After the Divorce, My Wife Is Impossible to Coax - Chapter 34

Chapter 34

 

The next day was a workday. Lu Shen and An Zhaoyu met at the Civil Affairs Bureau to handle their divorce, only to be informed that any divorce involving an Omega requires a three-month “cooling-off period.”

 

The staff member took their signed agreements and told them they could only collect their divorce certificates in three months. Furthermore, they were strictly forbidden from engaging in any marking behavior during this period, or the application would be voided. If they failed to show up after the three months to finalize the process, the agreement would automatically expire.

 

The conditions for divorce were far more stringent than those for marriage.

 

Neither of them, having just learned of this rule, had any intention of ever marrying again. If one were married to someone of poor character, this cooling-off period would feel like a prison.

 

Unlike their usual routine, they did not arrive in the same car, which sparked a flurry of whispers among the search and rescue team members.

 

Wen Yuncheng originally wanted to gossip with An Zhaoyu, but the Captain had been incredibly silent lately. No matter how much he joked or acted out, she simply ignored him instead of giving him a swift smack on the head.

 

“Captain, did you and Dr. Lu have a fight?”

 

A fight? An Zhaoyu thought. If only we had. How could Lu Shen ever fight with someone? She likely didn’t even possess the skill to argue.

 

“It’s okay! I heard that for couples, ‘a fight at the head of the bed is settled at the foot of the bed.’ You just need to coax Dr. Lu a little.”

 

Her mother had said the same thing, but Lu Shen didn’t need coaxing. An Zhaoyu looked down at her helmet, unwilling to admit the fact that they were in the middle of a divorce.

 

“Geez, have you been infected by Dr. Lu? You’re acting more and more like her.” “Is it from too much kissing? You’re an ‘E’ person (extrovert)! If you don’t talk, you’ll suffocate.”

 

Wen Yuncheng hovered around her, his noisy voice encircling her.

 

“You’re so talkative,” An Zhaoyu finally snapped.

 

“I’m talkative?” Wen Yuncheng rolled his eyes. “Captain, you’re such a stubborn ‘dead duck.’ I heard you actually chased Dr. Lu back in the day. How did you do it? I find it hard to believe you even know how to pursue someone.”

 

The time she spent chasing Lu Shen was probably the happiest time of An Zhaoyu’s life. She only had to follow her heart, say what she felt, and use her instincts to make Lu Shen happy. The only flaw was that she hadn’t realized her stated reason for approaching Lu Shen wasn’t her true intention—and she had never clarified that with her.

 

But what would it have changed? An Zhaoyu thought of Lu Shen when she first returned to the country—she had acted as if she didn’t know her at all.

 

Lu Shen didn’t care about her. Otherwise, how could she have moved abroad without a single word? It was the same now.

 

An Zhaoyu even felt she should thank her past self for signing those papers and leaving them in the study. Otherwise, Lu Shen probably wouldn’t have even bothered to sign them; she could have stayed married like this forever, as if An Zhaoyu’s presence or absence simply didn’t matter.

 

The emergency signal from the training ground interrupted her thoughts. She reflexively donned her helmet and stepped toward the plane. She glanced expectantly at the medical staff arriving to join the mission.

 

It wasn’t Lu Shen.

 

An Zhaoyu was extremely busy. Wen Su had been on leave since her accident, so An Zhaoyu was currently managing both District 1 and District 2. She had moved all the Alphas from District 2, including Jiang Qizheng, to District 1. Now, District 2 consisted only of Betas. She had Wen Yuncheng and the others train every day, while she took the Alphas from District 1 on missions.

 

Because she was the champion, the District 1 Alphas didn’t complain. Seeing her prioritize their district and take only Alphas on missions made them feel quite proud.

 

Wen Yuncheng, however, was miserable. The flight tasks the Captain assigned him were inhuman, and he had to pacify the complaining Beta members who had no missions. He didn’t even get a chance to speak to her.

 

And Dr. Lu was nowhere to be seen. These two… honestly!

 

Lu Shen was sitting in the office of the inpatient department, helping Professor Fu interview new doctoral candidates.

 

She had originally thought Fu Xinglan had no staff because no one wanted to join the group, but many people showed up for the re-examination—especially Omegas. It seemed the inhibitor project was a powerful draw for them.

 

Lu Shen graded fairly, showing no gender bias. She noticed that the Alpha candidates were significantly more confident than the others. Even the mediocre ones radiated an aura of certain victory. They spoke “solemn nonsense,” a behavior indulged by society.

 

In contrast, the Omegas were much more humble. They were excellent but still lacked confidence, especially when facing Alpha rivals. Among the Betas, there was a mix of personalities.

