"Let's get a divorce, Wen Nuan."
The previously pleasant breakfast atmosphere froze in an instant. Han Qian looked at the woman seated across from him—not merely his wife, but his employer, his boss, the woman who held his fate firmly in her grasp.
Han Qian and Wen Nuan had been husband and wife for three years.
Wen Nuan had married Han Qian while waiting for someone else's return. For her, it was a temporary arrangement; for him, it was a lifeline to escape prison.
Fraud. Embezzlement. Falsifying academic credentials.
These three charges alone were enough to see him spend most of his life behind bars.
Three years ago, disaster struck Han Qian's family. His mother, plagued by illness, was hospitalized. In a misguided attempt to save a few hundred yuan in health insurance, she had stubbornly refused to pay, clinging to luck. When she was rushed into intensive care, the already struggling household was pushed to the brink.
The proceeds from selling the house were laughably insufficient compared to the mounting medical bills. When his father suggested selling a kidney, Han Qian vehemently refused. He told his father to hold on—just one more month, and he would find the money.
Han Qian left the hospital and forged academic documents to apply for a position in the Planning Department of Changxiang Group, claiming years of experience in project planning. With a silver tongue and feigned confidence, he secured the job. Within two weeks, he uncovered a critical vulnerability: the department store subsidiary was hemorrhaging money year after year, yet abandoning it would be a strategic mistake—competitors were lying in wait to seize that market.
Han Qian wasn't there by chance. This project had been his target all along. In those frantic two weeks, he crafted a comprehensive proposal to save the department store.
When the planning manager reviewed the document, his brow furrowed. It was surprisingly sound. Han Qian made his move—he would surrender all credit, allow the manager to take ownership of the proposal, under one condition: he must be included in the project team.
The plan was submitted for risk assessment, then escalated to senior management.
Whether through fortune or desperation on the company's part, the project was greenlit. The planning manager was praised and, in a rare moment of conscience, handed Han Qian a hush payment of ten thousand yuan.
Han Qian accepted it without hesitation, wired the money to his father, and began the next phase.
He embezzled corporate funds to continue his mother's treatment.
She eventually recovered and was discharged. But just as Han Qian was devising a plan to cover the 400,000 yuan gap, everything unraveled.
The police arrived at the company. The investigation was swift and merciless: falsified credentials, corporate fraud, misappropriation of funds. Faced with damning evidence, Han Qian gave up resisting. Changxiang's legal department pressed charges.
The planning manager confessed—Han Qian had been the true author of the proposal.
Following a full confession at the police station, Han Qian was incarcerated, awaiting trial. One month passed. Just as despair had begun to settle, word came down: the legal department had withdrawn all charges, claiming it had all been a misunderstanding.
Released and disoriented, Han Qian stepped out into the sun, only to see a red Alfa Romeo pull up beside him. In the driver's seat sat Wen Nuan—Vice President of Changxiang.
Han Qian understood immediately. This ethereal woman had resolved his crisis.
He knew he was handsome, but not delusional enough to believe he had captured the heart of the corporate flower of Changxiang.
"Get in."
Her voice matched her name—gentle, warm.
Wen Nuan's first impression was elegance incarnate. At 172 cm, she stood tall among women, her oval face eclipsing the artificial beauty of online influencers. She didn't strike with beauty—but with the comfort of spring sunlight.
Her long legs didn't so much allure as stun the senses.
Once in the car, she tossed a contract onto his lap.
"I'm proposing a deal. It may sound ridiculous, but hear me out. If you agree, I'll ensure the legal department drops all charges and repay your debt. If you refuse, I'll see you back in prison."
Han Qian frowned as he read the title in bold.
Marriage Contract.
After scanning its contents, he looked up.
"You and I? Married? You're waiting for your childhood sweetheart to return from abroad, and I'm just your placeholder?"
Wen Nuan replied softly, her expression unreadable.
"You're not quite qualified to be my guardian knight, but you're not wrong. I've already discussed this with him. My parents disapprove of him and are pressuring me to marry this year or forfeit my shares in Changxiang. Your job is to help me appease them. If needed, I'll play the perfect daughter-in-law for your parents too. But I won't need you long—he'll be back in three years."
Han Qian nodded coolly. To him, marrying a goddess like Wen Nuan brought not elation, but unease. She couldn't care less.
"For three years, you'll live in my home as a house husband. You'll manage my daily life. But we are married in name only. I'll live in the attic. You'll stay on the first floor. If you so much as look at me the wrong way, our legal team will have you back in handcuffs. I know your family situation. Your mother needs supplements—I'll cover that. But if you file for divorce before the three years are up, you'll owe me ten times the debt I repaid: four million. Make your choice. Sign, or return to prison."
This woman was neither as gentle as her name nor as kind as her face.
Han Qian turned to her.
"We're registering today? I might need to go home for my household register."
"No need. Just your ID and your presence. Also, your proposal impressed both the board and my father. They believe it will turn the department store around. The manager owes you his thanks."
Over the next three years, Wen Nuan treated Han Qian well. When his parents visited, she hosted them warmly. They spent holidays at her house, and New Year's at his. Gradually, they both settled into the rhythm of this life.
But now, with two months left on their contract, Han Qian wanted a divorce.
Wen Nuan set down her chopsticks and looked at him, frowning.
"Are you sure? Filing for divorce means paying me four million. You only have six thousand to your name. I won't forgo that kind of money for sentiment. I could buy a new car with it."
Han Qian smiled and nodded.
"Yes. Better to end things now than wait until your beloved returns. Thank you for the past three years. I'll find a way to repay the debt within a year."
"More fraud? I admit, you're talented—but four million in a year? Impossible. Do you realize how much trouble your timing causes me? If you fail, I will send you back to prison."
There was a veiled threat in her voice. She wasn't ready to let go. In three years, she had grown used to having Han Qian around.
He smiled again.
"Are you free this afternoon? Let's get it done."
Wen Nuan's pride allowed no hesitation. Within ten minutes of the Civil Affairs Bureau opening, the papers were signed. She didn't spare him a glance as she drove away. Han Qian remained on the steps, eyes filled with quiet sorrow.
Barely two hundred meters away, her phone rang. She pulled over and took several deep breaths before answering. On the other end came a voice—familiar, yet foreign.
"Nuan… why did he answer your phone last night? I was so happy to tell you I'd be home in a month. The ticket's booked—you were the first person I wanted to tell. But then he spoke. Does this mean you and he already…"
Wen Nuan paused, then frowned.
"Lin Zongheng, spare me your filth. I left my phone on the first floor last night. Anything else? I'm busy."
Lin Zongheng.
Only son of the Chairman of Changxiang. Wen Nuan's childhood sweetheart.
She was the only daughter of Changxiang's second-largest shareholder, once infatuated with her suave, elegant Zongheng.
But hearing that woman's voice over the phone—his voice abruptly cut off—something inside Wen Nuan snapped. How could she ever have fallen for such a man?
She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, turned around, and spotted Han Qian crouching on the steps, smoking.
A frown formed between her brows, and she murmured softly.
"So… he smokes."
This year—
Wen Nuan was twenty-six.
Han Qian was twenty-five.