Scumbag Woman, But Pampering My Wife - Chapter 46

Lin Yuebai’s demeanor was so natural that it left both Qin Jue and the system stunned.

System: “Did you put a spell on the protagonist?”

Qin Jue: “Can you think of something positive?”

The system was nearly frantic—Qin Jue’s inhuman behavior had exceeded its expectations, and the protagonist’s obedience had surpassed them even more.

The system now suspected an internal bug.

Lin Yuebai proactively extended her handcuffed wrists toward Qin Jue, signaling for her to take a closer look.

“Why did you lock me up here?”

Her posture carried a hint of grievance as she tilted her head slightly, flashing a radiant smile that softened Qin Jue’s heart.

“The main door is locked, the cameras are off, and there are spare clothes in my dressing room.”

An unmistakable invitation.

Except Lin Yuebai’s body was genuinely sore and weak—she hoped Qin Jue would consider her condition and not be too reckless.

Qin Jue was perfect in every way, except she sometimes truly lacked human decency.

Lin Yuebai actually missed the way Qin Jue had tugged at the collar around her neck. She felt Qin Jue possessed a peculiar charm, always yielding some initiative at just the right moment.

Her gaze drifted to the scarf around Qin Jue’s neck—it was hers.

Lin Yuebai had wrapped it around Qin Jue that morning.

Her patron was marked head to toe with traces of her, the caged songbird.

A faint thrill flickered imperceptibly in Lin Yuebai’s heart.

Standing outside the cage, Qin Jue followed the system’s assigned task—she was supposed to let Lin Yuebai know about the private photos on her phone.

She pulled up a chair and sat outside the cage, crossing her legs as her long, deft fingers spun her phone.

Like spinning a basketball, she balanced it on her index finger.

Just watching it made Lin Yuebai nervous, her eyes fixed and her ears tinged with a soft pink.

“You’re quite obedient.”

Qin Jue’s gaze lingered on Lin Yuebai’s cuffed hands—this should have been the villain’s move.

The girl inside the cage obediently walked to the bars, laid her jacket on the floor, and reluctantly sat down.

She looked even more like a songbird trapped in a cage.

Qin Jue unlocked her phone and pointed the camera at her.

Lin Yuebai froze momentarily—her hands were shackled in front of her, her makeup-free face strikingly pure and elegant, her dark tea-colored eyes filled with confusion and a trace of timidity.

The inside of her wrists bore faint red marks from the cuffs.

“If these photos were leaked online…”

Qin Jue drawled out the threat, “Do you know how many people would scramble to buy them?”

With the click of the shutter, Lin Yuebai’s body trembled almost imperceptibly.

She was genuinely afraid—she shouldn’t have overestimated Qin Jue’s moral standards.

A flicker of sorrow passed through Lin Yuebai’s eyes, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

Right, who was Qin Jue if not exactly what she knew her to be? No matter how well she pretended to be civilized, at her core, she was still that spoiled rich second-generation brat with no regard for others.

Lin Yuebai gritted her teeth, tears quickly welling up in her eyes.

She looked up at the woman sitting high on the chair, legs crossed.

“Qin Jue… you wouldn’t.”

Her clothes were now neatly in place, her long hair not completely dried, strands sticking to her neck and back.

“I don’t know how? You have no idea how many I’ve taken.”

Qin Jue curled her lips and waved her phone in front of her. “We’ve been through enough together.”

Lin Yuebai’s face paled for a moment. “No—”

“You don’t have the right to refuse, darling. You should be more proactive and know when to yield.”

The cruel words spilled from Qin Jue’s red lips. Lin Yuebai found it slightly odd, but she obediently complied.

The system didn’t dare make a sound.

The system trembled, shedding virtual fur.

Such a villain.

So wicked.

The iron lock of the cage clicked open, and Qin Jue stepped inside alone. The bright spotlight overhead cast long shadows for both of them.

Lin Yuebai sat cross-legged on the floor, her back against the iron bars, while Qin Jue stood before her, having dragged a chair in from outside.

She then sprawled boldly on the chair and patted her thigh, signaling Lin Yuebai to sit.

