Scumbag Woman, But Pampering My Wife - Chapter 42

On the television screen, Lin Yuebai played the role of an imperial concubine seated high upon a palanquin, her gaze sweeping imperiously across the world, her eyes and brows exuding an intoxicating allure.

Yet now, this same young woman had one ankle caught in Qin Jue’s grasp, squirming restlessly as she playfully demonstrated a “kitty paws blooming” gesture.

“Stop moving, or I’ll smudge the polish.”

Qin Jue’s movements were practiced and precise as she painted Lin Yuebai’s nails. Lin Yuebai couldn’t help but wonder—would someone like Qin Jue, with her temperament, truly lower herself to tend to another person?

“You…”

“Hmm?”

“You’re really good at this. Have you done it for others before?”

“No one else is worthy. Only you.”

Qin Jue’s own nails were coated in a transparent polish that shimmered under the light, a far cry from the bold red she usually wore. Instead, it carried a subtle, elusive charm—so much so that one might suspect something glistening had been caught on them.

Lin Yuebai’s ears burned red with embarrassment. Eventually, she gave up struggling and simply collapsed onto the sofa, covering her eyes with her arm.

Qin Jue quickly finished painting both feet—plum-colored cat-eye polish that sparkled with fragmented starlight, dazzling brilliantly once cured under the lamp.

“You never wear open-toed shoes. Why bother with nail polish?”

Qin Jue pressed a thumb lightly against the pink sole of Lin Yuebai’s foot. “Got a shoot coming up?”

Lin Yuebai squirmed, trying to pull her foot back, but Qin Jue held firm. “I asked you a question.”

“No… I just wanted you to see it.”

The girl’s thoughts were disarmingly sincere. She pressed her freshly painted toes against Qin Jue’s knee, flashing a sweet, guileless smile—though it carried a hint of endearing foolishness, an awkward sort of charm.

Qin Jue scooped her up in one swift motion. “It’s late. Time for bed.”

With that, she turned to retreat to the guest room. Left alone on the sofa, Lin Yuebai sat up abruptly, crossing her legs as she reached out to tug at the hem of Qin Jue’s clothes.

“Wait.”

Qin Jue paused at the guest room door, stifling a yawn before glancing back with faint amusement in her eyes.

Lin Yuebai’s peach-blossom eyes widened. “We’re not sleeping together?”

Qin Jue shook her head. “We’ve got things to do tomorrow. Get some rest.”

Then she closed the door behind her.

The apartment plunged into silence.

Lin Yuebai blinked, a pang of unmistakable disappointment settling in her chest—like a spoiled kitten, accustomed to curling up on its owner’s pillow, suddenly banished to the hallway.

Back in her room, she tossed and turned, exhausted yet restless. Her heart raced, likely from the extra cups of coffee during her livestream. Pressing a hand to her chest, she felt the frantic pulse beneath her fingertips, so vigorous it almost felt like a prelude to sudden death.

Eventually, she buried her face in the cool sheets, her lashes brushing against the fabric.

Qin Jue was… complicated. Kind, yes, but impossible to read. She gave gifts without demanding anything in return—a dynamic Lin Yuebai wasn’t used to. In her world, reciprocity was the foundation of longevity…

Meanwhile, in the guest room, Qin Jue lay with her eyes closed as her system played a movie in her mind.

After a long silence, she finally spoke. “It’s almost midnight. Can we not watch a horror film?”

The system was so frightened it shed virtual fur, hiding deep within Qin Jue’s consciousness. Despite being terrified out of its wits, it insisted on continuing to watch.

Qin Jue didn’t particularly love or hate horror movies. Halfway through, she grew drowsy, but each time she was about to fall asleep, the system’s screams would jolt her awake.

A classic case of being scared yet addicted.

The system said, “Don’t rush. We still have a plot point to cover tonight.”

Drowsy and barely conscious, Qin Jue lazily hummed in acknowledgment, letting the system continue.

“In the original story, the protagonist is forced by work and life pressures to enter the villain’s room. She knows she’ll face terrible things, but to protect her family from the villain’s malice, she resolutely prepares to sacrifice herself.”

Of course, the original protagonist was more inspirational, ultimately escaping the villain’s clutches through wit and courage.

The system continued, “So what you need to do now is wait for the protagonist to walk into the trap late at night, then look down on her and declare that even with the Jing family’s protection, she’s nothing more than your plaything.”

Qin Jue: “…”

Just as Qin Jue was about to drift off again, another scream from the system startled her awake.

