Scumbag Woman, But Pampering My Wife - Chapter 53

The door opened, revealing Qin Jue standing at the threshold, smiling at her.

Lin Yuebai stared blankly, her gaze drifting unsteadily over Qin Jue.

Qin Jue held a tray in her left hand, the aroma of food wafting from it. Lin Yuebai barely registered it—she wanted to rush over and hug Qin Jue, but hesitated, mindful of the tray in her hands, and reluctantly stayed put.

Why had she come?

Lin Yuebai stepped aside to let Qin Jue in. A steaming bowl of beef congee and a small four-inch yogurt cake were placed on the table.

Today, Qin Jue had deliberately dressed in a striking red outfit. She crossed her legs, propped her chin on one hand, and leaned against the small table, her usual cheerful demeanor in place.

Qin Jue always seemed to wear a smile around Lin Yuebai, as if nothing in the world could trouble her.

Lin Yuebai felt a pang of discomfort. She muttered sullenly, “Why didn’t you reply to my messages?”

Despite her complaint, she obediently sat across from Qin Jue, a white porcelain spoon placed in her hand.

“Try it,” Qin Jue said. “I just made this beef congee. I know your stomach’s been bothering you—something warm will help.”

Lin Yuebai hadn’t eaten all evening, and her empty stomach ached uncomfortably.

The system beeped twice in warning.

Qin Jue: ?

The system stayed silent, only reminding the antagonist to remember her role.

Qin Jue exhaled slowly, her sharp eyes—deep black—reflecting Lin Yuebai as she took small sips of the congee.

Lin Yuebai ate gracefully, her movements almost tantalizing.

“I’ve seen the online backlash,” Qin Jue said softly, as if afraid to disturb something fragile.

Lin Yuebai’s spoon trembled, clinking sharply against the bowl.

Her lips parted stiffly, her gaze fixed on the cake adorned with twenty-one small candles.

Qin Jue had once said she wasn’t yet twenty-two—not old enough to marry.

One more year. Just one more year, and she could marry Qin Jue.

But could she?

Would the Qin family really accept a female idol who danced onstage in miniskirts?

Lin Yuebai didn’t know how to explain the past. The clothes had been her choice, the dances her own.

But in the entire idol industry, which female idol hadn’t performed in short skirts?

In the end, she was just another dish on the table.

The system detected the protagonist’s negative emotions and emitted a low hum.

Qin Jue was puzzled. She hadn’t said anything—why was Lin Yuebai upset again?

Qin Jue chuckled under her breath. “Keep eating. I’ve already had people handle it. Your name isn’t on the trending searches anymore—no need to worry.”

A kitten with no sense of security.

Lin Yuebai suddenly looked up, catching Qin Jue playing with a lighter.

The small bowl of beef congee was just enough—filling without being heavy.

It was better not to eat too much at night.

Lin Yuebai sat stiffly in her chair, her hands twisting together. “I’m sorry for causing you trouble.”

Though her words were apologetic, her foot beneath the table had already found Qin Jue’s calf, sliding up and down, her toes teasing the fabric of Qin Jue’s suit pants.

Restless.

Qin Jue leaned down, fingers wrapping around Lin Yuebai’s ankle, and placed her foot on her own knee.

“Sit still and behave.”

Lin Yuebai rested one foot on Qin Jue’s knee. “Happy birthday to our little moon,” she said.

The lighter flickered as the candle was lit, and the room’s lights were suddenly switched off.

The candlelight swayed, illuminating only half of Lin Yuebai’s face. Qin Jue hummed the birthday song while gently tapping Yuebai’s ankle in rhythm.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you.”

“Happy birthday, dear honey.”

Lin Yuebai clasped her hands together. She hadn’t actually expected today to be her birthday.

In the past, her birthdays had always been arranged by her agency—sometimes with events, but that was only after her debut. Before that, her birthdays held no value.

No fan appeal meant no reason to celebrate.

Closing her eyes, Lin Yuebai struggled to recall if she had ever celebrated as a child. Probably not. Or maybe once.

