worse.】
【Chen Xiao: He rushed home in a panic, probably imagining you had some terminal illness, maybe even lined up a hospital for you—only to discover you were faking amnesia.】
【Chen Xiao: And he still doesn’t divorce you? That means he really loves you.】
【Chen Luoru: I wish he’d divorce me.】
【Chen Xiao: If even reading novels can’t stop you from causing trouble, then I admit defeat.】
【Chen Luoru: I got the idea from a novel.】
In most novels, amnesia was used as a shortcut to overnight wish-fulfillment. But Chen Luoru? She flipped the script.
【Chen Luoru: Anyway, I’m going to find more novels to read.】
【Chen Xiao: ?】
【Chen Luoru: I need to see what other tricks I can use to finally get divorced.】
【Chen Xiao: ……】
Chen Xiao could only shake her head. Who could understand the whimsical minds of the rich?
Meanwhile, as Chen Luoru lost herself in a sea of domineering-CEO romance novels, Meng Jianchen had already arrived at Jinghong Tower.
Seeing him perfectly fine, Gao Qian knew Chen Luoru must be alright, and proceeded to brief him on the day’s schedule.
Not much was planned. After listening, Meng Jianchen suddenly asked, “Anything new in the president’s mailbox lately?”
He had set up the special inbox after taking office—so employees of Jinghong could anonymously submit opinions or suggestions.
This mailbox was managed by Meng Jianchen’s secretaries. He had more than one, but Gao Qian was the most senior.
Gao Qian immediately reported,
“Lately, there’ve been quite a few employee submissions. They mostly fall into three categories. First: too much work. Second: too little entertainment. Third: the President himself…”
He hesitated, but Meng Jianchen said calmly, “Speak freely.”
Gao Qian, uneasy, confessed,
“They say the President feels… out of touch.”
“Out of touch?” Meng Jianchen’s brows knit slightly.
“They say you rarely smile, that you’re like a dragon glimpsed but never fully seen, and that you don’t really immerse yourself in the work or daily lives of your employees,” Gao Qian explained.
Unruffled, Meng Jianchen asked, “And what do you suggest?”
After a pause, Gao Qian ventured,
“Perhaps you could occasionally dine in the staff canteen. It might help close the distance.”
Inside Jinghong Tower there was indeed a staff cafeteria. Executives of higher rank usually ate in a separate dining hall; the two groups never mixed.
Meng Jianchen rarely went to either, let alone the cafeteria. Still, he decided to take Gao Qian’s advice and announced he would eat there at noon that very day.
At twelve o’clock, lunchtime arrived.
Accompanied by Gao Qian, Meng Jianchen made his way to the staff cafeteria.
Jinghong’s employee benefits were excellent. The canteen might not serve rare delicacies, but it offered a rich variety of cuisines.
By the time they arrived, the cafeteria was already packed, bustling with noise and chatter.
Just outside the glass doors, a booming male voice could be heard reciting dramatically inside:
“As the saying goes: ‘Enemies are fated to meet, but when will the feud ever end? Better to sever ties while alive, since in death all bonds are void.’”
At the very center sat a bowl-cut employee, surrounded by a crowd.
Finishing his prologue, he flipped a bowl upside down, smacked it against the table, and declared,
“Today, let me tell you a tale of love and scandal in the capital!”
“Bravo!” the crowd clapped and whooped.
“Now then—on Chang’an Avenue in the capital, there stood a powerful household, the illustrious Meng clan. Wealth beyond measure, vast and unchallenged. And in this generation, the Mengs had only one young master.”
“The young master was gifted in looks and talent. When he came of age, the Meng family sought him a match. And which household’s daughter had the honor?”
He tapped his chopsticks against the bowl with a crisp ding, then continued with relish,
“Ah yes—that would be the Chen family of Lingnan.”
“The Chen family had two daughters. The elder, the young master’s age. The younger, not yet grown. The elders arranged the marriage between the Meng heir and the Chen family’s elder daughter. A perfect match, a fine story.”
“But alas! Heaven plays its tricks. On the wedding day, the bride who stood at the altar with the young master was none other than the younger daughter!”
The onlookers leaned in, thoroughly entertained.
The bowl-cut employee animatedly went on,
“This younger daughter, extravagant to the bone, spent money like water. And when the young master dragged her back from England, she hauled along a plane full of Hermès, Louis Vuitton, Prada, Chanel—”
He hadn’t even finished the word Chanel when a slow, deliberate clap broke the air at the door.
Everyone turned.
Meng Jianchen stood there, face like stone, eyes like blades.
Lowering his hands, he sneered coldly,
“Shall I build you a stage while I’m at it?”
Gao Qian quickly wiped the sweat from his forehead and waved his hands furiously to scatter the crowd.
Really, these people must have eaten leopard gall and bear heart. Idle gossip behind closed doors was one thing, but now they were out here, performing like storytellers under a bridge?
Too much work? Too little entertainment?
Clearly the opposite: too little work, far too much entertainment!
The crowd broke apart like frightened birds.
In an instant, the lively cafeteria turned into an icy grave of silence.
Meng Jianchen strode in, expressionless. He took a tray, chose two dishes, a bowl of soup, and a scoop of rice.
Every neck craned toward him.
Truly, he was a scion of refinement. Even in a cafeteria, he ate with the elegance of Michelin three stars. A sight to behold.
This wasn’t “blending in with the employees.” This was a banished immortal condescending to dine among mortals.
Perhaps because the silence was oppressive, Meng Jianchen set down his chopsticks and asked coolly,
“Why is no one talking?”
