Scumbag Woman, But Pampering My Wife - Chapter 57

The intermittent sound of conversation came through the phone.

The loud noise of a vase shattering and a table being overturned echoed through the spacious office.

Lin Yuebai stared blankly at the phone, which continued to emit sounds.

The engineer scratched his head, looking somewhat puzzled. “Normally, the device installed on a celebrity’s phone should be the one being eavesdropped on.”

He had dealt with similar situations before, but this was something he had never encountered.

Lin Yuebai’s mind was in turmoil, and Zhuang Lan didn’t know how to handle it either.

Zhuang Lan said, “From the sounds on the phone, it seems like President Qin…”

Not just President Qin—there was also the chairman of the Qin family. None of them were people to be trifled with.

Listening to the conversation, it sounded like the chairman was berating President Qin, but upon closer listening, it seemed President Qin was the one driving the chairman to the brink of madness.

A single letter of complaint had been submitted, leading to Europe refusing to import products from Huida’s factories.

Combined with the current online outrage condemning unethical corporations for disregarding labor laws, forcing workers to work overtime, and even driving some to suicide in their dormitories—

Under all this pressure, Huida’s situation was looking extremely grim.

Qin Jue’s voice cut through the chaos, clear and composed. “Yuebai is still young. I don’t plan to marry her now.”

Another roar and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor followed.

Lin Yuebai’s heart clenched. She didn’t know much about the chairman’s character, but she was aware that Qin Jue’s father had built his fortune through unscrupulous means. Rumor had it that he had seized a large portion of his wife’s family’s assets, forcing her relatives out of the country and taking control of all their businesses.

It was just a pity that Qin Jue’s mother had passed away early.

Lin Yuebai said, “Please check my phone thoroughly.”

She wondered if someone had tried to use her to eavesdrop on Qin Jue’s activities, but due to an installation error, she ended up receiving some of the intercepted recordings instead.

The engineer broke out in a cold sweat. “I’ll check it for you right away?”

Lin Yuebai picked up her phone, plugged in her earphones, and turned away. “Later.”

The engineer had no choice but to stand there awkwardly.

Conflicts within wealthy families were always kept behind closed doors, never to be known by outsiders. Zhuang Lan shivered, afraid that Lin Yuebai might get dragged into it.

Lin Yuebai stood alone by the window, the hot wind brushing against her face. She narrowed her eyes, her expression unreadable.

In the intercepted conversation, Qin Jue had said he didn’t plan to marry her now.

Did that mean he would marry her in the future?

Lin Yuebai clenched her fingers until her knuckles turned white. Would Qin Jue really marry her?

Would he really marry a down-and-out celebrity who had been abandoned by her manager in the rain?

But so what if he did?

The corners of Lin Yuebai’s lips straightened before curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

She was only a year away from the legal age for marriage.

She just needed to wait one more year to live the life of privilege she had always dreamed of.

Suppressing the turbulent emotions in her heart, the earphones continued to transmit the sound of a man’s merciless insults. Then came a dull thud—something heavy hitting the ground—followed by the chaotic noise of people calling for an ambulance.

“You wretched beast! I should’ve strangled you the moment you were born! Now the factories are shut down, and our family is ruined. Do you think you can walk away unscathed? Your mother died early—why don’t you go join her in death!”

Lin Yuebai removed the earbuds from her ears, only to put them back in again.

When she returned from the window, her expression was far from pleasant.

Zhuang Lan said seriously, “Whatever you heard, forget it all. Don’t breathe a word to anyone, or you’ll bring trouble upon yourself.”

Lin Yuebai shook her head. “I understand. President Qin’s family situation…”

Zhuang Lan handed her phone to an engineer for inspection. “President Qin’s family circumstances aren’t great. Her mother passed away early, and her father only cares about fighting for the family assets. Fortunately, her mother left a will, transferring all her property to President Qin. Until she comes of age, it’s managed by the most trusted professional in her circle—the chairman can’t interfere.”

But the situation with her maternal relatives wasn’t much better.

