“Li Zhihuan… what exactly are you?”
Qi Weiguo’s voice felt as if it was forced out from deep within his chest, carrying a suppressed rage pushed to its limit.
The large hand gripping her wrist was like an iron clamp, so strong that Li Zhihuan felt as if her bones might shatter.
Pain.
That was her first reaction.
She looked up and met a pair of eyes burning with flames. It was not the usual coldness—this was anger, frustration, and something she could not quite decipher… a kind of wounded emotion.
This man had been thoroughly provoked by her “business theory.”
Li Zhihuan’s office-worker instincts kicked in at this moment.
What do you do when the client is furious?
First: don’t panic. Panicking means your proposal is flawed, and you lose control of the situation.
Second: don’t fight back head-on. That only adds fuel to the fire and ruins the project.
Third: quickly identify the client’s emotional trigger, then repackage your plan using their logic so they feel it is entirely for their benefit.
In a flash, Li Zhihuan had already formed her response.
Instead of struggling, she relaxed her body and allowed him to hold her.
Her other hand, the one not restrained, gently and tentatively rested over the back of his hand.
Her voice was no longer light and lively like when discussing “projects.” Instead, it became unusually calm—almost soothing.
“Qi Weiguo, don’t be angry first.”
She had changed how she addressed him—from “Captain Qi” back to “Qi Weiguo.”
That subtle shift made the raging emotion in him pause for a split second.
He felt the soft touch on the back of his hand, like a feather landing—yet it ignited something burning beneath his skin.
“What I just said… maybe I used words you’re not used to. Let me explain it another way.”
Li Zhihuan’s eyes were clear and sincere, meeting his gaze without any avoidance.
“Tell me, are you a soldier?”
Qi Weiguo paused. He didn’t know what she was trying to do, but still forced out a word through clenched teeth.
“Yes.”
“Your duty as a soldier is to defend the country and obey orders, right?”
“Yes.”
“You train rigorously every day and carry out dangerous missions. Why do you do it?”
“For the country. For the people.”
His answer was firm and unwavering—this was a belief carved into his bones.
“Good.”
Li Zhihuan followed his line of thought.
“That is your ‘job’ and your ‘responsibility,’ right? You must do it well, because it concerns national safety, countless lives, and your own honor and future.”
Qi Weiguo’s furrowed brows did not fully relax, but the flames in his eyes had weakened slightly.
He vaguely felt that he was being led by her.
“Then what about me?”
Li Zhihuan changed direction, pointing at herself and then at the house.
“Marrying you and becoming a military wife, living in this compound—that is my current ‘identity.’ And ‘Qi Weiguo’s wife’ is my current ‘position.’”
Seeing the confusion on his face, she continued in the simplest language possible.
“You are a battalion commander. Your reputation and dignity matter. Your wife cannot be someone who embarrasses you, cannot be a troublemaker who causes chaos at home, and cannot be someone who brings you problems outside.”
“Because that would affect your work and your future. People would say: Qi Weiguo can’t even manage his own household—how can he lead soldiers into battle?”
Those words struck a precise nerve in him.
A soldier’s honor was something he valued more than life itself.
Li Zhihuan observed his expression carefully and knew she had hit the mark.
She sighed lightly, her tone turning slightly委屈 yet still earnest.
“So I treat being your wife as my ‘job’ and my ‘responsibility.’ I take it seriously—very seriously.”
“I keep the house clean and comfortable so you can relax when you come back.”
“I cook well so you can eat properly and have strength for training.”
“I manage the money carefully, don’t waste it, and plan how to make our life better.”
“I even restrain my behavior so I don’t act recklessly like before, because everything I do affects your reputation as a battalion commander.”
She paused, then looked up and enunciated clearly:
“When I say ‘investor,’ I mean you provide the material foundation of this family. You are its backbone.”
“When I say ‘CEO,’ I mean I manage this household with the same seriousness as managing the most important work—fulfilling my duties as your wife. I want to do it well, professionally, and leave you with no worries.”
“In your eyes, marriage may just be living life together. But in my eyes, it is responsibility. I value your salary and this family precisely because I take this responsibility seriously.”
“Qi Weiguo,”
Her voice softened, carrying an unprecedented seriousness.
“I’m doing this not because I’m cold-hearted, and not because I can’t see you as a person. On the contrary, it’s precisely because I understand how important your identity as a battalion commander is—to you, and to this family.”
“Your future is my rice bowl. Of course I have to treat my rice bowl as the most important thing of all.”
The entire room fell into silence again.
But this time, it was no longer that cold, suffocating stillness.
Qi Weiguo felt as if his mind had been stirred into a chaotic mess.
Every word she said was understandable on its own.
But when put together, it formed a logic he had never encountered before—yet strangely… it seemed to make a certain kind of sense.
Treating marriage as a job?
Managing a household “professionally” because she valued his career prospects?
It was absurd, strange, and yet damnably… hard to refute.
Because her conclusion was—everything she did was for his good.
The blazing anger in his chest was suddenly doused by a bucket of clear, rational cold water.
The flames were still there, but they no longer spread. Only wisps of smoke remained, along with his chaotic heartbeat.
He lowered his head and realized he was still tightly gripping her wrist.
On that fair skin, a distinct red mark had already formed, glaring under the light.
Qi Weiguo’s heart gave a sharp jolt, as if stung by something.
He released her as if electrocuted.
“I…”
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but his throat was so dry he could not produce a single complete word.
Li Zhihuan withdrew her hand and gently rubbed her aching wrist, her expression calm and unchanged.
“Now, do you understand my ‘cooperation model’, Mr. Investor?”
There was even a hint of teasing in her tone.
Qi Weiguo looked at her—at those eyes, bright under the light. There was no fear, no anger, only calmness and composure.
He felt as if all his strength had been drained by those few sentences.
It was as if he had fought a long and difficult battle, only to realize he had been aiming at the wrong target from the very beginning.
In the end, he said nothing.
He abruptly turned around and strode back into his room.
Bang!
The loud door slam shook the wall, sending dust trembling down from above.
Li Zhihuan stared at the closed door and slowly exhaled.
Leaning back in her chair, she realized her back was already soaked with cold sweat.
That brief confrontation had been more exhausting than a full day of high-level project meetings in her previous life.
She lowered her head and looked at the vivid red mark on her wrist, her expression turning slightly complicated.
“Investors are temperamental and emotionally unstable…”
She muttered to herself.
“It looks like I need to raise the risk rating of this project.”