Marked by My Scummy Ex-Wife’s Boss (GL) - Chapter 22.1

Song Zhen’s voice wasn’t loud. In fact, it carried a gentle tone.

Yet those gentle words, spoken with unwavering resolve, stirred a tidal wave in the hearts of everyone present.

Zuo Tian looked at Song Zhen with concern. Song Zhen merely smiled at her, signaling not to worry.

But how could Zuo Tian possibly be at ease?

That smile reminded her of the night they rescued Zhu Yi—and the private message Song Zhen had sent her with her plan:

“The accusation sounds serious, but it’s hard to make it stick. After all, the project was only in its skeletal phase when it began. According to both national law and academic standards, the title of ‘project founder’ for Z-serum could arguably apply to all three of us. But if we’re being honest, the undeniable founders are just Cheng Lang and me.”

“And since we’re both founders, with roughly equal contributions, the charge of misappropriating research doesn’t hold. Besides, Cheng Lang’s status is special—she’s favored by the state. The First Military

Research Institute has promoted Z-serum and her role in it countless times across various media platforms. She and Z-serum are tightly bound together. Unless there’s a serious misconduct scandal, the Institute will likely try to protect her.”

“The truth is, the Institute and Cheng Lang are in the same boat. Their investment in Z-serum is enormous.”

“What I really want are two things: first, official recognition from the military tribunal that I am one of the project’s founders; second, to use the explosive nature of this accusation—if proven, it would be a national scandal—to draw in a few more senior leaders from the research institute to sit in on the hearing…”

“According to the regulations… this gives me the legal grounds to apply for a project split on the spot. Disagreements among founders are not uncommon. But right now, Cheng Lang is riding high at the Institute.

Few people, especially those unrelated to her, would risk offending her. If this were handled internally, whether the second group is approved would ultimately still depend on her.”

“But I want to stand as her equal, as a project founder, and challenge her directly. And that’s something she’d never agree to.”

Zuo Tian had admired Song Zhen’s decisiveness—but she still had her worries.

She remembered asking Song Zhen, “But won’t this put the research institute’s leadership in a difficult spot? Even if the result favors us, won’t they be offended? What if they retaliate later…?”

Song Zhen’s answer had been far simpler than Zuo Tian expected.

After a sip of wine, Song Zhen said, “Winners write the rules. Even if they grumble at first, academia ultimately belongs to the strong.”

“The team that first develops the stabilizing agent—who wouldn’t praise them?”

“In the face of that, a little displeasure will soon be forgotten.”

“But if we don’t act now—if we can’t even secure the right to form a second group—then what’s the point of talking about the future?”

It was a harsh answer.

Blunt, even—but impossible to refute.

In that moment, Zuo Tian felt like she was meeting a different version of her friend.

On the surface, Song Zhen was gentle and easygoing.

But when it came to her ideals—she was powerful, unwavering, almost radiant.

That night had shown her one side of Song Zhen.

Now, standing in the military court, Song Zhen revealed another.

This was no small matter.

After calling for order, the presiding judge and the tribunal resumed their seats and began deliberating immediately.

Song Zhen and her legal team had come prepared, having studied the relevant regulations thoroughly. The lawyer even provided a reference list of legal statutes supporting their request for on-the-spot project division.

While the judges consulted, the research institute executives in the audience were visibly uneasy.

Vice President Rong, who oversaw pharmaceutical development, was clearly going to be involved—and he accepted it without protest.

But the dozen or so department heads present from the pharmaceutical sector? They were another matter entirely. Most had just come to quietly observe. Now it felt like they were being drafted into battle.

Cheng Lang wasn’t just anyone—she was a decorated honorary PhD whom even the director had to treat with respect. And she was widely rumored to be next in line for head of the Adrenaline Department once Zhu Sui was reassigned.

In short: she was a colleague, a powerful one.

Now what were they supposed to do? Vote by the law—and offend Dr. Cheng? Or protect her and risk scrutiny under military court oversight?