The younger girl hesitated briefly before obediently settling onto Qin Jue’s lap. “Let me see your phone.”

Her boldness had grown—she reached out to snatch Qin Jue’s phone.

Qin Jue raised her arm high, keeping it just out of reach.

“Kiss me first.”

Without hesitation, Lin Yuebai planted a loud kiss on Qin Jue’s cheek.

Then another.

“Jiejie.”

No psychological burden whatsoever.

The system: “…”

The system felt something was off.

This was too proactive—was the protagonist really being forced?!

Qin Jue arched her brows. “You worked hard filming today. Did you miss me?”

Her hand pressed lightly against Lin Yuebai’s waist, easing the day’s exhaustion and soreness.

“Answer me.”

Lin Yuebai didn’t receive the expected move. Wasn’t this the perfect moment?

The atmosphere was right, and the cameras were covered with black cloth.

Did Qin Jue not want to threaten her with intimate photos?

“I did.”

Qin Jue asked a few indifferent questions, but Lin Yuebai soon lost patience and pressed Qin Jue’s hand against her own chest.

She gripped Qin Jue’s wrist and pulled it closer.

Qin Jue’s fingers flexed. Lin Yuebai averted her gaze, silently allowing her to continue.

“Let me see your phone. Just how many photos did you take?”

The girl sat on Qin Jue’s lap, guiding one of her hands in a haphazard exploration.

Eventually, those fingers slipped into her mouth.

A soft tongue curled around the fingertips. “Please, don’t post them.”

Lin Yuebai’s heart was half at ease. Qin Jue just wanted to play with her—this was likely just an excuse.

She was usually so meticulous, hardly the type to post private photos of her lover online.

How bad could someone be if they covered deactivated cameras with black cloth for privacy?

“No.”

Qin Jue wiped the silvery strands from her hand with a handkerchief. “Not here.”

She had no interest in intimacy in public.

After a lingering kiss, Qin Jue’s phone slipped into Lin Yuebai’s pocket.

Lin Yuebai took her hand, pressed the fingerprint unlock, and scrolled through the gallery.

Most of the photos were work-related, with a few landscapes. Hers were easy to find—sorted into a separate album.

[Little Moon]

The album contained over a dozen photos, most capturing Lin Yuebai’s daily life—half of her face while asleep, candid shots of her pure schoolgirl charm taken from afar, and one where she wore glasses only to find the prescription didn’t suit her, making a funny face as she removed them.

In one photo, Lin Yuebai noticed Qin Jue taking her picture and flashed a shy smile.

Some photos didn’t even show her face, just the outline of a blanket.

The shots were so ordinary, yet the lens conveyed the tenderness in the photographer’s heart.

Both the lock screen and home screen wallpapers were pictures of Lin Yuebai.

No different from any girlfriend’s phone in the throes of a passionate romance.

Not at all the style one would expect from someone like Qin Jue.

Qin Jue leaned back in her chair and patted Lin Yuebai’s butt. “Delete them all if you don’t like them.”

Lin Yuebai had gained a little weight recently from Qin Jue’s cooking, no longer just skin and bones. “Done looking?”

“Send them to me.”

“No.”

Lin Yuebai tucked the phone into her arms, refusing to return it.

“Really not doing it?”

In the center of the cage, Qin Jue tightened her arms around her moon. “Just let me hold you for a while.”

Warm breath brushed Lin Yuebai’s ear. “I have these photos now. If you ever leave me for someone else, I’ll release them.”

“These aren’t even as revealing as my old idol group days.”

Back then, their skirts barely covered their thighs, and though they wore safety shorts, they were still frequently photographed without consent.

Qin Jue: “It’s not the same.”

Lin Yuebai thought, How is it any different? Facing the media’s invasive lenses and perverted fans’ voyeurism, she had no choice but to guard her privacy fiercely.

If Qin Jue’s photos counted as private, what did those unauthorized shots amount to?

By the time she signed with Stellar Entertainment, all the unsavory photos online had been scrubbed clean. But the past was something Lin Yuebai would never forget.

China’s laws against unauthorized photography were lax. At its worst, she hesitated even to use public restrooms, ultimately choosing to endure rather than risk exposure.

