The heavy ledger hit hard—Chen Ru threw it with unbridled fury, no mercy spared. Wen Dongrong saw stars, the notebook thudding to the floor. Only after Chen Ru’s tirade did he feel a sting above his eyebrow. Touching it, his fingers came away wet, sticky… Chen Ru had split his forehead?
Wen Dongrong never imagined his wife turning violent. In Sichuan, “henpecked” husbands weren’t rare, cowed by wives in city and country alike, but he’d never been one. The last time Chen Ru raged like this was the year Wen Ying was born, still in the hospital. His mother had swooped in, insisting on taking Wen Ying to the countryside to raise, urging Chen Ru to try for a son.
Back then, Chen Ru, a shy new bride, didn’t confront her mother-in-law directly but parried every push with polite defiance. Once his mom left, though, Chen Ru unloaded on him. He still recalled returning from seeing his mother out, only for a thermos to sail past, shattering by his feet. That cemented his resolve—no sending Wen Ying away for a second child. They reconciled after.
For over a decade since, Wen Dongrong had learned Chen Ru’s temper. Their spats stayed private—cold shoulders at home, but seamless unity outside. No one could tell they’d fought.
Now, blood on his hand, he was stunned. What kind of temper was this? Thermos then, ledger now—kitchen knives next?
“You’re beyond reason!” he roared, clutching his forehead, glaring. Chen Ru didn’t flinch.
“If Wen Hongyan and Shu Guobing dare not repay, you’ll see what’s beyond reason. Tonight, think hard about how much you secretly gave her. By morning, give me a number. If you don’t, we’re done!”
Normally, even a scratch on Wen Dongrong would pain Chen Ru. Tonight, cloaked in cold fury, she ignored him. Still seething, she grabbed a blanket, tossed it on the sofa, and locked the master bedroom.
Left alone in the living room, Wen Dongrong stood dumbfounded. His wife had bloodied him with a notebook and exiled him from their room. Muttering “unreasonable,” he got no response. Forced to tend his wound himself, he checked the bathroom mirror. A gash above his eyebrow—likely no stitches needed.
But stitches weren’t the point. Chen Ru had resorted to violence! Couldn’t they talk like a couple?
He had work tomorrow—how would he explain a facial wound? Colleagues would speculate wildly.
Grumbling, Wen Dongrong felt stifled. Chen Ru didn’t just hit him; she’d set a deadline for a financial tally, dead-set on demanding repayment from Wen Hongyan—a direct clash with his principles.
He wouldn’t indulge her. Getting back the logged money would suffice, a lesson for Shu Guobing. Wen Hongyan was his sister, Shu Lu his niece—blood ties. Shu Guobing? Nothing.
Treating his wound, Wen Dongrong couldn’t sleep on the sofa. He picked up the ledger, totaling the expenses, quietly shocked. Without family aid, he and Chen Ru could’ve afforded another Chengdu apartment. And that was just Chen Ru’s records—his unreported bonuses and perks added plenty more.
Calculating the full sum, guilt flickered. But it faded, replaced by justification. Chen Ru, a city girl raised on rations, never toiled in fields. How could she grasp his struggle as a farmer’s son, clawing to college and out of the countryside? Before marriage, he’d vowed to support his rural kin. Her parents praised his loyalty then, and Chen Ru never objected.
Now, married over a decade with rising incomes and status, why the sudden grudge? He pinned it on Wen Hongyan’s tactlessness, provoking Chen Ru in Chengdu, who then vented at home—leaving him the scapegoat.
If Wen Hongyan had spoken to Chen Ru like Shu Guobing had to him tonight… Wen Dongrong could see why Chen Ru snapped. Closing the ledger, he wrote no tally. Understanding her anger didn’t mean endorsing her methods.
If he caved now, Chen Ru would rule the house. Today, it’s Wen Hongyan repaying—tomorrow, “collecting debts” from other Wens? His patriarchal pride and face would be ashes. Unacceptable.
Come morning, Chen Ru found the living room empty—Wen Dongrong had left before she woke. Her ledger sat alone, no trace of his numbers.
Unaware of his sleepless wrestling, Chen Ru, like most women in rage, lost reason, magnifying his faults. Wen Dongrong had fully provoked her. Cold war commenced.
He could work late? She’d outlast him. Banking was grueling, but Chen Ru excelled. As Wen Dongrong climbed, she’d eased off to support him. Now, realizing she ranked below Wen Hongyan and Shu Lu in his heart, her drive to be the perfect wife dimmed sharply.
Days passed without a word. Chen Ru, silently, arranged a job transfer. Wen Dongrong was the last to know—after Wen Ying.
Wen Ying, hearing Chen Ru would start work in Chengdu next week, and Wen Dongrong was clueless, was baffled. Something felt off.
Sure, she’d meant to stir trouble, pitting her mom against her dad. But Chen Ru’s swift transfer and career focus unnerved her—not necessarily bad, though. Before, her parents were a united front, tag-teaming her. Now, divided, she’d have breathing room.
Yet, in her memory, her parents were inseparable—both stubborn, strong-willed, their bond rock-solid, especially in their iron grip over her. This rift hinted at deeper trouble.
No way—her aunt and uncle stayed together this life, giving Deng Jie and Deng Hao a stable home. Was she now facing a single-parent family?
