She appeared at the café entrance like a scene-stealing side character in Episode 9 of a long-running soap.
Flowy white blouse. Gold earrings. Smoky eyeliner. Slight limp.
Baozi floated beside her, invisible to everyone but her, whispering madly in her ear.
"THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA!"
"I'm not here to fight her," Qingxue said under her breath, smiling politely as the hostess gaped. "I'm just here to remind her that she lost."
Mo Chen turned his head.
And his jaw locked.
Shen Qingxue walked toward them like she owned the entire café, like the rooftop view and flower arrangements were all props for her solo scene. She arrived at the table, barely acknowledging Ye Wan.
"Darling," she said sweetly to Mo Chen. "You forgot your wallet. Again."
He looked at her like she had sprouted a second head.
She slid the wallet onto the table, placed a hand lightly on the back of his chair, and smiled at Ye Wan.
"Ye Wan, isn't it? Wow, you're even prettier in person," she said warmly. "I almost feel bad."
Ye Wan blinked. "Bad?"
"For stealing your man," Qingxue said brightly. "Anyway! I won't interrupt your friendly catch-up. I just wanted to drop this off."
She leaned close to Mo Chen, just enough for her perfume—sandalwood and drama—to reach him. "Text me when you're done, hmm? Don't make me send a helicopter."
And with that, she turned and walked away.
Well… she intended to.
But her legs wobbled.
Her vision blurred.
And then everything tilted.
***
He saw it a second before it happened.
Qin Rourou took three graceful steps away- then stumbled like a puppet with cut strings. Her hand reached for the nearest table. Her knees buckled.
He was on his feet before he realized it.
He caught her just as she collapsed against a chair, her breath shallow, her face pale.
"Qin RouRou!"
She blinked up at him, dazed. "Did… did I win the scene?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he lowered her into a chair, checked her forehead.
Burning.
"What's wrong with her?" Ye Wan asked, concerned.
Mo Chen didn't reply. His mind was racing. This wasn't an act. No one faked a fever this well.
"Call my driver," he ordered sharply to a passing waiter. "Now."
Qin Rourou smiled faintly. "Oh no… you're touching me voluntarily… is this growth?"
"Shut up."
***
(Back at the Mansion)
She was bundled into bed under three layers of quilts. Mo Chen had personally called the private doctor, stood by with arms crossed during the entire exam, and left only after confirming she wasn't dying in the next ten minutes.
Qingxue cracked one eye open after the doctor left.
Baozi hovered above her pillow. "You were so dramatic. I'm proud and horrified."
"I wasn't faking," she muttered. "I really felt like a wilted cabbage."
Mo Chen returned a minute later, holding a glass of water and some pills.
He handed them to her silently.
She took them without looking at him.
"…Thanks," she said.
No response.
But he didn't leave either.
She looked up, surprised to see him standing at the foot of the bed, staring at her like she was a particularly confusing tax form.
"What?" she asked.
Mo Chen narrowed his eyes.
"You're different."
She froze.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know yet," he said after a pause. "But I'll figure it out."
And with that cryptic threat or promise… he turned and walked out.
Qingxue exhaled shakily, collapsing back against the pillows.
Baozi whispered, "Host… are you sure you're okay?"
Qingxue's eyes fluttered shut.
"No," she whispered. "But he looked worried. So maybe… I'm getting somewhere."
***
The door clicked shut behind Mo Chen, and silence settled in the room like an awkward third wheel. Shen Qingxue lay in bed dramatically, a single arm flung over her forehead like a misunderstood heroine from a 1980s soap opera.
"I can't believe he said I'm different," she muttered.
"Technically, he's right," Baozi whispered, peeking out from behind a box of tissues on the nightstand. "You're literally a different soul occupying her body."
"Not helping, Baozi."
