Chapter 78: The Child Belongs to the Senior

Not only was Zhao Fuhe stunned by the slap, but even Jebon beside her froze for a moment. Every time he had seen Wen Zhixia before, she was always calm and courteous, never showing the slightest air of superiority, not even toward the cleaning staff at Yulouchun. But now—

Zhao Fuhe curled her fingers, her expression twisted with resentment and unwillingness as she raised her hand to strike back. But a glance at Jebon's sturdy physique and the consequences that would follow made her hesitate. As long as Wen Zhixia remained Mrs. Gu, as long as she still had a place in Gu Pingsheng’s heart, Zhao Fuhe dared not retaliate.

“Bring me her phone,” Wen Zhixia said.

Jebon glanced at Zhao Fuhe and noticed the purse clutched to her chest. Zhao Fuhe backed away. “My bag is full of my things—what do you want?!”

Following Wen Zhixia’s signal, Jebon did not hesitate much. He snatched the bag and pulled out the phone.

Wen Zhixia held the screen facing Zhao Fuhe, used facial recognition to unlock it, and opened the photo album.

Inside were photos of herself and Jebon, taken from angles that suggested intimacy, the kind that would easily set people’s imaginations wandering.

Zhao Fuhe bit her lip hard. “If you dare to do it, don’t be afraid of being caught.”

Wen Zhixia sat down. “You took these photos for Gu Pingsheng to see, didn’t you? I’ll grant your wish.”

Grant her wish?

“What do you mean?”

Without hesitation, Wen Zhixia sent the photos to Gu Pingsheng from Zhao Fuhe’s phone. As the confirmation page appeared, she raised her hand, ready to toss the phone aside, but paused when she inadvertently opened their chat history.

Perhaps it’s an innate curiosity in women—even one as composed as Wen Zhixia, at that moment, wanted to know what her husband talked about with another woman. It was like holding Pandora’s box: everyone told you not to open it, but the urge to peek was overwhelming.

She read through the chat, seeing Zhao Fuhe’s coquettish, vulnerable, and provocative messages, and even more suggestive photos—angles and poses meant to entice.

There was no regularity to the times the messages were sent, but the photos were often sent while Gu Pingsheng was supposed to be with her.

Looking at these images, Wen Zhixia suddenly wished she could ask Mr. Gu for his impressions: what did he feel, looking at these photos from his mistress while lying beside his wife?

“How long have you and he been together?” Wen Zhixia asked.

Zhao Fuhe, seeing what Wen Zhixia was reading, had no reason to stop her—indeed, she wished Wen Zhixia would see more, to witness how the love she so prized had long since festered.

“How long? Probably... since the first time Senior met me.” Zhao Fuhe seemed to find a release, her words slicing deep. She had always been suppressed by Wen Zhixia, but now she could finally strike back. “A guest was harassing me, and Senior took me away. He asked if I wanted to be with him, and that very night, he took me to the apartment on Xiangshan Road…”

She stared at Wen Zhixia’s darkened eyes, her smile growing sharper. “He was so gentle with me. And the child... Haven’t you always wanted to know whose child I was carrying? I can tell you now—you guessed right. It’s his. That night, we were together three times. After that, I got pregnant. But Senior still cared about you, for the sake of your years together, so he wouldn’t let me say anything.”

Everyone says Senior loves you. Do you believe it, too? But in reality? Hahaha… What does it matter if you’re beautiful, clever, a businesswoman? After so many years with you, he must be bored stiff. The husband you thought would love you forever is now in my bed!”

Wen Zhixia listened quietly, enduring the taunts from the woman who now claimed the man who once said he loved her, mocking the ruins of their years together.

She lifted her chin, her pride forbidding any show of weakness before her enemy.

Jebon, standing by, finally understood why Wen Zhixia, with such an outstanding husband, would seek entertainment at Yulouchun—her marriage was in trouble.

“You think he likes you?” Wen Zhixia asked coolly, looking at Zhao Fuhe’s smug, brazen smile.

“Doesn’t he? I’m younger, I understand men better—do you know how he is in bed…”

“If you really think you’re the one he likes, why go to such lengths to imitate me?” Wen Zhixia stood, pinching Zhao Fuhe’s chin and shaking it lightly. “This makeup, your clothes, your hair... How does it feel to be the substitute?”

Her mocking tone made a flash of malice pass through Zhao Fuhe’s eyes, but she quickly recovered, smiling. “Yes, I imitate you. I just want to prove you aren’t so special, Wen Zhixia, not irreplaceable. But you’re wrong about one thing—who says a substitute can’t become the real thing?”

Wen Zhixia narrowed her eyes, as if seeing this woman clearly for the first time.

