Scumbag Woman, But Pampering My Wife - Chapter 54

The overseas filming went smoothly—so smoothly that Qin Jue nearly forgot about the dangerous incident Lin Yuebai was supposed to encounter abroad in the original plot.

On the day before their return to China, Qin Jue attended a meeting with local partners while Lin Yuebai filmed on a nearby street. From the window, Qin Jue could see the film crew.

The core members, including the lead actors and the director, were tightly surrounded by staff, so in theory, no danger should arise.

Qin Jue tapped her fingers against the windowsill, a faint unease creeping into her mood.

“President Qin?”

Someone spoke beside her, snapping her out of her thoughts. She turned her attention back to work.

The system buzzed impatiently in her mind, “You still haven’t made the protagonist dance for you.”

Qin Jue: “Don’t rush. It’ll happen tonight.”

She recalled the original plot—Lin Yuebai had once gotten lost abroad due to unfamiliarity with the area and nearly got caught in crossfire between local gangs, leading to a kidnapping. Fortunately, after extensive negotiations, he was eventually returned.

This time, the overseas schedule had been meticulously planned. Qin Jue had hired a specialized security company to protect the entire crew, so nothing of the sort occurred.

Yet danger remained like the Sword of Damocles hanging overhead—just because it hadn’t happened didn’t mean it wouldn’t.

Qin Jue effortlessly negotiated profit-sharing terms with the foreign company, appearing far from a novice in such dealings.

While signing the contract, she noticed that one of the A4 sheets felt different from the rest.

“Your company’s sincerity seems lacking.”

She pulled out the suspicious page and held it up to the light for closer inspection. The bespectacled foreign woman signing the contract with her momentarily stiffened.

“Every brand of A4 paper has subtle differences. Printers and fonts also vary in output. I came here with the utmost sincerity, but it seems your company has no real intention to cooperate.”

Qin Jue placed the flimsy sheet back on the table. She had seen similar tricks before.

Before transmigrating into this novel, she had encountered even more meticulous schemes—like printing an extra page to seamlessly swap terms after signing.

Once signatures and seals were in place, there would be no room for refusal.

The office fell into a suffocating silence, but Qin Jue acted as if she didn’t notice the tension. “In that case, I’ll take my leave. Should your company ever wish to discuss cooperation seriously, feel free to contact my secretary.”

Zhong Yi snapped back to attention and immediately began packing up to leave.

A cold sweat drenched her back as she stole a glance at Qin Jue’s expression—calm and composed, betraying no anger.

“Those damn foreigners went too far,” Zhong Yi muttered under her breath on the stairs, disappointed that what could have been a major deal turned out to be a trap.

Qin Jue paused and raised a hand. “Most foreigners understand Chinese these days. Keep it down.”

Zhong Yi clamped her mouth shut, though her face still burned with indignation.

“Will they come back for negotiations later?”

Qin Jue stuffed her hands in her pockets and gazed at the azure sky. “Probably. If not this company, there are others. The point is to expand distribution overseas.”

Otherwise, how could Lin Yuebai’s influence grow further?

In the original storyline, Lin Yuebai’s journey had been far too arduous—not what Qin Jue wished for her.

She had the power to help Lin Yuebai avoid so many detours.

At a dessert shop on the corner, Qin Jue bought a buttercream puff, nibbling slowly at the overly sweet treat while her secretary winced at the sight.

European and American desserts contained lethal amounts of sugar, a legacy of the triangular trade that once supplied Europe with high-quality sugarcane, cementing their habit of excessive sugar consumption.

After just one puff, Qin Jue dusted off her hands and stopped. Sugar could stimulate the brain, but too much increased diabetes risks.

Her expression remained neutral, but inwardly, anxiety was mounting.

Suddenly, a police car screeched around the corner, siren wailing and lights flashing as it barreled down the street.

Black smoke billowed from its right tire, the driver frantically wrestling the unresponsive steering wheel.

The massive vehicle swerved wildly, slamming into a fire hydrant without slowing down.

The film crew scattered in panic. Lin Yuebai, shooting a scene in a corner café, snapped to attention at the commotion.

