Marked by My Scummy Ex-Wife’s Boss (GL) - Chapter 47.1

“You talk, I’ll listen.”

After a long, unwavering gaze, Zhu Sui gave her answer.

Being stared at like that, so intently, made Song Zhen feel strangely flustered—her face warmed, a little out of place.

“I guess you’ve already figured it out. The Z-serum didn’t start from zero. Because of my mother… Z had a predecessor. It was developed based on a previous stabilizer project.”

They were sitting in a small neighborhood park when Song Zhen began to speak.

Zhu Sui looked at her with a faint smile. “I knew that?”

Song Zhen paused briefly and lowered her eyes. “You probably guessed it.”

“Did I?”

Zhu Sui propped her chin up with one hand, her eyes sparkling as she stared at Song Zhen. The string of questions left Song Zhen flustered. She let out a soft sigh and called Zhu Sui’s name in a helpless tone, clearly at a loss.

Zhu Sui decided to stop teasing and nodded. “If you say so, then yeah—I figured it out.”

Song Zhen went on, “Some of her research materials were kept at home. I’ve read them all. The Z-serum is developed from the initial framework of the Alpha prototype. Since Alpha failed, I’ve been extremely cautious, confirming every step multiple times, and testing every possible variation to see if a better route exists.”

“So far, Teacher Zhuang’s work remains invaluable. The intermediate breakthroughs in the Z project follow the same research direction her team pursued.”

“But Alpha’s failure was ultimately due to the harmonizer. Right now, I’m still feeling my way through that part. The harmonizer was developed alongside the stabilizer from the start—while I can’t guarantee 100% success, as long as we reach clinical trials, there shouldn’t be any major incidents…”

She paused, then added, “Back then, the Alpha incident was… complicated. Many things remain unexamined. After the accident, since Teacher Zhuang and the core team died, and public outrage was intense, the military, under pressure, rushed to seal off the lab. No deeper investigation was made—they simply handed everything over to the Tong family.”

“After that, you know the story. The Tong family took over the Progestin Institute and eventually the Third Research Institute as a whole, gradually squeezing the Zhuang family out of the core.”

“As for the deeper truth… I’m sorry. I can’t tell you.”

Zhu Sui raised her brows, a little surprised, but not entirely caught off guard.

Song Zhen looked at her sincerely. “For one, we only have suspicions—no actual evidence. Speaking out before we confirm the truth would be irresponsible.”

“And second, you’re not part of the research team. I don’t know why you were reassigned to the Adrenaline Research Division, but it must be temporary. When the time comes, you’ll probably be transferred back to the National Security Bureau and promoted.”

Zhu Sui chuckled lightly. “You really know your stuff.”

Song Zhen smiled too, though hers was tinged with a trace of guilt—things she couldn’t explain.

With that, she had shared everything she felt she could about her mother. She hadn’t mentioned any names, and Zhu Sui, whether out of discretion or intention, didn’t press her for them.

The air around them stilled again. The night deepened. The wind blew in small gusts, curling around them. Apart from the wind, the little park was silent.

Song Zhen fidgeted with her hands—tightening, loosening. Her head was bowed, clearly still organizing the last of her thoughts.

Zhu Sui didn’t rush her. She waited quietly.

The streetlamp cast a warm yellow glow across Zhu Sui’s delicate face. Song Zhen looked up and for a moment was lost in a memory—of her childhood.

Her mother often worked late. When she returned home, too tired to play, she’d sometimes take little Song Zhen for a stroll around the small park outside their apartment.

The night was always deep, stars twinkling.

Her beautiful mother would sit on the swing, swaying gently, while the slide belonged to Song Zhen alone.

No other kids were around—it was too late. That small playground belonged entirely to her.

And on rare nights when she managed to coax her father downstairs too, he’d lift her back to the top of the slide each time she came down. Her mother would complain about her father spoiling her. He’d argue back, abandon her to go push her mother’s swing…

All of that—the light, the hush, the breeze—felt just like now.

The memory calmed her. She went on:

“After the incident, the core lab where Teacher Zhuang conducted her research was sealed. The military was in chaos at the time and planned to investigate later. But for some unknown reason… the lab was never reopened. It remains locked to this day.”

In fact, it wasn’t just locked.

The military surrounded it with barbed wire and installed tight surveillance.

Though abandoned, the lab was completely off-limits. Over the years, surveillance has never slackened. Strangely, even the windows were sealed with metal mesh.

A true, deliberate lockdown.

“The day of the accident, Teacher Zhuang was leading an inventory of all the lab’s chemicals and research data.”

“Among the women who died during Alpha’s clinical trials… three came from influential military families—one each from the Third and Fifth Military Regions.”

Song Zhen took a deep breath and said firmly, “Once the Z-serum succeeds, and it can be produced and distributed at scale, I’ll file an appeal with the military tribunal—as the project’s founder. I’ll formally request a reinvestigation of that lab.”

“I believe the truth is still sealed inside.”

“Since Z is an extension of Alpha, I will report that truthfully and use it to apply for a full inquiry into the incident.”

She closed her eyes, voice hoarse.

“That’s why I chose this path.”

“My mother never finished her work. I’ll do it for her—to give Huaguo the safe, universal stabilizer it deserves.”

“And to give her… an answer.”

It wouldn’t be an easy road.

