The moment Mo Chen walked into the empty master bedroom, something in the air felt… wrong.
Too quiet. Too clean.
Too deliberate.
There was no sign of Shen Qingxue—just a faint scent of her perfume lingering like smoke after a fire.
A note sat on her vanity in that signature red-inked cursive:
"Don't wait up. I'll be having dinner with someone who actually asks how I'm feeling. – RR"
Mo Chen crumpled the note in his fist.
Baozi would've said something sarcastic at a time like this if it were his system, but Mo Chen had no narrator.
Only a gnawing ache and the ghost of a woman slipping through his fingers.
***
Meanwhile, at a private rooftop restaurant.
Shen Qingxue sat with her chin in her hand, overlooking the city skyline. Across from her, Yi Cheng swirled his wine, frowning.
"You didn't eat much."
"I'm not here for the calories," she said, smiling faintly.
He looked at her carefully. "You're getting paler."
"I'm going for the aesthetic of 'delicate heroine who dies tragically in the third act,'" she quipped.
Yi Cheng didn't smile.
"…You're not joking about this anymore, are you?"
She hesitated. Then shrugged. "Joking makes it easier."
Silence fell between them.
And then Yi Cheng asked, "Are you still going to let him break your heart?"
Shen Qingxue looked out over the railing.
"No," she said. "I'm going to break his first."
***
Inside Shen Qingxue's mind:
Baozi was practically vibrating with pride.
[Host! Are we…are we entering the Heartbreak Arc?!]
"Correction," she murmured mentally, sipping her mocktail. "This is the 'reverse heartbreak and public emotional annihilation' arc."
[New unlock! Savage Queen Path: Activated.]
Shen Qingxue's fingers tightened around her glass.
This wasn't just revenge. Or jealousy.
It was strategy.
She had cried in silence once. She had hoped for affection. She had dared to think maybe—maybe—Mo Chen would change.
Now?
Now she would make him change.
Even if it meant showing him the nightmare of losing her.
***
The next day.
The paparazzi had a field day.
Photos of Shen Qingxue and Yi Cheng laughing together, strolling down the steps of the rooftop restaurant arm-in-arm, were plastered across gossip sites by morning.
The headlines were brutal:
"CEO Mo's Wife Seen Cozy With Handsome 'Friend' — Trouble in Paradise?"
"Ye Wan Who? The Real Rival May Be Mo Chen Himself."
Shen Qingxue looked at the tabloids with clinical disinterest as she painted her nails.
Mo Chen, on the other hand, slammed the newspaper down so hard that the wood beneath cracked.
"Get me Yi Cheng's background file," he snapped at his assistant.
The assistant blinked. "Sir, he's her childhood—"
"I said get it."
He didn't care who Yi Cheng was.
What he did care about was how his wife—his wife—looked at another man like that.
And she hadn't even come home last night.
***
Later that evening.
Shen Qingxue sat in her private garden, swathed in a designer robe and moonlight, when the system chirped in.
[Host… enemy activity detected. Ye Wan just sent another "anonymous" package to your inbox.]
"Let me guess," she said, reclining with her tea. "More 'incriminating evidence'?"
[A fake chat log this time. Mo Chen supposedly saying he still dreams about her.]
Qingxue rolled her eyes.
"Uncreative."
[Should we clap back or leak photos of you and Yi Cheng at the art gala tomorrow?]
"Both."
She picked up her phone, smirked, and forwarded the fake messages Ye Wan had sent… straight to Mo Chen.
With one line:
"Your ex needs a hobby. Or therapy."
***
Inside Mo Chen's car.
His phone vibrated.
He stared at the message.
Then at the forwarded images.
Then at the sender.
And suddenly… it clicked.
Ye Wan.
It had always been Ye Wan.
He remembered the way Shen Qingxue had collapsed. The way her hands trembled when she played that audio file. The one that started it all.
"…I wonder what life would've been like if I never married her."
But he never said that to Ye Wan.
Not like that.
Not when he was alone.
He remembered now.
Ye Wan had shown up after he'd already had a few drinks. The sentence—half-drunk, half-regret—had been twisted.
The audio was real.
But the context?
Manipulated.
His jaw tightened.
She had weaponized his carelessness.
And Shen Qingxue had paid for it.
***
(Back at the Mo estate)
The front gates opened with a loud creak.
Shen Qingxue looked up from her book just as Mo Chen stormed in.
"You knew," she said flatly, "the photos were staged."
"Yes."
"You still let me think the worst."
