After Marrying the Wrong Crazy Husband, I Ran Away with His Baby - Chapter 40

Xia Yuan woke up to the sound of rain.

The Golden Autumn Residential Community was thick with greenery, and since her family lived on the third floor, nearly every window opened to a view of lush plants.

On such a gloomy, rainy day, standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows with a warm cup of milk or coffee in hand, watching the rain fall, one could feel an indescribable sense of safety. Psychologists called it a “collective unconscious.”

But Xia Yuan didn’t like it.

When she was little, she had lived with her grandmother in an old tenement building in the city’s old district. Since they lived on the top floor, the house always leaked when it rained.

Sometimes it was the living room. The worst was when the bedroom leaked—the bed got soaked, and no matter how many buckets or basins they set out, it was never enough. The floor stayed damp, with nowhere dry to step.

That helplessness and embarrassment had been carved into Xia Yuan’s memory, never to be forgotten.

Knock, knock.

A gentle knocking sounded at her door.

Liang Min pushed it open, speaking softly, “Yuan Yuan, it’s time to get up for dinner. Do you need Mommy to help you change your clothes?”

Xia Yuan had never heard such warm words before. She sniffled lightly, her voice small and soft. “No need, Mommy. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

She got dressed, checking her reflection in the mirror. The bruise on the corner of her lip wasn’t too obvious.

If her parents asked, she’d just say she’d accidentally bumped it.

Dinner was four dishes and a soup—because Xia Yuan had come home. Normally, they only cooked two dishes.

Liang Min slid a porcelain soup bowl in front of her. “This stewed black chicken with salvia and safflower is something your dad especially made for you. You went straight to sleep after coming home—I suppose… writing your thesis must have been exhausting.”

Writing a thesis wasn’t exhausting. Serving Qin Mohuai was.

Xia Yuan poked the black chicken in the bowl with her spoon, her voice soft and spoiled. “It’s too much. Mom and Dad should have some too.”

Liang Min gently stroked her hair. “We don’t need it. You’re the one who needs to replenish your body. Look how thin your little face is.”

Afraid her parents might notice the bruise on her lip, Xia Yuan hurriedly took a sip of soup.

“Dad’s soup really is the best.”

Xia Yi couldn’t help sitting up straighter, pride lighting up his clean, handsome face.

When their daughter was born, the family had been struggling. Liang Min took her everywhere she went, pouring time and energy into her care.

Out of love for her, Xia Yi also cherished her dearly.

By contrast, when Xia Yuze was born, the family was a little better off. He was sent to daycare as soon as he could walk. Outside, he was the polished, dashing young man. At home, however, he wore his sister’s old dresses as pajamas. He wore them right up until he graduated elementary school, and never thought there was anything strange about it.

After dinner, Xia Yuan wanted to wash the dishes, but Xia Yi refused. He had always handled the kitchen himself—everything had its set place. If his sense of order was disturbed, he would go crazy.

So Xia Yuan returned to her bedroom, scrolling through her tablet, not disturbing her parents’ couple time.

If she and her future partner could love each other like her parents did—with deep affection and unwavering trust—then she would have no regrets in this life. Even death would find her smiling.

While scrolling through her social feed, a multimedia message popped up. Xia Yuan tapped it open—and saw a hospital ward. Inside, Ouyang Jing was feeding grapes to Qin Mohuai.

Dog of a man!

Had he never eaten grapes in his life?!

Furious, Xia Yuan opened Qin Mohuai’s WeChat—block!

Her personality was gentle, slow to react, able to endure any hardship life threw at her. But wasn’t Qin Mohuai bullying her too much?

If she really were in a relationship with him, she wouldn’t call and argue. She would quietly collect her disappointment, and when it piled up enough, she’d walk away without a backward glance.

Qin Mohuai got off work at half past five. On the way home, he bought an ice cream chocolate cake for his wife. While waiting at a traffic light, the Maybach he drove was rear-ended by a Bentley.

Even if you didn’t know who was inside, the sight of a Maybach was enough to make most drivers keep a respectful distance—no one wanted to risk a scrape that could bankrupt them.

That Bentley had deliberately hit him. Qin Mohuai tugged irritably at his tie. Who had the death wish?

The driver immediately got out to check, then returned, voice trembling. “Young Master Qin… the Bentley belongs to Qin Jingye.”

Qin Jingye—Qin family’s Ninth Uncle. The old master’s youngest son, raised since childhood as heir apparent.

Elegant, noble, warm as jade. Young yet holding real power. He was strict with himself, living with clean restraint. Aside from enjoying solitude, his only true hobby was philanthropy.

At the time, all of Xiangzhou’s elite circles shared the same opinion: if Qin Jingye ever entered business, he’d be a living legend. If he pursued politics, he might well rise to a prime minister’s seat.

Families lined up to propose marriages, nearly trampling down Qin family’s doorstep. The old master himself chose a daughter from an ancient wealthy clan for him. But just then, Qin Jingye fell in love with an obscure woman. To marry her, he clashed bitterly with the old master.

Once, when he defied the old master, he was punished to kneel in the ancestral hall. A still-underage Qin Mohuai had secretly brought him food.

Qin Mohuai had admired his Ninth Uncle deeply.

Not just for his ability, but because he dared to rebel against the Qin family’s authority—against the old master himself.

That day, Qin Jingye had calmly eaten while kneeling, even chatting with young Qin Mohuai. “If, one day, you meet the woman you love, never compromise. If she’s worth fighting for, then fight for her.”

That was the last thing Qin Jingye ever said to him.

Now, Deepsea Group and Qin Corporation were both industry titans in Xiangzhou. Yet, king would not meet king. Even when the government tried to force collaboration, both sides only sent token representatives.

Qin Mohuai stepped out of the car and saw Qin Jingye—dressed in immaculate white. Nearly ten years had passed since their last meeting.

He strode up, grabbed his uncle by the collar, phoenix eyes blazing with fury. “Even if you are my Ninth Uncle, even if you once fed me milk, changed my diapers, taught me many things—you’ve already severed yourself from the Qin family. If you dare scheme against Xia Yuan again, don’t blame me for showing no mercy!”

Their phoenix-shaped eyes were strikingly alike, but Qin Jingye’s gaze held nothing but chilling emptiness after the flames had burned out. “Little beast, you’ve grown arrogant.”

Qin Mohuai swung his fist. Qin Jingye retaliated with a brutal blow to the stomach.

Two tall, devastatingly handsome men fought viciously, fists landing with raw force, neither holding back. Each sought to end the other, their clash threatening to spill blood in the streets.

Qin Mohuai didn’t tell Xia Yuan he was injured—afraid she’d worry. But news of his hospitalization still leaked out.

It wasn’t unusual for someone to be hospitalized, but Qin Mohuai’s health was directly tied to Qin Corporation’s stock price. The fear was always that someone would exploit the situation.

He ordered Secretary Cao, “Find a few media outlets. Tell them Deepsea Group’s chairman has been critically injured and is now in the ICU.”

Secretary Cao: “Yes, sir.”

A ruthless move.

‘If, one day, you meet the woman you love, never compromise. If she’s worth fighting for, then fight for her.’

Qin Mohuai kept replaying those words.

Qin Jingye had lost his wife, so he couldn’t stand to see Qin Mohuai happy. And that little slut Ning Jiale—he dared compete for his wife?

Seems the wedding needed to be pushed to the top of the agenda.

He opened WeChat and messaged Xia Yuan, asking which country she liked best.

The message came back with a red exclamation mark.

His wife had blocked him.

“F*ck!”