Eventually, Qin Jue propped a pillow against the headboard and sat up lazily, reaching for a glass of water by the bedside.

The warm water soothed her dry throat.

“Turn off your horror movie,” she said.

Reluctantly, the system shut off the film. “Detecting the protagonist has left her room. I’m enabling mosaic blur now—have some decency.”

The system didn’t provide Qin Jue with specific lines, but assigned several mandatory actions: gripping the protagonist’s chin to examine her expression, running fingers flirtatiously down her back, pressing teeth against her earlobe with deliberate cruelty…

Qin Jue chuckled darkly.

A laugh that made the system’s virtual scalp crawl.

She really was beyond redemption, Qin Jue thought.

The guest room door creaked open slightly. The apartment wasn’t large, and the guest room was particularly cramped—just a wardrobe and a bed.

The moment Lin Yuebai pushed the door open, she saw Qin Jue leaning against the headboard, sipping water. At some point, frameless glasses had appeared on Qin Jue’s nose bridge, and she held an e-ink tablet emitting a soft glow, displaying reports and text Lin couldn’t comprehend.

Qin Jue’s pajamas were disheveled, revealing generous glimpses of shoulder and collarbone that she seemed unaware of. Her expression maintained the composed restraint and lazy focus of someone handling work.

Only upon closer inspection could one notice her eyes weren’t actually reading the documents, but instead held faint weariness and amusement.

“What is it?”

Qin Jue turned off the tablet, placing it face down on the nightstand. She switched on a small lamp and patted the edge of the bed. “Work-related matter?”

Lin Yuebai stood in form-fitting pajamas, head bowed, not daring to look at Qin Jue.

She’d thought the other woman was already asleep.

She just couldn’t sleep. She hadn’t intended to do anything—just missed Qin Jue’s warmth.

Lin made excuses for herself internally as her body began trembling. Step by hesitant step, she approached the bed, then suddenly burrowed under Qin Jue’s covers like a startled cat.

“Couldn’t sleep. It’s… cold alone.”

The apartment maintained constant temperature and humidity—there was no way it could be cold.

When Qin Jue lifted the blanket, she found Lin Yuebai curled up like a small animal.

Qin Jue casually tossed the glasses she’d been wearing for style onto the nightstand, her brows furrowed as she suddenly tilted Lin Yuebai’s chin upward with her fingers.

Lin Yuebai’s chin was tilted with just enough pressure, her eyes filled with confusion.

“Qin Jue?”

A hint of playful amusement flickered in Qin Jue’s eyes as she pulled the blanket over Lin Yuebai’s body, wrapping her snugly. Her deliberately lowered voice carried a husky texture.

“Our esteemed Jing family’s young lady comes from such noble origins—how is she still acting like this?”

Lin Yuebai didn’t understand the implication behind Qin Jue’s words. What did this have to do with the Jing family?

Before she could figure it out, her earlobe was suddenly caught between teeth.

Qin Jue had a particular fondness for tormenting her earlobes, never stopping until they were swollen from the teasing.

It had gotten to the point where the makeup artists on set always assumed she was allergic to the earrings provided by the production team.

Lin Yuebai’s body arched suddenly, her eyes misty, as fingers traced up from the small of her back to her shoulder blades—

“Mmm—”

“Bear with it.”

Qin Jue gazed at her in the darkness, admiring the girl before her, pressing light kisses to her forehead before they grew increasingly improper, trailing down to her neck and collarbone.

Exactly what Lin Yuebai wanted.

This was precisely what she desired—for Qin Jue to be unable to resist her.

Lin Yuebai hooked her legs around Qin Jue’s waist, arms clinging to her shoulders as she offered up her lips.

This was how it should be.

Qin Jue should be obsessed with her, should be relentless, refusing to let her go.

She teased, she laughed.

Outside, the rain had stopped at some point, the clouds parting to reveal a bright moon.

Lin Yuebai whimpered softly, her cries growing weaker until she couldn’t even sob anymore.

“Don’t bite your own lips—you can bite my shoulder instead.”

“President Qin… Sister… Qin Jue… That’s enough. You gave me a compound bow—that doesn’t mean you have to take payment this many times.”

In the end, Lin Yuebai begged tearfully, only to be carried to the bathroom by Qin Jue, where she cried all over again as she was cleaned up.

“I told you to sleep properly. Behave next time.”

Lin Yuebai clung to Qin Jue’s shoulders. “I get cold sleeping alone. With you, I don’t.”