Yet the police car seemed to have eyes—veering neither into walls nor poles, charging straight toward Lin Yuebai.

Actors fled in all directions as the director shrieked,

“Lin Yuebai!”

Behind Qin Jue, Zhong Yi paled, still mentally reviewing overseas business plans when she realized her boss had vanished.

Lin Yuebai stood frozen—the human body’s paralysis response to danger leaving her mind blank.

Cold sweat drenched her back, yet her legs felt leaden, immovable.

None knew she’d been hit by a vehicle before. Her right ankle twitched involuntarily.

Years ago, while doing farmwork, an excavator had rolled over that ankle.

Soft earth and childhood bone flexibility prevented complete fracture—miraculously healed with just a village clinic’s splint.

Endless farm chores, diesel tractors belching black smoke—

Foster parents yelling at her slowness with vulgar curses.

The constant gnaw of hunger.

Neighbors whispering she didn’t resemble them, calling her a bastard.

Lin Yuebai’s pupils contracted to pinpoints as the smoking police car bore down—

Between heartbeats, a force yanked her sideways onto hard pavement.

Someone’s arms locked around her as dull pain blossomed across her body.

Tangled in Qin Jue’s embrace, their hair entwined as they rolled to the curb.

Now Qin Jue’s expensive blazer was dust-coated, her silk shirt snagged beyond repair.

Qin Jue clung tightly to the person in her arms, not daring to let go, afraid that if she loosened her grip, Lin Yuebai would be hit again.

“Lin Yuebai!”

Qin Jue’s wrist was scraped, the expensive watchband on her left wrist shattered, and the sapphire watch face was scratched with ugly marks from the asphalt road.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

Qin Jue asked again through gritted teeth, probing Lin Yuebai’s body with her fingers. “Does anywhere hurt?”

The system screamed frantically: “Ahhh! Host! Are you okay? Host, does it hurt?!”

The system couldn’t understand the technical terms Qin Jue used during meetings and could only crouch deep in her consciousness watching cartoons.

But just now, it had sensed its host’s body suffering a violent impact. The system seemed to feel pain too—the little ball of light trembled uncontrollably.

Qin Jue reassured it, gently squeezing the fluffy little light sphere.

Lin Yuebai’s tears streamed down instantly. Her icy hands trembled, not daring to touch Qin Jue’s injured wrist.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—”

Lin Yuebai’s face was deathly pale, tears flowing uncontrollably. She cried silently, looking heartbreakingly fragile, like a fledgling bird hiding in its nest.

Qin Jue pressed her injured wrist. “The bones are fine, just some muscle strain. Don’t be fooled by the bl00d—it’s just superficial.”

At first, the adrenaline had numbed the pain, making the wound feel only slightly tingly.

Lin Yuebai’s lips drained of color, turning ghostly white. She covered her mouth, throat bobbing, cold sweat pouring down like rain.

“Yuebai?”

Qin Jue pulled out a handkerchief to wrap the wound, noticing Lin Yuebai looked worse off than she did.

“Do you have a fear of bl00d?”

Lin Yuebai buried herself in Qin Jue’s embrace, unable to speak, fingers clutching Qin Jue’s suit jacket desperately—

“It’s okay, it’s okay, shhh.”

Qin Jue thought, So she really does have hemophobia.

This girl—why is she so delicate?

The intersection was in chaos. The police car had crashed into a luxury store under renovation, the airbags deployed, the driver motionless in the seat.

It wasn’t until they reached the local hospital that Lin Yuebai’s condition improved slightly.

Qin Jue’s wrist was fine—just severe abrasions, the area bruised purple, immobile for the time being. The doctor wrapped it in gauze and applied anti-inflammatory ointment with gentle kneading.

Qin Jue: “Please check her first.”

Lin Yuebai had stopped crying, but her swollen eyes looked even more pitiful than before.

After examining her, the doctor shrugged. “This young lady likely has hemophobia. If you’re worried, I can prescribe some vitamin C and B?”

Qin Jue nodded in agreement.

The girl leaned weakly against Qin Jue and asked, “Are you sure you don’t need further examination? No IV? No surgery?”

