Unaware that her little tail had just been tugged, Chen Luoru remained completely oblivious, still wholly absorbed in reading a domineering-CEO romance novel.
The book, titled “Gu Nanfeng, You’re So Cruel!”, was giving Chen Luoru kidney pains just from reading it.
In the novel, the heroine once saved the male lead’s life, but her own white-lotus younger sister stole the credit.
Forced to marry the heroine, CEO Gu Nanfeng mistook the sister for his “white moonlight.” He then tried every means to torment the heroine. When the sister fell ill, he even had the heroine captured so her kidney could be cut out and transplanted to the sister—
This kind of dog-blood sibling melodrama inevitably reminded Chen Luoru of her own situation. Although Meng Jianchen had no feelings for her elder sister, it seemed he didn’t have much affection for her either.
She didn’t know much about Meng Jianchen’s past. What if, one day, some sickly white moonlight suddenly crawled out from some hidden corner? Would he capture her and take out her kidney for that woman?
After all, Meng Jianchen’s major was in biomedical sciences, and Jinghong’s private hospitals were spread all across the country.
Rounding things up, it practically meant Meng Jianchen could personally pick up the scalpel and remove her kidney himself.
At the thought, Chen Luoru’s kidney suddenly ached faintly. Clutching her side, she closed the book and opened another one.
This one was titled “The CEO’s Billion-Dollar Beloved Wife.” The tone wasn’t so grim—it was about a CEO falling in love at first sight with a low-tier celebrity, yet another dog-blood romance.
The novel was wildly popular and readers were enthusiastic, but Chen Luoru still couldn’t get into it.
Why? Because she herself was genuinely rich. The way these novels portrayed the lives of the wealthy trampled on her common sense and tested her bottom line—it was like saying, “The concubine in the East Palace makes flatbreads while the concubine in the West Palace peels green onions.”
Page after page of luxury brand names and prices made her head spin; she almost thought she was holding a fashion magazine.
And yet, the author got so many details wrong, which drove Chen Luoru crazy.
She left a comment for the author:
“An Hermès Birkin bag doesn’t have a zipper; Chanel clothing usually can’t be washed with water or dry-cleaned; Christian Louboutin red-soled shoes really shouldn’t be worn for a stroll; and in China, you can’t just fly a private jet whenever you feel like it—you need to apply for a flight route with the Civil Aviation Administration.”
It was Chen Luoru’s first time commenting on a novel site. She discovered that when leaving a comment, she had to choose whether to give the author a “flower” or an “egg.” After thinking about it, she decided the writing didn’t deserve even one flower—so she sent an egg.
After posting her comment, she closed the novel, feeling irritated.
Through these books, Chen Luoru had seen right through the essence of these romance stories—marry a rich man.
If she wanted to find out from novels how to divorce a rich man, that would be like fishing for a tree—it was impossible. She might as well use her own brain to figure out how to make Meng Jianchen agree to divorce her.
Chen Luoru reclined in a rocking chair, picked up her fresh-squeezed juice, and took two sips.
Like most young women who loved beauty, she paid close attention to maintaining her figure. Although she wasn’t prone to gaining weight, she usually avoided “fat house happy water” (sugary sodas) whenever she could.
“Madam, your music room has been arranged,” Butler Wu came forward to report. “We’ve already moved your harp over.”
Chen Luoru remembered her harp. It was about time to practice again. Ever since she had returned to China, she’d hardly done anything serious, spending all her time scheming how to outwit Meng Jianchen.
“Oh, and sir also had someone set up a studio for you.”
“Studio?” Chen Luoru was puzzled. Did Meng Jianchen expect her to go out and support the household?
At Cambridge, she had studied architecture—three years for her bachelor’s and one more for her master’s, completing both in four years, which was very cost-effective.
Outsiders often mistook architecture for a science or engineering major, but Chen Luoru knew its essence was art. Every day she drew designs and built little models; it was clearly more like being a fine-arts student.
Cambridge’s architecture program leaned theoretical—during her undergraduate years, she studied plenty of architectural history and philosophy.
Put nicely, it sounded high-end and lofty. Put bluntly, it wasn’t very practical.
If she wanted to work at a design firm or architectural institute after her bachelor’s, she wouldn’t have been very competitive.