He walked closer. "I didn't realize until today."
"Do you want a medal? Or a therapist?"
He stopped in front of her, eyes dark. "I'm not here to argue."
"Then what are you here for?"
"To apologize."
The room froze.
Even Baozi gasped.
[Did he just use the 'A' word?!]
Mo Chen's voice was lower now. Raw.
"I said that thing to Ye Wan because I was angry. Because I was confused. Not because I meant it."
She said nothing.
He added quietly, "I've been selfish. Cold. I told myself this marriage didn't matter. But the truth is… you matter. And it's killing me."
Shen Qingxue stared at him.
And then?
She laughed.
Low. Beautiful. Dangerous.
"You know," she said, standing slowly, "a few weeks ago, I would've cried over that speech."
She stepped close. So close their shadows overlapped.
"But now?"
She leaned in, lips near his ear.
"I want you to earn it."
***
Later that night
Baozi floated above her bed like an anxious pillow spirit.
[Host… are we really making Mo Chen grovel through 10 stages of heartbreak for forgiveness?]
"Thirteen," she said, tucking herself in. "I'm adding a bonus level."
[…I love us.]
And Shen Qingxue smiled.
Because whether or not she lived…
She wasn't going to die a footnote in his life.
She would become unforgettable.
***
The morning sun filtered through gauzy curtains as Shen Qingxue leisurely stirred a teaspoon of honey into her tea.
Across from her, Mo Chen looked like a man trying not to flinch at every sip she took.
Her complexion was too pale. Her wrists too thin. Her eyes, ringed in soft fatigue, made her look less like the villainess of a melodrama and more like the ghost of a tragic heroine who refused to die quietly.
And yet, she looked radiant.
Wrapped in a white silk robe, hair half-pinned, sipping tea like a queen receiving tribute.
"Where's Yi Cheng?" Mo Chen asked casually, though his tone held razors.
She didn't even look up. "He has a job. Unlike some people, who spend their mornings interrogating sick wives."
"I wasn't interrogating."
"Mm. My mistake. You were hovering."
He stiffened. "I'm here because I care."
Shen Qingxue finally raised her gaze. Calm. Distant. The same look one might give a stranger trying to return a misplaced umbrella.
"Then maybe try showing it before I sign divorce papers next time."
Mo Chen inhaled sharply.
He deserved that.
But he wasn't leaving.
Not now. Not again.
Instead, he sat across from her and gently pulled the spoon from her hand.
"I'm taking you to your doctor's appointment today," he said.
"Cancel whatever plans Yi Cheng made."
She tilted her head. "Why?"
"Because I want to."
"That's not a reason. That's a tantrum."
His jaw tightened. "Then call it guilt."
Her gaze flickered briefly. "Not love?"
"…Not yet," he said quietly. "But maybe… someday."
Qingxue's smile was slight—but sharp. "I wouldn't wait on me if I were you."
"I'm not waiting," Mo Chen said, reaching out and tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "I'm fighting."
She didn't flinch.
But she didn't lean in either.
"Then prepare to lose."
***
Later that day, in the hospital lobby:
Mo Chen watched as Shen Qingxue walked ahead of him in heels far too high for her current condition, head held high, clipboard in hand like a CEO disguised as a patient.
Every nurse, intern, and passerby turned to look. She looked like a starlet from a vintage film—delicate, untouchable, tragic.
Mo Chen followed in silence, holding her handbag like some designer accessory husband.
He didn't care.
He would've carried her in.
They reached the oncology ward.
She paused. "You're not coming in with me."
"Yes, I am."
"I don't need—"
"I want to."
That stopped her.
She turned, brows raised.
"I was horrible to you," she said bluntly. "Jealous. Controlling. Manipulative. Why are you doing this now?"
His answer came too fast.
"Because you're not horrible now."
She blinked.
He stepped closer. "Because for the first time, you're not trying to trap me. Or punish me. You're just… you."
"And if 'me' wants a divorce?" she asked softly.
Mo Chen's throat worked. "Then I'll still be the one driving you to the hospital."
Inside her mind, Baozi was sobbing into his metaphorical dumpling paws.
[HOST. I'M MELTING. WHY IS THIS THE FIRST TIME I WANT TO ROOT FOR THE ML?!]
"Because this is the first time he stopped being the male lead," Qingxue whispered mentally. "And started being a person."
***
Back home, Mo Chen watched as she curled up on the chaise with her favorite poetry book. Not the tragic kind. The angry kind. Sylvia Plath in silk pajamas.
