Chen Li didn’t know what had happened, but the bond between Wen Ying and Wang Shuang was strong enough for Mr. Wang to go all out to help Wen Ying’s parents buy a house.
Lately, it wasn’t just Wen Ying coming home late—her husband, Deng Shangwei, was doing the same. By the time Deng Shangwei returned, Chen Li was already asleep. It seemed his social engagements had suddenly multiplied.
Chen Li knew what Wen Ying was busy with.
But what Deng Shangwei was up to, she had no clue.
Vaguely, Chen Li felt that something was known to both Wen Ying and Deng Shangwei, yet kept from her, stirring unease within her.
Her question made Wen Ying’s heart race.
Had her aunt already sensed something?
When would her uncle finally come clean to her aunt?
He’d asked her for half a month to prove he hadn’t been involved with Pan Li. In the blink of an eye, that time was nearly up.
Wen Ying had promised Deng Shangwei that he’d tell Chen Li himself. Now, with Chen Li growing suspicious, Wen Ying had to reveal a secret to steady her.
She spoke of the Long Beach Lake incident, framing it as an accidental fall into the water where she helped save Wang Shuang:
“Maybe that’s why Uncle Wang wanted to thank me. Auntie, I’m sorry—I asked Uncle not to tell you. I was afraid if you knew, my parents would find out, and then—”
And then a storm would erupt.
In Chen Ru’s logic, all accidents were preventable. If Wen Ying had focused on studying at home instead of going out to play, no mishap would’ve occurred. Her reasoning always followed its own unique path.
Chen Li saw Wen Ying’s anxious expression and softened.
She could understand why Wen Ying didn’t dare mention this at home. Because Chen Ru and Wen Dongrong were strict with her, Chen Li always wanted to be more lenient.
But such a big incident—Wen Ying hiding it, and Deng Shangwei not telling her either—Chen Li was genuinely upset.
Letting Wen Ying off once when nothing serious happened was fine, but if she kept indulging her, what if Wen Ying got into real trouble later? How would she explain that to her sister and brother-in-law?
Wen Ying was staying at Chen Li’s house over the summer—Chen Li, as the elder, had guardianship over her!
“Auntie, I was wrong. I won’t do it again,” Wen Ying apologized.
Chen Li didn’t take the easy out, “You’re growing up and forming your own opinions—I’m happy for that. But if you think being grown-up means keeping everything from family, I’m disappointed in you too.”
With that, Chen Li stood and returned to her room, leaving Wen Ying to reflect alone on the sofa.
A while later, Deng Yaomei crept out, pouring Wen Ying a glass of water, “Wen Ying, you upset Sister Chen?”
Wen Ying nodded, “I messed up some things. It’s no wonder Auntie’s mad.”
Wen Ying was introspection.
After her rebirth, with a mental age close to Chen Li and Deng Shangwei’s current years, she’d subconsciously treated them as peers.
Her desire to shield Chen Li from harm wasn’t just care—it stemmed from a deeper belief that Chen Li was “incapable.” Though both were in their early thirties, Chen Li had settled into family life, raising a child and supporting her husband, while Wen Ying had forged a career in the big city. With over a decade of experience paving the way, she’d returned with the courage to tackle Deng Shangwei’s “infidelity.” Chen Li, unprepared and deeply in love with him, would be devastated if she knew—last life’s tragedy would repeat!
Sheltering her aunt, keeping her in the dark, and not letting her face this family crisis with Deng Shangwei—solving Yu Wenhao and Pan Li this time didn’t mean a Wang Li or Zhang Li wouldn’t pop up next. Besides, this life was already so different from the last. Wen Ying pondered, then messaged Deng Shangwei:
“Uncle, are you ready to come clean?”
Over ten minutes later, he replied, “Give me two more days—just two. I’ll prove to you I had nothing with Pan Li and explain everything to your aunt from start to finish.”
She’d waited this long—what were two more days?
Wen Ying briefly mentioned the sales office incident. Deng Shangwei said it was Mr. Wang’s “repayment,” and she could accept it calmly.
If she insisted on returning it, Mr. Wang might offer an even bigger thank-you.
“That’s fine as is. If you want to thank Mr. Wang, repay him when you’re able later. Right now, you’re not independent—any grand gesture might not even be what he wants,” Deng Shangwei reasoned.
It made sense, and Wen Ying agreed. Finally, she told him that because of Mr. Wang’s hefty favor, Chen Li had questioned her tonight, prompting her to reveal the Long Beach Lake rescue.
“Auntie’s really mad—not just at me, but at you too. Take care, Uncle!”
“…”
Deng Shangwei was speechless.
One lie required countless more to cover it. He hadn’t kept Long Beach Lake from Chen Li on purpose—mentioning it would lead to Yu Wenhao and his son, inevitably dragging in Pan Li. Sigh—in two days, once Wen Ying believed he’d made no mistake and stood by him, he’d confess everything to his wife.
He couldn’t fathom how spies handled such mental strain!
Wen Ying’s bombshell hit him hard. Before bed, she checked her email and took a hit herself: both *Huahuo* and *Aige* magazines had rejected her submissions!
Wen Ying felt lost.
Rebirth stories weren’t supposed to go like this.
In those tales, a protagonist reborn in another world aiming to be a writer would find no *Journey to the West*, *Dream of the Red Chamber*, or other classics—no Jin Yong or Gu Long martial arts legends. They’d whip out a book and stun the literary world, ascending to fame.
Wen Ying always wondered how those protagonists perfectly recalled every word. Her morals wouldn’t let her “plagiarize,” and even if she wanted to, she could only remember plots, not exact phrasing!
And rejection? That wasn’t supposed to happen to a reborn protagonist!
Yet here she was, rejected.
She’d always thought her writing was decent. Last life, she’d missed her literary dream due to lack of opportunity.
This life, with over a decade of extra experience and research into dozens of youth magazines’ styles before submitting, how could she be rejected?!
She examined the rejection emails. *Huahuo* said her story didn’t align with their needs, thanking her and hoping for future collaboration.
*Aige*’s editor elaborated: her writing showed skill and her story had merit, but the emotions fell flat. Her sadness lacked lingering depth, her joy missing the humor today’s youth loved. In short, with an “old auntie” mindset, her angst wasn’t angsty enough, and her happy scenes didn’t connect with students. The editor called it “forced youthfulness.”
They saw potential, encouraging her to keep writing and infuse real, moving emotions into her work.
—What?
—They thought her writing was dry and dull, suggesting she fall in love to spice it up?!
If her mom, Chen Ru, saw this email, Wen Ying’s legs would be broken, and that *Aige* editor would be in hot water too.