 

During the break, Lu Shen asked the other professors why they gave the Alphas higher scores.

 

“Look how confident they are! We can’t have people being timid in the lab. We need people who can talk big when writing papers,” the professors said. They were a mix of all three genders.

 

“Even if they don’t understand the subject?” “If they don’t understand, they can learn.” “The second Omega was also quite confident,” Lu Shen pointed out. “Omegas won’t do,” an Alpha professor retorted without thinking. The others nodded in agreement.

 

“Try to pick Alphas,” another Omega professor told Lu Shen after a moment’s hesitation. “If there are no Alphas, a Beta is fine.”

 

Lu Shen recalled the conversation An Zhaoyu had had in the dispatch room.

 

The results came out that day. Most Alphas were snatched up by other professors. They “kindly” left one Alpha for Lu Shen, followed by Betas. Only groups that absolutely couldn’t find anyone else reluctantly chose Omegas, and the professors who did so looked displeased.

 

The final decision rested with Fu Xinglan. Lu Shen presented the candidates to her.

 

Professor Fu, who dedicated her life to the Omega inhibitor, usually showed no outward gender discrimination. Lu Shen pointed out that the candidate with the highest overall score was an Omega. A low-scoring Alpha was also on the list because a friendly Alpha professor had asked Lu Shen to include him at the last minute. Lu Shen figured it wouldn’t hurt—if Professor Fu was fair.

 

“Is it because Omegas take maternity leave?” Lu Shen had asked the Alpha professor. He had just smiled and shaken his head.

 

“No Omegas,” Fu Xinglan said flatly after reviewing the list.

 

“Why?” Lu Shen frowned. There was no doubt that Omegas were just as capable. No one knew that the genius of the gland department, Lu Ming, was actually an Omega.

 

“You think I’m discriminating against Omegas, don’t you?” Fu Xinglan looked down at her.

 

“Are you not?” Lu Shen was disappointed.

 

“Lu Shen,” Fu Xinglan sat down, speaking about something unrelated to experiments for the first time. “The last two PhDs I recruited were Omegas. They were brilliant.”

 

“But, after I spent four or five years of my life and energy training them to be top-tier academic doctors, they both gave up research to become full-time stay-at-home mothers.”

 

“Do you know how much time and effort a supervisor spends to train a single PhD? When you said you were married with a child, I was worried you wouldn’t come back either.”

 

Lu Shen fell silent, not expecting this answer.

 

“I know you might want to say not every Omega is like that,” Fu Xinglan paused. “But I don’t have the luxury of trial and error. This isn’t a charity. During their interviews, those two students swore they would focus on research forever. The trust I gave them became a bargaining chip for their marriages. In the end, they only became a line for their Alpha husbands to brag about: ‘My wife is a PhD.'”

 

“That is why I am researching the inhibitor.”

 

The situation for Omegas was more complex than she had imagined. Lu Shen gained a deeper understanding of An Zhaoyu’s plight. As a mother, she began to worry about An Zhou’s future. She hoped the child would be as strong as An Zhaoyu, but her heart ached at the thought of the unfairness the girl might face.

 

“Do you plan to take that Alpha?” Lu Shen asked.

 

“The quality is too low,” Fu Xinglan said, dismissing the “trash” the other professors had picked. “Let’s take the most excellent Beta. Increase her re-examination score slightly so her total rank is first.”

 

Lu Shen couldn’t forget the expectant gaze of that top-scoring Omega. She was so talented. “What if that Omega doesn’t plan on marrying an Alpha?”

 

“Asking that is illegal and violates her human rights. Who she marries is her freedom,” Fu Xinglan said, noticing Lu Shen’s persistence. “Besides, how can I believe her? You have two slots, don’t you?”

 

“You’re making plans for my second slot?” Fu Xinglan’s eyes widened. She had planned to save it for next year. “How about this: if that Omega runs away, you take over her workload. Deal?”

 

“I don’t have time,” Lu Shen refused. “But I’m already the one training your students.”

 

Fu Xinglan was effectively silenced by that logic.

 

After work, Lu Shen drove in front with An Zhaoyu following behind. They had agreed to switch off caring for the baby every month, but neither could bear being away from the child for that long. They agreed that while one had the baby, the other could visit anytime.

 

This month was An Zhaoyu’s turn. Lu Shen still drove to the An house to pick up the baby with her.

 

“Shen-shen, stay for dinner before you go,” He Nanchun said, completely ignoring An Zhaoyu. She couldn’t believe anyone could be so stupid as to divorce a girl as good as Lu Shen—especially when that person was her own daughter. She hadn’t slept a wink since finding out.