Qin Jue: “It’s just a scrape, not a broken bone.”

Lin Yuebai cradled Qin Jue’s hand as if it were a priceless treasure, not daring to apply the slightest pressure. She held it carefully, blowing softly on the injury.

“This is all my fault.”

Qin Jue knew it wasn’t Lin Yuebai’s fault at all.

She couldn’t fully alter the original plot’s trajectory. Even if she avoided certain events, the storyline would still find another way to unfold around Lin Yuebai.

Just as she was the antagonist who inflicted the most harm on Lin Yuebai, she had to diligently complete the tasks assigned by the system.

Because if she didn’t complete these tasks, following the inertia of the plot, Lin Yuebai might encounter many unnecessary dangers later.

Qin Jue wanted to protect Lin Yuebai to the greatest extent possible.

Zhong Yi was negotiating the losses with the local government, while Qin Jue changed her bandages at night, removing the gauze. Lin Yuebai, however, had already begun crying silently.

Seeing this, Qin Jue had no choice but to go to the bathroom alone to quickly tend to her wounds.

Lin Yuebai crouched outside the bathroom like a cat, refusing to leave.

“If it weren’t for you, would I have died?” came a muffled voice from the doorway.

“No, you’re blessed by fortune. You’re someone destined to leave your mark on the history of world cinema—how could you die in a random car accident?”

Lin Yuebai found Qin Jue’s words somewhat amusing. She wanted to retort, “Do I look like someone blessed by fortune?”

After finishing her bandages, Qin Jue stepped out of the bathroom and saw Lin Yuebai squatting by the door like a little mushroom. She looked down at her.

Lin Yuebai tilted her head up at Qin Jue.

“Why do you think I’ll leave my mark on the history of world cinema?”

Of course, because the book said so.

“Probably because you’re the only one who deserves it.”

Qin Jue’s wrist wasn’t in good condition, so she only took a quick shower.

Lin Yuebai wanted to go in and help, but Qin Jue refused.

She knew that if she let the girl in, the two of them would probably end up pressed together again. Given how pitiful Lin Yuebai looked right now, she might start crying again soon.

Qin Jue sat on the sofa with her legs crossed, while Lin Yuebai crouched in front of her, packing the suitcase.

Qin Jue hadn’t brought any luggage with her—she’d even borrowed Lin Yuebai’s laptop. Her belongings were easy to pack, and she stuffed everything in quickly.

Lin Yuebai crouched on the floor, suppressing the complicated emotions in her heart, and pushed the suitcase aside.

Halfway through packing, she lost the will to continue and simply plopped down into the open suitcase.

She wanted to apologize to Qin Jue, but she didn’t know how to say it.

Qin Jue had saved her life today—no matter how she apologized, it would be justified.

But when she looked at Qin Jue’s overly calm expression, the words stuck in her throat. Strangely, she had a vague premonition that Qin Jue had come abroad this time for her sake.

It was almost as if Qin Jue had been waiting for something these past few days—waiting for some accident to happen?

Lin Yuebai shook her head, dismissing the unrealistic thought.

From above, Qin Jue’s slightly hoarse voice came, “Done packing?”

“Huh? I’ll finish tomorrow morning. There’s no rush.”

“Since you have time now, why not put on that little dress and dance for me?”

Lin Yuebai didn’t quite catch it. She jerked her head up and met Qin Jue’s faintly smiling eyes.

Thanks to Qin Jue reporting the troll accounts with a single phone call, all the malicious comments online had been cleaned up, leaving the internet much quieter for a while.

On the contrary, netizens discovered that Lin Yuebai’s stage performances during her Aurora days were solid, earning her a new wave of fans. Soon after, a wave of discussions about clothing freedom also surged on Weibo.

The accounts that had initially attacked her belonged to a marketing company. When they actually received legal notices, they immediately knelt and apologized.

But it was too late—they would have to face court in the end.

Qin Jue tilted her chin slightly, hinting, “There’s a dress in the hidden compartment of your suitcase. Put it on and dance for me, okay?”

Though phrased as a question, it carried the unmistakable tone of a command.