To avoid returning home, she pursued a master’s, but in truth it made little difference for her.
As the pampered daughter of a wealthy family, what she studied didn’t really matter—what counted was having a fancy diploma.
The more obscure the major, the better—philosophy, music, literature, history… all of these majors screamed “not short of money,” because they earned almost nothing.
If she’d chosen something practical like computer science, software engineering, or data analysis, that would’ve seemed strange.
When she first applied to Cambridge’s architecture program, she thought she’d eventually work in the Chen family’s company. Lingsheng Real Estate had grown from property development and in recent years expanded into all sorts of construction projects, employing many architects.
But who would’ve thought that before she even entered university, the Chen family would kick her into the Meng family like a soccer ball? Now she couldn’t even think about working outside.
What society wife from a powerful clan ever went out to work? As long as she kept herself beautiful, that was enough. The face of a wealthy family mattered more than anything.
If she really did go out to work one day, Jinghong’s stock prices might even plummet—people would definitely start speculating whether Jinghong was finished, otherwise why would Madam Meng lower herself to get a job?
Most heirs of family conglomerates chose to study business. Biochem, environmental science, or materials engineering were majors suitable for rich kids dabbling in research, but not for an heir to a trillion-yuan group like Meng Jianchen.
After all, he didn’t have the time to do research—who knew what he was thinking?
Forget it, Chen Luoru couldn’t be bothered with him. Even if he studied excavator operation at Lanxiang Technical School, he’d still be the rightful heir of Jinghong.
Following Butler Wu upstairs, she first toured the studio.
Inside were easels and paints, two high-end computers on the desk, and a giant central worktable where she could build any architectural model she wanted. The walls and shelves were designed to display her works.
Chen Luoru thought, This man actually knows what’s up.
She had never even thought of setting up a studio at home, but he had prepared one for her.
Next door was the music room.
A music room had many requirements: it couldn’t be too small, or else the space would feel cramped, the echo would be heavy, the sound quality poor, and bad for the ears.
Soundproofing was also important—the walls, doors, and windows all needed special materials. Even though she lived in a super-luxury villa where the harp wouldn’t disturb the neighbors, she still had to avoid disturbing others inside the house.
The music room was spacious. In the center stood her golden harp, with a music stand and a square stool nearby. A harp didn’t really need a stand during performances, but for practice, it was necessary to read sheet music. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Brilliant sunlight streamed through the clear glass windows. Tiny motes of dust floated in the air.
The sunlight danced on the harp strings, the floral patterns on the harp body coated in a soft glow.
At the back of the room were seven large steps, each row lined with cushions of the same color, like a rainbow bridge.
If she wanted, Chen Luoru could even hold a small private recital here. She was very pleased with the layout.
After Butler Wu left, she sat down on the stool and plucked a row of strings with her fingers.
She couldn’t help but sigh over her miserable fate again—how could a harp-playing fairy like her be resigned to a marriage prison?
That day, Meng Jianchen left the office right at six. Ever since Chen Luoru had returned to China, he hadn’t been working late as often.
In the past, he would usually stay in the office a while longer—six p.m. was rush hour, and even with one of the city’s most expensive cars, he couldn’t spread wings and fly in the traffic jam. It was better to head home later.
Of course, the reason he came home early today had another purpose—just thinking about that “heart-shaped stone” made his kidneys ache with anger.
He personally flew to London to bid on that heart-shaped pink diamond at the auction house, spending eight million pounds for Chen Luoru… but she had the nerve to call it a broken rock.
Ha. He had clearly seen her wear that so-called “rock” happily.
The CEO’s heart could not remain calm and indifferent about this. Eight million pounds was a small matter; a disobedient wife was a much bigger issue.
Over the past four years, he had indulged Chen Luoru too much, so much so that now she acted recklessly every single day, as if he had no way to control her.
When Meng Jianchen arrived home, Butler Wu asked:
“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, Madam is in the music room. Do you need me to call her down?”
“No need,” Meng Jianchen said. “I’ll go myself.”
Butler Wu watched as Meng Jianchen went upstairs and couldn’t help feeling that the master seemed to be in a foul mood today. He didn’t know what kind of mischief Madam had caused again.
