Chen Luoru hesitated for a moment, still undecided, when new notifications popped up on Weibo.
She had no time to reply to Meng Jianchen and immediately threw herself into another round of online bickering.
Many people, when they’re young and hot-blooded, love to argue endlessly online about trivial matters, with the same stubbornness as construction workers bickering on a site.
Once they mature a little, their mindset becomes more laid-back, and the petty squabbles of the online world no longer warrant even a blink.
Unfortunately, Chen Luoru clearly belonged to the former category.
Outsiders who saw her would praise her as beautiful, elegant, and composed.
But those who truly knew her understood—Chen Luoru’s mental age was, at best, ten years old. Any higher would be an insult to children above ten.
When Meng Jianchen got home from work, the butler, Wu, told him that Chen Luoru had gone straight to the master bedroom upon returning and hadn’t come out since.
He’d messaged her with no response. That little ingrate had taken his plane video and then ghosted him. Who knew what she was tinkering with in the bedroom?
Meng Jianchen went upstairs. The master bedroom door was shut tight.
He tried the handle—it opened.
There she was, his little wife Chen Luoru, curled up on the sofa with her laptop, phone, and tablet spread out beside her.
Her fingers clattered furiously against the keyboard. Judging by her speed and force, she was fuming.
Once she finished on the laptop, she grabbed her phone and tapped away with both thumbs. After that, she switched to the tablet, repeating the same routine.
Overflowing with passion, she didn’t even notice when Meng Jianchen entered.
Leaning against the doorframe with a teasing tone, he said: “So, did you win?”
“Not yet!” Chen Luoru snapped without looking up, fingers flying. “They’re saying the plane I posted is a hotel sample suite!”
The interior of Meng Jianchen’s Bombardier Global 7000 alone had cost tens of millions to renovate. If you didn’t tell people it was a private jet, most would assume it was a luxury apartment or hotel.
He walked over and glanced down at her screen.
Well, well. She had opened three different accounts, essentially acting as her own fanbase. It was like a comedy skit: one lead joker and two sidekicks, all played by herself.
Shifting her laptop onto the coffee table, Chen Luoru turned to him and complained, “They even called me childish!”
Meng Jianchen: “…”
What could he even say? That… they weren’t wrong?
“Frogs in a well cannot talk about the sea; summer insects cannot talk about ice,” Meng Jianchen said as he sat beside her. “Don’t lower yourself to their level.”
“I insist on lowering myself!” she retorted.
He let out a helpless chuckle, his eyes catching her Weibo ID in the corner of the screen.
“Then enjoy your fight. I’m going to shower.” Rising, he headed for the bathroom.
Chen Luoru didn’t spare him a glance—she had to defend her dignity as a rich woman!
It’s said that proving you are yourself and that your mother is indeed your mother is one of the hardest riddles of the century.
Now, proving you’re truly rich had become just as difficult.
Once in the bathroom, Meng Jianchen casually sent a message to Gao Qian, then stripped for his shower.
If Gao Qian couldn’t resolve such a trivial matter for Chen Luoru, he might as well pack his bags.
Twenty minutes later, Meng Jianchen emerged to find Chen Luoru comfortably sprawled on the bed, hugging her laptop.
For such a small matter, she had personally descended into a war with random netizens. He almost hated to admit that this childish little fool was his wife—it hurt his image.
“Done fighting?” he asked casually, toweling his damp hair.
“Suddenly, a bunch of kindhearted netizens started defending me,” she said, deeply moved. “There’s still true love and kindness in the world.”
Meng Jianchen lifted the quilt and lay beside her, turning to watch.
That smug, triumphant look on her face—infuriating yet oddly adorable.
Under her Weibo, it was as if reinforcements had parachuted in. More surprisingly, even marketing accounts had jumped into the fray.
【@IWantToBeRich: A certain netizen was attacked on Weibo after explaining luxury brand facts, then clapped back with videos as proof. Another case of ‘poverty limits imagination.’】
This account usually posted about the lifestyles of the wealthy, so its followers were quite knowledgeable.
【emmm forget Birkin bags—even with something like Prada, you won’t find zippers. Designers never considered scenarios where owners might get pickpocketed. Who’s carrying a Birkin on the subway?】
【Luxury clothes can’t be dry-cleaned or washed. Wash them once and the shape is ruined. I once washed a Chanel sweater as a clueless kid, and it shrank to child size.】
【Don’t expect quality from luxury goods. I bought CL red-bottoms, and after a few steps outdoors, the heel snapped. Their explanation? Sorry, our shoes aren’t meant for walking, only for red carpets.】 This chapter is updated first at novelping.com.