Her adoptive parents had never bothered with birthdays. In elementary school, a teacher had once wished her a happy birthday and given her a few candies.

Birthdays had been no different from any other day.

But now, things were different.

If she had to make a wish, she hoped…

She hoped that every year, someone would celebrate with her. She wanted her midsummer birthday to be unforgettable to Qin Jue.

She never wanted to be looked down upon again.

Qin Jue quietly raised her phone to capture the moment.

The system remarked, “I’ve never seen a villain throw a birthday party for the protagonist.”

Qin Jue shot back, “Eat your cake and shut up.”

The system nibbled on some leftover crumbs before shrinking back into the depths of consciousness, curling into a sulky little ball of light.

It felt like the mission was complete—yet also incomplete.

The system sensed a deep-seated endurance in the protagonist’s heart, as if the villain’s birthday celebration was somehow ironic.

That had to be it.

The system clenched its nonexistent fists.

The candles were blown out, and the hotel room lights flickered back on. Qin Jue clapped her hands in celebration.

“Congratulations, happy birthday.”

Lin Yuebai wiped away the tears threatening to fall and whispered, “Should I cut the cake?”

She had never cut a cake before.

“The birthday girl should always be the one to cut it.”

The cake was adorned with fresh fruits—halved figs in the center, surrounded by blueberries and strawberries.

At this hour, it was hard to find a fresh cake, but this one had a layer of cream mixed with Oreo crumbs, topped with a jam-drawn cat curled beneath a crescent moon.

The cat’s tail arched high, as if forming a heart with the moon.

Lin Yuebai had an unbelievable suspicion.

The four-inch cake was small, just enough for the two of them to share.

The cream was lightly spread—Lin Yuebai’s stomach was still weak and couldn’t handle heavy fats. The yogurt cake had a dense, smooth texture, different from traditional fluffy sponge cakes, but thanks to the baker’s skill, Lin Yuebai loved it.

Qin Jue asked, “What did you wish for?”

Lin Yuebai replied, “If I say it, it won’t come true.”

The moment she spoke, a cool sensation touched her cheek—Qin Jue had smeared a dollop of cream on her face.

Qin Jue licked the cream mixed with Oreo crumbs from her fingers and said, “If it’s about career matters, I think talking to me would be more effective than making wishes to the heavens.”

Qin Jue was efficiency-driven, trusting her own calculations far more than any divine intervention.

Lin Yuebai shook her head. She remained silent because she didn’t want to reveal too much ambition in front of Qin Jue.

“Having you celebrate my birthday with me is more than enough.”

Lin Yuebai’s foot, resting on Qin Jue’s thigh, began fidgeting playfully before being swiftly disciplined.

After quickly finishing the small cake, Lin Yuebai tried to drag Qin Jue to bed for some mischief, only to realize Qin Jue hadn’t brought any luggage.

“You only brought a phone and a power bank?”

Qin Jue’s power bank was actually a shared one picked up from the airport—the 99-yuan deposit was probably forfeited by now.

Standing in the bathroom with water running, Qin Jue washed her hair as the exhaustion from the day weighed on her, the veins at her temples pulsing with fatigue.

“?”

A pink towel was offered then suddenly withdrawn outside the door.

Unaware of the younger woman’s complicated thoughts, Qin Jue stood barefoot in the bathtub, exhaling deeply.

Dealing with public opinion wasn’t enough.

Two members of the Qin family had their eyes on Lin Yuebai, not to mention that troublesome blind date candidate.

Qin Jue had recently discovered the blind date man graduated from the same university as her nominal father—alumni.

Was this matchmaking for marriage or political alliance?

Closing her eyes in the steamy bath, Qin Jue found a yellow rubber duck floating toward her.

When she reopened her eyes, she faced the duck directly.

Squeezing it produced a squeaky sound.

Through the frosted glass door came Lin Yuebai’s deliberately softened voice, “May I come in?”

Blinking away her weariness, Qin Jue wondered—what did she want now?