Gao Qian instantly raised both hands and shouted,
“Eat, drink, chat! Don’t mind us!”
The chatter slowly returned, though far more subdued than before.
No one dared to risk their life gossiping about Meng Jianchen again. Instead, they turned to unrelated, harmless topics.
“I saw an anonymous post on Weibo the other day,” a short-haired woman at the table behind Meng Jianchen said.
“What kind of post?” her three tablemates asked curiously.
“A girl was venting about her husband. Honestly, I haven’t seen a man this scummy in a long time.”
“How scummy?”
“Well, the girl’s family background sounded pretty good—basically a rich beauty. And yet, she married a man who’s old, lazy, broke, and stingy.”
The short-haired woman shook her head as she continued,
“A man without money could at least help out with chores. But this guy? Nothing. Just sits there like a lord.”
“There are tons of men like that these days. Broke, yet full of ego and macho pride.”
“Even if he only made a thousand, he could at least give his wife a hundred. But after marriage, he didn’t give her a single cent. Absolutely bizarre.”
“His wife is too pitiful, isn’t she?”
“And there’s more—this girl said after they got married, they’ve been sleeping in separate rooms. The husband refuses to touch her.”
“Could he be a gay guy who tricked her into marriage?”
“Probably not. The ones who trick women into marriage usually rush to have kids, and only after the child’s born do they stop touching their wives,” the short-haired girl analyzed.
“My guess is, the husband has… problems in that department.”
“That’s too much! Why doesn’t she just divorce him?”
“Her family won’t allow it.”
“What kind of parents are those? Do they really see their daughter as spilled water once she’s married?”
Meng Jianchen kept focused on eating, not paying much attention to the gossip—until the short-haired girl added:
“And the funniest part? On her birthday this year, her husband gave her… a heart-shaped rock.”
A heart-shaped… rock?
Meng Jianchen’s chewing slowed.
“Oh my god, was it one of those ‘celebrity-inspired heart rocks’? Hahaha! I swear this guy is the straightest straight man alive—straight to the point of clueless!”
“This guy’s like a Huangqiao sesame cake—crumble him and it’s all dregs!”
Noticing that Meng Jianchen might overhear, the short-haired girl deliberately slipped in some flattery:
“Of course, good men are rare in this world, and our President Meng is definitely one of them.”
The other three immediately echoed:
“President Meng is so considerate and generous to his wife—Madam Meng must be truly happy.”
Meng Jianchen finished his meal slowly and gracefully, then leaned toward Gao Qian, whispered a few instructions, and strode out of the cafeteria.
Gao Qian was baffled. Was the boss really asking him to look into that gossip? Did he actually want to “mingle with the masses” and gossip over sunflower seeds? The thought alone was unbearable.
Ever since Madam came back to the country, President Meng’s behavior had turned strange too. Truly—neurosis must be contagious.
Only after Meng Jianchen left did the cafeteria liven up again.
“Did you see that? President Meng’s lips looked like they were injured.”
“I saw, I saw.”
“I bet it was his wife who bit him.”
“Ew! That’s some passion right there.”
“Of course it is! Haven’t you heard? For Madam Meng’s birthday, President Meng gave her a massive pink diamond worth eight million pounds.”
“My math’s bad—eight million pounds is…?”
“About seventy million yuan.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever make seventy million in my lifetime.”
“Do you even need to wonder? Obviously, you won’t.”
“Ugh, I’m so jealous I could cry.”
…
An hour later, Gao Qian returned to the president’s office.
“President Meng, that storytelling employee is named Fan Jian, a project assistant in the Admin Department.”
Fan Jian? (Which sounds the same as “cheap bastard” in Chinese slang.) What foresight his parents had when they named him.
Turning the Montblanc 18K platinum pen in his fingers, Meng Jianchen said lightly:
“With a tongue that slick, he’s wasted in Admin.”
“President Meng, should we fire him?” Gao Qian asked.
Daring to mock the president and his wife in front of a crowd—wasn’t that the definition of no zuo no die[1]? Gao Qian almost wanted to light a candle for Fan Jian.
But Meng Jianchen thought for a moment, then said:
“Transfer him to Marketing.”
Since it was the president’s decision, there was clearly a reason. Gao Qian didn’t question it:
“Yes, sir.”
The Marketing Department had far better perks than Admin, but the workload was intense. Employees were constantly out running around, with no time to sit idle and spin tales.
Better to put that silver tongue to use winning clients than stirring up gossip.
For Fan Jian, whether this was a blessing or a curse remained to be seen.
After wrapping up that matter, Gao Qian added:
“As for that Weibo post, I’ve forwarded it to your phone.”
Meng Jianchen nodded.
“You can go.”
Once Gao Qian had quietly shut the door behind him, Meng Jianchen opened his phone and began reading the post line by line.
As he read, a cold smile tugged at his lips.
Married four years. Southern wife, northern husband. Six-year age gap. A fiancée who almost became the bride instead…
Every detail matched, and the pretentious tone screamed of none other than his own wife—his Madam Chen Luoru, who could hardly go three days without stirring up trouble.
Then he noticed the posting date—two days before she returned to China.
That very day, he had laid a trap outside a bar and finally captured her.
All those twisted words he could ignore. But one line made him pause.
“He’s never gentle with me. He avoids touching me whenever he can. We’ve slept in separate rooms since the wedding—and I’ve endured it.”
So Chen Luoru had a huge grievance about him not touching her.
Then what was last night about? Was she… playing hard-to-get?
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[1] “If you don’t do stupid things, you won’t get yourself into trouble.”