Lin Yuebai sat under the air vent, the cold breeze raising goosebumps on her shoulders.

So, President Qin hadn’t had it easy either.

Someone like Qin Jue didn’t need anyone’s pity, yet Lin Yuebai couldn’t help but feel a pang of bitterness in her heart.

How hard must it have been for a child to grow up without family to protect them? Innocence is no shield against envy—how many people wished for Qin Jue’s death just to inherit her wealth?

Zhuang Lan draped an air-conditioning blanket over her shoulders. “From what I know, President Qin’s mental state isn’t stable. She was diagnosed with a psychiatric disorder years ago. Rumor has it she used to take pleasure in beating people, refusing to stop until they were covered in bl00d and writhing on the ground. She seems calmer now, but you’d better be careful.”

Lin Yuebai suddenly looked up. “Really?”

Outsiders said Qin Jue was wild and unrestrained—but how much of that was her true nature, and how much was deliberately cultivated?

Zhuang Lan lowered her voice. “No one dares to talk about this. Keep it to yourself.”

Lin Yuebai’s chest ached dully. She shook her head and stayed silent.

……

“Jie, Dad’s like this now—say something!”

Qin Chenyi stared at his father, who had fainted from rage, not daring to help him up. His gaze toward Qin Jue was dark and unreadable, as if facing a terrifying enemy.

Qin Jue crushed the listening device hidden in the pearl button between two fingers.

“You call me jie?”

Leaning back on the sofa, a drop of spilled coffee splashed near her eye, making her coldly enchanting gaze even more striking—more fearsome than a siren luring sailors to their doom.

Qin Chenyi’s lips trembled.

“You little bastard aren’t worthy of calling me sister.”

Qin Jue’s voice was as calm as if she were reciting poetry. Her expression gave no hint she was hurling insults.

Looking down at her father and half-brother being carried away on stretchers by medics, she said,

“I’ll give you two choices. First, maintain the status quo. Given the current public opinion and global situation, companies overly reliant on foreign orders will go bankrupt sooner or later. Wait for death.”

The middle-aged man who had just fainted twitched slightly, as if still able to hear.

Qin Jue’s icy voice rang out above them.

“Second, we might be able to collaborate. The workers in domestic industrial parks are struggling—it pains me. I’d like to do my small part to help.”

Everyone present thought the same two words: Hypocrite.

Qin Jue stepped out of the villa. The sun was glaring, so she opened a pink parasol.

The system shivered. Host, you’re such a villain.

Qin Jue: “Did Lin Yuebai hear that over there?”

System: “Don’t worry, I edited out some of Huida’s scandals and the part where you were scolded. The protagonist must have seen the true colors of your Qin family by now.”

Qin Jue casually pulled out a small piece of bread from somewhere and began feeding the fish in the pond, treating the Qin family estate as if it were her own home.

The pond was filled with colorful koi, one of which was entirely golden, gliding through the water like a shimmering dragon, its scales flawless—clearly well cared for over many years.

Qin Jue broke the bread into pieces and scattered them into the water.

The koi swarmed at the scent, fighting over the floating crumbs.

Qin Jue: “What do you think Little Moon felt when she heard my father scolding me?”

The system answered without hesitation: “Of course she felt vindicated! After all, you’ve been underhanded—she must think you’re utterly cunning and deceitful! Born to be a villain!”

Qin Jue chuckled softly, watching the koi open their mouths wide for food.

She ate the last bit of bread herself, brushed the crumbs off her hands, and turned to drive back.

The system, impatient with her silence, bounced around anxiously in her mind.

Ignoring it, Qin Jue returned home but didn’t run into Lin Yuebai. The heat outside had drained her energy, leaving her sprawled weakly on the sofa.

The house was empty. After wandering around, she sat alone at the piano and casually started a livestream on her phone.

Her fingers glided over the black-and-white keys, playing a simple melody from memory—something she recalled from before transmigrating into this novel.

The livestream went live, and viewers flooded in.

“Wait—is your hand even healed yet?? You’re playing piano??”

