Wen Ying was truly calm.
Upon learning of Pan Li’s pregnancy, she could still think rationally, not letting anger cloud her mind.
Detective Luo had taken the job swayed by Wen Ying’s “money power,” but now he genuinely admired her. An ordinary girl wouldn’t spend cash to catch her uncle cheating—what set Wen Ying apart was her composure. At her age, Luo Tanzhang had just joined the army, getting a rude shock from his squad leader on day one. That night, he’d hidden under his blanket, crying from homesickness and grievance.
If he’d had Wen Ying’s calm back then, it’d be the squad leader sniffling instead. Hmph!
“What do you want to do now?” he asked.
“First, secure evidence, then wait for Pan Li and Yu Wenhao to make their move. I mean the hospital pregnancy report—can you get it, Detective Luo Tanzhang?”
Wen Ying had read melodramatic novels and watched telly.
Evil sidekicks forging pregnancy reports to oust the heroine.
Evil sidekicks forging pregnancy reports to frame the hero.
Sure, Uncle Deng Shangwei wasn’t a loaded CEO, but Pan Li had the vibe of a scheming villain. Wen Ying didn’t trust her morals one bit.
Pan Li could say what she liked, but Wen Ying wouldn’t let her spin lies unchecked.
With the report, she’d know how far along Pan Li was, stopping her from pinning it on Deng Shangwei.
If Deng Shangwei had lost control and slept with Pan Li, and the dates lined up, modern medicine had answers—Wen Ying could push for an amniocentesis DNA test!
In two or three minutes, she’d mapped her plan.
The worst outcome? Pan Li was carrying Deng Shangwei’s child. If so, Wen Ying wouldn’t hide it from Chen Li and would support her aunt’s divorce.
Though it’d mirror last life’s marriage collapse, Wen Ying was confident she’d handle it better.
She’d help Chen Li move past the divorce and shield Deng Shangwei from this trap—repaying his love across two lives.
Setting that worst case and finding it bearable, other outcomes didn’t scare her.
She wanted Pan Li’s report—not from Pan Li, but hospital records. Luo Tanzhang didn’t guarantee it but said he’d try.
Snakes have their ways, rats their paths—she didn’t ask how he’d manage. She left it to the pro and waited.
“Detective Luo Tanzhang, I’m counting on your good news!”
They parted, and she headed to the company.
Once she had the report, it’d be time to face Deng Shangwei.
Some truths needed more than Luo Tanzhang’s digging—Deng Shangwei knew Yu Wenhao longer. Sharing info with him was key to the full picture.
Without the report yet, Wen Ying stayed normal around him, playing “Secretary Wen.” He didn’t hide his work, and she was quietly shocked at the daily cash flow.
Small-scale or not, this seafood business was a goldmine!
Last life, Deng Shangwei handed it over soon after the divorce—Wen Ying now suspected Yu Wenhao took it.
After all, this cash cow was his most tempting asset.
But it relied on Boss Qin’s quotas—without his approval, Deng Shangwei got nothing. How did Yu Wenhao sway Qin?
Wen Ying couldn’t work it out.
At noon, they ate a work lunch at the company. Deng Shangwei joked the boxed meal was rubbish, asking “Secretary Wen” to bear with it.
“Next time Boss Qin invites us out, I’ll bring you. Remember Boss Wang—the housing chap? While you were tutoring yesterday, I checked out his recommended estate. It’s not finished yet. When your parents reach Rongcheng, I’ll drive them to see it. If it’s decent, both our families could buy a flat.”
Before, he wouldn’t have told Wen Ying this—she wouldn’t have cared.
Now, he spoke naturally, assuming she’d understand.
Wen Ying thought, then advised, “Uncle, Rongcheng housing’s doubled in two years. I don’t know my parents’ savings, but if you’ve got spare cash, buy a couple more—flats or shops. Bank interest is rubbish.”
Deng Shangwei chuckled. “Little schemer—how much do you reckon I’ve got in the bank?”
Wen Ying tested, raising four fingers. “At least this much, right?”
Four fingers—could be 40,000, 400,000, or 4 million.
Deng Shangwei frowned—spot on. Had Chen Li told her?
Wen Ying just smiled.
It wasn’t a wild guess. Last life, post-divorce, Deng Shangwei kept only the company, giving Chen Li all cash and property—over 5 million.
That was months off, though. She figured he’d earn big this summer—peak seafood time with Spring Festival.
The mood was light until a text arrived.
“She’s here!”
Five minutes after Luo Tanzhang’s message, Pan Li appeared.
Pan Li, coming for Deng Shangwei!
