Marked by My Scummy Ex-Wife’s Boss (GL) - Chapter 28.1
That night was utter chaos for Song Zhen.
Her mind was a mess, and her body felt… even worse.
She couldn’t stop crying—not out of sadness, but because her eyes kept overflowing with tears, especially whenever Zhu Sui touched her.
“It’s okay now.”
“No, it’s not…”
These two lines became her constant murmurs as she tossed and turned.
But she wasn’t sure if Zhu Sui even heard them. Her reactions were too intense, her consciousness too muddled. It felt like everything she said contradicted what her body was doing—words pushing away, while her actions leaned in, again and again…
The night dragged on. Song Zhen was wrapped entirely in that cool, minty scent. She didn’t know when her dizziness started to fade, only that her senses slowly came back into focus.
Zhu Sui looked down at her. Her clothes were still tidy, but the silk pajamas were creased.
Of course—Zhu Sui had tugged at them so many times.
When Zhu Sui leaned in to kiss her again, she couldn’t resist. After being kissed so many times, her body had already learned: the moment that shadow fell over her face, her lips would part instinctively, welcoming her.
Zhu Sui held her, wrapped in the bedsheet. Song Zhen tasted a faint saltiness, and only then did it register—
The tears weren’t from sadness, but her body’s unconscious reaction. And now, they fell again with fresh awareness. Zhu Sui sighed softly.
Her breath brushed Song Zhen’s cheek, and in a helpless, almost indulgent tone, she murmured:
“Jiejie…”
She cupped her face and gently kissed away her tears—one after another, swallowing each one.
Leaving behind a cooling mint fragrance on her skin.
That night, Song Zhen was utterly drained and slept deeply.
Zhu Sui didn’t leave. Worried she might have a reaction in the middle of the night, she stayed curled up behind her under the thin blanket, releasing her pheromones fully to soothe and relax her.
—
The next day, Song Zhen was spared the awkwardness of facing what happened—because before shame could set in, her body came down with a low-grade fever.
Not the usual fever from a heat cycle, but a genuine illness.
At first, Zhu Sui didn’t think much of it, assuming it was still just the heat’s aftereffect. But when Song Zhen’s condition kept worsening, and her temperature read high, Zhu Sui immediately panicked with a helpless “Oh no…”
The fever lasted more than two days. By the time Song Zhen could sit up and feel properly conscious, Zhu Sui had already taken care of her for two full days—and her first heat had officially passed.
Even with the time gap, the embarrassment lingered.
She found herself avoiding Zhu Sui, not daring to meet her eyes or ask about that hazy night. She couldn’t bring herself to know—what she had looked like in that state, or what methods Zhu Sui had used…
The marks left behind told part of the story.
Especially the spots where Zhu Sui’s pheromones had sunk into her skin. All she had to do was focus, and she could feel a lingering coolness in every part of her body that had been… repeatedly tended to.
It was mortifying. Absolutely mortifying.
Shame overwhelmed her.
She kept her distance from Zhu Sui, who, for her part, remained perfectly composed.
Understanding Song Zhen’s thin skin, she never joked about it or even brought it up.
The newly formed Adrenaline Research Division’s second team was given a week to prepare their lab. Zhu Sui told Zuo Tian that Song Zhen was on sick leave. Thinking of Cheng Lang, Zuo Tian encouraged her to rest more.
Zuo Tian took the lead in relocating all the equipment and materials from the military hospital—just her and two male researchers, handling everything.
The third-year intern, Chen Ye, had already confirmed his spot in the second team. He would continue his internship through his senior year, and officially join after graduation.
Song Zhen, Zuo Tian, and their senior, Cao Fan, had their files formally transferred to the Adrenaline Research Division.
After the move, Zuo Tian drafted a list of urgently needed lab equipment that they’d previously lacked due to their affiliation with a lower-tier lab. Song Zhen reviewed and printed the list, handing it to Zhu Sui.
Zhu Sui cross-checked it against Team One’s gear and approved it without hesitation.
Once submitted to Director Rong—a veteran researcher himself—he signed off after a single glance.
By the time Song Zhen had fully recovered and returned to their new lab space, the workers were just finishing up unloading the equipment.
The Adrenaline Research Division had originally been created for the Z-serum project. The setup had been rushed, but the funding was generous. Although staff was limited, the space allocated could easily house two full research teams.
