“Ding-dong——”
Water droplets rolled down the dark-green stalks of lucky bamboo and plinked into a round urn, a whole Jiangnan riverside scene compressed into this misty bonsai landscape.
Meng Jianchen lifted his eyes, the corners slanting upward. His thin lips curved in amusement as he said,
“So this is the… friend you wanted me to meet?”
Chen Luoru had no time to argue with him. She nudged Fan Jian’s arm urgently, whispering,
“Hurry and wake up, my husband’s here.”
Meng Jianchen, unhurried, sat down on the sofa across from them. He set his phone on the glass coffee table, his voice lazy:
“Is it that your friend’s timid—or do I just look scary?”
Though Fan Jian still had his eyes closed, he discreetly shifted the arm that Chen Luoru had been holding away from her.
“What do I do?” Chen Luoru panicked, reaching as if to pinch the philtrum under his nose.
Meng Jianchen casually poured himself a cup of tea. Holding the fine celadon cup, he watched the tea leaves unfurl at the bottom, and remarked idly:
“Try splashing him with tea.”
At those words, Fan Jian’s eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright.
“You’re finally awake.” Chen Luoru let out a long breath of relief. She pointedly introduced,
“This is my husband.”
“Pleasure.” Meng Jianchen took the initiative, lifting his teacup. Blowing gently across the steaming surface, he said,
“This gentleman looks rather familiar. I can’t help but feel we’ve met somewhere.”
“No, no, you must be mistaken,” Fan Jian denied at once.
“How could that be?” Chen Luoru interjected. “Edward lived in England for many years. He came back especially for me—”
“That’s not true!” Fan Jian cut in quickly. “I’m only here on a business trip!”
“A business trip?” Meng Jianchen repeated, a hint of mockery. “Ah, so you prefer overseas business trips.”
Cold sweat soaked Fan Jian’s palms. He felt as though steam was rising off his head.
This was disastrous. Trapped between boss and boss’s wife—no winning either way. He couldn’t afford to offend anyone.
“Edward,” Chen Luoru pressed, “you said you would marry me.”
“I never said that!” Fan Jian all but shouted, his face screaming wrongfully accused.
Chen Luoru’s eyes widened in disbelief. This—this wasn’t in the script! What happened to their “Romeo and Juliet” tragic yet beautiful love story?
“Oh, I get it.” Meng Jianchen took a sip of tea, then said to Chen Luoru,
“You’ve been conned by this man.”
Chen Luoru: “……”
She stomped on Fan Jian’s foot. He yelped like a rubber chicken, blurting:
“I didn’t!”
Chen Luoru smirked. “See? Edward would never toy with me. He truly loves me.”
Meng Jianchen set his cup down with a sharp clink against the table.
Fan Jian, desperate, quickly added,
“—Which is impossible!”
Meng Jianchen sneered. “So which is it—does he, or doesn’t he?”
Chen Luoru’s peach-blossom eyes bore into Fan Jian, suspicion brimming. Meanwhile, Meng Jianchen turned slightly, gazing at the green vines by the window.
Fan Jian glanced at her, then at him. His breath came faster, hot blood rushing to his head—he’d rather just drop dead than answer.
Seeing him silent, Chen Luoru spoke for herself:
“Edward and I share true feelings. I met him back in England, and I love him—”
“We’re just ordinary friends!” Fan Jian was practically about to scramble onto the roof in protest.
“Ordinary friends?” Meng Jianchen leaned back against the sofa, idly rolling his wedding ring between thumb and forefinger.
“Yes, ordinary friends!” Fan Jian said firmly.
“Edward, you—” Chen Luoru nearly swore at him but bit her tongue, fuming.
She turned back to Meng Jianchen and said,
“In any case, I’ve had an affair. If you want a divorce, I won’t complain.”
More than not complain—she’d be delighted.
“Mm, let me think.” Meng Jianchen studied her faux-ruffled face for a moment, then replied,
“I won’t divorce you.”
“Why not?” Chen Luoru reminded him. “I put a green hat on you!”
“I forgive you,” he said.
Wasn’t he the one who least tolerated infidelity? Why act so magnanimous with her?
So it was true—he didn’t love her. He only wanted to preserve this hollow shell of a marriage.
Fan Jian seized the chance to redeem himself:
“Miss Chen, look how good your husband is to you. You shouldn’t divorce him. Where else will you find such a man?”
Chen Luoru: “……”
Her fingers clutched her skirt hem as she brooded.
Enough. She’d have to unleash her ultimate weapon—burn the bridge entirely.
She inhaled deeply and declared,
“Meng Jianchen, I’m pregnant. Not with your child—Edward’s child.”
Fan Jian: “……”
Now he really did want to faint dead away.
“Oh? Such good news?” Meng Jianchen’s voice dripped sarcasm.
“No! It’s not my child!” Fan Jian shouted in panic. “It must be yours!”
Meng Jianchen: “……”
That flattery backfired—how could she be pregnant when he and Chen Luoru had never consummated the marriage?
“How far along?” he asked.
Chen Luoru glanced at her still-flat stomach. Clearly not pregnant, but she gritted her teeth and answered,
“One month.”
“Hmm… one month ago, what were you doing then?” Meng Jianchen picked up his phone, flipped through his calendar.
“Ah yes, I brought you back from England. And you conceived his child how?”
