Marked by My Scummy Ex-Wife’s Boss (GL) - Chapter 35.1

Cheng Lang couldn’t remember how she got home after work.

That morning, she and Song Zhen had essentially had a fight—well, it was one-sided. Song Zhen had remained calm, composed to the point that if she hadn’t been so exhausted, her expression wouldn’t have wavered at all…

The scene was nearly identical to the one Cheng Lang had feared day and night.

She had dreamed of this confrontation countless times: Song Zhen questioning her, pressing her—but now that it had actually happened, the real thing didn’t feel as devastating as her dreams had portrayed.

Or maybe… she had grown used to this feeling?

Perhaps.

Some things had been said, and some hadn’t. But once the words were out, Cheng Lang felt an unexpected sense of relief. Even though Song Zhen gave her the cold shoulder, Cheng Lang actually felt a bit better. It was pathetic—she knew it. A sickness of another kind.

She was tired and went to bed early.

The emotions she had bottled up for so long had finally been released. Her entire body seemed to relax, and she fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

What she hadn’t expected was that while she could hang up on Tong Xianglu’s calls, she couldn’t hang up on her dreams.

Because they weren’t really dreams—they were memories etched into her very bones.

This one picked up right where the last had ended.

At the time, the equipment in the Adrenaline Unit had broken down. A crucial piece of data needed urgent computation. Though foreign technicians had been called in for repairs, they needed two days—an unbearable delay for a research team that counted every second.

Someone on the team suggested borrowing identical equipment from the Tong family’s team in District 3. It was just a single calculation. With their personnel supervising, there would be no risk of data leaks. The process would take ten minutes, tops. Surely the District 3 team wouldn’t be so stingy.

Cheng Lang hesitated but couldn’t argue against the majority. In the end, she agreed and went to the lab under District 3.

“Sure,” said Tong Xianglu, their team leader, cheerfully. “But our data’s also stored on that machine. We can’t lend it for free—there’s a condition.”

Cheng Lang was about to assure her that they would only run the calculations under supervision, when Tong Xianglu gave her a sly smile. “Dr. Cheng, let’s add each other on WeChat? I might want to ask you a few things later—strictly academic, of course~”

The tone was suggestive.

Everyone knew Cheng Lang was an Alpha and Tong Xianglu an Omega. The group around them instantly started teasing.

In the end, the equipment was borrowed, and the WeChat contact was exchanged.

Cheng Lang was initially reluctant, but Tong Xianglu didn’t message her after that, nor did she act overly familiar, which gradually eased Cheng Lang’s concerns.

Their first actual message exchange came days later. Tong Xianglu directly sent over a research paper and asked questions without so much as a “hello.” It seemed rude, but to Cheng Lang—who found most social interactions among elite families overly polite and false—Tong Xianglu’s bluntness was refreshing, even genuine.

That first exchange was purely academic.

Then came a second. A third.

Before long, their chats became frequent, always circling around papers, experiments, ideas. In terms of research, Tong Xianglu was extremely gifted. Their minds aligned well, complementing each other’s weaknesses, sparking insights neither would’ve arrived at alone. Their mutual respect deepened.

Cheng Lang couldn’t remember exactly when it happened, but one day Tong Xianglu mentioned being sick and unable to discuss her new paper until the next day.

Cheng Lang asked how she was.

That simple concern opened a new channel of conversation—and from then on, their chats were no longer strictly professional.

Three months into the foreign research mission, Cheng Lang realized she and Tong Xianglu were getting… close.

Meanwhile, her issues with Song Zhen had not gone away—though Song Zhen had taken time to try and comfort her, Cheng Lang still resented how work always seemed to come first.

In the early days, Cheng Lang always called. After a New Year’s quarrel, Song Zhen had come back to make peace—but afterward, she got busy and stopped initiating. Cheng Lang, in her pride, also refused to call.

She wanted to see who would break first.

She knew it was a toxic pattern.

But Song Zhen had always been so good to her. Each time they fought, the guilt and affection in Song Zhen’s eyes reassured her—fed her sense of being loved deeply, almost unconditionally. It was the very thing that enabled her bad habits to flourish.

Out of the country, without Song Zhen by her side, that same old routine no longer worked.

When Song Zhen didn’t visit her during the New Year, Cheng Lang grew bitter. It felt as though Song Zhen valued her work more than her.

It sounded ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. She never dared compare herself directly to Song Zhen’s career—because deep down, she knew she’d lose. She’d always known that Song Zhen’s dreams, her ambitions, mattered more than anything.

And that was a truth Cheng Lang didn’t want to admit.

She wanted to be the most important part of Song Zhen’s life.

The most important person. The top priority. Not second to anything.

These frustrations built up. Slowly, she found herself confiding bits and pieces to Tong Xianglu.

On weekends, when Song Zhen worked overtime, Tong Xianglu started inviting her out. They were always group events at first—District 1 and District 3 researchers socializing abroad. Despite working on separate, confidential projects, they were all Chinese in a foreign land. That camaraderie mattered.

Later, Tong Xianglu began inviting her out alone.

Cheng Lang was hesitant at first, but Tong Xianglu was easygoing, never pushy. She had many local friends too. That first time, sensing Cheng Lang’s unease, she backed off. Gradually, Cheng Lang loosened up.

The second time. The third time.

