Chapter 6: The Troublesome Relatives  

A brilliant counterattack in the workplace had Yu Ling walking tall with newfound confidence. Though Zhang Wei still held the title of “Chief Planner,” everyone with eyes could see who the true mastermind was—especially since Director Chen had explicitly ordered the final proposal to “fully incorporate Yu Ling’s supplementary suggestions.”  

Yu Ling’s name now rightfully appeared as the deputy in charge of the “Core Framework Design” (Director Chen’s compromise solution), and she was actually responsible for the most crucial implementation module. Her work was fulfilling and rewarding, and returning to the warm, cozy, and lively “home” that Zhao Chen had meticulously maintained always soothed her weary body and mind.  

Life was as sweet as freshly melted honey—thick and beautiful. Yu Ling even began to wonder if that one-year agreement might have been the best “deal” she’d ever made. The subtle, indescribable feelings she harbored for Zhao Chen grew quietly, like the lush and thriving pothos on the windowsill, carefully nurtured and increasingly verdant. It flourished in the morning silhouette of him frying eggs in his beloved Little Whale Apron and in the quiet companionship of his presence under the lamplight late at night.  

On this Saturday evening, the air was thick with a lazy sweetness. In the open kitchen, Zhao Chen, wearing his favorite deep-blue Little Whale Apron, was focused on the sizzling ribeye steak in the skillet. The rich aroma of olive oil, rosemary, and black pepper dominated the space. Nearby, the oven emitted the golden, creamy fragrance of baked mushroom soup. On the countertop, a colorful assortment of washed and chopped fruits was piled high in an elegant glass bowl, accompanied by a refreshing homemade salad dressing Zhao Chen had prepared.  

Yu Ling sat cross-legged on the living room’s wool rug, leaning against the soft sofa with her laptop open on her knees, handling some non-urgent work emails.  

Every now and then, she lifted her gaze over the edge of the screen, settling on the tall, busy figure in the kitchen. The warm yellow light outlined his focused profile, with strands of hair slightly dampened by the steam. His movements were composed and graceful—flipping the steak, drizzling the sauce—each step carried a pleasing rhythm.  

Outside the window, the city’s lights gradually flickered to life, while inside, the aroma of delicious food and the comforting presence of Zhao Chen filled the space. A warm surge welled up in Yu Ling’s chest, and the corners of her lips curled unconsciously. Even her typing slowed.  

“Wash up, dinner’s ready,” Zhao Chen called out with a smile, turning off the stove and plating the juicy steak onto preheated dishes.  

“Coming!” Yu Ling closed her laptop and sprang up eagerly, like a cat catching the scent of fish, trotting toward the dining area.  

On the table, candleholders were already lit, their soft glow flickering. Two exquisitely plated steaks were accompanied by perfectly roasted cherry tomatoes and asparagus, alongside white soup bowls filled with creamy mushroom soup and a vibrant fruit salad. In the tall glasses, deep-red liquid shimmered enticingly under the candlelight—a bottle of red wine from Zhao Chen’s “Friend’s Winery,” perfect for pairing with the meal.

“Wow! Chef Zhao, your skills are wasted if you don’t open a restaurant!” Yu Ling exclaimed sincerely, picking up her knife and fork to eagerly cut a small piece of steak and pop it into her mouth. The exterior was crispy while the inside remained tender, bursting with rich juices. The layers of spices and sauce exploded on her taste buds, making her squint her eyes in bliss.

Zhao Chen watched her satisfied expression, the warmth in his amber eyes deepening under the candlelight. He picked up the wine decanter and poured her a little more red wine. “Glad you like it. Take your time, it’s hot,” he said, his tone laced with undisguised affection.

The two chatted as they ate, the conversation light and pleasant. Yu Ling enthusiastically shared updates and amusing anecdotes from her project, while Zhao Chen listened quietly, occasionally interjecting with precise insights or gentle encouragement that always seemed to perfectly illuminate her thoughts. The atmosphere was warm and harmonious, as if the air itself was dusted with sweet frosting.

Just as the dinner reached its most relaxed and enjoyable moment, a series of urgent and rude doorbell rings—like a rusty saw—suddenly tore through the tranquility.

Ding-dong! Ding-dong ding-dong ding-dong!

The doorbell was pressed repeatedly and aggressively, carrying an unyielding demand.

Yu Ling and Zhao Chen both paused, exchanging a glance. A flicker of confusion crossed Yu Ling’s eyes—who would show up uninvited at this hour? Zhao Chen, meanwhile, barely perceptibly furrowed his brows, his gaze instantly turning calm yet sharp, like an undercurrent beneath a still lake. He set down his utensils and elegantly dabbed his lips with a napkin. “I’ll check.”

He stood and walked toward the entryway, with Yu Ling following curiously behind.

Zhao Chen didn’t open the door immediately. Instead, he first glanced at the smart doorbell’s video screen. On it was the face of a middle-aged woman with heavy makeup and a sour expression. She wore a flashy leopard-print bodysuit, her hair styled in big curls, her nails painted bright red, and she was impatiently jabbing at the doorbell button with her finger.

