After the Harem Novel’s Female Lead was Spoiled by the Comments - Chapter 13

With Wen Hebai’s injury in mind and fearing inflammation, the dinner Auntie Lan prepared was very light.

This was sheer torture for Wen Hebai, who loved spicy food and seafood: “Light is one thing, but why plain white congee? Even if there’s no Sampan congee, Scholar congee, or salted bone congee, I could even endure the fishiest century-egg-and-pork congee. But plain white congee… are you bankrupt?”

Auntie Lan looked toward Yan Qingwen, who was quietly sipping her congee; clearly, this was Yan Qingwen’s requirement.

Wen Hebai suspected this was Yan Qingwen’s revenge.

Yan Qingwen pushed a small dish of pickled radish over without changing her expression: “Pickled vegetables with white congee is a top-tier delicacy made from the simplest, most rustic ingredients. This dish isn’t common on our table; it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call it a rare treat.”

Wen Hebai gave a dismissive “tsk,” but seeing Yan Qingwen leading by example—eating the pickles and congee without a hint of distaste—she eventually stopped nitpicking. She picked up her spoon and finished a bowl along with the pickles.

Truth be told, although the flavor was light, Auntie Lan had simmered it well; it didn’t just bring out the original fragrance of the rice, it was thick and smooth. Some people like the rice grains in their congee to be distinct, but Wen Hebai liked it soft and viscous so it melted in her mouth. This congee suited her taste perfectly.

After dinner, Yan Qingwen went back to her study to work. Taking advantage of her absence, Wen Hebai secretly asked Auntie Lan to prepare crawfish and beer for a late-night snack.

Auntie Lan hadn’t expected the glamorous and elegant Best Actress Wen to be someone who would go for crawfish and beer in private; she was far too down-to-earth!

Working for Yan Qingwen for several years, she thought all wealthy people were like her—eating simple meals like pickles and congee, but never touching anything associated with street stalls.

Although Auntie Lan was half a “mom-fan” of Wen Hebai, she chose to stand on the same side as Yan Qingwen in this matter: “You can’t eat spicy things while the wound hasn’t healed. Neither crawfish nor beer will do you any good right now. If you’re hungry, I’ll make you a bowl of black sesame paste; it helps wounds heal faster and benefits your hair and skin.”

Wen Hebai couldn’t help but grumble internally: Like boss, like employee!

If she couldn’t eat it here, she’d go elsewhere. Wen Hebai pulled out her phone and messaged her assistant, Lu Tie, to come pick her up for a midnight snack—her car was still parked at the Orestes restaurant. Suddenly looking up, she unexpectedly saw Yan Qingwen at the top of the stairs. She was so startled she dropped her phone.

“Yan Qingwen, are you trying to scare me to death so you can find a second spring?” Wen Hebai questioned.

Yan Qingwen thought she was being nonsensical as she leaned down to pick up the phone that had slid to her feet: “What are you talking about? I’m just walking up and down the stairs normally; how is that trying to scare you? It’s you who has a guilty conscience!”

By chance, Lu Tie replied to Wen Hebai. Seeing the message pop up, Yan Qingwen returned the phone with an expressionless face.

Wen Hebai felt inexplicably guilty, staring at her own nose and keeping her eyes down, not daring to look Yan Qingwen in the eye.

Yan Qingwen turned to go back upstairs, then suddenly paused and looked back: “If the wound gets inflamed or starts to fester, don’t ask me to help you apply medicine. I don’t have much time to waste on that.”

Though her tone was calm, those who knew her well knew she was angry.

Auntie Lan didn’t dare interject and silently returned to the kitchen to finish cleaning.

Wen Hebai watched Yan Qingwen’s back, her words caught in her throat.

When Yan Qingwen was being cold-hearted, few people could make her change her mind. In her youth, Wen Hebai didn’t believe in such “superstitions” and recklessly danced on Yan’s landmines; the result was that Yan truly ignored her.

Emerging from those unbearable teenage memories, Wen Hebai irritably rubbed her head—a habit of hers. But she forgot she had a head injury; the rub caused a spike of pain that immediately cleared all distracting thoughts.

Auntie Lan brought out a bowl of black sesame paste for her. Wen Hebai took it upstairs and knocked on the study door.

Yan Qingwen merely glanced up before returning her gaze to the computer to continue her work.

“You only had one bowl of congee tonight, and you’re doing high-intensity mental work; it’s easy to lose hair. Have some sesame paste; it helps hair growth and nourishes the skin.” Wen Hebai set the bowl on the desk.

Yan Qingwen said: “If you have something to say, just say it. Don’t beat around the bush.”

Wen Hebai didn’t offer any defense for her actions, because she knew that whether she truly didn’t care for her body or was just talking, Yan Qingwen wouldn’t care.

She said: “Too much happened today; I didn’t get a chance to have a proper talk with you.”

Yan Qingwen asked: “What do you want to talk about?”

“Talk about Su Jinyue, talk about Zhuang Yi, and even Jiang Yunhan.” Wen Hebai sat down calmly, shedding all her disguises; her gaze became deep.

This was indeed worth discussing. Yan Qingwen paused her work and looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

“Last night you told me you were worried Su Jinyue was being targeted by a hunter specializing in K City socialites. You suspect that hunter is Zhuang Yi, right? I had someone look into him, but the strange thing is that even the Wen family—who controls the internet, newspapers, and other media—can’t find his past. That’s very unusual, isn’t it?”

Speaking with an intelligent person saved Yan Qingwen a lot of trouble. She nodded: “Correct. I suspect a power we aren’t aware of is lying low in K City, assisting him to achieve some goal.”

Wen Hebai picked up the thread: “For example, approaching those wealthy, simple-minded heiresses who are easy to trick, using their family resources to develop himself, or expanding his own power base.”

Yan Qingwen gave her a meaningful look. This guess was very close to the “truth” in Jiang Yunhan’s inner thoughts. The Dragon King lead, Zhuang Yi, was indeed using the resources of his harem leads, cannibalizing their influence to grow.

Wen Hebai suddenly asked: “Marrying me… surely it wasn’t just to avoid becoming his prey?”

Yan Qingwen wasn’t so easily led by the nose. She sidestepped the core issue: “A single Zhuang Yi isn’t enough to make me so passive.”

Wen Hebai raised an eyebrow: “One Zhuang Yi might not be enough, but what if you add a Jiang Yunhan? I’ve noticed you’ve been paying quite a bit of attention to him lately. Is there some secret to him as well?”

Truly worthy of being the rival who had gone head-to-head with her for years. With such sharp and delicate insight, one could easily fall into her trap if they weren’t careful.

Yan Qingwen said: “You were the one who told me the Jiang family intended to form an alliance with the Yans. So, the reason I married you… you know it best, don’t you?”

Despite knowing that their marriage was a trade of interests from the very beginning, Wen Hebai remained silent for a moment upon hearing this.

After a short while, she smiled and looked over composedly: “Haven’t you ever suspected that I was lying to you?”

Yan Qingwen: “…If you were lying to me, then I must congratulate you. I lost.”

Wen Hebai felt somewhat annoyed: “In a marriage with no emotional foundation, how can there be a winner?”

It was just that, despite knowing there was no winning side, she was still willing to be the loser.