Skating. Skiing. A Chinese amateur Go tournament. Strange and fun things.

At first, they met during the day. Later, seeing Cheng Lang wasn’t bothered, Tong Xianglu asked her out at night. Cheng Lang went.

Their relationship grew subtly closer.

Meanwhile, Cheng Lang continued her silent war with Song Zhen. And so, time slipped into summer.

Summer meant a heatwave break for military medical research staff. Cheng Lang had been planning for a month to ask Song Zhen to visit her. She missed her deeply. And although they had gotten married… they hadn’t taken that final step.

Six years together. Still no intimacy. Sound unbelievable?

But it made sense in hindsight.

Cheng Lang had differentiated at seventeen in high school—too young to act on their desires. Then came college. Song Zhen had always been ambitious. She overloaded on electives, trying to complete all four years’ worth of credits in one so she could devote more time to research.

She even pursued a double major.

Not wanting to be left behind, Cheng Lang also overloaded her schedule and, unexpectedly, passed the accelerated exam. Song Zhen encouraged her to earn a graduate degree during their undergrad years.

Their dates shifted from playgrounds to the library.

And then there was Song Zhen’s hypersensitivity to pheromones—any excitement, and her glands would flare up.

By junior year, they had launched a project with unexpectedly strong reception. All three group members spent their days buried in the lab.

Eventually, Z-serum’s impact far exceeded expectations. Even after graduation and marriage, nothing changed—they had signed the papers, but that was all.

Cheng Lang wanted to change that. She wanted Song Zhen to visit.

Song Zhen agreed.

Cheng Lang was thrilled. She planned everything—the food, the outings, even the hotel.

But on the day of the flight, Song Zhen didn’t answer her calls. Two hours past the departure time, she finally called back: a critical emergency involving a pregnant patient in their lab’s care. She couldn’t leave.

That missed flight meant Song Zhen wasn’t coming.

Cheng Lang didn’t wait for her to finish explaining—she hung up in anger.

And in her fury, when the day came that she was supposed to take Song Zhen out, she called Tong Xianglu instead. She had other friends. She didn’t need to beg for affection.

She didn’t realize it then, but maybe Tong Xianglu interpreted her call differently.

After the aquarium, they went to a bar. Cheng Lang drank too much—thinking of Song Zhen the whole time.

And fate, cruelly aligned, sent Tong Xianglu into heat that very night.

When Cheng Lang woke the next morning, her head throbbed. Tong Xianglu sat naked on the bed, smoking. Her body was covered in hickeys and bite marks—evidence Cheng Lang had left behind.

She nearly lost her mind.

One thought echoed through her head: It’s over.

It’s all over.

She and Song Zhen were over.

Song Zhen would never forgive her.

She would divorce her. No hesitation. Song Zhen was too rational. No matter how much it hurt, she would walk away.

And Cheng Lang knew it—because just as Song Zhen understood her, she understood Song Zhen too.

The fear clung to her like a shadow.

She had considered burying the truth forever. But as a researcher, as an atheist, and as someone who respected Song Zhen’s intelligence, she knew: nothing stays buried forever.

Especially not ugly truths.

The harder you try to hide them, the faster they spill.

Cheng Lang woke up drenched in sweat. She pressed her fingers to her temple, both frustrated by Tong Xianglu’s lingering shadow and weighed down by the incident’s trauma. Even after all this time, the memory remained vivid—every detail etched into her mind.

She got up to wash. After brushing her teeth, she stared at her pale reflection in the mirror and briefly thought about what came after.

What came after… was a mess.

She wanted to tell Song Zhen, but didn’t dare. She hesitated over and over, finally calling—only to find that she couldn’t get through. She called Zuo Tian instead. Zuo Tian told her that Song Zhen had taken a few team members out to gather medicinal herbs. This time, the location was remote, and the plants grew on a mountain. Signal was likely poor.

And the signal really was out for the entire day.

All at once, Cheng Lang felt all her emotional grievances and twisted frustrations toward Song Zhen become utterly ridiculous.

To Song Zhen, they probably were ridiculous.

Without knowing anything, she’d gone cheerfully up the mountain to collect medicine. Cheng Lang felt defeated. For the first time, she admitted that in Song Zhen’s heart, she would never come before Song Zhen’s ideals.

And then, came the absurdity.

Since it had already happened with Tong Xianglu, Cheng Lang gave in to despair. Egged on by Tong Xianglu’s subtle suggestions and swept along by the current, their entanglement repeated itself—over and over.

She lashed out at Song Zhen in her heart, resenting her, resenting the way she always held back. There was a dark, twisted satisfaction in hearing Tong Xianglu gasp from the effects of her pheromones.

If Song Zhen didn’t care, then there were others who did.

If Song Zhen wouldn’t come to her, then she didn’t want Song Zhen either. She’d divorce her. Break up. Be done with it.

If she could keep spiraling down like that, maybe it would have been easier.

But in the end, the hardest person to deceive is yourself.

A month of reckless indulgence later, Cheng Lang couldn’t lie to herself anymore. She didn’t love Tong Xianglu. And she still couldn’t let go of Song Zhen.

By the second month, she was plagued by insomnia. She stopped seeking out Tong Xianglu.

As the lead researcher in the lab, even during her overly close entanglement with Tong Xianglu, Cheng Lang was careful to protect the Z-serum data.