He shook his head helplessly. Ah, young couples, always full of energy to tussle.
Meng Jianchen reached the upstairs music room. Before pushing the door open, he had already prepared how to confront Chen Luoru.
But the moment the door opened, all his anger dissipated into thin air.
Chen Luoru sat in the middle of the music room in a flowing aqua-blue dress, long hair cascading down, her expression deeply focused.
She was playing Debussy’s Rêverie, her ten fingers dancing lightly across the harp strings. The music sounded like murmuring streams, like tinkling jade pendants colliding.
He stood silently at the door, listening to her finish the entire piece.
He couldn’t help but recall the words of Russian educator Sukhomlinsky:
“Only education that can inspire students to educate themselves is true education.”
Look at her, so obedient now—who could bear to scold her?
If he confronted her directly, demanding to know if she had anonymously sent some ridiculous marketing account that story, turning the pink diamond he gave her into a mere “heart-shaped stone,” it would only trigger her rebelliousness. That would harm their marriage even more.
He was six years older than her—he should be more tolerant.
She still had a child’s temperament. She was only eighteen when she married him. Since the Chen family hadn’t taught her properly, then as her husband, he would have to teach her.
Meng Jianchen believed that the fairy-like girl before him could be reformed through love, voluntarily admitting her mistakes, not forced into submission.
When Chen Luoru finished playing the piece, she noticed the uninvited guest at the door.
“What are you doing here?” The moment she spoke, her obedient air evaporated.
“It’s time for dinner,” Meng Jianchen said.
“Got it.” Chen Luoru didn’t give him a pleasant look. Just seeing him reminded her of last night’s incident. How could she be happy?
She went downstairs to the dining room. Tonight’s dinner was Spanish seafood paella, with a side of refreshing vegetables, a bowl of creamy mushroom soup, and a fruit salad.
She sat down, picked up her spoon, ready to eat. After playing the piano for two hours, she really was hungry.
At that moment, a maid came over carrying a plate, placing a fried egg on top of her paella.
“Madam, this is specially prepared for you by the kitchen.”
Chen Luoru froze, staring at the fried egg.
Why… was it heart-shaped?
Her guard immediately went up. She glanced at Meng Jianchen—he sat upright, eating his paella gracefully, as if nothing had happened.
The egg was perfectly cooked. A single poke with a fork and the thick golden yolk oozed out, obviously delicious.
Chen Luoru decided to ignore its shape and ate it anyway.
After dinner, Meng Jianchen casually asked, “That fried egg just now—how did it taste?”
“It was okay,” Chen Luoru said.
“Different shapes have different tastes. Did you notice the difference?”
“No.” She was baffled. A round egg and a heart-shaped egg—how could they taste any different?
“Then tomorrow morning, I’ll have them make you another one.”
Chen Luoru felt utterly confused. She rinsed her mouth, wiped her lips, and went upstairs.
She planned to set up her studio. She had a thick portfolio of her works and wanted to hang the photos on the wall.
She took the photos out one by one and started pinning them to the wall.
At some point, Meng Jianchen appeared beside her. Out of nowhere, he asked:
“These are all your designs?”
“Of course,” Chen Luoru said proudly.
Meng Jianchen carefully studied one of the photos.
“It’s a library,” she explained. “The roof is shaped like an open book.”
Meng Jianchen thought aloud, “I feel like this design is missing something.”
“Missing what?” Chen Luoru was displeased. That design was her proudest work, and he dared to say it wasn’t perfect?
Meng Jianchen: “At the entrance of the library, there should be a statue.”
Chen Luoru: “What statue?”
Meng Jianchen: “A heart-shaped statue.”
Chen Luoru: “……”
What was wrong with this man?
A heart-shaped statue at the entrance of a library? How would that still be a library?
She restrained the urge to roll her eyes.
Forget it—not worth it.
What sense was there in arguing architecture with a layman?
She finished posting the photos, clapped her hands, and went back to the master bedroom.
“You’re going to shower?” Meng Jianchen asked.
“Mm.” Chen Luoru nodded.
“I brought your pajamas for you,” he said, pointing at the set on the bed.
She found his behavior strange tonight. Why was he fetching her pajamas?
