Chapter 3: The Surprise of Newlywed Life  

An unfamiliar cedar scent drifted into Yu Ling’s nose, and her eyes snapped open.  

6:30 a.m. Her biological clock was as precise as an atomic clock.  

The minimalist ceiling light above, the sheets beneath her soft as clouds… Wait, this wasn’t her usual mess of a room cluttered with design drafts!  

Fragments of last night’s memories, wrapped in the aroma of tomato beef brisket and the spiciness of Pockmarked Grandmother’s Tofu, crashed into her mind like a sledgehammer: the silhouette of a man in an open kitchen wearing a little whale-patterned apron, a dinner so delicious she could’ve licked the plates clean, and… the *click* of the lock as she hugged her pothos and fled to the guest room, her guilty conscience echoing in the dead silence.  

Outside the door, the sound of running water, the gentle clinking of dishes… then silence.  

That night, she had slept like a rabbit that had accidentally trespassed into a lion’s territory, ears perked up on high alert in an unfamiliar bed.  

Now, the living room was empty.  

A sweet, mellow aroma of grains wafted through the air—nothing like last night’s meaty explosion. Sniffing like she was being tugged by an invisible hook, she found herself inexplicably drawn toward the kitchen.  

And then—  

She. Froze. Solid.  

On the kitchen island, bathed in morning light, were two breakfast plates that looked like they’d been gilded! Perfectly runny sunny-side-up eggs with crispy golden edges, bacon fried to a glossy curl, bright green broccoli as garnish, and a bowl of warm milk oatmeal sprinkled with dried cranberries and toasted almond slices!  

What the hell was this?! A Michelin-starred plating?!  

And the man responsible for all this—Zhao Chen, the so-called “ordinary office worker”—stood with his back to her on the other side of the island. Still in that light gray tracksuit and navy cardigan.  

His head was slightly bowed, his focus so intense it was like he was conducting scientific research. His long fingers gripped a chef’s knife so sharp and thin it could double as a murder weapon!  

With a flash of the blade—*swish, swish, swish*—golden mango flesh effortlessly separated from the pit, transforming under his hands into perfectly uniform, geometrically precise diamond-shaped cubes! His movements were fluid, executed with a chilling precision.  

Holy shit! That knife work! Was this cooking or micro-sculpting?!  

Yu Ling’s heart pounded so hard she didn’t dare breathe. This was *not* a skill an average corporate drone should have!  

Just as she was about to suffocate from holding her breath, Zhao Chen’s movements abruptly stopped. He turned his head.  

The morning light softened his features, and his amber eyes were clear and gentle—as if the razor-sharp blade work had been nothing but Yu Ling’s imagination.  

“Morning,” he said, his lips curving into a smile as clean as the first rays of dawn. “You’re awake? Perfect timing, breakfast is ready. Want to freshen up first?” His tone was so casual, so *domestic*, as if they were an old married couple, completely ignoring her wide-eyed shock and the way her gaze was glued to the knife.  

“M-morning,” Yu Ling stammered, forcing her eyes away from the heirloom-worthy blade to the breakfast that looked like a work of art. “Did… you make all this?” Her voice was so dry she could’ve scraped sand from it.  

“Mm.” His reply was breezy as he flicked the knife tip, sending the mango cubes tumbling perfectly into a glass bowl. “Just threw together whatever was in the fridge. The oatmeal’s warm, with a bit of honey.” His tone made it sound like frying flawless eggs and cutting geometrically precise fruit was as easy as breathing.  

*Just threw together?!* Yu Ling stared at the immaculate plating, then thought back to her usual breakfast of cold milk poured over cereal. A chaotic mix of shock, absurdity, and an unexpected warmth surged through her chest like a wild dance party.  

“I—I’ll go freshen up!” she blurted, practically tripping over herself to escape. She splashed icy water on her face, trying to douse the fluttering in her chest. The reflection in the mirror showed a pair of panicked eyes staring back.

Stay calm! Agreement! Non-interference! He’s just a dutiful ‘meal buddy’! She silently recited a mantra to clear her mind, yet her fingertips still tingled with the cold touch of that knife.

By the time she emerged, Zhao Chen was already seated at the dining table, his tablet set aside. His portion was half-finished.

“Sit,” he said, glancing up and gesturing to the opposite seat. He slid over a bowl of golden mango chunks drizzled with honey, the mint leaves carefully pushed to the side. “Try it? It’s quite sweet.”

The porridge was smooth and velvety, the runny egg yolk mingling with crispy bacon and fresh broccoli—layers of flavor that made her taste buds dance! It put all the greasy sandwiches downstairs to shame!

“How’s the… taste?” he asked, watching her. A hint of something—was that a flicker of anticipation—hidden in his amber eyes?

“Absolutely delicious!” she praised sincerely, then immediately felt awkward about her own “culinary incompetence.”

Zhao Chen’s lips curled up in pleasure. “Good,” he said, lowering his head to continue eating with elegant composure. That quiet moment strangely melted another sliver of Yu Ling’s wariness.