Once Cheng Lang returned to the country, she had activated one side of the lab. After Team Two was approved, they moved into the other.
The division between the teams was clear—literally split down the middle by Zhu Sui’s office. Each side had its own entrance, so unless someone was specifically seeking out Zhu Sui, there was little overlap. The separation was a welcome relief.
In the first few days, even as Zuo Tian busied herself with setup, she only saw Zhu Sui—the rest of Team One never appeared in their area.
By the time Song Zhen returned, everything had been organized. Though she’d missed the move, no one minded.
In fact, everyone was warm and understanding. Word had gotten around about her past with Cheng Lang, so most were just glad to see her back and urged her to rest well.
As she got involved in setting up the lab and resumed work, the awkwardness with Zhu Sui faded too. Zhu Sui never once alluded to what had happened and treated her with respect. Slowly, their interactions returned to the calm ease they’d once shared.
A week later, Team Two officially settled into their office space.
Colorful streamers and decorations lifted the mood. But that morning, Zhu Sui received a sick leave notice from Cheng Lang, stating she had to see a doctor. Zhu Sui approved it quietly and said nothing to Song Zhen.
The new lab had wider workspaces, more advanced instruments, faster computers…
Better research conditions, professional cleaning staff, a much-improved cafeteria…
Thanks to Song Zhen’s assurances and Director Rong’s trust, Team Two was enjoying far more flexibility.
Everything was coming together. The four members from the old lab felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Their salaries had increased as well, thanks to the transfer from the military hospital to the research institute.
Life suddenly felt grounded and secure—a simple kind of happiness that was deeply fulfilling.
With the new office, Song Zhen and Zuo Tian both got window seats. A couple of days in, Zhu Sui gave each Team Two member a small gift.
The men received desktop models. For Song Zhen and Zuo Tian, she gave delicate glass wind chimes in the shapes of animals. Zuo Tian got a little octopus; Song Zhen’s was a peach blossom jellyfish.
The colors inside were beautifully dispersed. From afar, they looked like watercolor paintings.
Hung by the window, the wind chimes gave off a clear, soothing tinkle whenever a breeze passed. The soft, melodic sound was refreshing—not at all irritating.
Zuo Tian loved hers. Song Zhen also thanked Zhu Sui warmly.
“As long as jiejie likes it,” Zhu Sui replied simply.
But that afternoon, Song Zhen couldn’t resist looking up the price online… and when she did, her hands trembled.
She looked back at the wind chime. Suddenly, its elegant charm transformed into the blinding glow of pure money.
Zhu Sui was still Zhu Sui—when it came to spending, Song Zhen couldn’t catch up even if she rode a rocket.
She opened their chat, intending to say something… but after staring at the blank message field for a long time, she realized—there was nothing she could say.
It was a kind gesture, after all. And both she and Zuo Tian genuinely liked their gifts.
After finally closing WeChat, Song Zhen looked up at the jellyfish wind chime for a long moment. She stepped up onto the stool and reached for the nail it hung from. Only after she had tied the string securely, making sure it wouldn’t fall unexpectedly, did she feel at ease.
Then, without leaving room for refusal, she turned around and helped Zuo Tian fix her little octopus wind chime as well.
Zuo Tian held the stool for her, still a little caught off guard. “Isn’t this too much trouble—”
Before she could finish, Song Zhen—standing firmly on the stool—interrupted her, loud and clear: “Not at all! I’m happy to!”
The sentiment was lovely, but the tone was a bit too forceful.
After settling into the Adrenaline Research Division, Song Zhen submitted a formal request to assist pregnant patients—just like they’d done back in the affiliated lab. Any pregnant women, especially Omegas, who couldn’t get proper help through the military hospital’s outpatient system could now be transferred to their second team for specialized care.
Director Rong approved it.
The institute director was also pleased and even commended the second team for their initiative.
Another week passed, and Team Two officially began receiving pregnant patients—most of them Omegas.
Zhu Yi came in for her follow-up as well. Song Zhen personally examined her. Everything looked good. The ultrasound showed the baby moving, and Zhu Yi couldn’t help but smile. Even Rong Mo, who accompanied her, wore an expression of pride and joy.
Last time had been rushed. This time, Song Zhen carefully asked about the medication Zhu Yi had taken while in district Three.
Her response made Song Zhen frown.
After seeing Zhu Yi off, Song Zhen held the copy of her medical records—which Zhu Yi had left at her request—and still couldn’t make sense of it.
