Oops, I’m the Scumbag Ex in Her Storyline - Chapter 49

Lu Wanqiu stared at Bei Lanlan in silence, finding her not only infuriating but also shameless.

The woman’s game was far from low-level—whether she was telling the truth or lying, Lu Wanqiu couldn’t quite tell. But that didn’t stop her from sneering:

“You really are your mother’s precious little darling.”

Bei Lanlan arched a brow. “Oh? How so?”

Lu Wanqiu gave a small laugh. “Some things don’t need to be spelled out so clearly. I hear you’re an only child. Your mother must feel incredibly blessed to have such a filial daughter like you.”

The sarcasm in her tone stung more than a direct insult, but Bei Lanlan remained composed, her face betraying nothing.

Her silence only made Lu Wanqiu restless. The truth was, the moment she saw Bei Lanlan’s face, she couldn’t resist the urge to mock her. For years, Bei Lanlan had been a thorn in her side, and she had never been able to swallow it down.

“The incident the other day—only now you’ve come. You know a missing person can be reported after twenty-four hours, yet you waited forty-eight. I almost thought something had happened to you.”

“Forty-eight hours… plenty of time to think about many things. Tell me, what do you think your mother was imagining during that time?”

Bei Lanlan blinked slowly. “Probably that without a microwave, it’s awfully inconvenient. From now on she’ll have to reheat meals with a pan.”

Lu Wanqiu: “…”

Bei Lanlan gave a faint smile. “My mother isn’t as delicate or resentful as you imagine. Forty-eight hours without me is nothing. Even if it was four hundred and eighty, even if I never showed up again for the rest of my life, she wouldn’t dwell on those negative thoughts you hope for. She knows me too well—she knows how much she means to me, knows how deeply I love her. That is her confidence. And that will never change.”

This time, Lu Wanqiu said nothing. She only stared back at Bei Lanlan, her gaze turning cold.

Unbothered by the shift in expression, Bei Lanlan adjusted her posture, crossing her hands loosely in front of her as her elbows rested on the chair’s armrests. The casual elegance of the gesture made her look like a psychologist about to conduct a heart-to-heart session.

Lu Wanqiu frowned ever so slightly. Growing up surrounded by medicine bottles, she’d seen every kind of doctor—including plenty of psychologists. This little pose of Bei Lanlan’s only filled her with distaste.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bei Lanlan said, tilting her head at her.

“You’re wondering why I’m not angry.”

“It’s simple—because there’s no need to be.”

Bei Lanlan’s smile was light. “My mother understands me. And I understand you. That little ‘accident’ you caused—first, you wanted to alarm A-Yan; second, you wanted to strike back at me. But you couldn’t push too far. You couldn’t afford to offend A-Yan completely, nor could you make too big a scene in the sanatorium. That would only backfire on you. So while the fuss looked big, you never actually dared to do real harm.”

She tapped the back of one hand with the other, her voice soft but unbearably arrogant. Leaning toward Lu Wanqiu, she looked down at her with contempt.

“You’re nothing but a paper tiger.”

The room fell silent for several seconds—then Lu Wanqiu suddenly laughed.

“Are you planning to transfer your mother to another hospital?” she asked.

Before Bei Lanlan could answer, the smile slid off her face. Her expression darkened, her eyes venomous.

“Transfer her if you like. But the moment you step out that door, I can make sure you regret it.”

If a burly man with a fierce expression had said this, one might simply feel tense, perhaps a little afraid. But when such a frail woman, fragile enough to topple with a gust of wind, wore that look—it left not only fear, but a lingering shadow.

It was no wonder horror films so often cast women in skirts as ghosts. If any nurse happened to walk in now and see Lu Wanqiu’s expression, she’d probably quit on the spot.

Bei Lanlan, however, merely straightened her back and nodded lightly.

“I believe you. But I also know—you don’t dare.”

Lu Wanqiu laughed in rage. She began digging her nails harshly into her fingers, so hard she nearly drew blood. In that moment, she truly made up her mind: even if she lost her place in this sanatorium, so be it. It was all the same anywhere.