She had just stood up to clear the dishes when Zhao Chen naturally took over. “I’ll handle it. You get ready for work.” His movements were so swift she barely had time to react.

“Ah? No need—” Before she could finish, he had already rolled up his sleeves and headed to the sink, the crisp sound of water rinsing the bone china echoing through the kitchen. Yu Ling stared at his tall, straight-backed figure as he washed the dishes, the morning light outlining his shoulders. Wait—wasn’t this script all wrong?

“Oh, by the way,” he said, turning around after drying his hands, his tone as casual as asking “What day is it today?” “Your company’s in Genesis Tower, right? It’s on my way. I’ll drop you off.”

“Drop me off?” Yu Ling froze, instinctively resisting. “No need! The subway goes straight there—super convenient!”

Zhao Chen paused mid-motion, drying his hands. His brows furrowed slightly, his eyes instantly clouding with a perfectly measured, unmistakable hint of hurt. His voice softened:

“But… the agreement states, ‘Maintain each other’s image in front of their respective families.'”

He paused, leaving a loaded silence. “What if one day your mom does a surprise check and asks, ‘Did Xiao Zhao drive you to work?’… and I say no?” He shrugged, the unspoken implication pricking at Yu Ling’s resolve like a tiny needle—if they slipped up, how would they “team up to dodge the marriage pressure”?

Yu Ling: “…”

She was utterly speechless, choked by this “flawless logic” rooted in the agreement’s clauses. Playing the loving couple… wasn’t commuting together part of the standard act?

Seeing her flustered, the faint hurt in Zhao Chen’s eyes vanished in an instant, replaced by a gentle, harmless—even slightly mischievous—smile.

“So, shall we go? If we dawdle any longer, you’ll be late.” He picked up his thin wool coat and slipped it on, then, as if performing a magic trick, plucked a car key from the entryway cabinet and dangled it in the air.

The keychain bore a discreet silver trident emblem that gleamed blindingly in the morning light—

A Maserati!

“Y-your car?” Her voice cracked.

“Oh, this?” Zhao Chen glanced at the key, his expression as nonchalant as if he were holding a bunch of scallions. “A friend’s. He’s off traveling abroad for a few months, didn’t want the car sitting idle in the garage, so he shoved it at me to ‘take it for a spin.'”

As he spoke, he yanked open a drawer in the entryway cabinet and—clunk!—tossed the Maserati key inside like it was trash! “I usually take the subway. Today’s just for dropping you off.” His excuse was as flimsy as paper.

Yu Ling stared at the Maserati key casually tossed in the drawer, then at the handsome face before her that claimed “I’m very honest.” The suspicion in her heart exploded like a mushroom cloud! Friends? Borrowed car? The mysteries surrounding this man ran deeper than the Mariana Trench!

“Let’s go, we’re really late.” Zhao Chen, as if blind to her reaction, pulled open the door.

Yu Ling took a deep breath, suppressing the “what the hell” screaming in her mind. Whatever! Only an idiot would turn down a luxury ride! Might as well treat it as an undercover reconnaissance mission!

In the days that followed, Yu Ling experienced firsthand what “ultimate service from a contractual husband” meant—or rather, the full-scale invasion of Zhao Chen, the “domestic clingy pest” edition!

[Feeding Chronicles]

Every morning, she was reliably awakened by the five-star aromas wafting from the kitchen—never the same dish twice. The dining table always showcased two nutritionally balanced, artistically plated masterpieces that miraculously avoided all her dietary no-gos (cilantro? offal? Not a chance!). Even when she casually mentioned, “I think I’m a bit heaty,” the next morning, a warm bowl of rock sugar pear soup would be waiting for her, gentle as a whisper.

Yu Ling’s inner monologue: Bro, do you have a listening device planted on me or are you the tapeworm in my gut?!

He took over all household chores with the precision and efficiency of a robotic vacuum. When Yu Ling attempted to fulfill her “rotational duty” by picking up a mop, he’d gently but firmly usher her away:

“You’re tired from work. Let me handle these. ‘Non-interference’? My version means not wanting to see you exhausted.” His reasoning was impeccable, leaving Yu Ling no choice but to resign herself to being a pampered sloth.

[Chauffeur Chronicles]

No matter how much she emphasized the convenience, eco-friendliness, and hassle-free nature of the subway, he always had the perfect excuse—be it “contractual spirit” (maintaining appearances) or “just passing by” (“I happened to be nearby,” “company adjusted schedules today”). Rain or shine, without fail, he’d appear punctually at her office building.

Initially, sitting in the passenger seat (the car models seamlessly switching between discreet Mercedes, Audis, and even the more eye-catching Range Rover, always explained away as “a friend’s”) made her squirm, especially when she caught colleagues’ jaws dropping in shock.

“Don’t drive this car next time! It’s too flashy!” she once hissed through gritted teeth.