When Zhu Sui returned and saw her looking so serious, she assumed something had gone wrong with Zhu Yi and asked a couple of questions.
Song Zhen shook her head but didn’t hide her academic concerns from Zhu Sui. “I just find it strange. This drug from district Three looks like a stabilizer on the surface, but it forcefully suppresses pheromone disorders rather than easing them. It feels more like a temporary inhibitor… or maybe the formula is missing something essential for proper regulation?”
In academic circles, it’s widely accepted that stabilizers are safe for long-term use, but inhibitors are not. If pheromones are forcefully repressed for too long, the eventual backlash can be catastrophic.
Looking at the reports again, Song Zhen voiced her concern.
“Your cousin was lucky her condition didn’t spiral out of control until three months in. That’s already a decent result. But she said there were other pregnant women in District Three who also signed consent forms.
I’m just worried…”
She paused, shook her head, and dismissed her own concern. “Forget it. I’m probably overthinking it. They wouldn’t let something like that happen.”
Zhu Sui asked, “Wouldn’t let what happen?”
Song Zhen replied, “Once they realize there’s a problem, protocol says they must immediately halt testing. There shouldn’t be another pregnant subject in worse condition…”
Zhu Sui frowned. “Could it get worse?”
“Absolutely. Your cousin’s symptoms didn’t show until the third month. At four months, a miscarriage is still manageable. At seven months, an emergency C-section could still save the baby. But have you thought about what happens if the symptoms hit at five or six months?”
The inhuman implications made Zhu Sui shiver. “That can’t be real, can it?”
Song Zhen muttered, “I really hope I’m just being paranoid. district Three has been running for years. Even if the research hasn’t made major breakthroughs, at the very least… they wouldn’t let it escalate to something fatal… right?”
She didn’t sound convinced.
While Team Two was gaining goodwill with their work on pregnancy support, Cheng Lang, after her sick leave, filed for another week of annual leave.
Zhu Sui approved it.
And as before, said nothing to anyone on Team Two.
Cheng Lang stayed home for several days, skipping her medication, plagued by insomnia night after night.
But what she really needed was silence.
She needed time to recalibrate before going back to the lab—especially a lab that now included Song Zhen.
When her phone rang, Cheng Lang picked it up irritably. Her voice was sharp: “Tong Xianglu, will you give it a rest already? The R&D process and patient data are all classified. I won’t say a word. Just give it up!”
“Langlang?” The voice on the other end hesitated.
Cheng Lang blinked, quickly glanced at her screen to confirm the caller ID, and said, “Mom? Sorry—I thought it was someone from work…”
Her mother didn’t dwell on it and quickly changed the topic.
“Oh right, the Dragon Boat Festival’s coming up. Are you and your wife coming home to Jiangcheng this year?”
Cheng Lang rubbed her forehead. “No. We’re not coming.”
That didn’t sit well with her mother, and pent-up frustrations poured out.
“Why not? Is Song Zhen not letting you come back? All she does is work, work, work. Always so busy with her experiments…”
Once Song Zhen’s name came up, her mother really got going.
“And another thing—why hasn’t she been answering my calls lately? It’s outrageous! In the spring she at least used to send a couple of dresses. Lately? Nothing. Not even a message. What’s wrong with her? I know you’re busy, but can’t at least one of you be reachable? I can’t get through to her, and I don’t want to bother you during work hours…”
“Oh! And did she think about switching to a less demanding job? I told her she should! And not to be mean, but she’s a B. I didn’t even mind that—told her to consider using artificial embryos. Was that such an unreasonable request?”
Cheng Lang felt a headache coming on. She cut in sharply, “You told her to do artificial embryo implantation? Mom, do you have any idea how damaging that procedure is to the body?!”
Her mother faltered. “I… I just wanted you two to…”
Cheng Lang immediately understood. Her voice turned cold. “What else have you said to her?”
“Why are you so defensive? I know you care about her, but is that how you talk to your own mother?”
Cheng Lang never fell for guilt trips. “Mom, I’m twenty-four—almost twenty-five. I’m a fully independent adult. My life is mine to decide.”
Her mother hesitated. “I’m only doing this for your own good…”
“Then why didn’t you come to me first?”
Caught red-handed, her mother faltered again, tried to reason, to guilt, to cajole—but Cheng Lang refused to respond.