Her gaze flicked toward the computer. She never got used to using a phone; all her contacts had always been maintained through the computer during her hospital years.

Just as her eyes shifted, Bei Lanlan spoke again.

“Your mother’s name is Su Wenying, isn’t it?”

Lu Wanqiu’s body stiffened. Slowly, she turned her head back.

She said nothing, but her expression told Bei Lanlan she had hit the mark.

“Don’t worry,” Bei Lanlan said, “I didn’t investigate you. Your family isn’t in business, and digging into you wouldn’t be easy. I just searched your name—and your illness—online. Nothing came up about you. But I did find someone named Su Wenying.”

Her eyes narrowed. “A well-known child education expert. Written several books. Given interviews. In one, she said she had three children—the first two were outstanding, and the third was born with a serious illness. She never abandoned the youngest, poured her heart and soul into raising the child until she grew up safely. She even wrote a book on raising special-needs children, inspiring many families in similar situations.”

She tilted her head. “Have you read it?”

Lu Wanqiu’s fingers dug so hard into her hand that they nearly broke. “I’ve read it.”

Bei Lanlan smiled faintly. “I bought the e-book. I thought it’d be nothing but empty chicken soup. But no—it was full of detail. Fierce quarrels. Obsessive behavior. Almost every flaw she described fit you perfectly, along with guidance on how to handle it. Honestly, after finishing, I felt relieved. Because like you, I’m not exactly a good person by nature. And thank god I don’t have a mother like that. Otherwise, I’d probably be another you.”

Lu Wanqiu sneered. “Don’t be so self-deprecating. You’re not much better than me.”

“Perhaps,” Bei Lanlan chuckled. “But that’s not a bad thing. The people around me aren’t schemers. You’ve met my mother—softhearted to a fault. And A-Yan—you know her. All vigilance, but no ability to be ruthless. She could never do what I’m doing now—rip open your scars and tell you—”

Bei Lanlan paused, then continued:

“If you dare go near my mother again—or A-Yan—I’ll contact your mother. I’ll tell her everything you’ve done, and let her show you that expression you hate most—her disappointment. I’ll help her contact media, websites, publishers, newspapers. She loves preaching, and has a streak of showmanship. I doubt she’d reject my offer. In fact, she might even bring you back home for live ‘lessons,’ since live demonstrations are so much easier than writing books.”

At the word disappointment, Lu Wanqiu’s face changed. It was her fatal weak spot. She hated her mother—but hatred could never erase the love beneath.

Bei Lanlan had painted it so vividly that Lu Wanqiu could almost see her mother standing before her, face grim, lecturing her under the guise of “for your own good.” Since the age of sixteen, when she refused to follow her mother’s plan of studying in her hospital room while nursing her health, their relationship had grown colder and colder. Now, her mother visited only once a month—and if something came up, she skipped even that.

Lu Wanqiu had grown used to it, even satisfied with it. But if things unfolded as Bei Lanlan described—if her mother suddenly remembered she was her daughter, determined once again to “reform” her… it wasn’t a joke. She really might kill someone.

She couldn’t understand how Bei Lanlan had seen through this, or dared to use it as a threat.

But facing Lu Wanqiu’s knife-sharp stare, Bei Lanlan knew she’d hit the bullseye. She smiled faintly, rose, and walked out without another word.

She had already given Lu Wanqiu the answer.

“I’m just like you.”

Their temperaments were different, but their cores were the same. To know Lu Wanqiu’s weakness, she only had to look at herself.

People like them—nicely put, they were “mentally resilient.” Less nicely—they were ruthless. Ordinary problems never truly touched them. Even when affected, they bounced back stronger.

The only way to make them fear, to make them feel pain—was to strike at the people they loved most.

Lu Wanqiu had shown interest in A-Yan, but truthfully, it hadn’t reached the point of being her fatal weakness. Perhaps not even true affection, otherwise she wouldn’t have had the energy to focus on Bei Lanlan as well.

With no lover left, there was only one thing: family.

The original family—inescapable, innate, carrying emotions that could never be erased.

—

Leaving Lu Wanqiu’s room, Bei Lanlan went straight to Li Jingshu’s. She pushed open the door, walked into the kitchen, and hugged her from behind.