“Kinda worried about bestie’s poor hand… if it gets worse, who’ll take care of our Little Moon?”

“Uh, what’s the comment above implying? If her right hand’s hurt, she still has a left one. Don’t tell me no one knows bestie can use chopsticks with her left hand?”

“I suspect that was a dirty joke, but I have no proof.”

“Can y’all shut up and just listen to the piano?”

“Bestie’s so quiet today… is she in a bad mood?”

“If she’s in a bad mood, why’s she streaming??”

“Maybe she’s streaming for Little Moon, not us NPCs.”

“LMAO, Little Moon’s swamped every day—when would she have time to ‘bless’ bestie?”

“Sometimes I really feel like bestie’s some neglected concubine in the imperial harem, virtuous and patient, just painting or playing piano all day waiting for the emperor’s favor.”

“Don’t let bestie’s gentle facade fool you—her coffee machines sell like crazy, and the vocabulary trainers are already mandatory in our school. Rumor has it she partnered with the local education bureau—every student’s getting one. Can you imagine the profits?”

“Bro, it’s not just your school. Even I, an overseas student, have one. Saw Little Moon’s poster in a supermarket yesterday and thought I was hallucinating—next day, the school handed out vocab trainers for Spanish class.”

Qin Jue played slowly but gracefully, her movements fluid—no sign of injury on her right wrist.

After finishing the piece, she smiled at the camera. “Yuebai’s filming today. Keep me company while I wait for her, okay?”

The comments exploded with agreement.

Qin Jue subtly massaged her slightly sore wrist, knowing full well that Lin Yuebai was tuned into her livestream. “It’s hot outside, and filming must be exhausting for her. I’ve prepared chilled mung bean congee in the kitchen—hopefully it’ll help her relax.”

…

“Drink some ice water first to cool down. Don’t get heatstroke.”

Lin Yuebai was sweating profusely in her leather jacket during the shoot.

With one earbud in, she listened to the flowing piano melody that sounded like a babbling brook.

Qin Jue wasn’t playing fast, but piano playing itself was hard on the wrists. Lin Yuebai’s heart ached again at the thought.

Fortunately, she nailed every scene in one take, never delaying the crew’s schedule.

During the break, Qin Jue’s secretary arrived with another person in tow.

Gong Man spotted Lin Yuebai from afar and waved excitedly on tiptoe. “I came to see you!”

Lin Yuebai recognized her as Qin Jue’s childhood friend—they had grown up together and were very close.

Gong Man awkwardly sat beside Lin Yuebai, her curly sheep-like hair nearly brushing against Lin Yuebai’s face before she even got close.

Lin Yuebai scooted aside, but Gong Man stubbornly leaned in again.

“How’s your Qin Jue’s hand? Any better?”

Lin Yuebai shook her head. The piano music continued to flow through her earbud—there was still time before wrap-up, and the playing hadn’t stopped. She guessed Qin Jue would chat with the livestream audience when tired, but otherwise kept practicing.

It made Lin Yuebai’s heart flutter restlessly.

Nearby, Qin Jue’s secretary stood with crossed arms, negotiating with the director, who shook his head helplessly.

“It’s not that I’m disregarding President Qin’s request, but our schedule is packed lately. We really can’t spare the time.”

Zhong Yi: “Name your price. I’ll discuss compensating the crew’s lost working hours with President Qin.”

Director: “It’s not about the money. The lotus flowers are at their peak right now—if we miss this window, it’ll be a real problem.”

Zhong Yi’s brows furrowed into a deep crease. Exchanging a glance with Gong Man, she could only shake her head in resignation.

Noticing their interaction, Lin Yuebai gave them a questioning look. “Did you need me for something?”

Gong Man patted Lin Yuebai’s arm affectionately. When Lin Yuebai tried to pull away, Gong Man held her firmly.

“Ah, still so shy! I have something to discuss with you.”

She kept a grip on Lin Yuebai’s arm, preventing escape.