Seasons had come and gone. She’d read through her mother’s old handwritten notes countless times. They only outlined the research path—no data, no formulas, no drug compositions. Everything critical had been left behind at the Third Institute.

Song Zhen had moved forward blindly. She knew the direction, but not when—or if—she’d reach the finish line.

Three years now, she’d lived on edge. No long breaks. No time to slack. Finally, at last, here they were.

“I’m sorry I never told you all this earlier.”

“My identity is sensitive. Back when we met, we barely knew each other—and I’ve always been cautious with people. Even so… even now, if I had to do it again, I still wouldn’t have told you.”

Hearing this, Zhu Sui asked curiously, “Then why are you telling me now?”

Their relationship wasn’t built like hers and Cheng Lang’s—no childhood friendship, no long years of affection before getting married. For both Song Zhen and Zhu Sui, marriage had been a choice, a calculated one.

Song Zhen had never told Cheng Lang any of this. Zhu Sui didn’t believe she was hearing it now because Song Zhen had suddenly fallen in love with her.

She was right.

Song Zhen pressed her lips together. Under the dim light, they looked soft and glistening—like jelly.

“Because,” Song Zhen said, “our marriage began with a child.”

“In Huaguo, unless it’s high treason, a parent’s history doesn’t affect their children. Every citizen is equal before the law.”

Her fingers tightened again.

“I don’t know how this road I’ve chosen will end, or what it might uncover. I don’t know… after hearing this, if you’ll still want to raise this child with me.”

People say it doesn’t matter. But how could it truly not?

Song Zhen was sure Zhu Sui—and the Zhu family—could raise a child well. What she didn’t know was, once Zhu Sui knew her origins and intentions… would she still want to?

What if, one day, Song Zhen herself became a stain on that child’s name?

Silence fell again. Song Zhen didn’t dare look at her. She stared down at her hands.

It was a long time before Zhu Sui spoke.

Her first sentence: “Oh, so that’s why.”

No wonder she’d been so transparent with someone who was, in essence, still an outsider. But maybe it wasn’t transparency toward her—it was openness toward the other future parent of her child.

Her second sentence was light and lazy:

“Didn’t you say everyone is born equal, that parents don’t define their children?”

She was quoting Song Zhen’s own words—but her tone gave no clue what she meant by it.

Song Zhen looked up, unsure what to expect.

Zhu Sui looked unbothered, eyes half-lidded as she gazed back at her, almost mocking the seriousness of the topic. “Before he’s your child, he’s his own person.”

“Everyone walks their own path. A parent can’t walk it for them.”

She paused, then smiled—just slightly.

“Your choice was brave. Whatever happens in the future… just for your character alone, I think he’d be proud of you.”

Another beat, then she added, “I admire your character too. In fact, I’m even more excited to meet your child now.”

Song Zhen hadn’t expected that.

It was the perfect answer—far better than a mere “I don’t mind.”

To say I look forward to meeting your child was a gracious and wholehearted embrace of everything she’d just confessed.

Song Zhen was speechless for a moment. Then, quietly, she asked,

“You… really think that way?”

The question was direct—so direct it came off a bit brash, even naive in its brutal honesty.

Zhu Sui gave a small nod. “If this had happened to my family, no matter what, we would want the truth to come to light too.”

She said it with certainty. “You’re not wrong. In fact, you’re incredibly brave.”

“But… don’t you think it’s all a huge mess? Me… and the path I’ve chosen—it’s just one problem after another…”

Perhaps she understood this too well. Song Zhen’s voice trembled with emotion, her eyes misting over.

Zhu Sui couldn’t bear to see her like this—with those tearful eyes that stirred pity in anyone who looked.

So she sat up straighter, her tone turning serious. “Then let me ask you—what part of life is ever smooth sailing? Who isn’t living through their own pile of trouble?”

Song Zhen was momentarily speechless.

“Life is full of little annoyances—petty chores, unpredictable people, challenges in research. Just getting along with others is a daily tangle of countless hassles. Jie, we all live caught in the whirlwind of inconvenience. What we do—what we’re always doing—is solving one problem after another. That’s just life.”

“And the road you chose just comes with more… visible, thorny problems.”

She paused, then added with a near sigh, “I really think you’re brave. Don’t belittle yourself, jie.”

Song Zhen’s eyes burned hot with unshed tears.

Zhu Sui stared at her for a long moment, then finally couldn’t hold back. “You know,” she said, “when you look at someone like that, you really make them want to bully you. If you’re going to cry, wouldn’t it be better to cry in my arms?” She opened her arms shamelessly. “Seriously—I’m pretty good at comforting people.”

“…”

Whatever fragile emotion had been blooming in Song Zhen’s heart abruptly popped like a soap bubble.

The two of them went home together.

That night, Song’s father made noodles as a late-night snack. The smell was irresistible—Zhu Sui couldn’t help but dart into the kitchen to beg for a bowl.

Song Zhen trailed behind her, blinking up at her dad with those same pleading eyes.

Ten minutes later, the three of them sat at the table, each with a bowl of noodles.

Zhu Sui’s bowl had an extra heart-shaped fried egg on top.

After the meal, Song Zhen returned to her room. By the time Zhu Sui finished washing up and went in, Song Zhen was already curled up in bed, phone in hand.