2-Make the Bastard Take Responsibility
How on earth did she pick Pei Qingji out of a nightclub full of handsome men?!
Pei Qingji, 29 years old, heir to the Pei family of the capital, and also a specially-appointed professor at the School of Finance at Qing University.
Wen Song was in the School of Finance at Qing University and had even attended a few of Pei Qingji’s lectures.
She’d thought the man had looked a bit familiar last night, but at the time she’d chalked it up to handsome men just sharing certain features—who knew it really was Pei Qingji!
Pei Qingji’s image on campus was that of a very proper, almost stuffy professor. Who would’ve thought someone like him would show up at a nightclub too?!
Wen Song sat up in bed, running her hand through her already-mussed hair. The consequence of lust-clouded judgment was that she didn’t seem able to bear the aftermath.
Who in their right mind sleeps with their professor right after graduating?!
She’d only gotten her diploma yesterday, and now she was completely shattered—her mindset hadn’t even shifted from student to working adult, and she’d already slept with a professor.
A professor, a teacher—it was absolutely terrifying!
She turned to look at Pei Qingji’s sleeping face and quickly decided to make a run for it.
Carefully, she lifted his arm from where it lay across her waist. When her feet hit the floor, she nearly collapsed from her weak legs.
She pressed her lips together to keep from making a sound, hunched over as she picked up her dress from the floor and pulled it on.
After tiptoeing out, she endured the discomfort in her legs and sprinted back to her own lounge.
Her hopes weren’t quite dead yet—since she knew the nightclub’s owner, she called to ask whether room 7901 was indeed Pei Qingji’s.
The answer was definitive, shattering her last shred of wishful thinking.
She called home, said she was going on a graduation trip, bought a plane ticket to Bangkok, and vanished.
She couldn’t remember whether they’d used protection that night, but she’d bought emergency contraception for herself anyway.
She’d thought it was foolproof, but this month her period was late.
Nervously, she bought a pregnancy test, and the result hit her like a ton of bricks.
Two lines!
It was really two lines!!
Wen Song sat on the toilet, lost in thought. Her best friend Shen Lingyao, noticing she hadn’t come out for a while, knocked on the door.
“Song Song, why aren’t you out yet?”
Wen Song cleared her throat. “Yao Yao, do you have Pei Qingji’s contact info?”
“Who?”
“Pei Qingji, the specially-appointed professor from our school.”
“I do. Why?”
Shen Lingyao was in the student union. She’d gotten Pei Qingji’s number when they’d organized a lecture before.
“Um…” Wen Song pressed her lips together. This was a bit hard to explain. “There’s a case I want to consult him about.”
“Huh?” Shen Lingyao thought she’d misheard. Pei Qingji wasn’t a law professor—he was just a specially-appointed economics professor. What cases would he know about?
She asked again, “What kind of case?”
Staring at the pregnancy test with the resolve of someone facing death, Wen Song said, “A murder case.”
Shen Lingyao: “??”
It was all Chinese, every word made sense individually, but put together, what on earth did it mean?
Still, as a theoretical veteran who’d read countless steamy novels, Shen Lingyao quickly caught on.
“You… you’re pregnant?!”
Wen Song didn’t answer. Instead, she opened the door and handed out the pregnancy test.
Within a single second, Shen Lingyao’s expression shifted from shock to horror, and then to fury.
She immediately pulled out her phone and shoved it into Wen Song’s hand. “You—right now, this instant—call Pei Qingji. That bastard has to take responsibility.”
Wen Song pressed her lips together, hesitating.
They were both adults. What happened was mutually consensual—there was really no question of responsibility. If anything, she was the one who had made the first move on Pei Qingji.
“Let me think about it.” Wen Song went out and collapsed onto the sofa.
Her eyes stared at the ceiling, her mind filled entirely with the sultry images from that night.
Ten minutes later, she found Pei Qingji’s phone number on Shen Lingyao’s phone and dialed it with her own.
Beep, beep, beep—
The dial tone rang out one after another, but there was no sign of anyone picking up.
Just as she was about to hang up, the beeping turned into breathing.
“Hello?”
A slightly hoarse voice came through, and Wen Song instinctively held her breath.
If she wasn’t mistaken, Pei Qingji had been sleeping—only someone just woken up would sound like that.
“Hello?”
Another prompt.
Wen Song swallowed and spoke softly: “Do you remember what happened on the 79th floor of ‘Blue’ on the 15th of last month?”
“Blue” was the name of the nightclub. She felt her phrasing was already obvious enough.
“Yeah.”
“Um…” The words she had organized suddenly escaped her, so she could only probe indirectly. “That night… did you wear a condom?”
“Huh?”
Pei Qingji was clearly taken aback—mainly because suddenly discussing this topic was genuinely bizarre.
After a moment, he replied, “Yes.”
The lounge was cleaned regularly, and items like tissues, wet wipes, and condoms were restocked uniformly.
Both ends of the line fell silent instantly.
Wen Song took a moment to compose herself before saying, “Even though you wore a condom, and I bought emergency contraception afterward, I’m pregnant.”
The moment the words left her mouth, she heard a rustling sound—very much like the sound of someone sitting up in bed, the blanket shifting with the movement.
“Hold on a moment.”
After he said that, Wen Song clearly heard his breathing grow more distant. She had no idea what he was doing.
Within three minutes, his voice returned: “Would it be convenient to meet and talk the day after tomorrow?”
Wen Song frowned. She didn’t like the evasive tone and countered, “Why wait until the day after tomorrow?”
“I’m still in New York.”
After Pei Qingji said that, everything became clear.
There was a twelve-hour time difference between Bangkok and New York. It was noon in Bangkok now, while it was midnight in New York—no wonder he had been sleeping.
“I can’t catch the nearest direct flight. I’ll have to transfer through Hong Kong before returning to Kyoto.”
Pei Qingji explained again, and Wen Song was completely won over by his attitude.
Regardless, she would wait until they met to discuss it further.
“Oh, then go ahead and take care of things.”
With that, she hung up decisively, but she soon received a WeChat friend request from Pei Qingji.
The verification message simply read “Pei Qingji,” and his profile picture was a landscape photo—fitting for his old-fashioned, no-nonsense image.
Wen Song tapped accept, and he immediately sent a location pin.
Pei Qingji: [Would this place work for meeting? Where do you live? I’ll have someone pick you up.]
Wen Song glanced at the address. It wasn’t far from her place in Kyoto.
Wen Song: [Fine. I’ll come over myself.]
The top of the chat box showed “The other party is typing…” for a long time, but in the end, only one word came through.
Pei Qingji: [Okay.]