Lin Yuebai’s face flushed crimson instantly. The complex emotions she’d been wrestling with now condensed into sheer embarrassment.

Qin Jue… even with her injured hand, she still came!

From the clothing compartment, Lin Yuebai pulled out a pink pleated skirt that reached mid-thigh—similar in length to what she used to wear on stage.

Rummaging through the pile of clothes, she found a pair of white lace garters.

Her body burned like a boiled shrimp as she slowly dressed in the skirt and stockings.

“I haven’t danced in so long… if I’m bad, don’t laugh.” Her whisper-thin voice barely reached her own ears.

Lin Yuebai thought she’d forgotten how to dance, but after counting the beats silently, muscle memory transported her back to the practice studio.

Only now, instead of coaches and agency staff, Qin Jue sat before her.

No mirrored walls reflected her movements—just the warm intimacy of a hotel room.

Qin Jue lounged comfortably on the sofa, legs crossed, hugging a pillow while keeping rhythm with her uninjured hand.

Lin Yuebai’s clear singing voice floated beautifully through the room as she performed a once chart-topping hit—Qin Jue only now realizing Aurora had originally composed it.

Her beauty deserved appreciation, not clinical scrutiny.

The system notified Qin Jue of mission completion.

System: Sniffles Host worked so hard! The protagonist’s face is so red—is she furious?

Qin Jue: “Probably angry. Go play now.”

System: “…Okay then.”

The system concluded the protagonist must be seething after being forced to dance by the villainess. That flush? Pure rage.

Absolutely no other possible explanation.

Lin Yuebai performed just a short segment, avoiding eye contact. Her cherry-red lips and slender limbs moved with grace between girlish charm and womanly allure—irresistibly captivating.

Qin Jue admired the delicate wings of her shoulder blades, the soft flesh gently indented by garter straps.

She was breathtaking,

and seemingly aware of her own magnetism.

As the final pose landed—where golden confetti might have rained onstage—Qin Jue applauded instead. Lin Yuebai tossed aside the pillow and settled onto her lap.

“Did you like it?” Beads of sweat glistened on the girl’s face.

Qin Jue tucked damp strands behind her ear. “Magnificent. Our little moon outshines them all.”

Flattery warmed Lin Yuebai’s cheeks. “I’ll dance another for you,” she offered, though her voice had grown hoarse. Like a fledgling seeking food, she peppered Qin Jue’s neck with light kisses.

“Does your hand hurt?”

Qin Jue shook her head with a smile—her pain tolerance was exceptional—only for Lin Yuebai to kiss her uninjured palm next.

“President Qin… Jue-jie, keep watching me. I know you felt something just now.”

Her deliberately lowered voice carried a melodic lilt, as if still singing.

Qin Jue withdrew her hand. “You’ve had quite a shock today. It’s late, you should rest.”

Both were exhausted. Qin Jue needed to complete the system’s requirements before Lin Yuebai returned home. Today’s arrangements were merely formalities—she could see the faint weariness between Lin Yuebai’s brows.

The next moment, her hand was seized.

Lin Yuebai persistently kissed her fingers, growing increasingly unreasonable.

“They say saving a life warrants giving oneself in return, President Qin. Won’t you give me this chance?”

She wanted to stay by Qin Jue’s side forever.

To ensure Qin Jue would never forget her.

How many people in this lifetime would Qin Jue risk her life to save?

Lin Yuebai alone was enough.

Seizing every opportunity to cling to Qin Jue, she kissed her fingers, leaving behind her unique scent.

Dancers always had remarkably flexible waists. “President Qin’s hand is injured—no need to exert yourself. Leave everything to me.”

Lin Yuebai’s words carried a deeper meaning. “If you ever want to watch someone dance in the future, don’t look at anyone else. Just watch me. I can learn anything.”

The girl clumsily sought to please the one beside her, ultimately rewarded with a tender kiss.

“Look at me more, see every side of me… Sister, please?”

……

“Look at you!”

When Qin Jue returned to the domestic airport, Zhuang Lan was already waiting. Seeing Qin Jue emerge from the VIP passage with her entire arm in a cast, she exclaimed, “What happened?”!”