 

“Thank you, Auntie, but no,” Lu Shen smiled as she watched An Zhaoyu put An Zhou into the back of the car. The Captain had installed a child seat; without Lu Shen around, she had to learn everything from scratch.

 

Watching them drive off in separate cars, He Nanchun sighed deeply. As a mother, she could see An Zhaoyu’s hidden dejection. Her daughter clearly loved Lu Shen.

 

Lu Shen would play with An Zhou for a while every day, and today was no exception, though An Zhaoyu was now part of the scene. Specifically, Lu Shen watched An Zhaoyu try to play with An Zhou.

 

The Captain didn’t seem to know how to play with a baby. She tried to copy Lu Shen by placing the baby among a pile of toys, handing her whatever she reached for. When the baby tried to put a block in her mouth, An Zhaoyu clumsily took it away. Beyond that, all she knew was how to shake a rattle.

 

“Ma~” An Zhou reached her hands out toward Lu Shen, clearly not enjoying An Zhaoyu’s company.

 

An Zhaoyu felt a bit defeated. She was usually good at “playing,” but she didn’t know how to make the baby happy. Every block tower she built was immediately knocked down by the baby.

 

“She likes sensory toys,” Lu Shen reminded her. “Try pushing her in that cardboard box.”

 

There was an empty, colorful cartoon box under the TV stand. An Zhaoyu pulled it out, placed the baby inside, and slid the box across the living room floor. Within two minutes, the baby was beaming. As they passed the blocks, she grabbed two and tossed them into the box. When An Zhaoyu stopped, the baby hit the side of the box, signaling for her to continue.

 

As An Zhaoyu pushed her back and forth, the baby let out a delighted laugh. An Zhaoyu caught the infection and laughed with her. Lu Shen sat nearby, watching them. The scene was full of color. This is good.

 

An Zhaoyu realized this wasn’t boring at all. It was far more interesting than lying in bed scrolling on her phone or drinking at a bar. She was a playful person at heart, and having Lu Shen there made it perfect.

 

She realized she had missed out on so many opportunities for happiness. Even if Lu Shen didn’t care for her, Lu Shen’s love for the baby was 100% certain. The baby was hers too; she shouldn’t have dumped all the responsibility on Lu Shen. Even if Lu Shen could do everything, she should have been there to do it together.

 

Guilt surged within her again.

 

Around 7:00 PM, Lu Shen turned on the TV to an educational cartoon channel that An Zhou liked. The baby watched intently. After a while, Lu Shen prepared to leave. An Zhaoyu didn’t want her to go, but she didn’t want to use the baby to force her to stay. She could only endure the ache and see her off.

 

“Drive safely. Let me know when you’re home.” “Mm.”

 

After Lu Shen left, An Zhaoyu felt lonely. But Lu Shen had played with the baby alone for months—did she feel lonely too? An Zhaoyu wanted to kick her past self for choosing the bedroom or the bar over this. How could she have been so heartless?

 

As if echoing her thoughts, the baby finished the cartoon and began looking for Lu Shen. After crawling around the living room and failing to find her “Mamma,” she burst into tears.

 

“What’s wrong, baby?” An Zhaoyu scooped her up to comfort her.

 

“Hung… ma… hung,” An Zhou cried, breathless. “Ma…”

 

“Mommy’s here,” An Zhaoyu said. She knew the child was calling for Lu Shen, but Lu Shen was gone. An Zhou kept crying until her eyes were red. When she tried to rub them, An Zhaoyu caught her hands, remembering the basic rule of not letting babies rub their eyes.

 

She used a baby wipe to clean the tears, her own sadness becoming impossible to hide as she listened to the cries. Eventually, the two of them—the big one and the little one—were crying together in the living room, both missing Lu Shen.

 

Then, a message arrived: I’m home.

 

An Zhaoyu grabbed her phone instantly. She told Lu Shen that the baby wouldn’t stop crying for her.

 

Wait for me a moment. Lu Shen replied.

 

An Zhaoyu waited anxiously, trying every trick she found on her phone to stop the crying—food, toys, distractions. Nothing worked. An Zhou refused to eat and just wailed for Lu Shen. After twenty agonizing minutes, Lu Shen initiated a video call.

 

An Zhaoyu felt a bit awkward. In nearly two years of marriage, this was their first video call. Knowing she had been crying, she set the phone stand at the lowest angle so only An Zhou was visible on the screen.

 

Lu Shen had just showered. Her hair was damp, and she was in a nightgown. She looked distressed seeing An Zhou’s flushed, tear-streaked face.

