Chapter 3 — The Salted Fish's Marriage

That classic combination of a harsh exterior and a thoroughly tender heart is simply beyond redemption. I folded my jacket neatly, placed it upon the sofa, and resolved to toss yet another spark onto the smoldering fire.

Chuan Mo Nghiem, tomorrow is grandmother’s birthday banquet. What do you think I should wear?

Without lifting his head from the financial magazine he was leafing through, he replied coldly, There are plenty of clothes in the walk-in closet. Can you not choose for yourself?

Grandmother loves red, yet I happen to have no red evening gowns. I deliberately let out a soft sigh. Oh well, I suppose I will just have to go shopping myself.

With that, I turned and headed for the stairs. Before I had taken more than a few paces, his somewhat stiff voice drifted from behind.

Stop right there.

I turned back. He extracted a card from his wallet and tossed it carelessly onto the coffee table.

The password is six eights. Do not buy anything too hideous.

I picked up the card, smiling as sweetly as honey. Thank you, my dearest husband.

He stiffened instantly, his ears flushing red at a speed visible to the naked eye, though his mouth stubbornly refused to admit defeat.

Do not go throwing around random titles.

I drifted back to my room in high spirits and immediately unlocked my phone.

She is at it again! Dragging the elders in to pressure me! And she called me... she called me my dearest husband! She did this entirely on purpose! She wants to soften my heart and then push her advantage further!

I am not going to fall into her trap. Giving her the card is merely for the sake of family decorum, and has nothing to do with her whatsoever!

The comments section was practically howling with laughter.

Original poster, are you blushing right now?

Look at how anxious he is! His mouth says no, but his body is completely honest!

I will wager a pack of spicy instant noodles that the original poster's heart rate is currently over one hundred and twenty beats per minute.

Using my burner account, I chimed in. What is wrong with the word dearest husband? If your wife does not call you husband, is she supposed to call you the neighbor Mr. Wang instead?

The original poster replied instantly. She does not usually call me that!

I continued to tease. Then what does she usually call you?

Silence fell from the other end. After all, he could hardly admit that aside from necessary communication, the two of them practically exchanged no words at all, could he? After a long while, he finally typed out a single sentence.

She calls me President Chuan.

Now she suddenly changes how she addresses me, there is definitely a conspiracy afoot!

I stared at the screen, rolling around on the bed in fits of laughter. This man is truly a living treasure.

At grandmother’s birthday banquet, I selected a fiery red slip dress. The moment Chuan Mo Nghiem laid eyes on me, he visibly froze, his Adam’s apple swallowing involuntarily. He quickly averted his gaze, his tone maintaining its usual aloof chill.

Dressed in something this flashy, what are you trying to pull?

To bring honor and glory to you, my dearest husband.

I stood on tiptoe to adjust his tie, my fingers brushing lightly, as if by accident, against his Adam’s apple. He stiffened all over once more, his ears turning even redder than the fabric of my dress.

Do—do not go touching me.

He turned his head away, his voice noticeably hoarse. Swallowing a laugh, I withdrew my hand.

Inside the banquet hall of the Chuan family villa, guests bustled about in throngs. Chuan Mo Nghiem was like a walking air conditioner, lowering the temperature within a three-meter radius wherever he went. Grandmother, an exceedingly kind-hearted old lady, took my hand and smiled from ear to ear.

Niem Niem, this child is simply stunning. Mo Nghiem, you must treat her well.

Chuan Mo Nghiem gave a stiff nod. I know, Grandmother.

What do you know! Grandmother glared at him reproachfully. You have been married for so long, when are you going to give me a great-grandchild to hold?

Cough, cough, cough!

Chuan Mo Nghiem choked on a mouthful of champagne, coughing so violently the heavens and earth seemed to shake, his face flushed the color of a ripe persimmon. I considerately patted his back while simultaneously pouring oil on the fire.

Grandmother, you will have to ask him about that. How could I ever manage it all by myself?

The relatives standing nearby burst into amused laughter. Chuan Mo Nghiem’s face turned as dark as charcoal and as red as fire, looking as though he wished he could crawl under the table and hide forever.

When the banquet ended and we were on our way home, the atmosphere inside the car plummeted to a terrifying low. Pretending not to notice his thunderous expression, I pulled out my phone to check for updates.

Sure enough, the original poster had posted again.

Today she wore a red dress and even laid hands on me! In front of Grandmother, she pretended to be all sweet and innocent, solely to force the issue of having children! This woman, in order to trap me, is even willing to use a child as leverage!

Such deep scheming, truly terrifying.

Using my burner account, Chuan Wealth Makes A Fortune Today, I replied. Congratulations to the original poster on becoming a father.

Have you picked a name yet? Perhaps you should call him Chuan Production, in hopes of mass-producing soon.

The comments exploded.

Hahaha, what on earth is Chuan Production? If the original poster sees this, he might just pass out from anger.

The original poster's wife: It was not me, I did nothing of the sort, stop spreading nonsense.

Am I the only one curious about what the original poster's wife looks like? To be able to captivate him to this degree.

The original poster did not reply; he was probably struck dumb by rage.

My mood was exceedingly pleasant. Tucking away my phone, I tilted my head to gaze out the carriage window.

The car suddenly slammed on the brakes, and inertia sent me tumbling forward. A strong arm instantly caught my waist, hauling me back against the safety of the seat. Chuan Mo Nghiem’s palm burned with a fierce heat, radiating right through the thin fabric of my dress and leaving my skin tingling.

Sit properly.

He retracted his arm, his voice tight and strained. I glanced at the lobes of his ears, which were blushing a bright crimson, and my heart bloomed with joy like a spring festival.

Perhaps my happiness was short-lived, for not long after we arrived home, I sneezed several times in succession.

By the next morning, I had developed a mild fever. Curled up beneath the blankets, I issued weak instructions to Chuan Mo Nghiem.

I want water.

He handed me a glass.

It is too hot.

He took it back to dilute it.

I want congee.

Half an hour later, he carried in a bowl of congee that looked thoroughly unappetizing. I took a single bite and nearly spat it out.

Never mind... Just the water will do.