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Shen Cheng had someone tidy up Han Bailu—applying makeup, dressing her in haute couture—transforming her back into that privileged actress.
Han Bailu’s feelings for Yiyi were shallow. If she hadn’t needed the child to bargain for her life with Shen Cheng, she would never have loved this baby she didn’t carry or birth—just provided an egg for.
She was clever enough to know her disadvantage and played the meek, doting mother in front of Yiyi. Though not particularly close, Shen Cheng’s upbringing ensured Yiyi knew to respect her as her mother.
Watching this picture-perfect scene of maternal affection, the nanny—as a “good person”—felt moved. Yet another, hidden part of her seethed with envy.
Like all women who fantasized about Shen Cheng, she was insanely jealous of what she couldn’t possess.
No matter how kind someone is, there’s always a corner of the mind that revels in others’ suffering. Studies show this emotion can affect brain regions responsible for processing physical pain.
That’s why jealousy feels physically uncomfortable.
This discomfort led the nanny to “accidentally” scald Han Bailu at lunch.
Han Bailu shot up, clutching her reddened arm, her face twisted in pain.
Yiyi, terrified, froze in her high chair, gripping her spoon.
Shen Cheng called the doctor, who happened to be at Shen Wenli’s place, having just checked his blood pressure and prescribed Jin Ge some tonics. Thus, the elders learned of the incident.
Shen Wenli felt obliged to show concern. “Maybe you should go see her?”
Jin Ge, who hadn’t seen her granddaughter in a while, suggested, “You’re free too. Come with me.”
So the three went to Shen Cheng’s home.
There, Shen Wenli noticed the doctor’s unnatural treatment of the burn and his frequent glances at Shen Cheng. Suspicious, he took the doctor aside for questioning.
The doctor couldn’t lie. Under Shen Wenli’s aggressive interrogation, the truth about Shen Cheng imprisoning Han Bailu came out.
Furious, Shen Wenli summoned Shen Cheng home.
Before he entered the study, Jin Ge stopped him. “Your father’s blood pressure is high. State your case, but don’t argue.”
Shen Cheng nodded.
Shen Wenli was traditional; Jin Ge wasn’t. Exposed to modern ideas, she understood—though didn’t condone—the twisted behaviors and fractured psyches of the younger generation.
Yet even she upheld her husband’s authority as head of the family: children must never defy their elders.
This was rule.
This was tradition.
Entering the study, Shen Cheng found Shen Wenli gripping a cane, facing a Qi Baishi painting. “Dad.”
Shen Wenli turned. Though age showed in his loose skin and wrinkles, his youthful vigor still shone through. He glared. “Is this the life you chose?”
Initially, Shen Wenli had opposed Shen Cheng marrying Han Bailu. Under Jin Ge’s influence, he’d reluctantly accepted that his son was his own man, capable of his own choices. He’d stepped back, allowing the wedding.
When Yiyi was born, Shen Wenli dropped his prejudice, fully accepting his daughter-in-law—until today’s shock.
Shen Cheng said, “Yes.”
Shen Wenli strode forward, raising the cane—thwack—striking Shen Cheng’s arm.
Shen Cheng didn’t flinch, his face impassive.
Thwack—the second blow landed on his back. “Imprisonment? That’s illegal! Is this what I taught you? Did you learn nothing?”
Shen Cheng stood straight, offering no defense.
Thwack—the third hit his chest. “A man’s back bears the heavens, his chest upholds the earth. He walks the righteous path. What are you doing? Bullying a woman? Is this what I taught you?!”
Still silent, Shen Cheng absorbed the scolding like an obedient son.
Finished, Shen Wenli tossed the cane onto the jade-inlaid desk with a rich clink.
When silence fell, Jin Ge entered with water and medicine. “Take these before hearing your son out.”
Shen Wenli complied, sitting down without looking at Shen Cheng. “Speak. Let’s hear it.”
Shen Cheng placed a stack of papers before him. “Han Bailu does have a mental illness—a rare delusional disorder. It could harm Yiyi, so I separated them.”
As Shen Wenli flipped through, Shen Cheng added, “The last few pages are my paternity test with Yiyi. She’s not my daughter.”
Jin Ge whipped her head toward him.
Shen Wenli stood, stunned.
Shen Cheng continued, “I love that child. You do too. I intend to raise her as my own. I can forgive Han Bailu’s deceit, but I can’t let her roam freely, insane. I must consider your and Grandfather’s reputations.”
Shen Wenli’s blood pressure spiked. How could this be?
Jin Ge only knew Han Bailu and Shen Cheng had met in Canada under unpleasant circumstances, and he’d married her out of hatred. She’d hoped time might soften their animosity, so she’d never interfered.
These past years, Shen Cheng showed Han Bailu no affection. Jin Ge had urged him to let go, assuming theirs was a forced union.
She never imagined Han Bailu was mentally ill—or that Yiyi wasn’t Shen Cheng’s child.
Shen Wenli processed this slowly, his body accepting the shock though his mind still reeled.
In the end, he forgave Shen Cheng’s actions. Were he in his son’s place, he might’ve done worse.
