Marked by My Scummy Ex-Wife’s Boss (GL) - Chapter 34

After Cheng Lang finished speaking, silence briefly filled the lab.

Song Zhen had pulled an all-nighter and no longer had the energy to keep up her usual composed and guarded demeanor. As Cheng Lang’s words fell, her brows faintly knit together. It was one of the rare moments she let emotion slip through during their few emotional exchanges. The change was subtle, but with her eyes fixed on Song Zhen’s face, Cheng Lang didn’t miss it.

The next second, Song Zhen rubbed her temples and lowered her head again, her gaze landing on Mrs. Brown’s case file.

After a moment, Song Zhen’s voice, weary and flat, asked, “Do you have any questions about the handover for Mrs. Brown?”

“I—”

Before she could answer, Song Zhen cut in, her tone slow and deliberate. “Let’s handle one thing at a time. I heard your question, but I just pulled an all-nighter. Can we finish talking about work first?”

She looked up again. Her eyes were as clear and still as a calm sea, and that quietness made Cheng Lang uneasy.

There was a time when Cheng Lang had been obsessed with those eyes.

No—she couldn’t even say “there was a time,” because she clearly hadn’t let go, had she?

Cheng Lang laughed bitterly, unsure if she was mocking herself or someone else. The bitterness was hers alone to swallow.

She took the file, knowing Song Zhen’s temperament well enough to know that once she said something like that, there’d be no discussing anything else until work was done. This time, Cheng Lang carefully reviewed the data, asked a couple of routine questions, and said two things.

After that, she closed the file and looked up. “I’m done on Mrs. Brown’s side.”

She looked directly at Song Zhen. The implication behind her words was clear.

Work was done. Now it was time to return to her question.

Song Zhen was truly exhausted. She yawned and didn’t respond. Instead, she lowered her head and began removing her lab coat and gloves.

Only when she was done did she speak—calm and clear. “To be honest,” she said, “I’m not curious anymore.”

Cheng Lang froze.

In just that short moment, Song Zhen had already slung her bag over her shoulder, looking like she was ready to leave at any moment. She looked straight at Cheng Lang.

Cheng Lang’s first instinct was disbelief.

But Song Zhen was so calm—unflinching under her gaze, unfazed by being scrutinized. In that disbelief, Cheng Lang picked up on something. Song Zhen’s eyes, though tired, held no trace of interest. She wasn’t hiding her feelings—not that she ever could—but what she showed wasn’t agitation. It was resistance.

It was the expression of someone who didn’t want to talk.

Or perhaps, there was even a silent urging in her demeanor—urging Cheng Lang to hurry up and say whatever she wanted to say, so she could leave.

After a long pause, Cheng Lang finally grasped the crux of the problem. Her voice turned hoarse as she asked, “What do you mean, not curious anymore?”

Song Zhen sighed softly.

There was resignation in her tone—something Cheng Lang couldn’t understand.

And also a sense of release that Cheng Lang refused to understand.

Her eyes burned. Song Zhen lowered her gaze again, refusing to look at her.

The awkward silence returned. Then Song Zhen spoke again, voice level and steady, without a ripple of emotion. “Because I simply don’t want to know anymore.”

Though spoken quietly, the words pierced Cheng Lang like a knife, shattering her illusions instantly. The pain surged like a tidal wave, tearing through her body, leaving her utterly devastated.

Her eyes reddened immediately.

Still, Song Zhen didn’t look at her. “I gave you a chance. You turned it down.”

“I gave you chances—more than once. But Cheng Lang, you said no every time.”

Cheng Lang opened her mouth, but no words came out.

They’d grown up together. If Cheng Lang was asking this now, Song Zhen knew exactly what she was thinking.

“The first time I found out,” Song Zhen said, “I waited for you to come talk to me. I thought maybe you’d have something to say…”

“But you didn’t.”

“You only called again to report to District Three. You told me to calm down, that we both needed to cool off.”

“That time, I even chased after you, asking why…”

The day after her second differentiation, after Zhu Sui had left, Song Zhen received Cheng Lang’s call. She remembered it clearly.

Her tone had been cold—chilling. Not a trace of warmth.

“You said you thought you’d been naïve, that Alphas and Omegas were better suited. Isn’t that what you said?”

“I…” Cheng Lang tried to speak, voice raspy.

Song Zhen raised her hand slightly, signaling her to be quiet, and went on.

“Back then, I thought about a lot of things. All I wanted was one explanation, even a rough one. If you couldn’t give me that, then even just a ‘sorry’ would have been enough.”

