Chapter 38.2

At 6:10, she touched up her makeup in the office, applying a vibrant lipstick to brighten her appearance before heading to the underground parking lot to meet him.

Chen Jubai glanced at her twice, his eyes lingering on her lips. Song Wei grew self-conscious, lowering her head to fasten her seatbelt. “What are you looking at… Drive already…”

“Wife,” he suddenly called her.

Song Wei stiffened. “What?”

Leaning over, he cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer for a kiss.

Caught off guard, she pushed him away in panic, worried someone might see. “What are you doing…?”

He chuckled, straightened up, and started the car.

Song Wei pulled out her lipstick from her bag to fix what he had smudged. As she reapplied it, the heavy mood she had carried all day lifted, and her dimples softened with a faint smile.

The dinner venue was a renowned and lavishly decorated clubhouse.

Upon arrival, the staff led them to the private dining room. Inside were familiar faces: Chu Qi, Ling Yaozhi, and Zhuo Wan, with Ning Shuhui seated at the center.

There was no need for formalities. Ling Yaozhi immediately complained, “What took you so long? I’m starving.” He waved for the waiter to serve the dishes.

Chu Qi, ever polite, called for wine, only for Ning Shuhui to stop him. “What, haven’t you all had enough alcohol at your usual social gatherings?”

Chu Qi laughed. “This is to welcome you back, Sister Ning.”

“Enough. We’re all friends here—no need for that.”

“Then tea it is.”

After a brief welcome, the conversation naturally veered toward industry trends, policy updates, and preparations for the exhibition.

Song Wei had little chance to contribute and quietly focused on her meal.

The food at the upscale club was indeed exceptional. Even a simple boiled baby cabbage dish was prepared exquisitely. The creamy pork knuckle soup was rich and flavorful—tender, juicy, and utterly delicious.

As she savored the meal, her thoughts drifted. She decided she’d ask Chen Jubai to learn how to make this pork knuckle dish and add it to his cooking menu.

“Weiwei?”

Ning Shuhui called her name softly, affectionately. Song Wei immediately set down the piece of meat on her chopsticks and responded warmly, “Yes, Sister Ning?”

Ning Shuhui asked, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six. I’ll be twenty-seven after my birthday.”

“So young. Are you adapting well to work at Guangnian?”

“I am. The atmosphere at Guangnian is excellent. My colleagues are energetic, and Director Jiang and President Ling provide me with a lot of support.”

Ling Yaozhi, who had been mentioned, chuckled, his eyes narrowing into crescents. “Support? That’s too grand a word—it’s just part of the job.”

Ning Shuhui continued, “Guangnian has a lot of tasks and heavy responsibilities coming up. You might need to work harder. As for Jubai, he’s likely going to be busy for a while too. You two just got married… Weiwei, I hope you’ll be understanding.”

The comment sounded innocuous, but Song Wei felt a slight discomfort. Of course, she understood and supported him. Yet, coming from Ning Shuhui, it felt more like advice—an expectation for her to “be reasonable.”

She nodded lightly in agreement.

Halfway through the meal, Song Wei excused herself to go to the restroom, having had a bit too much water earlier.

When she exited the restroom, she ran into Ning Shuhui. A lit cigarette rested between Ning Shuhui’s fingers, half-smoked, suggesting she had been waiting for some time.

As soon as she saw Song Wei, she stubbed out the cigarette and smiled. “It’s stuffy inside. I came out to get some air.”

Song Wei thought the air near the restroom wasn’t much better but sensed that Ning Shuhui had something to say. She nodded politely in acknowledgment.

They walked together toward the lounge in the center of the club.

“Weiwei, do you mind if I call you that?”

“Not at all. Please feel free, Sister Ning.”

Ning Shuhui sat down, and a server promptly came over to pour tea. She sipped a little, smiling faintly. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

“Thank you.”

Ning Shuhui said, “I was quite surprised when I heard about his marriage. I honestly thought the Chen Jubai I knew would remain a bachelor forever.”