Her words slurred with exhaustion, and before she could finish, she was already completely spent, slipping into unconsciousness.

The next morning, Qin Jue woke early, preparing breakfast in the kitchen before leaving a warmed glass of milk for Lin Yuebai.

Zhong Yi waited in the car parked outside the apartment, ready to brief Qin Jue on the day’s schedule.

“Will Miss Lin have time today for the endorsement shoot? I can arrange it with the photography studio.”

Qin Jue took a sip of her sweetened mocha. “She’s free in the afternoon.”

Zhong Yi started the car. “President Qin, the chairman sent an invitation—he’s hosting a banquet at the estate in the suburbs.”

The outskirts had a horse ranch, an archery range, and an entire forested mountain—all privately owned.

Game animals were released there for hunting, and Qin Jue leaned back in her seat, listening quietly as her secretary continued.

“Rumors say he might be attending.”

Qin Jue’s eyelid twitched. “Who?”

Zhong Yi hesitated, unsure whether to speak. After half a minute of silence, she finally uttered a name.

“The chairman’s illegitimate son. Your nominal younger brother.”

In the original novel, he existed—though barely mentioned—only noted as the one who ultimately inherited the entirety of the Qin family’s fortune.

Her elder sister was capricious and domineering, a downright vicious antagonist who was ultimately outplayed by the protagonist. Meanwhile, her younger brother effortlessly inherited everything without lifting a finger.

Currently, Qin Jue couldn’t care less about the meager assets of the Qin family. Most of the resources she had previously owned were left behind by her late mother. Now, the venture capital company she founded was operating smoothly, achieving initial profitability, and the TV series she invested in were performing well.

There was really no need to fight over the Qin family’s scraps.

But then again, who would ever complain about having too much money?

Qin Jue had meetings to attend today and was scheduled to meet a director to discuss a film investment, so her time was tight.

The only chance she had to rest was during car rides, where she could close her eyes for a quick nap. But she had more pressing matters to attend to—like lurking in fan groups with her alt account and boosting engagement metrics.

……

“Yuebai, are you really not planning to meet that top fan from your fanbase? From what I know, many studios in the industry have offline interactions with their biggest supporters.”

Lin Yuebai was handed a student’s pleated skirt and a white blouse. Once dressed, she looked every bit the pure and youthful high school girl, especially when paired with white ankle socks and black Mary Janes—straight out of an anime.

Youthful and lively, though Lin Yuebai wasn’t the energetic type. Her long hair was braided into two low pigtails, with two cute bear-shaped hair clips pinned at her temples, giving off the vibe of a top student in class.

The kind who obviously aced all her exams.

Today’s shoot was set in a classroom. The desks, chairs, and blackboard were all prepared by the props team. Lin Yuebai sat by the window in the second-to-last row, holding a vocabulary trainer printed with a kitten design.

The e-ink screen, about half the size of a palm, was easy on the eyes. It featured a mini-game where users could earn virtual snacks by completing vocabulary challenges to feed their in-game pet.

Lin Yuebai didn’t quite catch what her manager said. She lifted her head, casting a puzzled glance.

“It’s ‘Moonlight Shines on Me,’ the one who always showers you with gifts. She’s pretty active in the fandom’s group chats and even posted receipts for buying five hundred coffee machines along with merch photos. She drops tens of thousands in gifts daily in your offline livestreams, never pressuring you to go live—just throwing money at you.”

Zhuang Lan adjusted a stray lock of hair on Lin Yuebai’s forehead. “I DMed her privately, and she said she’s got money to burn on you. I was thinking, maybe we could show some sincerity and treat her to a meal?”

Zhuang Lan counted on her fingers all the money this top fan had spent, tallying up to a staggering astronomical figure.

A single person, outspending several top fans from other fandoms combined.

Truly throwing money at her idol without expecting anything in return.

The studio lights glinted off Lin Yuebai’s hair. She rarely wore such youthful, vibrant student outfits—the pleated skirt stopping mid-thigh, swaying with every step, the navy-blue checkered fabric crisp and sharp.

In the end, Lin Yuebai shook her head. “Let’s see what she thinks.”

Zhuang Lan didn’t push further, turning instead to discuss a few details with the photographer before the shoot began.

The vocabulary trainer was primarily marketed to students. Zhuang Lan recalled Qin Jue holding something similar once, though she was studying Russian.

The commercial shoot went smoothly. By the time Qin Jue arrived, the filming had already wrapped up.