Her mind moved sluggishly. She’d already promised to handle the online backlash—Lin Yuebai shouldn’t have further demands.

She knew why Lin Yuebai had been clinging to her, but going this far seemed unnecessary.

Hearing no response, Lin Yuebai entered anyway, bringing a stool to sit by the tub.

“Let me wash your hair?”

Without waiting for consent, she squeezed sea-salt lemon shampoo into her palms, working up lather before massaging Qin Jue’s scalp.

“I couldn’t sleep these past days missing you,” Lin Yuebai murmured softly, pressing a kiss to Qin Jue’s forehead. “The director scolded me for poor performance.”

“In this foreign land where I know no one, with my broken English misunderstanding everything—even ordering food becomes a joke.”

There was a natural magnetism to Lin Yuebai’s voice that made Qin Jue open her eyes.

“President Qin, please stay? Just two more days, then we’ll fly home together.”

As the younger woman washed her hair, Lin Yuebai felt the long strands curl and tangle around her fingers, an intimate entanglement.

After rinsing away the last traces of foam, just as Lin Yuebai stood up, an abrupt tug on her arm sent her tumbling into the bathtub—

Water splashed everywhere.

Qin Jue leaned in to kiss the corner of her lips. “Why do you want me to stay with you?”

Her fingers wandered mischievously down along the waistline.

“Must have been tough filming abroad. Missed me that much? I thought our little moon met so many people every day that she’d long forgotten her sister beyond the clouds?”

Qin Jue held the slender figure tightly in her arms. “Answer me. Why do you need me with you?”

Lin Yuebai tried to break free but was firmly pinned down by Qin Jue, unable to move.

The rising steam painted a rosy flush on their faces.

Qin Jue’s raven-black hair spread through the water like a siren luring sailors to their doom in the deep sea.

Lin Yuebai’s gaze grew unfocused as she swallowed back the fragmented sounds about to escape her lips.

Dazed by the sight, Lin Yuebai stammered, “I…”

Her sweet words stuck in her throat.

“I don’t care, I just want you with me.”

Lin Yuebai began being unreasonable.

……

“You can’t handle this?! If you won’t, then who should?!”

In the Qin family ancestral home back in China.

A middle-aged man past fifty swept everything off the desk with furious motions.

Documents, teacups, fountain pens—all sent scattering across the floor.

Standing before the chairman were two factory executives.

“Look at what they’re saying about Huida online!” The chairman’s hands trembled with rage, his clouded eyes burning with fury.

“Accusing us of forcing overtime, saying we worked an old employee to death after twenty-plus hours—has your PR department all died?!”

Qin Zhenguo paced his study, occasionally spouting vulgar curses.

“It was just a few extra hours! Those workers already had underlying conditions, yet they had to die in our factory. Didn’t you require health checks before hiring?!”

The two executives exchanged glances before lowering their heads.

“At the very least, if you’d paid the families enough hush money, they wouldn’t have brought the corpse to our gates!”

Huida was a major OEM manufacturer in China, producing appliances for international luxury brands with factories nationwide.

Qin Zhenguo’s anger made him dizzy and reckless with words. “This has to be competitors sabotaging us! Investigate this thoroughly—did they think the Qin family would take this lying down?!”

One executive, newly appointed last month, had discovered Huida’s blatant disregard for labor laws—not even bothering with pretense.

“Two more workers jumped from the dormitories recently.”

“What’s the point telling me this?! If we miss production deadlines, none of us get paid!”

After a pause, Qin Zhenguo added, “If people want to jump, just install wire mesh over all the windows. Must I teach you everything like a child?”

Spotting a target for his rage, Qin Zhenguo stormed up to the executive, jabbing a thick finger at his collar.

“I pay you six figures annually not to ask stupid questions. Workers who can’t handle it should leave. Frankly, after we train them into skilled laborers, they should be paying us tuition!”

Qin Zhenguo’s jowls quivered with each furious breath.

The executive replied, “…Understood.”

