She Seems to Struggle with Having a Wife - Chapter 7

Qin Mu glanced briefly and confirmed it was indeed the rose from last night’s restaurant, though the angle of the photo was different.

Hers was taken from the front, while Gao Jingchen’s was a side shot.

Their posts had been made half an hour apart, making it look very much like they were a couple.

To avoid any misunderstandings, Qin Mu explained candidly, “Last night, I had dinner with President Gao and his friend, and we discussed some matters. As for the flower, all three of us probably thought it was beautiful, so we each took a photo.”

Zhang Fan nodded in understanding and didn’t dwell on it further.

After all, Qin Mu often went out for meals with Gao Jingchen, usually under the guise of meeting friends, though they were often potential clients. Moreover, it wasn’t the first time they had posted similar content on social media, so Zhang Fan naturally didn’t jump to conclusions.

The key point was that everyone knew President Gao had feelings for Qin Mu.

And it was equally well-known that Qin Mu didn’t reciprocate those feelings. Zhang Fan had simply been indulging in a bit of gossip.

After reviewing the documents, Qin Mu closed them and said, “Go and prepare. The meeting starts at ten sharp, and no one is allowed to be late.”

“Okay, understood.”

Zhang Fan gathered the documents and left.

As soon as she closed the door to Qin Mu’s office, Li Jiashan rushed over, pulling Zhang Fan aside by the arm and asking eagerly, “So, what did President Qin say? Are the two of them dating?”

“No,” Zhang Fan replied, pulling her arm back with a hint of annoyance. “Last night, Qin Mu had dinner with President Gao and his friend. It was just a normal gathering among friends to discuss matters. That friend might even be a business partner.”

Relieved to hear it was just a casual meal, Li Jiashan sighed, “That’s good.”

Seeing his lovesick, almost desperate demeanor, Zhang Fan couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “President Qin doesn’t like President Gao, and she doesn’t like you either. Why can’t you just give up? Persisting like this is just absurd.”

Li Jiashan sighed helplessly, glanced toward Qin Mu’s office, and shrugged. “What can I do? I can’t control my feelings. It’s my heart that made me fall for her,” he said, pointing to his chest with dramatic flair.

Zhang Fan shuddered, her skin crawling at his overly sentimental words. “Alright, alright, I won’t try to talk you out of it anymore. Do as you please. But next time you ask me to dig up gossip like this, you’re treating me to a meal.”

“Deal.”

Zhang Fan pursed her lips and walked away.

Museum, Studio.

Wei Qing’an, dressed in a white lab coat, held a large, thick notebook in her left hand and a ballpoint pen in her right. She was meticulously recording details and formulating a restoration plan for a recently excavated Tang Dynasty Yue kiln celadon tea set placed on the table before her.

Tang Dynasty celadon and white porcelain were both masterpieces, but celadon was considered superior. However, in terms of popularity during the Tang era, white porcelain had the edge, as the ancients admired jade and often compared it to human virtues, naturally favoring white porcelain.

This particular Yue kiln celadon tea set featured a lotus-shaped base. Its luster, texture, and aesthetic appeal were exceptional. Given the rarity of excavated Tang Dynasty celadon tea sets, the museum regarded this piece as highly significant.

Though the celadon tea set was undeniably beautiful, the rim had several chips, and the base was fractured in places. The passage of a thousand years had not allowed it to emerge fully intact before the world.

“Xiao Wei, have you finished the documentation yet?”

An older, balding colleague in a white lab coat approached.

Wei Qing’an straightened up and turned to reply, “Almost done.”

Professor Zhao stood beside Wei Qing’an, gazing at the tea set with a sigh. “What a shame so many chips and cracks. It must have been absolutely stunning when it first came out of the Yue kiln.”

“Mhm.” Wei Qing’an nodded in agreement.

After lamenting the tea set, Professor Zhao turned his attention to her. “Xiao Wei, when will you transfer to our calligraphy and painting department? We old-timers are waiting for you day and night, like waiting for stars and the moon.”

Calligraphy and painting.

Wei Qing’an instinctively gripped her right wrist.

She probably wouldn’t have that chance anymore.

“Your right wrist is fractured. You must avoid lifting anything heavy for the next few months. Even after it heals, it will affect your current work. So, Ms. Wei, I recommend you change careers otherwise, your wrist will get injured again.”

Wei Qing’an released her grip and smiled. “Professor Zhao, switching fields is like crossing a mountain. I can handle restoring ceramics, but I only worked on a few pieces of calligraphy and painting when I first started. Later, my mentor thought my skills weren’t up to par and stopped me from touching them.”

“Ah.” Professor Zhao let out a deep sigh.

These days, fewer and fewer people are willing to dedicate themselves to cultural relic restoration. No job security, low pay if it weren’t for a genuine passion for artifacts, few young people would endure such hardships.

Back when Xiao Wei first joined the museum, several departments fought to have her, hoping to pass on their legacy. Yet, in the end, she followed in her mentor’s footsteps and chose ceramic restoration.

Seeing Professor Zhao’s somber expression, Wei Qing’an gradually let her smile fade and redirected her gaze to the tea set.

“Alright, I won’t disturb you any longer. Get back to work.”

Wei Qing’an walked him out. “Sure.”

After seeing Professor Zhao off, she returned to continue her documentation. Once it was archived, she could begin the restoration.