“Okay. I’ll switch to something more low-key tomorrow.” The next day, a brand-new, sleek, understated yet luxurious black Range Rover was parked downstairs. Yu Ling gave up entirely. Fine. Your friends are numerous, your friends are loaded, your friends own a car dealership! She desperately tried to convince herself she was just a random hitchhiker.

[Midnight Delivery]

The real warmth hit her unexpectedly during a late-night overtime session.

Past 10 p.m., the office was empty except for Yu Ling, trapped in a maze of garbled data, her head throbbing and stomach growling like an empty opera house. As she massaged her temples and reached for her phone to order takeout, the screen lit up first.

[ZhaoC]: Still at the office? Starving? Send me your location. I’m nearby.

Before she could process it, her fingers sent the pin.

[Ling]: Yeah, overtime. A bit hungry, but it’s fine. Just grabbing takeout to survive.

Less than five minutes after sending the message, there was a soft knock at the door. Zhao Chen walked in carrying an insulated bag, his shoulders dusted with the night’s chill but his smile bright as a miniature sun.

“Am I interrupting? Brought some midnight snacks. The security guy was pretty cool about it.” (Yu Ling’s inner monologue: How did you even charm the guard?!)

The thermal bag opened—inside was the Cantonese-style congee with fish slices she had mentioned days ago, the one that required a long queue! There were also crystal shrimp dumplings and vibrant oyster sauce lettuce! The enticing aroma instantly hijacked her taste buds and weary nerves!

“Eat while it’s hot.” He unwrapped the utensils and handed them over, pulling a chair to sit down. “I’ll wait until you finish. No rush back anyway.” His tone was light, but his eyes held a gentle insistence that brooked no refusal.

Yu Ling cradled the warm bowl of congee, the heat from her fingertips seeping straight into her heart. The office was silent except for the soft sounds of her sipping the congee and the occasional swipe of his phone.

He was as quiet as a mountain, yet his silent companionship was more comforting than any motivational speech. The warm congee slid down her throat, spreading warmth through her, and the hard shell she’d built to endure late-night exhaustion cracked faintly.

Her nose inexplicably tingled. She quickly lowered her head, pretending the steam had stung her eyes. Zhao Chen noticed her subtle shift in mood and silently pushed the shrimp dumplings closer.

When she finished devouring the meal, he efficiently cleaned up.

“Done? Then I’ll head off first. Don’t turn into a panda with dark circles.” He stood. “Text me when you’re done. I’ll come pick you up.”

“No need! I’ll take a cab—”

“It’s too late. Not safe.” He cut her off, his gentle tone masking an unshakable firmness, a fleeting sharpness flashing in his eyes. “Be good. I’ll wait for your text at home.” Before she could protest, he had already turned and slipped away.

That “Be good” tickled her heart like a feather. Yu Ling returned to her computer, her agitation mysteriously dissipating. Her stomach was warm, and her heart seemed to have quietly thawed a little. Even the sound of her typing grew lighter.

[Sweet Overload]

A few days later, on a weekend morning.

Yu Ling shuffled in her slippers to the floor-to-ceiling window to check on her beloved Pothos. Its leaves glistened emerald under the sunlight, full of vitality. She leaned in with maternal pride—

Her gaze suddenly froze.

Beside the Pothos sat a palm-sized white ceramic watering can! Round and adorable, with a slender spout and a glaze so pure and warm it looked absurdly expensive! The soil was moist, exuding an earthy scent mixed with a faint, crisp fragrance—nothing like the cheap plant food she bought.

She distinctly remembered watering it herself last night! And she had never, ever bought this kind of can!

Her heart rate instantly skyrocketed to 180!

It was Zhao Chen! Not only had he remembered to water it and used premium nutrients, but he’d also specially prepared this exquisite little can?! Just! For! Her! Pothos!

She held the small, warm can, standing bathed in morning light. The sounds of traffic outside, the lingering aroma of breakfast, the finance magazine he’d left on the sofa (the cover featured some financial summit bigwig whose profile looked vaguely familiar?)—all the details of her life he’d quietly permeated, along with the morning fish congee, the perfectly timed meals, the silent companionship, the warmth forcibly suppressed under “agreement” and “roommate,” now surged forth uncontrollably because of this can that existed solely for her Pothos!

Considerate to the point of intrusive. Care embedded in the tiniest corners of life.

This wasn’t obligation. This wasn’t reciprocity.

This was… a full-blown! pampering! strike!

An unfamiliar, overwhelming emotion crashed into her chest, scalding and disorienting. She stared down at the warm can in her palm, fingers curling, cheeks burning uncontrollably.

The hard shell in her heart, named “discomfort,” cracked with an audible and dangerous fissure. Something uncontrollable was seeping through the gap, carrying a trembling thrill akin to new shoots breaking through the earth in early spring.

Who was he, really? What lay hidden behind this so-called “surprise”?

Yu Ling clenched the water bottle tightly, realizing with startling clarity for the first time that her curiosity and desire to uncover the truth about this contractual husband had grown wild like weeds, completely overflowing the boundaries of that agreement!