After others left, only Qin Zhenguo remained in the study. The spiderwebbed cracks on his phone screen displayed today’s trending scandal.

“Shocking: A Well-Known Domestic Factory Forces Employees to Work Nearly 30 Hours of Overtime”

“Family Members Bring Deceased Worker’s Body to Factory Gates, Demanding Answers in Vain”

“Employee Jumps to Death from Dormitory”

“Factory Management Claims No Issues with Operations”

“Factory States All Overtime is Voluntary”

“Foreign Objects Found in Employee Cafeteria Food”

Dozens of trending hashtags bearing Huida’s name flooded social media simultaneously.

Qin Zhenguo was so furious he saw stars, tilting his head back to swallow his daily bl00d pressure medication.

“Damn useless idiots.”

A knock sounded on the study door, and Qin Chenyi stepped inside, taking in the mess strewn across the floor.

“Father.”

His voice was soft, cautious. “The PR team is asking if we should continue releasing damaging rumors about Lin Yuebai.”

“Release my ass,” Qin Zhenguo snapped, taking a deep drag from his cigarette before exhaling a cloud of murky smoke. “Tell them to focus on getting our company’s name out of those damn hashtags first.”

He couldn’t comprehend it. “We pay our workers—what’s wrong with expecting them to put in overtime? Now the internet’s turned into a circus. If I ever find out who’s behind this—hmph—”

When Qin Chenyi heard his father dismiss the idea of further smearing Lin Yuebai, his expression stiffened momentarily.

“But I heard that sister… beat up your alumni for that little celebrity.”

Qin Zhenguo squeezed his eyes shut, masking the bloodshot fury beneath.

“She’s never listened to me. Just like her mother—always doing as she pleases.”

Online discourse was unpredictable. What began as outrage over excessive overtime gradually morphed into widespread skepticism about product quality.

As the scandal snowballed, stock prices plummeted.

Qin Zhenguo was forced into frantic damage control, fielding calls from clients, his hair turning half-white overnight.

Qin Chenyi ventured, “Father… do you think this could be sister’s doing?”

A sharp glint flashed in Qin Zhenguo’s eyes. “She’s capable of this? Hmph.”

……

“Pathetic, really.”

Qin Jue lounged on a beach chair, the sky above a brilliant blue, the jelly-like sea before her nearly indistinguishable from its hue.

Her system, taking the form of a small glowing orb, was struggling to crack open a coconut. To onlookers, it simply appeared as though the coconut was being tossed about by the wind, nearly tumbling onto the sand.

Unable to bear the sight, Qin Jue took over. “How are things on the Qin family’s end?”

The system reported the latest developments, shivering under its host’s shadowed gaze.

This host was truly terrifying.

It fluffed its soft fur nervously.

Who else could stir up a media storm while simultaneously romancing the protagonist?

Lin Yuebai was filming a beach scene up ahead, while Qin Jue watched from behind, sporting lavender-pink sunglasses and her long hair braided into multiple strands adorned with a frangipani flower—exuding an exotic charm.

The domestic uproar required little effort on her part. Once public discourse reached a critical mass, it became impossible to control.

Qin Jue opened a livestream, the screen filling with the serene blues of sea and sky.

Welcome to Lin Yuebai’s Livestream~

On camera, Qin Jue cradled a coconut, lazily applying sunscreen as she reclined.

The main footage showed the film crew in the distance.

Lin Yuebai wore a form-fitting black wetsuit, the shark-style design clinging to every contour of muscle. With his long limbs, he wore it exceptionally well.

“????”

“Finally waiting for my best friend to go live! Sob sob… There’ve been so many haters targeting our little Moon recently online. Have you been comforting her properly?”

“Honestly, I really dig Little Moon’s visuals from her idol group days. She was stunning—no wonder she was the leader.”

“Those deliberate haters are ridiculous, acting like they’ve never seen a girl group performance before.”

“Luckily the trolls have quieted down now, didn’t even give me a chance to clap back.”

“Am I the only one who finds the way best friend applies sunscreen utterly mesmerizing?”

