Volume One, Chapter 52: Jealousy! Zhou Jinghuai Tears Up the Agreement

In the afternoon, Ye Wu became a trending topic online.

#President Rong En’s wife, infertile and unable to conceive
#Zhou Jinghuai never gives up, their marital love stronger than gold

Accompanied by a blurry photo, presumably taken last night, showing Zhou Jinghuai holding her, captured secretly by someone.

Instantly, the topic surged to the top trending spot.

The PR department of Rong En Group acted swiftly, spending heavily to have it removed.

Yet, within just half an hour, the topic amassed an astonishing 78 million views, with 40,000 original posts. Every woman envied Ye Wu’s fortunate fate—having a husband who loved her deeply.

But Ye Wu felt only irony.

In a sour mood, she left the gallery early, driving a white Porsche Ghost to wander the streets. Eventually, she parked in the square outside an amusement park and sat on the car’s hood, gazing at the endlessly spinning Ferris wheel.

At four in the afternoon, snowflakes began to fall.

The first snow of spring.

The biting cold wrapped around her as Ye Wu donned a white down jacket, reluctant to leave. She watched quietly as the Ferris wheel’s colorful lights flickered on one by one, and children gradually left the scene.

Between heaven and earth, silence reigned, with only snowflakes softly descending.

A cup of milk tea was handed to her.

Ye Wu gently blinked away the snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes and looked up to see Gu Jiuci.

He wore a formal suit beneath a dark gray thin wool coat, snow dusting his black hair in a light layer. He smiled faintly and said, “That milk tea shop was popular; I waited ten minutes in line. Drink it while it’s warm.”

Ye Wu hesitated but accepted the cup.

On a chilly day, a warm milk tea was indeed tempting.

Gu Jiuci tossed his briefcase onto the car hood and sat beside Ye Wu, both looking up at the gigantic Ferris wheel. He did not mention the trending topic or pry into her private life with Zhou Jinghuai. Instead, he shared anecdotes from his childhood.

“When I was little, Nian An and I went to school nearby.”
“Nian An was in kindergarten; I was in sixth grade.”
“One day, the teacher asked me to go to the kindergarten next door to bring Nian An home. When I got there, it turned out Nian An had accidentally fallen into the squat toilet, one foot yellow and dirty, and smelled awful.”
“Nian An felt so unclean and cried bitterly.”

Ye Wu pictured the scene and thought of Gu Nian An, unable to help but smile faintly.

Gu Jiuci glanced at her sideways, his gaze deep and his voice gentle: “Kids can be troublesome sometimes—Nian An especially so.”

Ye Wu was momentarily stunned.

She locked eyes with Gu Jiuci and remained dazed for a long while. Was this supposed to be his consolation?

She turned back to the Ferris wheel, her mood inexplicably lightened. They talked about Gu Nian An, and she shared stories from her own childhood—how she had lived relying on her grandmother.

In the past, she had wanted to tell Zhou Jinghuai these things, but his heart was filled only with power and influence; he had no interest in her past. After that, she never mentioned it in his presence again.

In Zhou Jinghuai’s mind, she was Mrs. Zhou, the CEO Ye of Rong En Group.

Not Ye Wu the person.

For the first time in a long while, she revealed a gentle smile, as if she had returned to her 22-year-old self—unburdened by love, living freely and unrestrained.

A luxurious black limousine lingered by the roadside.

The rear passenger window rolled down halfway, revealing a noble man inside with deep eyes, watching his wife in the distance.

She sat shoulder to shoulder with Gu Jiuci by the car hood, chatting amid the light snow, holding a milk tea bought by another man, even smiling at him.

How long had it been since she last smiled so sincerely?

And now it was at Gu Jiuci.

Zhou Jinghuai sat silently inside the dim car.

The dark interior cast his expression as enigmatic, his true thoughts unreadable. After a long moment, he snorted softly and tore up the prepared divorce agreement in one swift motion.

He regretted it. Suddenly, he did not want to let Ye Wu go.

The window rolled up, and he calmly instructed the driver, “Drive on.”