She went to the bathroom. After showering, she put them on.
She had never seen these pajamas before. On the chest was a pink heart.
What tacky design. Chen Luoru was extremely unimpressed.
So this was Meng Jianchen’s aesthetic? She had clearly overestimated him before.
At ten o’clock, Chen Luoru lay in bed scrolling on her phone. Lately she was following a talent show, dazzled by the handsome contestants.
Meng Jianchen lay on the other side. Between them stretched an invisible Great Wall, a gulf of distance.
Chen Luoru was happily watching when Meng Jianchen suddenly sent her a message.
[Meng Jianchen: Wife ❤️]
[Chen Luoru: … Who’s your wife?]
[Meng Jianchen: You ❤️]
[Chen Luoru: Don’t call me that. Gives me goosebumps.]
[Meng Jianchen: How about I give you this bag ❤️]
Attached was a picture of a red heart-shaped purse.
[Chen Luoru: I don’t want it. Hideous.]
[Meng Jianchen: Oh. Then rest early ❤️]
[Chen Luoru: Did you take the wrong medicine? Why can’t you just say this to my face?]
[Meng Jianchen: If I say it face-to-face, you might not understand ❤️]
[Chen Luoru: Can you stop with the suffixes?]
[Meng Jianchen: What’s wrong with my suffix ❤️]
[Chen Luoru: What do you think is wrong?!]
Disgusting. This dignified CEO, texting like that. Chen Luoru’s heart couldn’t take it.
[Meng Jianchen: Don’t you remember something? Don’t you have something to tell me ❤️]
[Chen Luoru: …]
[Chen Luoru: I’m going to sleep.]
She was so grossed out she couldn’t even keep watching her show. She turned off the lights and went to bed.
The next morning, another heart-shaped fried egg was placed in her bowl.
She stared at it blankly, convinced it was screaming some kind of hidden message.
“Madam, look at the fresh flowers delivered this morning. Aren’t they arranged beautifully?” Butler Wu said, moving the vase in front of her.
The bouquet was ringed with white roses, with red roses clustered in the middle—into a heart.
Back in high school, Chen Luoru had studied flower arrangement with her teacher. In her eyes, this arrangement was… indescribable. She had no desire to comment.
After Meng Jianchen left, she went to the garden for fresh air.
The gardener was trimming the shrubs. She saw a plump pittosporum tree that had been pruned into the shape of a heart.
Chen Luoru: “……”
Unbelievable. What was this man trying to do?
[Chen Luoru: I can’t live like this.]
[Chen Xiao: Daily check-in 4/7.]
[Chen Luoru: I think my husband has lost his mind.]
[Chen Xiao: I’m listening.]
[Chen Luoru: Since he got home from work last night, he’s been acting super weird. First, he made the kitchen fry me a heart-shaped egg. Then he said my library needed a heart-shaped statue. Then he tried to give me an ugly heart-shaped bag. This morning, my flowers and trees are all hearts.]
[Chen Luoru: Isn’t that insane? He could be shortlisted for a “Most Baffling Behavior” award.]
[Chen Xiao: Uh… Don’t you think he’s trying to tell you something?]
[Chen Luoru: Tell me what?]
[Chen Xiao: You really don’t see it?]
[Chen Luoru: See what?]
[Chen Xiao: That huge heart means “I love you,” duh! Are you stupid?!]
Chen Luoru was stunned.
With the way she treated him now, if he still managed to fall in love with her, then he must have masochistic tendencies.
[Chen Xiao: Isn’t it obvious? He loves you, but he can’t say it directly. So he’s expressing it this way instead.]
[Chen Luoru: …]
[Chen Luoru: I need some peace and quiet.]
She sat on the swing, staring blankly as the gardener’s shears went snip snip, the lawnmower vroom vroom across the grass.
Meng Jianchen… loves her?
She was confused.
Sansukini: I’m baffled by his behavior too. 😂 You’d think he would throw a tantrum or be mad, but his actions are just adorably childish.
Thanks for visiting. If you like this story, then I’m shamelessly asking you to visit NovelUpdates and give a 5⭐ review. (人❛ᴗ❛)♪тнайк чоц♪(❛ᴗ❛*人)