【Even helicopters need registration, let alone private jets. Honestly doubt these haters have even been on a plane.】
Thanks to this knowledge drop, the bystanders nearly dropped their melons.
【Sorry to disturb you. I’m not worthy.】
【In my eyes, luxury goods are precious, yet to the rich they’re basically disposable. My heart can’t take this.】
【Bags, clothes, shoes are nothing—she really has a private jet? That’s on another level entirely.】
【No way a plane that luxurious cost less than a billion. I’m crying lemon tears.】
Soon, sharp-eyed netizens discovered more.
【There’s an influencer on Instagram called ChristinaChan. Coincidence? Check her page, she’s the real deal.】
【ChristinaChan studied in the UK. I heard her family is high on the domestic rich list. Mocking her for being poor is the funniest joke I’ve heard today.】
【When did she start using Weibo? For someone this rich to personally bicker with netizens—so down-to-earth hahaha.】
【Honestly, if she hadn’t posted those luxury clips, I’d think she was just a schoolgirl. The way she talks is too cute!】
【I don’t think it’s her. That anonymous submission was weird—married four years? Did she marry at eighteen?】
【No way her family would let her marry a guy like that. Bet it was some “truth or dare” prank.】
【I looked up her Weibo location. Yes, it’s in Tongzhou, but the place seems to be a hillside villa community.】
【I know it—Langyue No. 1. Just the bare shell costs two to three hundred million. Renovations would be another two to three hundred million.】
【I’ve heard the heir of Jinghong Group lives there too. That tells you the league this villa belongs to.】
【woc[1] she called that a crappy place? The world of the rich is beyond me.】
…
The online chaos raged until midnight. By then, not a single one of the netizens who had mocked Chen Luoru earlier dared to jump out again.
Even “The Wind Blows and Blows” could sense that the tide had shifted and, taking advantage of the dark and windy night, quietly deleted the post calling her out.
After all that commotion, Chen Luoru’s previously unnoticed Weibo account suddenly gained nearly ten thousand followers, all clamoring for her to show off her wealth and begging her to share daily vlogs.
But Chen Luoru now put on airs:
【@ChristinaChen: Too tired today, closing shop.】
Looking at the time—it was already eleven o’clock at night—Chen Luoru contentedly prepared to turn off the lights and sleep.
Meng Jianchen lay beside her silently scrolling on his phone, when he suddenly said, “I’m going on a business trip next week.”
Chen Luoru’s eyes lit up like two tiny black stars dancing: “You’re going on a business trip?”
“Mm, to Shenzhen.”
“When are you leaving?”
“The night after tomorrow,” Meng Jianchen asked, “Do you want to come with me?”
She had been idle enough to wage three hundred rounds of online keyboard battles at home, so Meng Jianchen thought it was time to find her something to do.
She was always clamoring to go back to Guangdong—why not take her along?
“I’m not going.” Chen Luoru refused outright.
“You don’t want to go back to Guangdong?”
“I think staying in Beijing… is pretty good.” She nodded firmly. “Really good.”
She had no desire to trail after Meng Jianchen as some pretty vase—it was far better to stay home as a happy little “primary schooler.”
“You’re not going to ask when I’ll be back?” Meng Jianchen said flatly.
Chen Luoru didn’t care at all about his matters. If it were anyone else, their wife would have grilled them endlessly about a business trip.
Feigning interest, Chen Luoru asked, “How long will you be gone?”
“Four days, I’ll be back Friday.”
“So soon?” Chen Luoru exclaimed. “Should I recommend a few fun places? You could stay in Guangdong for ten days, half a month even. You work so hard, you need to balance work and rest.”
She didn’t even bother hiding the delight in her voice.
“I’ll be back early,” Meng Jianchen said expressionlessly.
Chen Luoru shot him a look, disappointment written in her eyes.
Forget it. Lights out. Sleep. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
At last, Sunday night came, and Meng Jianchen was leaving.
Chen Luoru practically wanted drums and firecrackers to send him off.
Thoughtfully, she packed his travel bag, straightened his tie before he left, and instructed, “Take good care of yourself while you’re out. Everything at home is fine, don’t worry. The world is so big—go see more of it.”
Meng Jianchen: “…”
The moment he stepped out, Chen Luoru skipped happily back into the master bedroom.
She flopped onto the big bed, hugging a pillow and rolling around several times.
Meng Jianchen was gone—this was bliss!