Lin Yuebai’s tense spine gradually relaxed, and she melted into Qin Jue’s shoulder.

This person would never let her down.

Like a fledgling returning to its nest, the scare had been false.

“Zhuang Lan mentioned a variety show wants to invite us.”

Qin Jue carried Lin Yuebai out of the cage.

Her hands were still bound by prop cuffs, but Qin Jue picked the lock effortlessly with a hairpin.

Lin Yuebai: “…”

Qin Jue set her in the car. “Go on.”

Lin Yuebai: “It’s a friendship-themed show. Guests bring their best friend, filming weekly episodes live before an edited version airs.”

Qin Jue hit the gas, driving them home. “I’m cooking tonight. What do you want?”

Lin Yuebai listed a few dishes before adding, “Steamed egg with whitebait sounds good. Zhuang Lan thinks we’d be perfect for the show. Since you’ve always publicly been my best friend, the director approached me directly, saying it could pave the way for us going public later.”

She rubbed the red marks left by the metal cuffs on her wrists, which faded quickly.

“Oh, and my parents want to change my name to Jing Yue. What do you think?”

Qin Jue nodded. “The name is up to you. Your parents were worried about Jing Xin abroad and recently pulled some strings to contact her, wanting to transfer money to her account. I heard she refused and returned the funds.”

Qin Jue also knew that Lin Yuebai’s mother had repeatedly tried to invite her out for shopping and meals, but these plans were always postponed due to Lin Yuebai’s busy schedule.

“I’m aware of the variety show matter. I’ll have my secretary handle the details.”

…

“No! Absolutely not!”

The system shrieked in frustration, hopping around wildly in Qin Jue’s mind. “This variety show doesn’t exist in the original plot!”

“Now, calm down first,” Qin Jue said gently.

The system couldn’t stand how Qin Jue remained composed at all times, making it seem immature by comparison.

“I understand your anxiety, but you need to consider the bigger picture.”

Qin Jue leaned back in her office chair, her voice soothing, reminding the system of its early days—when it was just a small light cluster being nurtured by the main system.

Damn it, I can’t fall for this villainess’s tricks!

Crossing her legs, Qin Jue leisurely sipped her heavily sweetened coffee.

“Participating in the show will help Lin Yuebai gain more casual fans. With the movie’s release still half a year away, do you really want her to have zero exposure during this period?”

The system fell silent for a moment but still felt Qin Jue was being unreasonable. The original plot had no mention of this variety show, nor did it suggest Lin Yuebai’s popularity would decline due to the long production cycle.

It wanted to argue back, but Qin Jue’s gentle smile left it speechless.

“We both want what’s best for Lin Yuebai. We should be on the same side,” Qin Jue reasoned.

The system found itself begrudgingly agreeing. Qin Jue continued analyzing the pros and cons, mentally smoothing the system’s ruffled metaphorical fur.

“Be good.”

“Don’t use your protagonist-pampering tactics on me. It won’t work,” the system grumbled, though ultimately relenting.

Qin Jue handed the investment proposal to her secretary. “Have the team prepare thoroughly.”

Zhong Yi nodded and left with the documents.

Leaning back in her chair, Qin Jue soon heard another knock. A familiar face entered—Jing Yuanjie.

Rising politely, Qin Jue shook his hand before preparing tea after he took his seat.

“Yuebai’s name change is settled. When she has time, she can visit her hometown to be added to the family registry.”

Jing Yuanjie’s brows remained furrowed with worry. “To be frank, Director Qin, Yuebai isn’t close to our family at all.”

Despite multiple attempts to invite Lin Yuebai for meals, she was always occupied—either filming or attending commercial events—leaving no time for family reunions. She had barely even stayed in the room prepared for her on the second floor.

The Jing family had lost the child they’d mistaken as their own, and now their biological daughter remained distant.

“I’ve transferred a portion of the company’s shares to Yuebai’s name,” Jing Yuanjie said bitterly. “I know we’ve failed her all these years, and we’re trying to make amends.”

As adults, they understood financial compensation often mattered more than emotional reconciliation.

Sighing deeply, Jing Yuanjie held the Ru kiln teacup, unable to bring himself to drink.