…

At ten o’clock that night.

Ye Wu had taken a shower and changed into a silk robe, feeling relaxed and comfortable as she sat at her vanity applying skincare products.

A faint sound came from the doorway.

—Like a key turning in a lock.

Just as Ye Wu intended to check the living room, an uninvited guest had already entered—it was none other than Zhou Jinghuai.

Ye Wu sat back down at the vanity, quietly studying the man through the mirror.

Snow clung lightly to his shoulders and hair tips, clearly standing in the snow for a long time.

Ye Wu softly asked, “Where did you get the key?”

Zhou Jinghuai placed the key on the vanity in front of her and said with righteous assurance, “I had it made.”

Ye Wu scoffed, “How generous of you.”

Zhou Jinghuai came behind her, resting his hands on the back of the chair. His black eyes scrutinized her in the mirror as if trying to see through her skin and flesh.

After a while, he leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Tonight, I’m not going to be polite.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what you think—intimacy, fulfilling marital duties.”

…

Ye Wu naturally refused coldly: “I don’t feel anything.”

Zhou Jinghuai’s hand gently caressed the nape of her neck like a lover’s tender whisper: “I’ll make you feel it.”

Shortly after, he rose and began unbuttoning his overcoat.

Ye Wu was lifted onto the vanity, startled. She grabbed his black hair fiercely, breath ragged: “Zhou Jinghuai, you’re crazy!”

He looked into her eyes, his gaze deep and dark: “I don’t care.”

The soft lighting intertwined their shadows as they suddenly lost control.

…

Afterward, her hair was disheveled, beads of sweat dotting her skin.

Wrapped in a thin sheet, head resting on a snowy white pillow, Ye Wu breathed softly: “You can go now.”

With his warm, tender presence, how could Zhou Jinghuai bear to leave?

Though he held resentment toward Gu Jiuci, in this fleeting moment of spring, he refrained from sour questioning. Instead, he gently gripped her shoulder and said, “Wasn’t it good just now?”

Ye Wu’s voice was indifferent: “It’s just one or two times. If it felt good, think of it as ordering takeout.”

Zhou Jinghuai was infuriated and turned her body toward him: “Then shall we do it again?”

Ye Wu pushed him away, wrapped in the sheet, barefoot as she walked into the bathroom to shower.

After a while, her muffled voice came from the bathroom: “If you hadn’t had the key made, nothing would have happened tonight. Zhou Jinghuai, can you be straightforward? This isn’t like you.”

Listening to her showering, Zhou Jinghuai’s mind wandered again. He followed her into the bathroom.

He finally brought up Gu Jiuci, his words thick with jealousy, demanding Ye Wu cut off all contact with him.

Ye Wu ignored him.

She understood Zhou Jinghuai’s meaning: he wanted more because he had not been satisfied yet. She turned off the water, grabbed a towel to dry herself, and said, “I have a social engagement tomorrow. I don’t have the energy to go wild with you tonight.”

“What engagement now?”

“In the past, I always had social engagements at Rong En Group. You never said anything. Don’t act like we’re dating now. Zhou Jinghuai, can you be normal?”

…

After speaking, Ye Wu picked up a robe to put on.

Zhou Jinghuai took it from her gently, softly removing the towel and tenderly helping her into the robe, tying the sash at her waist. Finally, his eyes darkened with meaning: “I’ll take a shower and then make you a late-night snack.”

Ye Wu felt as if Zhou Jinghuai had been bewitched.

The night grew deeper and more profound.

Zhou Jinghuai showered and dressed in the clothes Ye Wu had bought him—a gray shirt. Standing in the narrow kitchen, he cooked a late-night meal: his specialty, spaghetti.

The cramped kitchen did not diminish his noble bearing in the slightest. Under the bright white light, his features were sharply outlined, as if painted by a master artist—each stroke crafted by the hand of God.

Ye Wu leaned against the doorframe holding a cup of hot cocoa, watching the tall figure of the man.

For the first time, she realized Zhou Jinghuai could cook.