Their family wasn’t illustrious, but they valued their good name—especially Shen Huaiyu’s lifelong reputation. They couldn’t let such absurdity tarnish it.
After Shen Cheng left, Shen Wenli and Jin Ge sat in heavy silence.
Finally, Shen Wenli asked, “Did I hit him too hard?”
Jin Ge said nothing.
Shen Wenli blamed himself. “He’s always been measured. I’ve demanded too much, criticized too much. His rebellious years in Canada—I thought they’d stain us both forever.”
Jin Ge stood, placing a hand on his shoulder. “All men mature. However wild his past, he now stands at heights you’ve never reached.”
Shen Wenli was silent.
Jin Ge added softly, “Admit it. You have an exceptional son.”
Shen Wenli clasped her hand, stroking it gently, wordless.
________________________________________
Shen Cheng had lied. Han Bailu wasn’t ill. He hadn’t imprisoned her for her health or family honor—he simply enjoyed her suffering.
Han Bailu was returned to the villa, allowed a monitored call to her parents to say she was well.
They suspected nothing. A man like Shen Cheng—upstanding, brilliant—would surely cherish the wife he’d so publicly wed.
Han Bailu swallowed her bitterness, surrendering to Shen Cheng’s flawless destruction.
With an afternoon lecture, Shen Cheng didn’t linger. After confiscating her phone and extracting every detail of her dealings with Wen Huo—frequency, methods—he left.
________________________________________
Qiu Mingyun chose a simple dress, modeling it for Wen Huo. “Well?”
“It’s nice, but... you’re just attending a lecture.”
Qiu Mingyun grinned. “You’re going for the lecture. I’m going for Professor Shen.”
Wen Huo packed Shen Cheng’s tie into a box. “Don’t set your hopes too high. People only seem perfect from afar. Up close, the落差 can be crushing.”
Qiu Mingyun sat to fix her hair. “If you had the chance to meet Planck, would you refuse?”
Wen Huo looked at her. That was a low blow.
Qiu Mingyun laughed at her expression. “Exactly. Everyone talks big. Who doesn’t know junk food is bad? Who eats less? We all need room to indulge.”
Wen Huo conceded. “Fine.”
Noticing Wen Huo’s attempts to downplay Shen Cheng, Qiu Mingyun asked, “Do you like him too?”
Wen Huo scoffed. “I prefer Planck.”
Qiu Mingyun smirked. “Only because you can’t have Shen Cheng. If you were Han Bailu, Planck wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Wen Huo stayed silent.
She had had him—repeatedly, abundantly. He never held back. Yet she’d never gotten pregnant. Was she infertile, or had he had a vasectomy?
Once, she’d researched whether vasectomies affected performance. Secretly, she’d hoped for confirmation—but found none.
Vasectomies didn’t diminish potency.
Meaning: Shen Cheng could last an hour pre-surgery, and an hour post-surgery. Longer, if he restrained himself.
It wasn’t emasculation, as tradition claimed. Many childfree couples abroad opted for vasectomies—safer than female sterilization.
Reversal was possible too, should they want children later.
Wen Huo’s mind wandered. She didn’t actually know if Shen Cheng had had the procedure. But given how often he’d come inside her, her lack of pregnancy was telling.
________________________________________
Shen Cheng’s lecture kicked off a collaboration between universities and video platforms—making expert talks widely accessible.
Given his stature, only enrolled students or ticket holders could attend.
Shen Cheng arrived early, chatting with colleagues in his office.
Their fields barely overlapped, limiting professional discourse. But teaching philosophies? They had plenty to share.
Shen Cheng’s lectures lacked his peers’ flair. He didn’t sugarcoat.
In business, he spoke ambiguously, leaving room for interpretation. In class, he was blunt—no riddles, no leaps. Just facts.
Oddly, this no-nonsense style had a cult following.
Once, a student analyzed this phenomenon, concluding: Shen Cheng was handsome, and his limited seating created exclusivity. Scarcity bred hype.
Class began. The auditorium was packed.
An assistant adjusted the projector as Shen Cheng pushed up his glasses.
A small gesture, yet the female students collectively swooned.
Qiu Mingyun adored his navy textured suit, thin-framed glasses, wristwatch... She whispered, “How could anyone resist him?”
Wen Huo glanced over. Shen Cheng was understated today—no $80K glasses, no $4M watch. Considerate.
Qiu Mingyun sneakily snapped a photo—forgetting to mute her phone. The click echoed.
Glares shot their way.
Qiu Mingyun mouthed an apology.
Shen Cheng looked over, spotting Wen Huo front and center.
Her twin ponytails sparked a memory: gripping them from behind, thrusting deep. She’d never worn them for him before.
Blushing, Qiu Mingyun stood to apologize, but Shen Cheng spoke first: “Were you photographing me?”
Qiu Mingyun froze, then stood. “Sorry, Professor Shen.”
He smiled faintly. “Am I more captivating than my lecture?”
The room erupted.
“Just standing there, you’re enlightening us!”
“Professor, why are most of your attendees female?”