Qin Jue opened the sandalwood box Jing Yuanjie had placed on the table. At the top lay a golden longevity lock, beneath which were about ten small gold bars.

“Given by the elders in the family. Jing Xin had one before, and now Yuebai should have one too.”

Qin Jue’s smile remained unchanged as she turned to retrieve a movie synopsis from the cabinet.

“Yuebai is filming a movie recently. Interested in investing?”

Qin Jue nodded with a smile. “I’ve always believed bl00d runs thicker than water. Even if you don’t see each other often, Yuebai will surely feel the care from her family. She just isn’t good at expressing emotions—but she sees everything you do.”

The movie synopsis for Conspiracy was spread out on the coffee table before Jing Yuanjie could even react.

Huh??

Jing Yuanjie had come today intending to have a proper talk with Qin Jue and invite them over for a family meal. How had it turned into an investment pitch??

Qin Jue’s smile grew even gentler. “Guaranteed returns. Take your time reviewing it.”

Jing Yuanjie: “…”

In the end, Jing Yuanjie neither got to see his daughter nor set a date for the family dinner. Instead, he ended up bewilderedly investing a hefty sum.

The system watched, dumbfounded.

“You’re way too smooth at this!”

What a wicked villain.

“This is just how business works. You know why contracts are brought to drinking parties? To get them signed while emotions are high. Once people sober up and think clearly, they start hesitating.”

So she had seized the moment when Jing Yuanjie was drowning in guilt to secure the investment.

System: “Businesspeople are all ruthless.”

Qin Jue hadn’t streamed in a while. She had been away on a business trip, but after returning to Nancheng, she opened her live broadcast to chat with fans.

[Welcome to Lin Yuebai’s livestream.]

Qin Jue angled her phone screen toward herself. She wore a deep red spaghetti-strap dress—Nancheng had already started heating up this season, with temperatures suddenly jumping from the teens to the twenties, the weather unpredictable.

She raised the thermal lunchbox in her hand. “I’m bringing lunch to Little Moon. She’s been busy on set and keeps forgetting to eat.”

Around her neck hung a platinum necklace designed like a chain, with a small crescent moon pendant dangling at the end.

Fans in the livestream were practically salivating—they hadn’t seen Lin Yuebai stream in so long that they’d assumed she wouldn’t return.

“Rumors say Best Friend and Little Moon are joining Our Friendship—waaah, I’ve been waiting for this! Tell me it’s true!”

“LMAO why would a CP join a friendship show?? Shouldn’t it be Our Love?”

“What’s wrong with ‘more than friends, less than lovers’?”

“Except it looks like it’s already overflowing.”

“This is just straight girl antics. Qin Jue, are you straight?”

Qin Jue leaned back in the business car’s rear seat. As the car stopped at a red light, the little moon pendant swayed twice around her neck.

“I don’t know. I’ve never dated anyone else—how would I know if I’m straight or a lesbian?”

Livestream viewers: “…”

Why are you fiddling with the moon pendant for no reason?!

Who are you trying to fool?!

System: “Don’t break character. You’d better stick to your stance—show absolute possessiveness toward the protagonist in front of the fans.”

Qin Jue: “…” So you really are my greatest wingman in this star-chasing journey.

Qin Jue rested her chin on one hand as she gazed at the screen. “I’m just Lin Yuebai’s best friend. She’ll only have me as her best friend. I’ll take care of all her daily needs. I don’t think I’m a lesbian—I just want to look after this little sister properly.”

Live stream viewers: “…”

Live stream viewers: “Blah blah blah I’m a lesbian, I want to take care of my little sister blah blah blah.”

Live stream viewers: “Alright, we get it, you’re not a lesbian. Please stop talking. I don’t want to eat, don’t force-feed me.”

Live stream viewers: “No matter how hard the shippers try, they can’t compete with the main character’s sudden inspiration.”

…

“Please stop eating,” Zhuang Lan began pulling at her hair. “Eat, eat, eat—if you ruin your stomach with all these greens, your ‘straight best friend’ will dock my pay again.”