She sniffled slightly—not out of heartbreak, but because her nose was starting to feel congested, and her throat itched like she'd gargled sandpaper. Her limbs were heavy, her head buzzed, and the temperature in the room suddenly felt like it had been cranked up to sauna levels.
"Do I have a fever?" she mumbled.
Baozi, ever helpful, floated down and pressed a tiny orb cheek to her forehead. Then blinked.
"Host… your body temperature is 38.9°C. That's a fever. You're sick."
"WHAT?" Shen Qingxue sat up and immediately regretted it, swaying like a tree in a typhoon. "Sick? Now?! In this arc?! When I haven't even emotionally manipulated anyone yet?"
"Actually…" Baozi blinked nervously. "It's… residual. From the original body. Qin Rourou's immune system is kinda weak also terminally ill. All that wine throwing and rooftop screaming wasn't great for her blood pressure."
Qingxue flopped back onto the bed with a groan.
"Great. I'm a yandere with a vitamin deficiency."
Baozi flashed a small warning notification:
[Health Stability: 62%]
[Condition: Mild Fever, Fatigue, Iron Deficiency, Lack of Male Lead Affection]
"What kind of medical diagnosis is that last one?" she grumbled.
"The system believes emotional fulfillment improves Host recovery rate by 17%!" Baozi chirped helpfully.
"Well then!" Qingxue kicked the sheets. "Time to earn his affection! Operation 'Make Mo Chen Look at Me Without Thinking About Pepper Spray' begins now!"
Baozi blinked. "What's the plan?"
She rolled to her side with a slow smirk. "Sick girl route. Soft, tragic, quietly suffering beauty. Every male lead loves that. The heroine coughs once and they're ready to carry her through six lifetimes."
Baozi looked skeptical. "Mo Chen's favorite type is 'silent, emotionally stable, and not a war criminal.'"
She ignored that. "First, I need soup. The kind that smells like I'm about to die but still look gorgeous doing it."
***
Meanwhile, on the other side of the mansion…
Mo Chen leaned on the banister of the staircase, expression unreadable. His assistant, Lin Zhao, approached with a tablet.
"President Mo, the Lee family's anniversary party is in three days. Miss Ye Wan is expected to attend too as your secretary."
At the mention of the name, Mo Chen's brow twitched slightly—but he didn't respond right away.
Lin Zhao hesitated. "Should I RSVP a regret message that you won't be able to come?" He asked knowing how mad Mrs Mo gets whenever Mo Chen is near Ye Wan.
Mo Chen looked away, his eyes drifting down the hallway toward where Qingxue's room was. His voice was cold, but his thoughts were anything but.
'She's different now.'
That phrase still lingered on his tongue.
Qin Rourou, the woman he once couldn't spend ten seconds around without feeling strangled by perfume and possessiveness—was acting like a completely different person. She wasn't clingy. She wasn't shouting. And she didn't even mention Ye Wan in their last conversation.
And then… the way she looked at him earlier. Pale, shivering, but trying to look normal. She didn't even whine. That wasn't her.
"She's probably faking it," he muttered aloud.
But even as he said it, something twisted uncomfortably in his chest.
'She looked sick. Really sick.'
He ran a hand through his hair.
"She always pulls something when she knows Ye Wan might come back," he told himself. "I wonder what she will do now if I go there?"
Still, he didn't head to his study. Instead, he lingered near the corridor longer than he intended.
***
Back in the room, Qingxue had managed to haul herself out of bed, only to collapse dramatically onto the sofa like a Victorian ghost.
"Baozi," she croaked, "do I look pitiful enough?"
"You look like someone canceled your drama contract halfway through filming."
"Perfect."
A soft knock came at the door.
It creaked open. Auntie Zhao, the housekeeper, stepped in with a tray of soup.
"Madam, Young Master Mo said to bring this."
Qingxue blinked, pushing herself upright. "He-he noticed?!"
"Of course. He said to tell you: 'Eat and don't die. We have a reputation to maintain.'"