Another day slipped by in the studio.

At 5:40 p.m., the senior restorer working alongside Wei Qing’an straightened up, rubbing his aching lower back. “Xiao Wei, I’m going to take a break. Getting old, my body can’t keep up. You should rest too. You haven’t eaten all day. Even with a strong constitution, young people shouldn’t push themselves like this.”

Wei Qing’an was intently searching for usable ceramic fragments when his sudden call startled her. She reflexively pulled her hand back, accidentally brushing against a sharp shard. A deep cut instantly opened on the lower left side of her right palm.

Bright red blood trickled down her pale wrist, seeping from her sleeve to her forearm. Wei Qing’an stifled a groan.

“Okay, I understand.” She pressed her left hand over the wound, responding first before hurrying out.

Wei Qing’an rushed to the restroom. Turning on the faucet, she flipped her hand over and rinsed the injured area.

Crimson blood stained the white sink.

The water washed it all away.

Whether from blood loss or something else, her face turned as pale as paper, devoid of any color.

She stared at the blood continuously flowing from her palm, her body swaying unsteadily as she struggled to remain upright. Instinctively, she reached out to support herself on the edge of the sink, leaving a crimson handprint on the stone surface. Her vision blurred into darkness, and a persistent buzzing filled her head.

Afraid of collapsing right there, Wei Qing’an bit down hard on her lower lip until she tasted blood, jolting herself back to awareness.

After taking a moment to steady herself, she gasped for breath and suddenly remembered something urgent. She quickly washed the bloodstains from her left hand, wiped the counter clean, turned off the faucet, and hurried back to her office to open her computer.

The letter of apology, she hadn’t written it yet.

She had to send it to her wife by six o’clock.

Unsure how to compose such a letter, Wei Qing’an modeled it after reports and thank-you notes. She began with the standard “Respected Leader,” then recounted the events of the previous night, followed by a sincere apology.

Buzz, buzz. As she typed, a video call came through.

She answered, standing in front of her computer.

On the screen appeared a strikingly glamorous woman in a swimsuit, lounging by the pool with her chin resting on the back of her hand. She exclaimed in surprise, “Well, well, you old fossil! You finally decided to answer my video call. Did you quit your job or something?”

“No,” Wei Qing’an replied, glancing at the woman with a sigh. “I’m writing a letter of apology to my wife.”

Yan Huan, upon hearing this, was so shocked she slipped into the pool with a splash. Clambering back out, she exclaimed dramatically, “Did I hear that right? You’re writing an apology letter to your wife? What did you do to make her angry?”

“Yeah.”

Now even more curious, Yan Huan pressed, “Tell me, what happened?”

Just as Wei Qing’an was about to explain, she noticed blood seeping from the wound on her palm again. She grabbed a tissue and pressed it against the cut.

“I was afraid of holding her back, so I brought up divorce last night. She got angry and demanded I write this apology letter.”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

The woman on the other end burst into unrestrained laughter, and Wei Qing’an couldn’t help but feel annoyed, seriously considering hanging up.

Yan Huan laughed so hard she pounded the counter. When she finally caught her breath, she said, “Your wife is so childish, making you write an apology letter over something like that. But why are you being so obedient? You’re actually writing it! HAHAHAHAHA!”

Wei Qing’an: …

She didn’t find the situation amusing at all.

As Yan Huan continued to laugh, Wei Qing’an focused intently on typing. Thankfully, it only needed to be 300 words, not 500.

Seeing how seriously Wei Qing’an was taking the task, Yan Huan finally reined in her laughter. “Honestly, from the moment I heard your wife proposed to you the first time you met, to now making you write an apology letter, I’m completely convinced she’s one of a kind. I have to see what she’s like for myself. I’m booking a flight back home right now.”

“Huh?” Wei Qing’an glared at her. “You’re coming back just to see my wife? Do you have some kind of interest in her?”

Yan Huan rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Your wife is 25, and I’m 30. To me, she’s just a kid. You’re the one robbing the cradle here. I only have eyes for gentle, mature women.”

“Whatever,” Wei Qing’an retorted, rolling her eyes back.

With the final word typed, Wei Qing’an checked the time in the lower right corner: 5:59.

Just in time, only one minute to spare.

She hoped her wife would be satisfied with this apology letter.

After sending the self-criticism letter, Wei Qing’an only tilted her head back slightly before immediately feeling dizzy again, forcing her to lower her head.

It seems I need to go to the hospital.

Lately, her hypoglycemia has been getting worse.

“Hey, old fossil, I’m hanging up now. I’m going to check flight tickets,” Yan Huan said before ending the call.

Once the call disconnected, Wei Qing’an supported her head with her left hand, her brows furrowed in discomfort, while a nauseous feeling churned in her stomach.

Soon, cold sweat began to break out all over her body, quickly dampening her temples.

Beep, beep a WeChat message popped up on the computer.

Wei Qing’an lifted her head, her eyelids already trembling. With her still-bleeding right hand shaking, she gripped the mouse and clicked to open the message.

Qin Mu: Have you eaten?
Qin Mu: Remember to eat.

Wei Qing’an wanted to reply, but she no longer had the strength.

Suddenly, everything went black before her eyes. Wei Qing’an could no longer hold on and collapsed onto the desk.

The untreated wound on her right hand gradually stained the tissue red, leaving a patch of blood on the desktop.

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