Lin Yuebai set down her salad bowl. She had long grown accustomed to filling her stomach with vegetables. Back in the strict training camp, they weren’t allowed to add extra portions to their salads, eating even more plainly than rabbits every day.

Lin Yuebai had a sensitive stomach and couldn’t handle too much raw or cold food.

“What are you talking about?”

“Just check the live stream—no, never mind, don’t look. Your ‘straight best friend’ will be here any minute.”

Zhuang Lan watched as a new hashtag climbed the trending list: #StraightGirlLies.

Lin Yuebai: “…”

Qin Jue had been away from Nancheng these days. Lin Yuebai was filming at a studio on the outskirts, and soon she’d be traveling to another location that coincidentally overlapped with the variety show’s filming site.

The two hadn’t seen each other for nearly a week.

Thinking of the small gold bars and golden peace lock Qin Jue had given her, Lin Yuebai ultimately canceled her plans to dine with her parents.

Work kept her too busy, and she knew her parents still held Jing Xin in their hearts. She had her own standards when it came to relationships.

Today’s shoot involved an action sequence. On Lin Yuebai’s table lay a black prop gun with a strikingly realistic metal casing—cold and heavy in her hands. Setting down her fork, she picked up a soft cloth to wipe dust off the firearm.

Footsteps approached the door. In one fluid motion, Lin Yuebai cocked the slide and pivoted with textbook form, leveling the dark muzzle at the person entering—

Backlit in the doorway, a woman in a red camisole and blazer quickly raised her hands, one still clutching an insulated lunchbox.

“Don’t shoot—it’s me.”

The live stream camera on her phone swayed briefly, also capturing the ominous gun barrel.

Qin Jue had started the live stream to build hype for the upcoming variety show. Having achieved her purpose, she now ended the broadcast.

Live stream viewers: ???

Live stream viewers: “You filmed yourself for over forty minutes but only half a minute of Little Moon? Sis, your possessiveness is showing.”

Live stream viewers: “LMAO, immediately surrenders when wifey pulls a gun. ‘Best friend’ my ass—you’re totally whipped.”

With an amused smile, Qin Jue approached with raised hands. “I brought you lunch, though it seems I’m not exactly welcome.”

As she set the container on the table, the gun remained trained on her. Then slender fingers grasped the barrel—with an audible click, the muzzle now pointed squarely at Qin Jue’s chest.

Leaning down until their foreheads touched, the woman murmured, “You’re distracted. Didn’t your training instructors teach you that in combat, every second of distraction could be fatal?”

Lin Yuebai’s fingers were completely enveloped by Qin Jue’s grip, rendering her immobile—yet she wasn’t without means to retaliate.

The little moon, irritable after a week apart, suddenly pressed her lips against Qin Jue’s without warning.

Red lips met red lips.

Qin Jue’s lips parted slightly as they were teased by a lick, her fingers loosening their hold. The initiative swiftly returned to Lin Yuebai, who now pressed the barrel of the gun against Qin Jue’s forehead.

“Don’t you lose focus either.”

The black prop gun clattered onto the table, leaving the nearby crew members utterly stunned.

“Did we get that behind-the-scenes shot?”

“We got it! We got it!”

“If the tension in our gunfight scenes had even half the intensity of what we just saw, it would leave a remarkable mark in film history.”

Qin Jue opened the insulated lunchbox, which contained all of Lin Yuebai’s favorite dishes—though most were stomach-friendly options.

She pushed a bowl of yam and lean pork congee toward Lin Yuebai while retrieving steamed minced pork rolls wrapped in tofu skin, stir-fried shrimp, and oyster sauce lettuce from the container. “I brought you bird’s nest too—I’ll have someone heat it up for you this afternoon.”

System: “Stop acting like a devoted wife! Have you forgotten you’re supposed to be a vicious villain? QWQ”

System Warning

Qin Jue discreetly stuffed a steamed pork roll into the system’s mouth.

System silenced.

The system suddenly remembered—its host was bound to play the ultimate villainess. There must be a sinister reason behind this behavior.

Over lunch, Qin Jue casually mentioned, “Your parents plan to take you to register in the ancestral records soon. As an outsider with a different surname… would I be allowed to come?”