“You think I’d let you find out about my affair?” Chen Luoru snorted.
“Fine. Since you’re pregnant, then—”
“Then let’s divorce!” Chen Luoru eagerly cut him off.
“—then give birth to the child.” Meng Jianchen’s words landed like iron.
Chen Luoru gasped. “But it’s not your child!”
Meng Jianchen lifted his gaze to her, lips curved with a faint mocking smile:
“You are my wife. Your child is my child. I’ll treat it as my own and raise it to adulthood.”
Chen Luoru’s eyes went wide. “You—you—you—”
His impervious, unflappable attitude made her want to throttle him.
“Anything else, Mr. Edward?” Meng Jianchen straightened his trousers, smoothing the creases. “If not, my wife and I will be leaving.”
“I’m not going!” Chen Luoru pouted, turning aside.
“Then where do you want to go?” he asked.
“I—” she faltered, unable to answer.
He didn’t bother with her protests, simply tugged her by the wrist and hauled her out of the hall.
Fan Jian slumped against the sofa, clutching his chest, gasping for breath.
Good heavens, he was sure his heart had nearly stopped.
Summoning the last of his strength, he sat up and opened his phone—searching how to write a resignation letter.
There was no way he could stay in Jinghong. Better to pack his bags and quit voluntarily than wait to be fired directly by such a terrifying boss.
Just after searching for a template, the waiter walked in.
“Sir, the dishes are ready. Shall we serve them now?”
Fan Jian had no appetite left. He said, “No need, I’m leaving.”
“Then may I trouble you to settle the bill?” The waiter handed over the check. “The total comes to 10,800 yuan.”
Fan Jian stared at the number on the bill and fainted again.
Meng Jianchen shoved Chen Luoru into the car, then opened the other door and slid into the driver’s seat.
He had thought she wanted him to take her out for fun, so he drove a Porsche 918 himself, without bringing the chauffeur.
It was impossible not to be angry. While others treasured her, she was spoiled into recklessness, making up dramas on a whim.
She had seemed so obedient lately—it must have been because she was staying home writing scripts.
No wonder her bedtime reading had turned into Stanislavski’s An Actor’s Self-Cultivation.
Why didn’t she just become a screenwriter—though one full of plot holes, drowned by the audience’s spit?
Chen Luoru, still aggrieved, said: “Why won’t you divorce me?”
“You tell me,” Meng Jianchen said as he started the car.
Chen Luoru thought in silence for a moment, then asked: “You saw through my act, didn’t you?”
“Finally clever for once.” Meng Jianchen turned the wheel, glancing sideways at her.
“How did you figure it out?” Chen Luoru was puzzled. Her performance had been flawless, without a single crack.
“Guess,” Meng Jianchen snorted softly, unwilling to explain.
Chen Luoru curled up pitifully in the passenger seat, fingers picking at the seatbelt.
Her grand divorce plan had failed again.
A DJ track in English was playing, but Meng Jianchen pressed a few buttons and switched to another album.
A familiar intro began—Zhang Xinzhe’s Going Too Far.
At first, Chen Luoru didn’t notice, but as the lyrics went on, they sounded more and more wrong.
Just before the line “I’ll bear the pain” was sung, Meng Jianchen cut the music off and turned his head coldly:
“——I’ll break your legs.”
Chen Luoru: “……”
Back home, Chen Luoru stormed upstairs to the master bedroom, locked the door behind her, her face full of resentment.
Even though it was her fault, she still acted like the one who’d been wronged.
This time Meng Jianchen wasn’t going to indulge her. He asked Butler Wu for the key and opened the door directly.
There she was, curled up under the blanket like an ostrich.
He sat by the bed, and she immediately turned her head away, refusing to look at him.
“Let’s talk,” Meng Jianchen said.
“I’ve nothing to say to you.” Chen Luoru turned her back.
Meng Jianchen tugged at the blanket, pulling her—blanket and all—into his arms.
She struggled, trying to wriggle free, but he smacked her firmly on the butt.
“Ah—” she cried, reaching back to rub her soft, round bottom. “You dare hit me!”
“Don’t you think you deserve it?” Meng Jianchen pulled her onto his lap. “Had enough of your games?”
Sniffling, Chen Luoru said bitterly: “You don’t love me at all. Why won’t you just let me go?”
Meng Jianchen looked into her bright black eyes, noticing the shimmer of tears at the corners. His voice softened:
“What is it you really want?”
“I married you when I was eighteen. Why? I never even got to fall in love once—I was just a bargaining chip for you people.”
The more she spoke, the more aggrieved she became, tears dripping down one after another.
“No one ever cares about me. I’m a person too. I have a heart, and it hurts. I—”
Before she could finish, her lips were sealed.
Startled, Chen Luoru tried to pull back, but Meng Jianchen held her tightly by the waist.
This kiss was gentle, almost soothing.
Her heart at first pounded wildly, then slowly calmed.
When the kiss ended, Meng Jianchen released her lips, wiping her tears away with his fingertip.
“Look how wronged you feel—”
Chen Luoru stubbornly kept silent.
Meng Jianchen said: “I’ve cleared the weekend for you. Where do you want to go tomorrow?”
Sansukini: Husband’s definitely sweet on her. I feel sorry for Fan Jian, but I just can’t stop laughing at his bad luck.
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