Yu Ling leaned in to look, and her expression instantly darkened, her brows knitting tightly. “Her? How did she find this place?”

“Who?” Zhao Chen asked quietly, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

“My aunt, Wang Meifeng,” Yu Ling replied, her voice tinged with obvious annoyance and a hint of barely concealed tension. “Notorious for being snobbish and a troublemaker. She never shows up without an ulterior motive—this can’t be good!”

Zhao Chen nodded in understanding, a flicker of recognition passing through his eyes. He pressed the door unlock button calmly. At the same time, as if unintentionally, he gently squeezed Yu Ling’s slightly curled fingers—which were tense at her side—offering silent reassurance through the warm touch.

The door opened.

A wave of pungent, cheap perfume mixed with the smell of cooking oil instantly flooded the entryway, overpowering the lingering aromas of steak and red wine.

“Aiya! Lingling! Finally opened the door! Your aunt has been waiting forever!” Wang Meifeng’s shrill voice boomed like a loudspeaker before she had even fully stepped inside, making Yu Ling’s eardrums buzz. She swept in like a gust of wind, exuding a shrewd, calculating energy. Her eyes, like searchlights, shamelessly scanned the entryway, the living room, and finally landed on the candlelit, exquisitely set dining table.

“Tsk tsk tsk!” Wang Meifeng clicked her tongue exaggeratedly, her bright red lips curling into a mean smirk. “I say, Lingling, you’re living quite the cozy little life here! Candlelit dinner? Red wine and steak? How much did all this cost?” Her gaze, sharp as hooks, raked over Yu Ling’s comfortable loungewear (an expensive cashmere sweater bought by Zhao Chen, with the label cut off) and Zhao Chen’s seemingly ordinary but impeccably tailored gray sweater, trying to assess their worth.

Yu Ling suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and blocked the dining room entrance, her tone icy. “Auntie, what brings you here? Is there something you need?” She had no intention of letting this woman step into the warm space she and Zhao Chen had carefully created.

“Oh my, listen to you! Can’t your auntie just drop by to see you?” Wang Meifeng deftly sidestepped Yu Ling and barged into the living room, plopping herself onto the expensive cream-colored fabric sofa. She even bounced a couple of times, as if testing its resilience. “Ooh, this sofa is so soft! Must’ve cost several thousand, right?”

Her eyes swept over the minimalist yet high-quality furnishings—the floor lamp in the corner, the mirror-like polished floors, the dazzling city nightscape visible through the large floor-to-ceiling windows… Envy and greed practically oozed from her gaze.

“Lingling, so this is your… whatchamacallit… whirlwind marriage husband?” Wang Meifeng finally turned her attention to Zhao Chen, who had been silently standing in the shadows of the entryway. She scrutinized him with a condescending air. “The boy’s looks are passable, but he seems… well, pretty average. What does he do for work? How much does he make a month? Is this place rented or bought? How big is it?”

A barrage of blatantly materialistic questions rained down like hailstones, her snobbery completely unabashed.

Yu Ling’s face paled with anger, ready to explode, but Zhao Chen stepped forward, subtly shielding her by half a step. He wore the gentle, harmless smile Yu Ling knew so well—even a touch humble and shy—as if completely oblivious to Wang Meifeng’s cutting tone.

“Auntie, hello. I’m Zhao Chen.” His voice was warm and polite, and he gave a slight bow. “Just an ordinary office worker, nine-to-five, earning a modest salary. The place is rented—a small two-bedroom, enough for us.” His answers were flawless, his demeanor unassuming, the very picture of a “budget-friendly husband.”

“An ordinary office worker? Renting?” Wang Meifeng’s voice shot up an octave, dripping with undisguised disappointment and disdain. “Oh, Lingling! I hate to say it, but your mother pushing you to marry was a good thing, but your taste is just awful! Settling for this? No money, no property! Look at your cousin Xiaoli—her boyfriend’s family owns a factory! Just bought her a BMW! And then there’s you! Wasting that pretty face of yours! If only you’d listened to me and married Director Li’s son from our unit! He’s a civil servant! An iron rice bowl! You’re just so stubborn…”

Wang Meifeng grew more animated as she spoke, spraying saliva everywhere while berating Yu Ling from head to toe, as if marrying Zhao Chen had been some colossal mistake that brought shame upon the entire family. Her acerbic, venomous words were like poisoned needles, each one piercing Yu Ling’s heart. Trembling with anger, Yu Ling dug her nails deep into her palms, her eyes reddening, yet bound by familial courtesy, she couldn’t find the words to retaliate.

Zhao Chen’s gentle smile remained unchanged, but his eyes gradually grew still, like a deep pool without a ripple. He listened quietly to Wang Meifeng’s tirade without interruption. Only when that spiteful mouth paused for breath did he let out a soft “Ah,” as if suddenly remembering something, his tone carrying just the right amount of surprise and concern:

“Oh, Auntie, I noticed you seemed quite flustered when you came in earlier, and your complexion didn’t look too good either. Have you been troubled by something lately?” With a deft shift in topic, he sounded utterly considerate.