Whichever way they turned, they felt cornered.

As the department heads squirmed, the judge called Vice President Rong aside for a brief exchange, and moments later, the court reached its decision.

The judge picked up the mic and announced:

“After joint deliberation by the presiding judge and tribunal, the military court issues the following response to the plaintiff’s application—”

“The court approves the plaintiff’s request. This afternoon, we will oversee and supervise the First Military Research Institute’s formal ruling on the application. The entire process will be recorded and documented. All parties are expected to be present and prepared at the designated time.”

“Court dismissed.”

The gavel struck again.

This time, it was truly over. The judges exited one after another.

Song Zhen exhaled in relief.

The audience, however, erupted into chaos.

The senior officials of the research institute were thrown into confusion.

Vice President Rong remained composed. Despite the stormy expression on Cheng Lang’s face, he calmly said:

“Since a project founder has made a legitimate request, the institute has no reason to deny it.”

He added:

“The request has already been submitted to the military tribunal. If we don’t handle it today, the court will simply reschedule. Everyone here has their own projects—we don’t need unnecessary delays.”

And he was right.

After those words, the audience gradually quieted down.

Song Zhen approached with her lab staff and respectfully greeted Vice President Rong:

“We’ll be counting on you and the other directors and department heads this afternoon.”

Rong smiled. “It’s no trouble. This is the standard process.”

Song Zhen replied sincerely, “Still, it’s not quite the same.”

She bowed politely to everyone, then led her team out—leaving the space to the research institute.

She had guessed correctly: the review committee would be assembled on the spot. It wasn’t her place to linger and influence that decision, so she left early to give them space.

Throughout this, Cheng Lang’s gaze never left her. She looked like she wanted to speak.

But Song Zhen didn’t even glance her way—not out of pettiness, but because there was no need.

As the two passed one another, Cheng Lang stayed silent, lips pressed tightly, shoulders straight.

Song Zhen walked with her head held high, eyes fixed only on the path ahead—a path where Cheng Lang no longer existed.

Her guess was right: as soon as she left, Vice President Rong brought up the matter.

They needed to choose reviewers.

Vice President Rong would count as one of the three required VPs, but two more were needed. And choosing peers at the same rank was far more delicate.

As expected, once he raised the issue, the room fell silent.

Everyone had seen Cheng Lang’s influence. No one wanted to be the one to offend her.

And besides, this was clearly Vice President Rong’s domain—why get involved in someone else’s mess?

The awkwardness thickened.

After a bit more coaxing from Vice President Rong and another round of silence, finally, Director Zhu stood up.

Everyone knew her relationship to Zhu Yi—and so did Cheng Lang. Her face darkened instantly.

But Director Zhu was senior, respected, and from an influential family. She had no reason to care what Cheng Lang thought.

If anyone in the room had untouchable authority, it was her father. With Zhu standing up, no one dared to object.

“I had planned to recuse myself, but since no one else is volunteering, I’ll step up. After all these years working together, you all know my track record.”

Vice President Rong smiled. “Director Zhu is known for her fairness. We’re fortunate to have you.”

Cheng Lang: “……”

She didn’t stay upset long—another vice president soon volunteered, one who was known to be close to her.

That made her feel a bit better.

With both sides represented, Vice President Rong was also relieved. Regardless of the outcome, the process would at least appear balanced.

Then came the selection of department heads.

Zhu Sui would have to recuse herself for conflict of interest.

Two stepped forward voluntarily: one aligned with Cheng Lang, and the other, a younger rising star from an old academic family whose wife was currently trying to conceive—desperately hoping for Z-serum’s success.

The final choice came from Vice President Rong. He selected a department head known for his rigidity and neutrality. Cheng Lang was content with that.

Three vice presidents. Three pharmaceutical department heads. The panel was complete.

For the rest of the institute, this unexpected storm had finally settled.

As they prepared to leave, Cheng Lang called out to the group.

Her request was simple: she wanted to attend the afternoon’s hearing as an observer.