“When’s your next lecture?”
...
Ignoring the barrage, Shen Cheng motioned Qiu Mingyun to sit. “Email me that photo after class.”
Stunned, Qiu Mingyun forgot to respond.
Shen Cheng raised a brow.
She stammered, but he cut in: “Understood? Wen Huo.”
The room gasped.
Wen Huo wanted to vanish. Her ponytails seemed to yank her head up.
Qiu Mingyun nudged her. “He’s calling you.”
Reluctantly, Wen Huo lifted her head, forcing a smile. “Yes, Professor Shen.”
The crowd quickly rationalized: perhaps she was a former student. Shen Cheng knew many juniors by name—though this was his first time addressing a woman.
Soon, the lecture resumed, all questions forgotten—except Qiu Mingyun’s. How did Shen Cheng know Wen Huo’s name?
________________________________________
Post-lecture, students swarmed Shen Cheng with questions. Qiu Mingyun blocked Wen Huo’s exit, squinting. “You’ve been hiding something.”
Wen Huo admitted, “Yes.”
“I knew it! Why didn’t you tell me you know Professor Shen?”
“You never asked. And we’re not close.”
Truth. They’d only had sex. Many people had sex—with many partners. It didn’t imply intimacy.
Qiu Mingyun wanted to be mad, but Wen Huo’s logic disarmed her. “You’re buying me dinner!”
“Deal.”
Qiu Mingyun sent the photo. “Forward it to him.”
Wen Huo did, then they left.
Qiu Mingyun eyed her phone. “You have his WeChat? How’d you keep that hidden?”
Wen Huo and Qiu Mingyun were friends—but not confidantes. Friends help; they don’t share everything.
Seeing Wen Huo’s reticence, Qiu Mingyun dropped it.
Both were smart, understanding boundaries. Qiu Mingyun had her own secrets. She wouldn’t hold Wen Huo to a higher standard.
They hadn’t gone far when Wen Huo got a text: Shen Cheng, summoning her to the parking lot.
Before she could speak, Qiu Mingyun waved her off. “Go on.”
________________________________________
Wen Huo found Shen Cheng’s car and slid in. “Professor Shen.”
He was studying the photo. “Do you think this is good?”
“It’s okay.”
“Is the subject handsome, or is it the photo?”
Wen Huo compared carefully. “The photo.”
Nodding, Shen Cheng pocketed his phone, suddenly pinning her down, loosening his tie as he inhaled her scent. “Say that again.”
Wen Huo squirmed. “You’re handsome! The handsomest!”
“Take it off.”
His glasses. She removed them, and his lips crashed onto hers. He yanked a ponytail, tilting her head back to bite her neck.
This ravenous beast bore no resemblance to the composed professor from class.
Wen Huo winced. “Stop pulling!”
He’d called her here precisely to tug those ponytails. Flipping her over, he stripped her pants. “Wearing panties?”
Her nose bumped the seat. “Who goes out without them?”
Shen Cheng reminded her: “Someone once didn’t—in my class. Even unzipped me under the desk.”
Wen Huo grinned. “You remember so well. Did you enjoy it?”
Freeing his aching cock, Shen Cheng spanked her bare ass, spread her cheeks, rubbed her wetness, then plunged in.
Wen Huo cried out.
Gripping both ponytails, Shen Cheng reclined the seat, mounted her, and pounded hard. “No more twin tails outside.”
Wen Huo moaned. “Why not?”
He’d said it before: “Because I’m your man.”
“You’re not!”
“Then who is?”
“Someone else—and he’ll come!”
Shen Cheng thrust deeper, rougher, nearly breaking her hips. “Let’s see if I allow that.”
Wen Huo neared climax, her cries wanton. “You... can’t... stop him...”
Shen Cheng punished her—pulling hair, spanking, pinching—as she screamed in mixed pain and pleasure. He came, pulling out to spill over her ass, watching it drip down her crack.
Spent, Wen Huo lay limp.
Shen Cheng adjusted the AC and straightened his clothes.
Wen Huo glanced over. He hadn’t fully dressed—his cock still hung out.
People always talked about men obsessing over women’s lips, breasts, pussies, asses. No one asked women what they liked.
Truth was, women loved that part of men too.
When pleasure was absent, this fondness faded. But at peak ecstasy? She could worship it—sucking, licking, savoring...
After a moment, she crawled over and took him into her mouth.
Shen Cheng frowned but didn’t stop her.
What kept him hooked on Wen Huo were these unexpectedly slutty moments. Her playful, girlish charm electrified him, shattering his restraint.
After swallowing his load, Wen Huo licked her lips. “Delicious. Professor Shen is so tasty.”
Shen Cheng wiped her mouth. “Little vixen.”
Wen Huo teased, “Do you like it?”
Ignoring her, Shen Cheng covered her exposed breasts.
As he did, Wen Huo spotted red marks on his chest—not from her nails. They looked like welts. She reached out, lifting his shirt to confirm.
Shen Cheng simply rebuttoned, offering no explanation.
Wen Huo didn’t ask, but her mind raced with theories.
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