Chapter 56: I Want to Try on Your Wedding Ring

Zhao Fuhe listened to the sounds on the other end of the phone, gripping it so tightly her knuckles whitened. She stared unblinkingly at the screen, hand poised as if to fling it against the wall, but in the end she restrained her temper.

When Wen Zhixia fell asleep, Gu Pingsheng casually picked up the phone that had somehow slipped onto the carpet by the bed. Upon seeing the call log, his eyes darkened for a moment. He walked out to the living room, poured himself a glass of water, and returned the call.

Zhao Fuhe, her voice soft and pitiful, explained that her behavior earlier had been due to the overwhelming grief of losing her child. “It was my first pregnancy... I was just too sad. I never meant to say anything in front of Senior Sister. Please, Senior, forgive me this once, won’t you?”

Her deliberate vulnerability, combined with her mournful tone and choked words lamenting their lost child, was carefully calculated. Gu Pingsheng tipped back half a glass of water, his long fingers idly turning the cup. “Does your face still hurt?”

Zhao Fuhe clutched her cheek. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have upset you.”

Gu Pingsheng said nothing more.

After a tentative pause, Zhao Fuhe quietly asked, “Senior... have you forgiven me?”

Capitalists are always ruthlessly rational, and Gu Pingsheng, who had risen so high at such a young age, was no exception. “Take care of yourself. The apartment at Chengya Residence is still waiting for you.”

The implication was clear: the matter was settled for now.

Yet in his words, Zhao Fuhe still sensed a measure of dissatisfaction. Li Yueting had been right—her actions earlier had crossed one of Gu Pingsheng’s taboos. The fact that she had been forgiven, rather than dismissed like the women before her, proved that she still held a place in his heart.

This only made Zhao Fuhe more certain that one day, she would replace Wen Zhixia completely.

The next morning was cool, and Wen Zhixia felt a chill after just a moment by the window. Gu Pingsheng draped a light shawl over her shoulders and embraced her from behind. “Good morning.”

“You weren’t drunk at all last night,” she said, not looking back, settling old scores.

A faint smile touched his lips. “No.”

Wen Zhixia turned her head, catching the amusement at the corners of his mouth. She pulled away, annoyed. “Childish.”

“If that’s so, why take things so seriously with a childish man, hmm?” he asked.

She brushed his handsome face aside, her cool gaze steady. “Not everything can be solved by going to bed.”

Whenever they quarreled, his solution was always the same: make up in bed after giving in. Some arguments, some friction, could be considered the spice of married life—after all, no couple exists without conflict. But there were matters that couldn’t simply be glossed over.

Gu Pingsheng’s hands tightened on her shoulders. “You’d rather trust an outsider than me?”

Wen Zhixia closed her eyes. “I’m just afraid of losing too much.”

If she gave everything and lost it all in the end, how unbearably painful the rest of life would be.

Gu Pingsheng watched her with an inscrutable gaze, his eyes so deep she could not see the bottom.

After Gu Pingsheng left for work, Hua Qianjiao called Wen Zhixia, anxiously asking about Zhao Fuhe. In Miss Hua’s life, apart from the accident that left her intellectually impaired and stripped her of her halo, everything had gone smoothly—perhaps that was why she remained so guileless.

In her heart, she felt somewhat responsible for Zhao Fuhe’s miscarriage, and guilt and anxiety gnawed at her.

Wen Zhixia comforted her briefly, then made her way to the hospital to see Zhao Fuhe.

Zhao Fuhe didn’t seem surprised to see her, nor as agitated as the day before. Instead, she greeted her proactively, “Senior Sister.”

“Gu Pingsheng has already told me about the child,” Wen Zhixia began.

Zhao Fuhe regarded her for several seconds, then smiled faintly. “What did Senior tell you?”

Wen Zhixia met her gaze. “The child was his.”

If Gu Pingsheng hadn’t just warned her not to speak out of turn, Zhao Fuhe would almost have believed her. “Senior Sister, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She implied that even as the child’s mother, she hadn’t known the father was Gu Pingsheng.

“Did the child’s father not come to see you?” Wen Zhixia asked calmly, peeling an apple beside the hospital bed.

To an outsider, the scene could have passed for two old friends, or at least women on good terms.

Zhao Fuhe’s eyes flickered. “Perhaps you just missed him.”

It was clear to Wen Zhixia that Zhao Fuhe had composed herself overnight, her grief already receding.

“Here’s fifty thousand yuan. Hua Qianjiao asked me to give it to you,” Wen Zhixia said, taking a stack of cash from her bag and placing it on the table.

Zhao Fuhe’s hand on the sheet clenched as she forced a polite smile. “You’d better take it back, Senior Sister. I don’t need money.”

Fifty thousand yuan to buy off the child she’d lost—the very child that could have tied Gu Pingsheng to her—where in the world was such a cheap trade? Or did Wen Zhixia really see her and her unborn child as so worthless?

As Wen Zhixia stood to leave, Zhao Fuhe suddenly spoke. “If you truly want to make it up to me, Senior Sister, why not grant me one small wish?”

Wen Zhixia did not ask what the wish was. Zhao Fuhe raised her right hand with a smile. “I’d like to try on your wedding ring. I think it would fit perfectly. That way, when I need to, I can pick one just the same.”

She was still unwilling to accept her loss, unwilling that she had lost her child while Wen Zhixia remained in her place as Mrs. Gu, living in comfort.

Wen Zhixia turned her ring, her words calm but edged. “You are not qualified.”

A flash of malice crossed Zhao Fuhe’s face, but she quickly resumed her smile, her tone full of meaning. “People always strive upward, Senior Sister. Didn’t you start from nothing, too? I’ve always taken you as my example. I’m still young, with time and energy to spare. I hope one day, I’ll stand where you are now.”