“Upstairs commenter, if you’d observed carefully, you’d notice she only applies sunscreen when Little Moon looks her way. No glance, no application.”

Qin Jue’s little tricks being exposed in the livestream, she just smiled. “I came abroad recently for some business—just wrapped up a collaboration and came to see Lin Yuebai filming.”

The chat exploded asking what kind of deal required the best friend’s personal attention???

Qin Jue: “I’m different from others—I’ve got a family to feed.”

She picked up a whole pineapple from the fruit platter. With swift knife skills, she carved it into small pieces, each shaped like tiny rabbits.

Her knife work was elegant—ordinary pineapple transformed into miniature artworks under her hands.

The pineapple rabbits floated in ice-filled sparkling water, bobbing delicately.

Livestream viewers were stunned speechless.

“Well MY best friend would never carve me pineapple bunnies.”

“Little Moon, you’re truly blessed…”

“I just bought a pineapple downstairs and my mom told me not to ruin good food.”

Even the system was dumbfounded. “Haven’t you had enough of this housewife fantasy?”

After finishing the pineapple rabbits, Qin Jue picked up a pear, sculpting it into a plump moon shape while snacking on the scraps and occasionally interacting with viewers.

Since Lin Yuebai couldn’t stream, she could maintain fan engagement this way.

System: “In the original plot, the antagonist knew Lin Yuebai’s trainee background. To humiliate her, they made her wear a skirt and perform her old sexy dance routines.”

Of course this failed in the original story, but the system’s conditions were broad—just needed to create negative emotions that would motivate character growth.

In the original, the protagonist planted a bug on the antagonist, uncovering corporate secrets that helped defeat both the villain and the Qin family later.

The system didn’t require it, but Qin Jue remembered the general plot direction.

The system timidly warned: “Don’t actually anger the protagonist—with your current relationship, if she stabs you with that knife it’d be justified.”

Viewers watched awestruck as the misshapen pear transformed into a full moon under Qin Jue’s hands.

Her fingers glistened with pear juice, knuckles gleaming damply—a sight that left mouths dry.

Glancing at a private message from CEO Li, Qin Jue’s eyes flashed with irritation before she tossed the phone aside, refocusing on perfecting her pear sculpture.

Before transmigrating into the book, she had studied wood carving for some time. Back then, she was recuperating at a mountain temple where one of the resident masters—a former jade carver—taught her to craft simple trinkets during their leisure hours.

Though Qin Jue only grasped the basics, it was enough for her to show off during her livestreams.

Qin Jue was engrossed in her carving when she failed to notice someone approaching.

A shadow fell over the sunlight before her. Raising her eyes, Qin Jue met Lin Yuebai’s gaze, which was fixed on her hands, sticky with pear juice.

The next second, the livestream was abruptly cut off.

Lin Yuebai took Qin Jue’s hands in hers and licked her index finger.

“The director said this part’s done filming, so I get to rest for a bit.”

Her warm tongue traced the soft pad of Qin Jue’s finger, but that wasn’t enough—she moved on to lick her palm.

“The pear’s pretty sweet.”

“What are you carving? A ball?”

In Qin Jue’s hands was a somewhat symmetrical sphere, its surface pockmarked with uneven grooves, as if from carving mistakes.

Qin Jue: “It’s the moon. Not finished yet—just wait a little longer.”

Lin Yuebai had no intention of waiting. She nipped at the webbing between Qin Jue’s thumb and forefinger.

“Were you deliberately applying sunscreen in front of me earlier?”

When she realized this might be the case, Lin Yuebai could hardly believe it. Was Qin Jue trying to charm her on purpose?

But the moment Lin Yuebai turned her head away, pretending not to look, Qin Jue seemed to lose all motivation to continue applying sunscreen.

Yet when Lin Yuebai glanced back, Qin Jue was smoothing the pearlescent lotion over her toned, slender calves again.

“Yeah,” Qin Jue admitted shamelessly. “I was doing it for you to see.”

She had a hunch—Lin Yuebai might just have a thing for legs.