She rarely wore a pink shirt today—loose-fitting, truly embodying the saying “the person sways within the clothes.” Paired with a matching denim maxi skirt that reached her ankles, the straight-cut design would normally obscure one’s figure proportions. But Qin Jue was tall with an excellent physique, making her look effortlessly radiant and spring-like at first glance.

The system chimed in: “Too late, the protagonist has already finished shooting. But luckily, this scene isn’t plot-relevant, so no mission to complete.”

Qin Jue had just rushed upstairs after back-to-back meetings, her hair slightly disheveled. Standing at the end of the hallway, she could vaguely see the classroom set inside the side studio.

The system asked, “Why the hurry?”

Qin Jue’s lips curved upward. “You wouldn’t understand the charm of an innocent schoolgirl.”

The system didn’t get what she meant.

Then again, a villain’s mind was probably filled with nothing but filthy thoughts.

“I’ll remind you—lusting after an innocent schoolgirl is illegal,” the system sternly warned, worried the host might pull some outrageous stunt and land herself in trouble before the protagonist even got the chance to slap her.

Leaning against the hallway wall, Qin Jue pulled out her phone and saw a private message from Lin Yuebai’s official studio account—asking for her contact details.

Qin Jue replied: “I admire Yuebai and am happy to spend on her. No ulterior motives. If fate allows, we could meet for a meal someday.”

There was no immediate response. No way to tell if it had been received.

She typed one-handed: “I want to see her stand on the highest podium. I’ll be watching from below, cheering her on all the way.”

Perhaps stunned by her devotion, the other side finally replied half a day later with a heart emoji and a “Thanks for your support!” sticker.

Qin Jue was still boosting engagement with a burner account when sudden commotion erupted in the hallway. Before she could even look up, a girl barreled into her chest.

The girl had twin braids that bounced as she ran, her skirt fluttering. Startled by the collision, she rubbed her reddened forehead and glanced up—only to meet Qin Jue’s smiling, crescent-moon eyes.

The woman in the pink shirt smelled sweet all over. Lin Yuebai’s face flushed instantly.

“Whose little girl is this? Be careful—where are your parents?” Qin Jue teased.

“I saw your car downstairs and guessed you’d come up,” Lin Yuebai said with a shy smile, pressing her forehead against Qin Jue’s shoulder. She nuzzled closer affectionately.

“Zhuang Lan just told me you invested in a film and are currently casting the lead.”

Lin Yuebai never hid her ambitions around Qin Jue. Her bright, sparkling eyes fixed on the other woman.

Qin Jue’s left hand was suddenly grasped as Lin Yuebai swayed playfully, her skirt swaying along with her.

“Zhuang Lan said it’s an award-bait spy thriller. Do you think I’d make a good lead?”

“There’ll be auditions. We’ll see then.”

Lin Yuebai didn’t press for confirmation. Unbothered, she simply trailed after Qin Jue with a grin.

“How long have you been waiting out here? Why just play on your phone instead of coming in to watch me shoot?”

“Not long.”

“Who were you stalking on Weibo?”

Qin Jue pocketed her phone, smiling wordlessly. She said nothing in the end.

Lin Yuebai didn’t push further. Instead, seizing a moment when no one was around, she guided Qin Jue’s hand to the softest part of her inner thigh.

Qin Jue: “Stop fooling around, you’re at work right now.”

Lin Yuebai noticed that Qin Jue’s bag seemed to contain a vocabulary machine identical to the one in her own hand, adorned with a small white cat and crescent moon design.

For a fleeting moment, Lin Yuebai’s mind went blank, as if something had flashed through her thoughts, yet she couldn’t grasp it.

Truth be told, she wasn’t the most suitable choice for this advertisement. There were younger celebrities in the industry better suited for campus-style promotions. Why had this brand chosen her alone?

It almost felt tailor-made for her.

Qin Jue withdrew her hand, having just brushed against Lin Yuebai’s thigh-high stockings. The edge of the stockings had left a slight indentation on her thigh, marked by a faint red line.

The warmth and silky texture still lingered on Qin Jue’s fingertips.

“There’s a gathering tomorrow. You’re coming with me.”

She handed Lin Yuebai an invitation. “Bring your bow. As I mentioned last time, I’ll take you horseback riding and hunting.”

Lin Yuebai turned the invitation over in her hands, her posture straight and poised, accentuating her slender figure. Yet Qin Jue’s gaze didn’t linger on her.