No umbrella today, swapping her dress for jeans and a pink T-shirt—less feminine, more youthful.
A standout like her in the courtyard caught every worker’s eye.
Fang Jie’s gaze met Wen Ying’s, both casually looking away, then at Deng Shangwei.
His face showed a flicker of panic, instinctively checking Wen Ying.
Pretending she’d just noticed, Wen Ying peered out. “Uncle, that’s Pan Li!”
Deng Shangwei scowled. “How do you know her?”
Fang Jie jumped in, “Boss Deng Shangwei, two days ago when you were out, Pan Li came by. She lingered at the gate. Wen Ying saw her in the sun and brought her water—that’s how they met.”
Oh, Boss Deng Shangwei, wise up!
Fang Jie was frantic, nudging him to stay sharp.
Wen Ying beamed, “Not just met—we had milk tea together!”
Deng Shangwei couldn’t bear it.
This was a chaotic battlefield.
Why was Pan Li here, bumping into Wen Ying?
Thank God she hadn’t blabbed to Wen Ying—and thank God it was Wen Ying, not Chen Li!
He forced a smile. “I’ll step out.”
As he left, Pan Li’s sandal-clad foot traced circles in the dirt, oozing nervous girlish charm.
Through the glass, Wen Ying smirked coldly.
“Fang Jie, what do you think Pan Li’ll say? I bet she’ll apologise—say she didn’t mean to bother him, couldn’t help herself, and hopes he’ll forgive her.”
Fang Jie’s jaw dropped, like she’d seen a ghost.
Blimey—Wen Ying knew!
Wen Ying knew everything.
And Fang Jie hadn’t clocked it.
Wen Ying had fooled even her.
If Wen Ying was a “little dimwit,” Fang Jie was a proper numpty!
Stunned, Fang Jie wanted to light a candle for Deng Shangwei.
How’d a lass like Wen Ying see through this? Chen Li must’ve suspected, sending Wen Ying to “work” here to watch him.
“What’s your plan?” Fang Jie asked.
Wen Ying smiled. “Fang Jie, whatever I do, I won’t hurt Uncle—he’s family, loves me like his own. Right? But anyone harming my family—nothing’s off-limits.”
Fang Jie bought it, relieved yet cautioning, “Don’t be rash. We’re guessing—could be wrong. Pitying the wrong person might push Deng Shangwei to her… I’ll hint to him first.”
She kept it vague.
This felt odd to discuss with Wen Ying—she should talk to Chen Li, see her take.
Fang Jie’s view was traditional, mainstream: deal with the mistress first, then the man. Divorce? Last resort.
The wife built the life from scratch—why let a mistress take it?
With two sons, Chen Li should fight for the family.
Making a fuss now would only drive the man to the other woman.
In moments, Fang Jie had a speech ready for Chen Li.
But Wen Ying shut her down.
“Fang Jie, don’t tell Uncle yet. Aunt doesn’t know. If we handle it well, she never will. Got it?”
Fang Jie was speechless.
Chen Li didn’t know.
Wen Ying did—and wouldn’t tell her.
She’d fix it quietly… at her age, stepping up like a fighter for Chen Li?
So brave.
So lucky for Chen Li.
Wen Ying’s youthful face brimmed with resolve. Fang Jie nodded softly.
“Anything I can do, just say.”
…
“Pan Li, I made it clear—we’re done!”
“You come to my company, talk to my niece—what are you playing at?”
“Don’t you know this could mess me up—”
Deng Shangwei’s hushed voice seethed with fury.
He was livid.
Wen Ying was a teen—smart or not, still a minor!
If Pan Li had said anything wild to her… the thought alone enraged him.
Not just fearing Chen Li finding out—he didn’t want Wen Ying near Pan Li at all.
Then he recalled Wen Ying’s sudden curiosity about nightlife.
Had Pan Li met her more than once behind his back?
Men—fine with escorts for “business,” but heaven forbid their wives, daughters, or female kin touch that world.
Seeing Wen Ying as his own, the idea of someone corrupting her fueled his rage.
Pan Li was stunned by his outburst.
But she wasn’t helpless—eyes lowered, tears fell like pearls.
“Deng Shangwei, I just like you. Does my night job make you think so low of me? I didn’t say anything daft to your niece. I just… I’ve got something to tell you. I don’t know what to do. I want to forget you, but you deserve to know.”
She shoved an envelope at him.
“You’ve got the right to know—and decide. Deng Shangwei, I’ll wait for your call!”
Wiping her eyes, she left without lingering.
Deng Shangwei pulled a folded paper from the envelope.
Unfolding it—a B-ultrasound report. His hands trembled.
