On the third-floor corridor of the villa.
Song Wenxi shook off Mo Hanche, pouted, casually twirling a conductor’s baton while glancing sideways at the man standing with his hands in his pockets.
Mo Hanche rubbed the bridge of his nose and held out his hand.
“What are you doing?” Song Wenxi snapped, taking a step back.
Mo Hanche looked down at her, then leaned slightly forward and grabbed her wary hand, taking the baton from her. The small baton looked light, but it would still hurt if it hit someone’s hand.
He had seen the back of Yun Qingman’s hands covered in crisscrossed red marks—it was clear this woman did not hold back.
In the past she was arrogantly fierce; now she was childishly fierce.
She was already the mother of three children and still didn’t feel embarrassed—immature.
“Where are the children?”
“The piano room.”
Mo Hanche pushed open the piano room door.
The three children were sitting side by side on a long bench. All three pairs of moist eyes turned toward him at once—timid, and a little wronged.
His gaze landed on Mo Nanqing’s hands—bright red on the back.
Mo Hanche’s eyes instantly turned cold. He even felt Song Wenxi had gone too easy on the teacher.
He sat down at the piano stool, facing the children.
In a calm voice, he asked, “Tell Dad honestly—how does Teacher Yun usually teach you?”
Song Wenxi found the medical kit from the storage room on the first floor and returned upstairs.
When she pushed open the piano room door, the children stopped talking and all looked at her.
She sat on a single sofa nearby and waved at Mo Nanqing.
“Xiao Qing, come here.”
Mo Nanqing’s eyes lit up. He slid off the bench and ran into her arms.
Mo Beiyu and Mo Dongchen looked on enviously.
Song Wenxi applied medicine to Mo Nanqing while Mo Beiyu and Mo Dongchen continued answering Mo Hanche’s questions.
From their answers, both adults quickly sensed something wrong.
Yun Qingman had initially used gentle manipulation tactics—probing the parents’ situation while acting caring toward the children. Recently, however, she had become increasingly impatient and loud, sometimes scolding harshly, sometimes switching back to gentle comfort afterward.
Lately, she had even shoved the children’s heads and roughly grabbed them. Today was the first time she actually hit them.
Mo Nanqing, the quietest child, suffered the most.
As for teaching results—mediocre at best.
Yun Qingman’s résumé claimed she had a master’s degree from South City University and was multi-talented. Whether or not that was true, the fact she dared to physically punish the children so openly was largely because Song Wenxi and Mo Hanche had been neglectful.
Mo Hanche was silent for a moment, glanced at his watch, and said, “I’ll have Uncle Tang find a new tutor.”
“No need,” Song Wenxi said seriously. “They’re still young. They don’t need to learn so much. If they really like something, I’ll teach them myself.”
Mo Hanche looked at her deeply for a moment but didn’t object.
As for her teaching them herself—he didn’t comment.
A vase like her… could she really teach anything?
Still, the fact she was willing to take responsibility for the children was already surprising. Should he give her more allowance?
Then he remembered she had deleted him from her contacts and dismissed the thought.
Later, Mo Hanche left the house again.
Downstairs, the three children sat side by side on the sofa, slowly eating ice cream while watching Boonie Bears. It was the first time Song Wenxi allowed them to watch cartoons while she was home, and they were very satisfied.
Meanwhile, Song Wenxi was in the master bedroom, sorting through the original owner’s bizarre luxury goods and listing them online.
“Hula-hoop bag, original price 200,000, 99% new, 40% off.”
“Patchwork bag, original price 250,000, 90% new, 30% off.”
“Brand-new ‘air vest’, 26,000, now 10,000.”
She also contacted luxury resale shops for the more unusual items.
Messages kept popping up on her phone. She ignored the sarcastic comments mocking her for “going bankrupt,” and focused on negotiating with buyers.
By the end of the day, she had sold everything and earned 15 million yuan.
The wardrobe was half empty. Without those strange clothes and accessories, she finally felt relieved.
Looking at her bank balance filled with zeros, she felt satisfied.
In her previous life, she had traveled the world. Her parents and brother never gave her allowance—forcing her to earn money through short videos and writing stories.
After returning home, her brother once gave her 50 million to support her dream of becoming a director.
She hadn’t even finished enjoying the zeros before she transmigrated into this book.
She hoped her family would assume she was simply on another unusual journey.
While browsing her phone, she opened WeChat and found a new friend request:
“Mo Hanche!”
“Wow… what kind of plastic marriage is this? Married for over five years and they don’t even have each other on WeChat?”
She accepted the request. His profile picture was the three succulents the children had given him. The ID was his initials.
Mo Hanche sent a message:
“You’re poor?”
Song Wenxi: “…”
She waited, noticing “typing…” on the screen.
“Deleting me from WeChat? Don’t want your allowance anymore?”
Then a red packet appeared.
She instantly received it: 999,000 yuan.
She sent him her bank account number with a message:
“Thank you, boss Mo. Can you transfer directly to bank account next time? Saves fees 🌹”
She had deleted him?
Probably… maybe… she had cleared a bunch of contacts without notes yesterday. After five years of marriage, neither had even bothered saving each other properly. Truly a plastic relationship.
She renamed him in her contacts: “A Mo Hanche”.
Priority funder—must be placed at the top.
Mo Corporation Headquarters.
Mo Hanche sneered.
So she was getting bold now—used to wait a few minutes before accepting money, now she took it instantly.
And “fees”? She cared about that small amount?
Not enough money?
What did the rose emoji mean?
He transferred another 5 million yuan to her account.
Song Wenxi saw the notification and raised her brows.
A plastic marriage wasn’t so bad after all—as long as the money arrived.
“Ding-dong~”
A call came in. The name: Jiang Ran.
She hadn’t replied to Jiang Ran’s messages before. This so-called “plastic friend” had taken advantage of the original host many times.
She answered.
“Hey, Sister Xi, you’re really hiding things well! You actually have so many rare bags…”
“By the way, my birthday is the day after tomorrow, I saw a bag I like…”
“Are you listening, Sister Xi?”
At that moment, Mo Dongchen poked his head in.
“Mom, brother still wants another ice cream~”
Jiang Ran paused.
“Did someone just call you ‘mom’?”
“What do you want?” Song Wenxi said flatly.
Jiang Ran quickly replied, “Didn’t I say? My birthday is the day after tomorrow. You’ll come, right?”
“We’ll see.”
She gently played with the child’s hand.
“I’m hanging up. My family is having dinner.”
“Okay—”
The call ended.
Jiang Ran stared at her phone, frowning.
She had clearly mentioned the bag earlier—Song Wenxi must have heard it.
And her birthday gift…
She suddenly thought of the luxury items Song Wenxi had sold today. Her expression darkened.
As expected of a vase. She probably had plenty of men giving her things.