“You know President Qin’s business has been expanding, right? The new product line needs a spokesperson. Other investors want a big celebrity, but I thought—why let outsiders benefit when we have our own star? The endorsement fees will be spent either way—better they stay in the family.”

Hearing it was business, Lin Yuebai stopped resisting and sat properly, though she didn’t let Gong Man keep holding her arm.

“What kind of endorsement?”

Gong Man somehow produced an ice pop and bit into it while fishing out her phone with both hands.

“Here, this one. President Qin recently built a factory up north producing hair dryers—high-speed ones that dry your hair whoosh in no time.”

She dramatically mimicked the dryer’s sound. Lin Yuebai examined the product images and current sales data.

This brand is a long-established domestic hairdryer manufacturer. After being acquired half a year ago, it quietly disappeared for a while before launching a new product. Many online users hailed it as a hidden gem of a niche brand, though it’s actually a century-old heritage brand that’s been producing hairdryers since their invention in China. It had just faded into obscurity by failing to keep up with the times.

Now equipped with new technology and a sleek, minimalist design, it has become quite popular among female consumers.

Long hair being difficult to dry has always been a problem, and Gong Man suffered from it the most. She particularly disliked the scorching heat emitted by hairdryers—it was hard to tell whether her hair was being dried or baked.

Gong Man: “President Qin actually wanted to ask you, but considering your film is more important, we’ll skip this endorsement deal. We’ll arrange other opportunities for you later.”

Since hiring Lin Yuebai as their spokesperson, Gong Man’s family had stopped calling her idle, though they still insisted she learn more by staying close to Qin Jue.

Lin Yuebai: “I’ll make time for the shoot.”

The secretary seemed about to say something, but Lin Yuebai stood up from her chair. “Let’s keep filming. We’ll finish this scene today.”

Lin Yuebai worked efficiently, wrapping up half an hour early. After discussing with the director, she decided to film overnight for the next few days to complete her scenes first, freeing up time to shoot the hairdryer commercial.

The hairdryer ads required overseas filming. When Lin Yuebai brought it up with her manager, the latter reluctantly agreed.

Zhuang Lan: “Honestly, we don’t lack endorsement deals. Why go through all this trouble?”

Lin Yuebai stood in the restroom, pouring two bottles of mineral water over herself to rinse off the sweat.

From inside the cramped stall, her muffled voice came through: “I want to help her a little more.”

Zhuang Lan didn’t catch it. “What did you say?”

Lin Yuebai: “Negotiating with other celebrities takes time and effort. They might demand exorbitant fees just because it’s not a top-tier brand. With my current popularity and decent endorsement results, I can save her some money.”

Zhuang Lan: “…”

What kind of saint is this?

Most people in relationships with sponsors try to milk them for all they’re worth, yet here she is, racking her brains to save her sponsor money.

Lin Yuebai dried herself with a towel, changed clothes, and stepped out of the stall. After greeting the crew, she hurried outside.

Zhuang Lan stayed behind to discuss future schedules with the production team. By the time she stepped out, Lin Yuebai had already driven off—she was rushing back to see Qin Jue.

…

Under the glass dome, Qin Jue played a slow rendition of The Blue Danube. The livestream audience, seeing no sign of Lin Yuebai, gradually dwindled.

By evening, the sky blazed with sunset hues. The glass dome no longer reflected blue skies but a dazzling array of twilight colors.

Bathed in violet-red light, Qin Jue let the music flow from her fingertips. The sound of the door opening was lost in the melody.

When Lin Yuebai drove home, she saw Qin Jue playing the piano.

Qin Jue beckoned her over. “You worked hard today.”

Lin Yuebai obediently approached. Qin Jue stopped mid-performance, pulling out a wet wipe to clean Lin Yuebai’s hands, then a damp cloth to wipe her face.

“Why are you so sweaty?”

Qin Jue wiped the sweat from her palm, brought it to her nose to sniff, then kissed it before rubbing her hand gently. “There’s chilled mung bean porridge in the kitchen. Have a small bowl, but don’t drink too much or you won’t have appetite for dinner.”