Vice President Rong lowered his gaze.

Director Zhu gave a tactful, noncommittal response. “That’s something you’ll have to ask Professor Song and the military tribunal.”

With that, both Vice President Rong and the other deputy director offered no objections. In the end, they merely said the matter would be decided in the afternoon and gave Cheng Lang no clear answer.

Cheng Lang felt increasingly uneasy, but still had to put on a pleasant face and bid farewell to the senior leaders of the research institute.

Once the courtroom had cleared out and only the official lab team remained, Cheng Lang sat with her head bowed, hands braced on the table, her face pale and her silence heavy. None of her subordinates dared speak up.

Meanwhile, Song Zhen found a place to have lunch and discussed the next steps with Zuo Tian.

They went through the case materials once again. With some time still left before the session resumed, Song Zhen sat by the window, lost in thought.

Her mind felt like it had been racing through a thousand memories—and yet, at the same time, it was completely blank and hollow.

When Cheng Lang saw all that past evidence presented in court, surely she must have felt something.

They were both human. How could they not remember everything they’d once shared?

But while Cheng Lang had been focused on the countless hours they spent building the project together, what Song Zhen remembered… was different.

She remembered asking Cheng Lang to help write her name on a breakfast order, and Cheng Lang grumbling but doing it anyway.

She remembered how, during the summer, Cheng Lang brought her mosquito repellent on a trip to the mountains to collect samples.

She remembered the way Cheng Lang had smiled under the soft yellow glow of a streetlamp, trudging back through the snow after a long night of lab work.

From high school to university, and all the way to the founding of the Z-serum project, their paths had always overlapped.

But now… they were parting ways.

Song Zhen lowered her eyes and shut them.

Senior student Cao Fan was just about to walk over and ask her a question about the files when he noticed her exhausted expression—and paused mid-step.

Zuo Tian sensed it too. She looked up, saw what he saw, tugged at his sleeve, and shook her head.

They were all friends with Song Zhen. Everyone had known how close she and Cheng Lang used to be—especially during the first year of the project. They had truly seen them at their happiest.

It must hurt, Zuo Tian thought. No matter how composed she looked, Song Zhen must be hurting inside.

So instead, Cao Fan sat down and quietly discussed the details with Zuo Tian.

When Zhu Sui arrived, she immediately noticed Song Zhen’s state.

After greeting Zuo Tian, Cao Fan, and Chen Ye, Zhu Sui grabbed a chair and sat down beside Song Zhen.

When Song Zhen opened her eyes, she found Zhu Sui calmly browsing the drink menu.

Her long legs were elegantly crossed, posture straight, slender fingers holding the menu. Her sleek mid-length hair cascaded like silk, catching the light with a healthy sheen.

“You have really nice hair,” Song Zhen said suddenly, almost involuntarily.

Zhu Sui raised an eyebrow, ran her fingers through her jet-black hair—every strand falling effortlessly back into place without a tangle.

She chuckled, casually replying, “Might be the shampoo. It’s the one Zhu Yi gave me—expensive stuff. Want to try it?”

Song Zhen knew it wasn’t about the shampoo, but she still smiled at the response and shook her head.

Zhu Sui glanced over her shoulder. Seeing that everyone else was busy discussing matters, she got up, moved her chair closer—so close they were almost touching—and leaned in, extending the menu toward Song Zhen.

“I want to order a coffee,” she said, lowering her voice into a warm, intimate whisper. “But I don’t know what’s good here. How about you help me out, jie?”

Flustered by the proximity, Song Zhen randomly pointed to something on the menu.

“Really? Is it good?” Zhu Sui lifted her gaze, long lashes fluttering, the corners of her eyes curving into a teasing smile. “Then I’ll go with that.”

She paused, her grin widening.

“If it’s good, I’ll return the favor by telling you who the three deputy directors and department heads are…”

“Wait!”

Realizing the game she was playing, Song Zhen flushed and stammered, “I mean… let me take another look…”