Apart from forcibly guiding Qin Jue’s hand to touch her twice, nothing more had happened.

Now, Qin Jue stood beside her with remarkable restraint. Whenever Lin Yuebai looked at her, Qin Jue would simply smile faintly.

It seemed she was merely admiring, with no immediate intentions of taking things further.

Lin Yuebai pursed her lips, a flicker of discomfort passing through her.

What’s with the act?

Last night, hadn’t she made her cry over and over, leaving her voice still slightly hoarse?

“I thought it would just be the two of us.”

The starlet pouted, clutching the invitation unhappily. She clearly disliked social gatherings but stubbornly took Qin Jue’s hand, drawing her attention to the swaying hem of her skirt.

In anime, female characters would often sway like this when acting coquettish.

Qin Jue bent down to dust off the slightly soiled white skirt. “You look youthful. This outfit suits you well.”

At least she had earned some praise. Lin Yuebai’s smile brightened.

She wanted all of Qin Jue’s attention—she didn’t want her looking at anyone else.

She knew she still had a long way to go, and she wasn’t above taking a few shortcuts.

From initially wanting to use Qin Jue to having her little schemes exposed—yet still being indulged—Lin Yuebai grew bolder, her ambitions swelling. She wanted to see unreserved admiration in Qin Jue’s eyes.

…

Suburban Hunting Grounds.

Qin Jue hadn’t brought anyone else. She drove a rugged SUV herself, with Lin Yuebai seated in the passenger side.

Dressed in a black leather jacket over a matching tank top, paired with loose cargo pants and black combat boots, Qin Jue gripped the steering wheel with her long, capable fingers, parking the car on a leaf-strewn clearing.

Some guests had already gathered in small clusters around the estate, chatting quietly. When the imposing black SUV pulled up, the crowd fell silent for a few seconds, casting curious glances their way.

Qin Jue stepped out and circled to the passenger side, opening the door. “The chassis is a bit high. Be careful getting down.”

She extended a hand, helping Lin Yuebai out of the seat.

“The weather’s unusually nice today. It’s good to get out and relax.”

Qin Jue had one hand in his pocket while the other grasped Lin Yuebai’s hand, pulling him out of the car.

“Watch your step—there are rocks on the ground.”

Among the crowd, a man’s expression instantly darkened upon seeing Qin Jue. His chattering female companion immediately fell silent, too frightened to speak.

System: Don’t forget your mission. Once the hunt begins, abandon Lin Yuebai in the forest.

Qin Jue: I’m the worst.

System: At least you have self-awareness.

Not only did they plan to abandon Lin Yuebai deep in the woods, making her lose her way until nightfall before finding her way out, but they also intended for her to be bullied at the manor while Qin Jue watched the spectacle with amusement.

Qin Jue’s expression remained unchanged as her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up.

“Qin Jue, you’ve got a message.”

Lin Yuebai leaned over to look and saw Qin Jue’s lock screen—a screenshot of her running in a pleated skirt from a commercial.

Lin Yuebai: !

Qin Jue returned the call, speaking softly about work matters before hanging up and slipping the phone back into her pocket.

She made no mention of having changed her lock screen photo.

Lin Yuebai: …So you really do have a thing for innocent schoolgirls after all.

When the others noticed Qin Jue’s arrival, they flocked to greet her. Lin Yuebai, trailing behind, basked in the reflected attention, wearing a flawless social smile.

In contrast, Qin Jue’s demeanor was far more casual—she didn’t even bother removing her gloves to shake hands.

One hand gripping Qin Jue’s suddenly tightened, making her brow twitch.

A man bearing a thirty to forty percent resemblance to Qin Jue spoke deliberately, “Sister, long time no see. You didn’t come home for the New Year, and we’ve heard nothing from you for months. Father and I have been worried.”

Lin Yuebai frowned—she hated anyone calling Qin Jue “sister.”

Regardless of the relationship, tone, or gender, it always made her sick to her stomach.

Qin Jue’s gloved fingers squeezed back, the other man’s fingers immediately paling before flushing red with pain.

“Sister? You—a bastard not fit to be seen in public—dare call me sister? After Mother passed, this family’s standards have truly deteriorated.”

The man’s eyes darkened abruptly as he tried to pull his hand free, but Qin Jue’s grip was like iron, leaving him struggling pathetically.

When Qin Jue finally released him, he staggered back two steps, barely containing his emotions. “Qin Jue, we’re family. Must it be like this?”