Zhuang Lan had known about Qin Jue’s wrist injury but never expected it to require such a massive cast, rendering her entire arm immobile.

Lin Yuebai turned her head away, pretending it had nothing to do with her.

Qin Jue replied coolly, “I’m your boss. Mind your tone.”

Zhuang Lan stammered, “I—I just…”

Helpless, she glanced at Lin Yuebai, who kept her head down, feigning ignorance.

Zhong Yi, standing nearby, hesitated before finally telling Zhuang Lan, “It’s… complicated.”

The injury happened to be on Qin Jue’s right hand—the one she used for writing. Zhuang Lan urgently needed her to sign a contract for Lin Yuebai’s upcoming projects, but now she couldn’t even hold a pen.

Frustrated, Zhuang Lan pressed Zhong Yi for details. “What really happened?”

After hearing a brief account of the accident abroad, Zhuang Lan zeroed in on the key point.

“Wasn’t it just a wrist abrasion?”

Once in the car, Qin Jue smiled at Lin Yuebai. “Yes, originally just a minor abrasion. I wonder how it became so serious?”

Lin Yuebai’s face flushed crimson as she leaned against the window, scrolling through her phone.

That night, Lin Yuebai had made the first move. Exhausted afterward, she fell asleep in Qin Jue’s arms. Qin Jue had carried her to wash up before tucking her into bed.

Had that been all, Qin Jue’s wrist wouldn’t have worsened. But Lin Yuebai, even while being carried, couldn’t stay still—reaching up to kiss her neck.

Losing balance, they nearly toppled over together.

Qin Jue barely managed to steady the towel-wrapped figure in her arms, preventing a fall.

The result? A midnight trip to the ER for wrist bandaging.

Noticing Lin Yuebai’s visibly awkward expression, Zhuang Lan wisely chose not to pry further.

“The contract…”

Qin Jue: “I can write with my left hand.”

Qin Jue: “Shouldn’t someone compensate me for lost wages?”

Qin Jue was just joking, but unexpectedly, Lin Yuebai fished out a card from her pocket and pressed it into Qin Jue’s hand.

“All my acting earnings are in here—take it all.”

Zhuang Lan: “…”

Love-struck idiocy is truly a lost cause.

After learning about the incident, Zhuang Lan looked at Qin Jue with a complicated expression. “Thank you, President Qin. If you hadn’t stepped in so gallantly, Yuebai would probably be…”

Zhuang Lan couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

Qin Jue had checked the news and knew the police car’s tires had been shot out by local gangsters. The officers inside had jumped to safety, though the driver had suffered several broken ribs but survived.

Zhuang Lan gazed at Qin Jue with the reverence one might show their savior. Qin Jue gave her chair a light kick with just enough force.

“Drive. Watch the road.”

Zhuang Lan immediately turned her attention back to driving.

Qin Jue refused Lin Yuebai’s salary card, tucking it back into the young woman’s pocket.

“You worked hard to save this money. There’ll be many expenses ahead—it’s good to have some savings.”

When Lin Yuebai insisted, Qin Jue wouldn’t accept it. Eventually, Lin Yuebai developed a slight pout of her own.

Feeling carsick, Qin Jue closed her eyes to rest after speaking. Zhuang Lan’s driving was uneven—frequent stops and starts compounded by heavy city traffic—leaving Qin Jue looking even paler than before.

To others, Qin Jue’s expression might have seemed angry, but Lin Yuebai recognized she was probably fighting the urge to vomit.

Amused, Lin Yuebai patted her thigh.

“Want to lie down?”

Qin Jue opened her eyes and didn’t refuse, weakly resting her head on Lin Yuebai’s lap.

The pain in her wrist, unnoticed during the crisis, now throbbed terribly with each bump in the road—a tendon twinging sharply.

Lin Yuebai took out a package of preserved plum cakes from her bag and held one to the lips of the woman in her lap.

“Ah—open up.”

Qin Jue accepted the treat, her sickly expression easing slightly.

The woman above her leaned down and whispered softly, “Is my lap comfortable?”