Lin Yuebai brought out two bowls of the chilled porridge from the kitchen, placing one before Qin Jue while holding the other herself, taking small sips.

The audience that had left the livestream earlier began returning.

“I had boxed lunch at the set, so I’m not hungry.”

After drinking half a bowl, Qin Jue stopped her. “Your stomach isn’t good—don’t drink too much.” Qin Jue finished the rest herself, stacking the bowls nearby. “Since you’re not hungry, we’ll eat later. I’ve asked the housekeeper to prepare chilled jelly for tonight.”

Qin Jue offered her the piano bench. “Shall I teach you to play?”

Lin Yuebai found herself seated at the piano, sensing Qin Jue standing behind her. A hand rested on her shoulder while the other held a long, rod-like object as a pointer—upon closer inspection, it was an antique silver chopstick.

Engraved with twin lotus flowers, the cool metal lightly tapped her fingers. “Place your index finger here. Relax your wrist, keep it soft—no tension.”

Having played all afternoon, Qin Jue’s voice was tired but gentle, like a summer evening breeze whispering by Lin Yuebai’s ear. “Since your parents gave you this piano, you should learn properly.” She hadn’t hired a teacher, being skilled enough to instruct Lin Yuebai herself.

Lin Yuebai nearly confessed she neither loved piano nor cherished this birthday gift, but after listening to Qin Jue play all day, the refusal died on her lips. She wanted to sit beside Qin Jue at the piano. To occupy every corner of this woman’s life.

When cool silver touched her skin, goosebumps erupted across her body, her lashes fluttering uncontrollably. Despite the air-conditioned chill, Lin Yuebai burned with heat.

Qin Jue finally noticed the still-active livestream camera and switched it off, severing all prying eyes.

Did anyone screenshot that moment?! The way her friend guided Little Moon’s hands with silver chopsticks was divine!!! Aahhh!!
Wonder if Little Moon gets spanked with those chopsticks for wrong notes…
Already bent over—please discipline me, thanks.
Put some pants on, comment above.
Why does the stream always end when Little Moon appears? What are we not allowed to see?!

On fan forums, a screenshot circulated: tarnished antique silver resting against pink-tinged knuckles, intricate lotus engravings contrasting with trembling fingers poised above ivory keys. A feast for hand fetishists, the image went viral beyond fandom circles.

Unaware of this, the duo continued their lesson—Qin Jue demonstrating “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” with infinite patience, while Lin Yuebai secretly yearned for more reasons to feel those guiding hands again.

Lin Yuebai had learned to play the electronic keyboard during her training camp days but had never touched such an expensive piano before. However, the principles were similar, so she quickly grasped the essentials.

Qin Jue found unexpected joy in teaching this young girl.

Whenever she taught Lin Yuebai, the girl would learn swiftly without any hesitation. Yet, Lin Yuebai’s gaze kept lingering on the silver chopsticks Qin Jue used as a teaching pointer, as if secretly anticipating something.

The system sighed exasperatedly in her mind.

System: “You’re breaking character here.”

Qin Jue’s fingers tightened around the silver chopsticks, making Lin Yuebai think she had played a wrong note. She looked up nervously.

The next second, the silver chopsticks tapped lightly yet firmly on Lin Yuebai’s hand, leaving a faint red mark.

A sharp, tingling sensation spread across the back of her hand, sending an electric current straight to the base of her spine.

Her fingertips curled instinctively, her heart fluttering. For some reason, a flush of warmth quickly colored her cheeks.

She had been disciplined.

Qin Jue: “Since I’m teaching you piano, what should you call me?”

Lin Yuebai realized Qin Jue wasn’t seriously teaching her piano at all—she was just using it as an excuse to get close.

The obedient student sat properly on the piano bench, gazing up with admiration and reverence. “Thank you, Teacher. Teacher, someone has been plotting against you recently—they planted a listening device on you.”

The system praised, “Wow, forcing the protagonist to call you ‘Teacher’—she must be grinding her teeth in frustration right now.”