Li Jingshu laughed helplessly, patting her hands. “A grown woman still acting so spoiled.”

Not a word about where she’d just been. Not a word about being two days late.

—

That evening, Bei Lanlan returned home carrying a large insulated hospital food container. She walked into Xin Yan’s room, where she was busy with company work, and set it on her desk.

The container was taller than the laptop. Xin Yan blinked. “What’s this?”

“My mom’s pork rib soup,” Bei Lanlan replied.

The container was so big it couldn’t be opened sitting down. Xin Yan stood, unscrewed the lid, and found at least two kilos of ribs inside—not even counting the soup.

Xin Yan was floored. “Was your mom a cafeteria cook in her past life? This could feed ten people!”

Bei Lanlan spread her hands. “She didn’t mean to make so much. But when she heard you were sick, with your throat inflamed, she added in the portion she’d been saving for later. Look closer—there are pear slices and fritillaria too.”

Xin Yan: “…”

She couldn’t reject her mother-in-law’s kindness, but… “I—I really can’t finish this.”

“Don’t worry,” Bei Lanlan laughed. “Just drink half.”

Half that much could kill a person.

That night, Xin Yan ended up stuffed.

Of course, Bei Lanlan hadn’t meant it literally. But after tasting a spoonful, Xin Yan realized Li Jingshu’s cooking rivaled professional chefs. Without realizing it, she’d had three bowls. The rest was shared among the household staff.

Watching Bei Lanlan have the soup carried away, Xin Yan still looked longingly at her.

“Your mom’s cooking is amazing.”

Bei Lanlan shook her head. “You’re overthinking. She only knows how to make pork rib soup.”

Xin Yan didn’t believe her, thinking she was just being modest. Bei Lanlan didn’t bother explaining. She’d find out for herself in time.

When she finally returned to the company she’d been yearning for—ironically, after only a few hours she was already nostalgic for the peace of resting at home.

…She really was impossible to satisfy anywhere.

By noon, after meeting with the R&D director, Xin Yan pressed the call button. Normally, An Zhiyuan came in right away. This time, it took over ten seconds.

She glanced up at him and frowned. “You don’t look well. Are you sick too?”

Had she passed it on to him? But no—Bei Lanlan hadn’t caught anything. And besides, throat inflammation wasn’t contagious.

An Zhiyuan was at a loss for words. He had no idea what he’d eaten, but he’d been stuck in the bathroom all night, nearly sleeping there.

Shaking his head, he quickly steered away from the topic. “Thank you for your concern, I’m fine. Did you need something, President Xin?”

“Oh, right.” Xin Yan snapped back to business. “Director He just told me four of our researchers resigned this month. Three of them went to Song Xizi’s side—including a team leader. What’s going on? How did HR fail to keep a single one? What are they even doing?”

An Zhiyuan knew more than she did. He’d been pressing HR to come up with a plan to save face, but the development department had beaten them to the punch by tattling.

He straightened and replied calmly, “It’s not entirely HR’s fault. President Song offered terms beyond our ceiling. Those employees weren’t core members, and HR didn’t dare spend so much to keep them.”

Xin Yan frowned. Researchers, aside from executives, were already the highest paid, with project bonuses on top. How much more had Song Xizi offered to make them leave without hesitation?

She voiced the question. An Zhiyuan gave her the figure. In short—five times her pay scale.

Xin Yan was stunned. “She’s lost her mind! What, does she have money she doesn’t know what to do with?!”

An Zhiyuan thought the same but kept it professional. “Since this month, President Song has suddenly ramped up her poaching of our staff, and her business moves against us have become much more aggressive. President Xin… did you perhaps offend her somehow?”

Xin Yan blinked, utterly confused. As far as she remembered, she hadn’t even seen Song Xizi much this month, let alone offended her.

At her desk, Bei Lanlan’s pen stilled for a moment. Then, as if nothing had happened, she resumed writing.
________________________________________

Author’s Note:

Song Xizi is a childhood friend. She’ll eventually be Xin Yan’s friend too. Actually, all these people will end up as friends to both Xin Yan and Lanlan…