"I made you soup," he said, setting a tray down.
She looked at the bowl suspiciously. "Are you trying to poison me?"
"I supervised the chef myself."
"Ah. So it'll kill me slowly."
He gave her a look.
Qingxue took a small sip—and blinked.
"Wait. This actually doesn't taste like sadness."
"I added mushrooms. You like those."
Her hand paused.
"…You remember that?"
"I remember everything," he said simply.
That made her go very still.
"Then you must also remember how I used to throw vases."
"Which is why I had the living room redecorated in shatterproof resin."
"…You bastard," she whispered.
"Possibly."
She laughed despite herself.
And then her expression sobered.
She placed the bowl aside, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Mo Chen straightened.
"For everything I did to you," she continued, voice quiet. "Back then… I thought love meant possession. That if I could control you, I could keep you."
He didn't speak. Let her finish.
"But now I know love is freedom. Letting go. Letting you choose—even if you don't choose me."
Her voice was steady. But her eyes…
Were breaking.
"I'm ready to sign the papers," she said.
Silence fell like snow.
Mo Chen stepped forward.
Then knelt in front of her.
She blinked. "What—"
"I don't want a divorce," he said, voice rough.
She stared down at him, stunned.
"Qin RouRou," he said softly, "I don't care what you did in past. I don't care if you make me grovel through a thousand heartbreaks."
He reached for her hand. She didn't pull away.
"I just want to earn the right to stay."
***
The next morning.
Ye Wan was in full meltdown mode.
In her white-walled bedroom, surrounded by dozens of beauty filters and mood lighting, she flung her phone across the bed.
"How is she STILL winning?!"
The system blinked onscreen. [Host, she's using strategy. Emotional reversal. Public image. Playing the long game—]
"SHUT UP," Ye Wan snapped. "This is my story!"
She opened her laptop and began typing furiously.
[New post uploaded: "Proof CEO Mo Never Loved His Wife" – Featuring Edited Audio Files & Suspicious Timeline Graphs]
She smirked.
"You want heartbreak, Shen Qingxue? I'll give you heartbreak."
***
Three hours later.
Shen Qingxue scrolled through the viral post with all the emotion of someone watching ants build a nest.
Baozi hovered nearby. [Should we retaliate with the hospital donation photos? Or the video of Mo Chen picking out your meds like a confused dad in a pharmacy?]
"No," she murmured. "We don't play dirty unless it's elegant."
She picked up her phone. Texted one line.
To: Mo Chen
Your ex is spiraling. Want me to send her a sedative or a scriptwriting class?
Two minutes later.
Mo Chen:Neither. I'll handle it. You rest.
She smirked. Then leaned back into her chaise lounge, draped in cashmere and contempt.
Baozi sighed dreamily. [Our enemies are desperate. Our man is doting. Our revenge arc is high couture. Life is good.]
***
That night.
Shen Qingxue stepped out of her bathroom in a soft black nightgown, pale arms bare, expression unreadable.
Mo Chen looked up from where he sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand.
He stood. "Do you want the left side or the right?"
She paused.
"You're sleeping here?"
He nodded. "Doctor said you've been having night tremors. I'll stay on the edge."
Qingxue tilted her head.
"…Fine," she said finally. "But snore and I smother you with a pillow."
"Fair."
She climbed into bed.
Mo Chen waited until she was comfortable, then slipped under the covers beside her—carefully, cautiously, as if she might vanish if he moved too quickly.
She didn't vanish.
She turned her back to him.
Minutes passed.
Then..
"…You're warm," she murmured sleepily.
"Want me to move away?"
"No," she whispered.
Silence.
"Mo Chen?"
"Yes?"
"If I don't make it… promise you'll marry someone boring next time."
He frowned.
"I'm serious," she said. "Someone who doesn't throw vases. Someone sweet. Someone who won't turn your heart into kindling."
He reached out.
Traced her knuckles with his fingertips.
"I don't want someone sweet," he said.
"I want you."
She didn't reply.
But her hand slowly reached for his under the covers.
And held on.
***
Inside her mind:
Baozi sobbed into a tissue made of sparkles.
[Host… does this mean we're unlocking the Secret Ending Route? The one where he begs on his knees in the rain and you die in his arms, looking gorgeous?!]
"No," Qingxue whispered in her mind. "It means we're not done yet."
[Then what's next?]
She smiled in the dark.
"We make him fall so hard…"
"…he forgets Ye Wan ever existed."