"…How romantic," Qingxue deadpanned.
But her heart fluttered.
'So he does care… a little. Or maybe he just doesn't want the tabloids saying his wife kicked the bucket in Chanel bedsheets.'
Still, she accepted the soup like it was a love letter. She dipped the spoon and winced—it tasted like boiled paper and sadness.
"Is this… chicken?"
Auntie Zhao coughed. "It's… tofu mushroom."
"Ah," she said, swallowing her pride and a chunk of mystery mushroom. "Luxury."
Baozi hovered beside her. "That's one affection point gained!"
"Wait, really?" she blinked. "Where was it before?"
"Negative 300. Now it's negative 299."
Qingxue: "…"
***
That night, the fever hit harder.
She tossed and turned under the sheets, murmuring nonsense. Sweat clung to her skin. Her dreams blurred into fragmented memories of her past arcs—some tragic, some ridiculous. She saw Director Bai, frowning disapprovingly from a throne of rejected scripts.
"You'll fail this one too," the dream Director Bai whispered.
"No, I won't," Qingxue whispered, half-delirious.
The door creaked.
Mo Chen stepped in silently.
He hadn't meant to check on her.
But the house was too quiet. Something in his gut told him something was off.
The sight made him pause.
Qin RouRou—who was always full of noise and drama and over-the-top declarations—was curled under the blankets, face flushed, hair damp with sweat. Her lips were pale. She shivered.
For the first time, he felt something twist in his chest that wasn't annoyance.
He walked closer. Slowly.
"Qin Rourou," he called softly.
She didn't respond.
He reached forward and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.
Burning.
Too hot.
His jaw clenched.
He turned sharply. "Zhao. Call a doctor. Now."
The next morning, Shen Qingxue blinked herself awake slowly.
The first thing she noticed was that she wasn't dead.
The second thing she noticed was that someone had changed her cold towel at least three times.
The third thing she noticed…
Mo Chen.
Sitting in a chair beside the bed, sleeves rolled up, staring at his laptop. Completely focused. Handsome in that infuriating, workaholic, emotionally unavailable way.
She blinked again.
"Did I… hallucinate you?"
He didn't look up. "Unfortunately not."
She croaked, "You stayed all night?"
"I was working. This was the quietest room."
Qingxue narrowed her eyes. "Right. Because the study with soundproof walls is obviously too loud."
He gave her a long look.
"I don't know what you're doing," he said finally. "But this… act of yours. It's convincing."
Her heart skipped.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"But even if you're pretending… I can't ignore it when you're like this."
She blinked. "Wait… was that concern?"
"Don't get used to it," he muttered. "Just get better. I don't want people accusing me of negligent husbandry."
"…Did you just call our marriage 'husbandry'?"
Baozi popped up beside her, squealing:
"Host! You just gained +4 affection points!"
Qingxue smiled faintly. "Only 295 more to go…"
But just as things were looking up, Lin Zhao's voice echoed from the hallway outside:
"President Mo, Miss Ye Wan just confirmed. She'll be arriving at the party with her fiancé instead of you."
Qingxue's eyes widened.
Wait. Fiancé?
Original novel didn't have any fiance like that. Did the script changed?
Baozi blinked. "Plot twist."
Mo Chen's jaw tightened. He stood up abruptly.
"Stay in bed," he told Qingxue. "Don't get any ideas."
Then he left the room with long, fast strides.
Qingxue stared at the door.
Fiancé?
Wasn't Ye Wan supposed to be his one true love? Who waited for him till villainess died?
She sat up slowly, still pale and trembling.
"…Baozi."
"Yes, Host?"
"We're going to that party."
"But you're sick!"
"Perfect," she grinned weakly. "Even better for the tragic heroine arc."
She threw off the covers, legs wobbling as she stood.
"I'm going to look so beautiful collapsing in front of his ex."
Baozi let out a long sigh. "At this rate, I'm going to need fever meds too."