“Besides, I’m not just imitating you. It’s just that Senior always liked your type, so I went along with his preferences. As it turns out, he doesn’t love you—he loves this style, this feeling. Otherwise, why would he sleep with me?” Zhao Fuhe laughed.

“Only a clown would take pride in being a copy. By your logic, it’s hard to replace the original, but even easier for the next to replace a substitute. Love stolen is like money stolen—it passes through your hands but never truly belongs to you,” Wen Zhixia replied coolly.

As Zhao Fuhe tried to retort, Wen Zhixia raised a hand to silence her. “But since he’s been touched by another woman, I have no habit of reclaiming discarded goods. If you like him, you’re welcome to take him. Just get Mr. Gu to sign the divorce papers.”

Zhao Fuhe’s eyelid twitched violently. “You want to divorce Senior?”

“You didn’t even know that? Seems your Senior Gu isn’t that serious about you after all.” Wen Zhixia’s tone was mocking. “I do want a divorce. But Mr. Gu refuses. Maybe you, as the substitute, still haven’t made him willing to let go of the original. Miss Zhao, you’d better use all your tricks from serving men at Junyue, or when his novelty wears off, who knows when the next substitute will appear.”

Faced with her ridicule, Zhao Fuhe gritted her teeth. “You won’t be smug for long.”

Wen Zhixia gave a soft, dismissive laugh and, before leaving, said calmly, “One more thing—there’s just one day left. Return the money. I don’t care about what little he spent on you, but I’ve never fed dogs with my money.”

“That was from Senior. Go ask him for it if you have the guts.”

“No need. We’re still married. All his money is half mine. What I want is what’s in your hands—it’s better used on beggars,” Wen Zhixia said with a cold smile.

Ding-ding—

In his office, Gu Pingsheng received photos from “Zhao Fuhe”—pictures of Wen Zhixia and the male escort in the gym, looking intimate.

He stared at the image for several seconds, then grabbed his coat and strode past Li Yueting, heading out.

But when he arrived at Yulouchun, Wen Zhixia was already gone.

He saw only Jebon. It wasn’t unusual for Yulouchun to have male clients—after all, the wealthier and more powerful often enjoyed such diversions.

But when Gu Pingsheng insisted on speaking to Jebon alone, others in the club exchanged dark, meaningful glances.

Gu Pingsheng placed a check on the table. At the amount written, Jebon’s breath caught.

Wen Zhixia had no idea Gu Pingsheng had gone to Yulouchun, for she drove straight to Seventh Street.

Seventh Street was where Gu Pingsheng had confessed to her years ago.

The young man stood at the end of the long street, a gentle breeze lifting his unruly hair. He raised his phone: “...Bookworm, I like you.”

As he spoke, countless sky lanterns suddenly floated up behind him, illuminating the night sky.

One by one, the lanterns rose, forming a river of stars overhead.

Yet for all their brilliance, none could outshine the dazzling youth before her—his bright, mischievous eyes lighting up Wen Zhixia’s whole youth.

Though it was only a confession, he knelt as if proposing, his dark eyes lifted to hers, brows soft with affection. “Say yes—after all these years, I’ve chased you long enough.”

“I’ll be good to you. I’ll only love you.” He held out his hand. “Unless I die, I’ll never let you go.”

Wen Zhixia walked alone down Seventh Street. So many times she’d walked this road and never thought it long, yet today, it seemed endless.

How could it ever end? Every shop, every corner, every sign was a memory—etched so deeply that a single trigger could flood her mind, drowning her in the past.

She didn’t know how long she walked. Near the end, her nose stung with tears.

She hadn’t been as unaffected as she pretended. Divorce had never occurred to her from the moment she placed her hand in Gu Pingsheng’s.

How could she believe that the boy who had loved her so deeply would, years later, say he still loved her while sleeping with another woman?

“Xiaxia—”

At the end of Seventh Street, someone seemed to be waving at her. She looked up hurriedly, only to see emptiness—no one was there.

Hotel.

Gu Pingsheng looked down at the woman kneeling by his legs. Zhao Fuhe timidly showed him her swollen, bruised face. “It wasn’t me who sent the photos. I just happened to see Senior Sister with a man, and when she found out, she thought I was following her. She had that man take my phone and send you the pictures. She said… she said she wants a divorce, she said…”

Her voice grew smaller and smaller—not because she didn’t want to continue gossiping, but because Gu Pingsheng’s face was dark as he gripped her throat. “Zhao Fuhe, you still haven’t listened to a word I’ve said! I’ve arranged everything at the hospital. Be ready. Don’t play any tricks with me.”