 

“Good girl, Xiao Zhou. Don’t cry. Mammy is here.”

 

“Ma…” An Zhou quieted down at the sound of the voice, struggling to get out of An Zhaoyu’s arms to grab the phone. An Zhaoyu held the phone close but didn’t let the baby touch the screen, thinking of the germs.

 

An Zhaoyu stared at the screen. Lu Shen had changed into a gown—not the one An Zhaoyu had worn, but another gray one. Behind her was the “tropical rainforest” wallpaper, the waterfall, and the little fish.

 

I miss her so much. That was An Zhaoyu’s only thought. She missed Lu Shen even more than the baby did. She felt as though she could smell Lu Shen’s fragrance through the screen—a scent that meant safety.

 

Lu Shen couldn’t see An Zhaoyu’s face. She called her name several times with no response. Wondering what the Captain was doing, she waved her hand in front of the camera.

 

“What?” An Zhaoyu snapped out of it. The baby had stopped crying and was now just hiccuping.

 

“Pat her back gently.” “Okay,” An Zhaoyu followed the command, placing the baby on her lap.

 

“Next to that red box, there’s a clear plastic bin,” Lu Shen said once An Zhou was calmer, teaching her how to distract the child.

 

An Zhaoyu found it and dragged it over. But it wasn’t full of toys—it was a bunch of “useless” things: tissues, charging cables, remote controls, and a single sock the baby had worn when she was first born.

 

“She loves playing with those,” Lu Shen said fondly.

 

Seriously? An Zhaoyu watched in disbelief as the baby grabbed the sock and put it in her mouth.

 

“Don’t bite that,” An Zhaoyu snatched it away. Even if it was clean, she found it hard to accept. The baby looked ready to cry again.

 

“Fine, fine, you can have it!” She handed it back.

 

But once offered, An Zhou didn’t want it. She threw the sock aside and pulled a remote control out of the bin, tossing it in front of An Zhaoyu. What does this mean? Does she want me to kneel on it? An Zhaoyu wondered. Is my daughter a genius?

 

Lu Shen didn’t know what An Zhou was planning either. Usually, the baby was very obedient with her. But Lu Shen didn’t stop her from biting things. At this age, children learn through their senses; as long as it wasn’t harmful, Lu Shen encouraged exploration.

 

An Zhou emptied the bin, scattering things all over the living room. She grabbed a half-used pack of tissues, shredded a few, tried to eat one, and then threw them on the floor when An Zhaoyu stopped her. An Zhaoyu looked at the little troublemaker, thinking she’d give that little butt a smack as soon as the call ended.

 

Once the bin was empty, An Zhou wobbled over to the discarded sock, picked it up, and tried to shove it into An Zhaoyu’s mouth.

 

An Zhaoyu ducked just in time, and the sock landed on her neck. But An Zhou was persistent. She grabbed it again and chased An Zhaoyu’s mouth with it.

 

“You little rascal,” An Zhaoyu laughed, holding the baby by the collar with one hand to keep her away while covering her mouth with the other.

 

As the two “fought,” Lu Shen’s eyes crinkled with laughter. She had never seen An Zhou so energetic. An Zhaoyu was half-lying on the floor, and her face entered the frame. Lu Shen noticed her eyes were slightly swollen.

 

Did she cry? Why? Was she that worried about not being able to handle the baby?

 

The battle ended with An Zhaoyu’s compromise: she took a tiny bite of the sock. An Zhou’s persistence was beyond her imagination. Every person has their master, Lu Shen thought. The Captain probably never expected a daughter more rebellious than herself.

 

The baby’s energy was incredible. After a while, An Zhaoyu surrendered. She lay flat on the cartoon play mat, letting An Zhou lean against her and play with cables and remotes.

 

She glanced at Lu Shen. Lu Shen was no longer watching them; she had tied her hair back and was focused on her computer, wearing silver-rimmed anti-blue light glasses. She was likely working on her paper. The inhibitor was nearly finished, which was why Dr. Lu hadn’t been on missions lately.

 

An Zhaoyu felt her heart stir. This was the first time she had seen Lu Shen working. She looked so professional. Her refined features and focused gaze gave her an air of cold detachment, like a character from a manga. Yet, this “cold” Dr. Lu was working while keeping a video call open, silently accompanying her baby. It was incredibly warm.

 

How can such a beautiful person exist? and she’s my wife—even if she’s about to be my ex-wife. An Zhaoyu wished time would slow down. If Lu Shen couldn’t love her, she hoped Lu Shen would never love anyone else. She wouldn’t be able to bear it.