There was only one position—if Zhao Fuhe meant to take it, she implied Wen Zhixia would have to step down.

Wen Zhixia merely chuckled softly and turned away without another word.

Her phone rang as she reached the door of the hospital room.

Zhao Fuhe watched her leave, lips pressed tight. One day, she would see Wen Zhixia suffer, see her proud facade crack when she learned her beloved husband had long since had another woman. Let’s see how high and mighty she’ll be then!

“President Wen…”

It was the doctor she had asked to run a second paternity test.

“Do you have the results?”

The doctor nodded. The answer was the same: “No biological relationship.”

No biological relationship.

Wen Zhixia walked to the window and gazed out, her eyes distant, lost in thought and silent.

The doctor, seeing the call was still active, said, “Perhaps you’re overthinking things, President Wen.”

“I hope so.” With so many coincidences, she couldn’t help but worry.

After hanging up, Wen Zhixia glanced back at Zhao Fuhe’s room, her fingers turning the ring on her hand.

Outside the hospital, a row of benches lined the square. An ambulance pulled up, and two people hurriedly pushed a stretcher inside.

One of them bumped into Wen Zhixia, knocking her phone to the ground. As she bent to pick it up, she realized that she had accidentally hung up a long-distance call.

It was an overseas call. Wen Zhixia stared, momentarily stunned, missing even the hurried “Sorry!” from the paramedic.

She walked over to a bench and dialed the number back.

“It’s rare for you to call me first,” she said, steadying herself with a smile.

Xu Qichen replied, “Have you… been having a hard time lately?”

Wen Zhixia paused. “Why do you ask?”

“I dreamt of you sitting alone on a bench, lost in thought,” Xu Qichen said.

In his dream, her solitary figure was stretched long by the setting sun, her shoulders shaking as if she were crying.

After waking, he’d pressed his brow for a long time before finally calling her.

Wen Zhixia was silent, her gaze flickering as she stared at the ground. She gave a light laugh. “If I didn’t know you were in Berlin, I’d think you were watching me right now.”

Xu Qichen let out a faint, uneven breath—almost imperceptible, but Wen Zhixia noticed.

“Hasn’t it been years of treatment already? Still no improvement?” she asked.

Otherwise, how could even a simple conversation leave him short of breath?

Xu Qichen tried to speak but was overtaken by a fit of coughing. The servant beside him hurried to pour a glass of water. After he recovered, he said, “It’s nothing—just a cold.”

“Is it serious?” Wen Zhixia frowned.

For most, a cold was nothing, but for Xu Qichen, every illness was a matter of concern. His life was as precious as a vault of gold—since childhood, he’d been cared for with utmost caution.

Years abroad had been spent recuperating, but with the complexity of his family and his own deep thoughts, he had never truly relaxed, not even in convalescence.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry,” he replied.

Wen Zhixia murmured assent. “Your birthday’s coming soon. What would you like as a gift?”

By now, so many people vied to give Xu Qichen gifts, most currying favor by guessing his preferences. She was the only one who asked so directly.

“The pastries you made… I finished them long ago,” Xu Qichen said wistfully.

Wen Zhixia smiled. “This time, I’ll send more.”

Xu Qichen chuckled. “Don’t tire yourself out.”

“If you don’t rush me, I could make just one batch a day,” she teased.

He pondered, his fingers pressed to his forehead. “One batch is too little. Better make a few more.”

He missed the taste.

They fell silent, then both laughed softly, perfectly in sync.

They rarely spoke—once or twice a year at most—but each call felt as natural as ever.

Before going home, Wen Zhixia bought all the ingredients she’d need for pastry-making.

Xu Qichen’s tastes were much like hers—light and delicate—so she always used her own preferences as a reference.

When Gu Pingsheng returned, he heard noises from the kitchen, took off his jacket, loosened his tie, and walked in.

The oven timer chimed. Wen Zhixia, wearing thick heat-proof gloves, reached in to take out the tray. She felt nothing of the heat, so with her other hand, she absently moved to close the oven door.

Gu Pingsheng saw her movement and tried to stop her, but it was too late.

“Hiss—” Wen Zhixia’s fingertip was burned, turning white almost instantly. If she hadn’t pulled back in time, her whole hand might have been scalded.

“If you wanted pastries, why not have someone deliver them?” Gu Pingsheng took her hand and placed it under the cold tap.

Surprised to see him, Wen Zhixia blinked. “I’m fine.”

Without a word, he kept her hand under the water until her fingers were icy, then let go.

She dried her hand and returned to her pastries, pressing a rose-shaped mold onto each one before packing them away.

“Are you giving these to someone?” Gu Pingsheng leaned against the bar, asking casually.

Wen Zhixia nodded.

He didn’t think much of it, assuming they were for a professor or Hua Qianjiao. But two days later, he saw the same pastries on Zhang Zhiyan’s desk.

“President Gu, do you like these pastries?” Zhang Zhiyan nudged the plate toward him.

Another executive at the table praised them. “I’ve tasted many delicacies, but I’ve never seen pastries made quite like this. Where did you buy them?”

Zhang Zhiyan smiled, glancing meaningfully at Gu Pingsheng. “The pastries themselves aren’t so novel, President Gu—you must be used to them. What makes them special is who gave them, which makes them all the more precious.”

Gu Pingsheng’s cool expression flickered as he looked at Zhang Zhiyan.

Meeting his gaze, Zhang Zhiyan picked up a pastry and tasted it.

Gu Pingsheng recalled Wen Zhixia’s careful wrapping and packaging, and though his face showed no change, his fingers unconsciously touched the ring on his fourth finger, his eyes deep and silent.

“Would you both like some?” Zhang Zhiyan offered generously.