“But what did you say? You said you were young and foolish. You told me not to make a scene…”

“How long have we known each other, Cheng Lang? Since we were kids. If you’re going to lie, at least make it a convincing one. You didn’t want to explain—just admit it.”

“Given how well you know me, when have I ever mixed personal and professional matters? Even our relationship—when we established the Adrenaline Lab, your military record was tied to Dsitrict One. Before going abroad, your entire background was cleared.”

“We registered our marriage just a few days before your departure. Barely anyone knew. Your superiors, the research institute, even the hospital—they still think you’ve always been single.”

“Did I say anything? Did I ever complain? Did I ever shame you, morally or professionally?”

She took a deep breath. “I didn’t.”

“And that excuse about being young and naïve—how ridiculous. Cheng Lang, you weren’t explaining. You were brushing me off.”

With an excuse that wasn’t even remotely convincing.

There was another stretch of silence. Song Zhen gave a short laugh—dry, almost mocking. Maybe she was mocking Cheng Lang. Maybe life itself.

“I gave you a chance. You refused. The time when I wanted to know has passed. I’ve let it go. Now, I neither want to know nor need to.”

“Zhenzhen…” Cheng Lang called her by her childhood name, her voice full of pain.

At last, Song Zhen looked up.

Cheng Lang’s eyes were red-rimmed, faintly wet. Her brow furrowed, her expression agonized.

But Song Zhen wasn’t moved. She felt nothing—numb.

After a sleepless night, her mind was sluggish and foggy.

“No need to say more,” Song Zhen said flatly.

“One: We’re already divorced.”

“Two: Even if you explain, it won’t change anything. What’s happened has already happened… let it stay in the past.”

Cheng Lang had listened up until that point. But when she heard that last sentence, her emotions surged violently. “What do you mean ‘let it stay in the past’?!” she snapped.

Song Zhen raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to repeat what happened between you and Miss Tong?”

Her tone was even, her logic sharp—but that made it all the more unbearable.

Cheng Lang’s hand clenched into a fist. Unable to endure it, she suddenly exploded, “You’re always like this—always so…”

Song Zhen took a small step back, already losing patience. She was exhausted from the night shift, but more than that—

She’d never liked Cheng Lang’s habit of bottling things up until they exploded. Now that they weren’t even together, her tolerance was even lower. She’d always believed Cheng Lang’s temperament was a burden on those around her. And now, she had no obligation to bear it.

“What did I do this time?” Song Zhen asked tiredly, exasperated.

Cheng Lang gritted her teeth. “You’re just like this—so rational, so detached. Even if I’d told you everything back then, would you really have forgiven me? I doubt it. What’s done is done, and you never forget it.

You always draw the lines so clearly…”

Song Zhen looked genuinely confused. “Then wasn’t it an even bigger mistake not to tell me in the first place?”

“I didn’t want to lose you!” Cheng Lang shouted.

With that outburst, the lab fell completely silent.

Emotion surged in Song Zhen’s eyes—complicated and intense. Just as Cheng Lang thought she might say something, Song Zhen merely shook her head, her expression returning to an eerie calm.

Her voice, emotionless: “Then your actions only pushed me further away.”

Soft, not sharp—but painfully honest.

It froze Cheng Lang where she stood.

Left her speechless.

Like a knife, Song Zhen’s words plunged into her heart, blade and all.

The pain was overwhelming.

But Song Zhen didn’t stop there. “And the truth is, you succeeded.”

Cheng Lang’s pupils contracted. She doubled over, coughing violently.

Song Zhen didn’t move—just stood there, expressionless.

At that moment, Zhu Sui and the other lab team members pushed open the door and walked in—only to witness the strange scene.

Song Zhen’s face was blank, stripped of all but exhaustion. She stood still, like a mist rolling through a mountain valley—quiet, detached, impenetrable.

Meanwhile, Cheng Lang was hunched over, coughing hard. Song Zhen didn’t reach out. Didn’t pat her back. Didn’t fetch water.

Everyone froze.

Zhu Sui blinked, then quickly stepped in, “Dr. Cheng, are you okay? I’ll get you some water.”

She brought the water back. Cheng Lang accepted it silently, not looking up.

Once they confirmed she was okay, the team relaxed a little.

“Did something happen with Mrs. Brown?” Song Zhen finally asked, eyes on the patient, her tone utterly impersonal toward Cheng Lang.

Everyone felt the tension. A team member scratched his head awkwardly and said, “Uh… no. It’s just, you two had been gone for a while, and I was worried about Mrs. Brown…”

Of course—they’d been gone too long.

