Song Wenxi drove to the night market and bought some late-night food before heading to Shengze Hospital.
At ten o’clock at night, the entire cardiology department was quiet.
She left one portion of food for Mo Hanche and distributed the rest to the nurses and doctors on duty. The nurses briefly explained his condition for the day in a few sentences.
Song Wenxi didn’t knock. She gently turned the doorknob and tiptoed inside. The bedside lamp was soft, and so was the man’s sleeping face.
For some reason, seeing him sleep so peacefully, her hand instinctively reached out to test his temperature.
But… he didn’t have a fever.
Right, temperature normal.
Just as she was about to pull her hand back, it was caught by a large, dry hand. The man’s eyes were already clear—he had clearly been pretending to sleep.
Mo Hanche studied her from head to toe—loose hair, khaki trench coat. Yes, the blurry figure raising her little finger was indeed her.
“Hey, why are you still awake? Hungry? I bought supper—porridge and wontons.”
“What were you doing at Meizi?”
Song Wenxi was surprised. “How do you even know where I went? You’re in the hospital.”
Mo Hanche showed her a photo on his phone. “A friend sent it.”
In the picture, her figure looked unexpectedly cool and unruly, framed by purple hallway lighting and glass walls—the atmosphere was strangely cinematic.
She set out the food and casually ate the wontons while complaining about Jiang Ran, recounting everything that happened in the private room at Meizi.
“So tell me, was I wrong to give her the little finger gesture?”
Honestly, she had wanted to raise her middle finger, but held back.
Mo Hanche adjusted the bed to a sitting position and looked at her again, slowly becoming acquainted with this new side of her.
A bit wild.
“Mm. Not wrong. Just stay away from her in the future.”
“Are you sure you’re not eating? The wontons are really good.”
Watching her happily eat one wonton after another, Mo Hanche spoke almost absentmindedly. “I’ll try.”
Song Wenxi scooped one and brought it to his mouth. Mo Hanche, slightly particular about cleanliness, hesitated for a second before opening his mouth.
In the end, they finished a bowl of wontons between them. She drank half a bowl of porridge, and he finished what she left behind.
Afterward, she went to get a wet towel and wiped his face. Mo Hanche immediately felt much more comfortable.
“Alright, rest well. I’m heading home.”
“Come here.”
Before she could react, he pulled her down, held her upper body close, and kissed her. After a long moment, he finally let go, still reluctant, lightly squeezing her soft hand.
“Drive slowly.”
She turned off the main light and left the ward. Night had deepened; the hospital was brightly lit yet eerily quiet—completely different from the daytime bustle.
He was alone in the hospital… kind of pitiful.
Song Wenxi sat in the car, thought for a while, then got out and returned to the cardiology ward.
Mo Hanche hadn’t slept. When he saw her return, neither of them spoke.
He patted the side of the bed. She didn’t hesitate, took off her trench coat, and lay down beside him on the uninjured side.
“I’ll just stay with you tonight.”
A warm current spread through his heart. Mo Hanche gently rested his chin on her head. “Alright. Good night.”
The next morning, when he woke up, she was gone. Only her faint scent remained in the air. The cold heart he had carried for years had carved out a small space—barely enough to hold half of her.
When Song Wenxi rushed home, she just made it in time to see Uncle Tang sending the children to school. She hurriedly kissed each of her three babies goodbye.
In the car, the three little ones touched their cheeks at the same time, giggling and humming songs.
Back upstairs, she immediately took a bath, washed away her exhaustion, and slept until noon—unaware that she had gone viral online again.
Videos and photos from her night at Meizi had been leaked. It started with an edited clip suggesting she had admitted to being supported by a “sugar daddy,” along with screenshots of her supposedly selling luxury bags on social media.
The internet quickly reacted with mild ridicule:
“She’s just a vase—having a sugar daddy isn’t surprising.”
“Oh wow, so she’s selling bags now? Must’ve been dumped.”
Then a full, unedited video uploaded by an influencer exploded online, racking up tens of thousands of likes. The comment section went wild:
“This is insane, I love this drama.”
“Who is Jiang Ran? Serious question.”
“Title it: awakening of a clueless rich girl!”
“Song Huahua is so proud of her sugar daddy.”
Jiang Ran’s Weibo was flooded. Her fans attacked Song Wenxi, then turned to comfort Jiang Ran. Song Wenxi’s own fans watched with amused detachment, firing back with sarcasm in the comments.
She was woken by a call from Anna. After listening to her nonstop persuasion, Song Wenxi finally understood the situation.
“The video wasn’t posted by me. Maybe some people are just reaping what they sow. There’s no need for a statement. We just don’t get along—that’s it. If she returns the two million yuan, I’ll post online and call her a noble woman.”
She yawned loudly. “Alright, bye, Anna.”
On the other end, Anna immediately turned to Jiang Ran and advised her to return the money, warning her not to ruin her hard-built image and not to provoke Song Wenxi again.
That afternoon, Jiang Ran gathered two million yuan and returned it. Song Wenxi also posted immediately:
“Ms. Jiang insisted on returning the two million yuan. From now on, we owe each other nothing.”
She had originally wanted to add a line praising Jiang Ran’s “graceful character,” but Anna stopped her and handled PR instead.
New comments flooded in, shifting public opinion again—some calling Song Wenxi petty and calculating, others praising Jiang Ran’s sincerity and accusing Song Wenxi of being unworthy and too harsh.
At that moment, Song Wenxi was in the hospital with her so-called “sugar daddy,” who remarked that because of the two million yuan incident, she had gained more negative comments—and it wasn’t worth it.
Song Wenxi disagreed.
“How is it not worth it? Two million yuan means financial freedom, travel freedom, work freedom, and medical freedom… it’s extremely useful. If they want their reputation back, they should return the money. Those comments don’t hurt anyway.”
Mo Hanche studied her, unsure whether to say she was money-obsessed or surprisingly enlightened. Either way, the negativity didn’t seem to affect her at all.
Since she didn’t allow him to interfere, he let it go.
After three days in the hospital, Mo Hanche was discharged.
He recovered well and resumed normal life and work, but unlike before, he no longer stayed up late in the office. He left work on time and went home on schedule.
In the evenings, his “entertainment” became watering flowers and weeding with the three children.
Their mother lounged under the shaded pavilion in the front yard, lying on a low couch, drinking milk tea, eating fruit, and scrolling on her phone.
Song Wenxi had officially entered vacation mode at home.