Song Wei didn’t know how to respond, so she quietly sat there.

Ning Shuhui asked, “Has he ever mentioned me to you?”

He hadn’t. Until their unexpected encounter at the supermarket, Song Wei had assumed “President Ning” was a man. But she couldn’t say that outright. Instead, she nodded. “He’s mentioned you.”

Leaning back into the sofa, Ning Shuhui began to reminisce. “When I first met him, he wasn’t even twenty-three. He was young, full of ambition, and brimming with passion—but also incredibly hardworking to the point of exhaustion. He’d drink heavily to entertain clients, pull all-nighters coding, and practically live in the office.”

“You wouldn’t know, but back then, Guangnian was nowhere near what it is today. The office was just a dingy apartment he and Chu Qi rented—something from the ’70s or ’80s. It was dark, damp, and cramped. The first time I visited, there was barely anywhere to sit. Five or six computer towers were scattered around, and the ashtrays were overflowing with cigarette butts.”

At this, Song Wei tilted her head slightly and hesitantly asked, “He smoked?”

She had never seen him smoke—not once, from the day they met.

Ning Shuhui replied, “He did. A lot. He only quit in the past two or three years.”

She continued, “Everything he has today, he earned through his skills and sheer hard work. He’s inching closer to his dreams with every step.” Ning Shuhui looked at her directly. “Weiwei, I know this might not be my place, but if I don’t say it, maybe no one else will. Chen Jubai didn’t have it easy getting here. His sudden decision to marry came as a shock to all of us.”

“I’ll repeat what I said earlier—if you love him, please try to understand him. His life shouldn’t be constrained by marriage or family obligations.”

After a brief pause, Ning Shuhui added, “Also, regarding the company… I noticed many people don’t seem to know you’re married. If possible, I suggest keeping it that way for now. Your abilities are well-recognized, but Jubai is soft-hearted. I’m just worried that when it comes to making tough decisions, his judgment might be compromised.”

Song Wei understood every word Ning Shuhui had said.

She wasn’t angry.

From Ning Shuhui’s perspective as a major shareholder of Guangnian and someone who had accompanied Chen Jubai through his struggles, her words came from a place of reason. She didn’t want Song Wei to hold him back from achieving his dreams, nor to use their relationship for personal gain within the company.

After a moment of silence, Song Wei looked up, her gaze firm.

“Sister Ning, I understand everything you’ve said. I support his dreams and career, and I’ll do my best to understand him. But entering this marriage wasn’t something I forced him into. Since he chose to marry me, he should take on the responsibility of caring for our family. It shouldn’t just be me making endless compromises.”

“As for my work, we’ve agreed to keep things low-profile. He won’t give me special treatment because I’m his wife, and I won’t act entitled because he’s my husband. I’ve been with Guangnian for almost six months now, and I believe my actions so far can vouch for that.”

Her voice was calm but resolute. “Sister Ning, I love him very much, and I also love Guangnian. Like you, I want to see him succeed and go further.”

Ning Shuhui held her teacup for a long moment before setting it down, smiling. “That’s good to hear.”

Song Wei stood, her face softening into a smile. “Sister Ning, let’s head back. If we stay out too long, they might come looking for us.”

As she moved, the faint fragrance of her perfume lingered in the air.

Ning Shuhui glanced up. “Mind if I ask what perfume you’re wearing?”

Caught off guard, Song Wei hesitated before replying.

Ning Shuhui smiled knowingly. “So, he managed to craft the scent he was searching for after all.”

“What do you mean?” Song Wei asked, puzzled.

“You didn’t know? He has a fragrance studio. For years, he’s been trying to create a particular scent. I stumbled across it once. If I’m not mistaken, it’s the one you’re wearing now.”

Song Wei froze, her thoughts racing.

She recalled his fragrance studio, his mention of “Abebe,” the hidden scarf, and the question he had asked her on their first or second meeting about her perfume.

But she never knew that scent was inspired by her.

Something deep within her stirred and crumbled.

His “affection,” the reason he chose to marry her.