Three people were monitoring the patient. Two lab staff and the Z-serum’s original developer.

The handover between Song Zhen and Cheng Lang had dragged on.

Cheng Lang paused mid-drink. Song Zhen nodded, rubbing her brow. “It’s fine. We’re done. Dr. Cheng will return with you shortly.”

Then she smiled—a formulaic smile—and added, “Chief Zhu and I are off duty now. Thanks for your hard work today.”

Earlier, Zhu Sui had mentioned she would drive Song Zhen home. The team didn’t think much of it, but Cheng Lang’s heart stirred—another thought surfacing.

Zhu Sui had a special identity. Cheng Lang’s mind began to piece things together, but Song Zhen didn’t care what anyone thought anymore. She walked out directly.

She was exhausted. After a night of no sleep, her temper would fray easily.

Cheng Lang swallowed her words.

Zhu Sui, noticing something off, stayed behind a moment to say a few polite words, then followed after Song Zhen.

At the garage, Song Zhen was already in the passenger seat, eyes closed, looking utterly drained.

Zhu Sui glanced at her and tentatively asked, “Jiejie… are you okay?”

Song Zhen, too tired to put on a facade, said bluntly, “I just had a fight with Cheng Lang. We talked about the past. It’s not a big deal. I’m not even angry. Just tired.”

She frowned. “Really tired. I want to sleep.”

Zhu Sui understood the first part. She was more skeptical of the second.

But Song Zhen clearly didn’t want to talk. And Zhu Sui figured, after staying up all night in the ward, Song Zhen probably hadn’t rested at all. The closer she got to success, the more cautious she became.

So, Zhu Sui nodded and didn’t press. “Then let’s go ho—”

Mid-sentence, she froze, patting herself down.

Damn. She left her keys in the office.

Not just the car keys, but the ones to her study at home too. With no choice, she turned back.

Returning to the lab area, the team was gone—but Cheng Lang was still there, at the far end of the hall, shouting into the phone, clearly agitated.

Zhu Sui hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but Cheng Lang’s voice was too loud to ignore.

“Tong Xianglu, your mess was cleaned up by District One. Be grateful. Don’t push it. Stop asking how we handled it. Do you think I’d tell you? That’s classified!”

“The formula? Yes, we used your ratio—but what makes you think you have the right to ask how we adjusted it?!”

“Don’t call again. We have nothing more to say!”

Zhu Sui frowned slightly, some puzzle pieces falling into place.

Cheng Lang eventually returned to monitoring Mrs. Brown.

Meanwhile, Zhu Sui drove Song Zhen home. Song Zhen was already asleep in the passenger seat, eyes closed, breath deep and even.

At a red light, Zhu Sui heard her mumble, “The institute gave Team Two some perks yesterday. Two movie tickets. Let’s go see a movie together sometime, okay?”

Zhu Sui blinked. “Okay.”

“Mm… haven’t seen one in ages…”

Her voice trailed off.

Looking in the mirror, Zhu Sui saw her fast asleep.

At the next red light, hearing the soft breathing beside her, Zhu Sui couldn’t help but chuckle and shake her head.

After settling Song Zhen in bed, Zhu Sui didn’t rest. She went into her study.

Using a key, she unlocked a drawer.

She pulled out a file stamped with “National Security Bureau.”

She’d read it many times before. But before the briefing, she wanted to read it once more.

Afterward, she called her superior.

Zhu Sui belonged to the NSB’s Division Three. Though she’d been reassigned to the research institute recently, her file and affiliations remained in the NSB.

She’d originally been tasked by Commander You to investigate the Z-serum leak.

The call connected quickly.

“Commander You,” Zhu Sui began, “You mentioned a foreign lab possibly possessing intermediate-stage Z-serum data. I’ve reviewed everyone in Team One—none of them seem suspicious. I initially concluded the leak didn’t come from the Adrenaline Lab. I’m now rescinding that conclusion.”

“There’s no suspicious person in Team One—but during the first year of overseas research, only Team One was there.”

“In the second year, the Tong family’s District Three team arrived and used the same equipment—just across the street. There was interaction between the two labs.”

“I still believe Team One had no motive and no benefit in leaking anything. For researchers, that would be all risk and no gain…”

“But given Mrs. Brown’s recent situation, and reconsidering everything—we can’t say the same about District Three.”

Commander You said something on the other end.

Zhu Sui nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

Then added, her tone firm, “I strongly suspect that someone from the Tong family intervened behind the scenes.”