She planned to use these days well—to draft a detailed divorce plan.
She recalled that night’s discussion with Chen Xiao—if she could find some “other man” to act as her affair partner, Meng Jianchen would almost certainly divorce her.
But where was she supposed to find such a man?
Her friends were either abroad or down south. In this city, she was practically a stranger, with no real social circle.
The last time she attended the amusement park opening ceremony dinner, many society ladies tried to befriend her, but Chen Luoru had no interest.
The socialite circle was nothing but smiles on the surface and transactions underneath.
Back when she studied at a private international school in Hong Kong, plenty of her classmates were daughters of tycoons—but she never got along with them.
She preferred friends like Chen Xiao—low-pressure, comfortable to be with.
So, where could she find a man?
Suddenly, a lightbulb went off.
She remembered seeing a trending topic on Weibo during Lunar New Year: “Rent a Boyfriend for New Year’s.” Supposedly, it was a new service that young people used to escape relentless family pressure to get married—spending a little money to rent a “boyfriend” to appease their parents.
If people could rent boyfriends, why couldn’t she rent a “side man” to infuriate Meng Jianchen, forcing him to divorce her?
With that thought, Chen Luoru immediately sat up, put down her pillow, and grabbed her phone. She opened a search app and typed in three words: “Rent Boyfriend.”
And sure enough, there were plenty of results.
She clicked on one site, which was filled with rental ads.
After filtering by region and age, she found one that looked promising. The post read:
【Height 180cm, weight 75kg, Master’s degree. Available weekends in Beijing. Services: pretend boyfriend, various temporary roles in life, stand-in boyfriend, stand-in groom, contract couple, formal marriage for ceremony, pretend wedding banquet, calling parents on behalf of employer, etc. Experienced, with great reviews. Details via private chat.】
Chen Luoru thought, seems professional enough.
She quickly registered an account and started chatting.
【Little Chen: Hello.】
【Fantasy: Hello.】
【Little Chen: Are you free next weekend? I’d like to hire you to play my temporary boyfriend.】
【Fantasy: Is this for meeting parents or a class reunion?】
【Little Chen: To meet my husband.】
【Fantasy: …】
【Fantasy: Uh, Miss, I don’t understand what you mean.】
The man was clearly baffled—he’d never had such a request before.
Renting a boyfriend usually meant pretending to have one. But she was already married—why rent another?
Even worse, she wanted to bring the rented boyfriend to meet her husband?
【Little Chen: I can’t stand this life anymore. I want to divorce my husband, but he refuses. So I plan to tell him I’m having an affair, and make him divorce me.】
The man hesitated for a while.
【Fantasy: Sorry, I really can’t take this job.】
【Little Chen: Why not?】
【Fantasy: Too risky. What if your husband hits me?】
【Fantasy: I still have a full-time job. This is just a side gig.】
Chen Luoru paused to think. Would Meng Jianchen actually hit him?
Hard to say—the man was petty enough for it.
【Little Chen: If he does hit you, I’ll cover your medical expenses, okay?】
【Fantasy: Forget the medical fees for now. How much rent are you offering?】
Chen Luoru thought a bit, then sent a tentative number.
【Little Chen: A hundred thousand. Okay?】
She wasn’t sure if he’d accept.
To her surprise, he replied instantly.
【Fantasy: Hit me however you want! As long as it doesn’t kill me!】
【Little Chen: But… my husband isn’t easy to fool.】
【Fantasy: Don’t worry. My acting skills are Oscar-worthy.】
【Little Chen: We’ll need a convincing backstory for him to believe.】
【Fantasy: What’s your idea?】
【Little Chen: I studied in the UK before. You say you’re a British-born Chinese named Edward, and that we’ve been in love for years.】
【Fantasy: Your goal is to make your husband divorce you, right?】
【Little Chen: Exactly.】
【Fantasy: Fine. I’ll improvise on the spot—guaranteed to make him drag you to the Civil Affairs Bureau that very day, repainting the red marriage booklets green.】
【Little Chen: Perfect! I’ll try to set the time and place soon and let you know.】
【Fantasy: No problem, always on standby.】
【Fantasy: By the way, Miss, what should I call you?】
【Little Chen: My surname’s Chen. Just call me Christina. I use my English name abroad.】
【Fantasy: Miss Chen, very pleased to work with you.】
【Fantasy: My name’s Fan Jian.】
Sansukini: Me thinks somebody’s bound to become unlucky.
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[1] 卧槽 (wò cáo), WTF in English