Wantang's Heart-to-Heart

The Living Room fell silent once more, and the last halo of car lights beyond the porch vanished into the thick fog.

Su Wantang walked toward the Tea Cabinet, her movements slower than usual.

The faint clink of the Bone China Tea Set sounded especially distinct in the overly quiet house.

She needed something to do to suppress the inexplicable tension in her heart.

Wang Ma had been sent away. The enormous Villa now felt like an exquisite empty shell, with only Zhao Chen and her left inside.

This kind of solitude had been unheard of in the past, especially on a night with Mountain Rain Approaching.

"Have some tea. Zhengshan Xiaozhong will warm you up."

She gently placed a cup of clear, ruby-red tea before Zhao Chen on the Coffee Table, then sat down on the Single Sofa beside it. Her hands were folded in her lap, her back straight—a posture that said she was prepared to listen.

Zhao Chen looked at her.

Under the lights, there were weary red veins in her eyes, and her complexion was paler than usual. Yet her expression was guardedly calm.

She knew he had something to say, and that it was no small matter.

He did not beat around the bush. He took a not-too-thick Kraft Paper Bag from the briefcase he had brought with him and placed it on the Coffee Table between them, producing a soft, dull thud.

"There are some things I think you should see."

Zhao Chen's voice rang through the spacious Living Room, low but clear word by word.

He did not push it toward her immediately. His fingers lingered on the rough paper surface for a moment.

What lay inside was enough to destroy the last illusions a person might have about marriage and her husband.

Even knowing that her heart had long gone cold, personally handing her this knife still stirred a complicated trace of reluctance within him.

Su Wantang's gaze fell on the file bag before lifting to Zhao Chen.

Her eyes were still, like a deep pool reflecting the overhead light, yet their depths could not be seen.

A few seconds later, she reached out and calmly untied the cotton string wrapped around it.

She pulled out the documents and flipped through them page by page.

They were about Lin Wanqing.

Not merely the vague outlines and conjectures from last time. This time, there were photographs, school records, summaries of birth certificates, intricate charts of Fund Flow... all as clear as courtroom evidence.

Three children.

Two sons and a daughter. Their ages, schools, photographs.

The father's name field pointed to the same name in different ways across different documents: Zhao Jianguo.

The final pages contained even colder figures and charts, outlining how assets had silently flowed overseas through layers of trusts and shell companies to support another family.

The sound of turning pages was faint, a soft rustle—the only sound in the silence.

Su Wantang read very slowly, but none of the emotions Zhao Chen had expected appeared on her face—no shock, no anger, not even the most basic sorrow.

She simply read, without so much as furrowing her brow, as if she were reviewing a financial report unrelated to herself.

She could imagine how Zhao Chen had felt when he first saw these documents.

Judging from the ages of the children in the photographs, Zhao Jianguo had already been cheating while Zhao Chen's Mother was bedridden with illness.

And he had even had children.

She read carefully, page after page.

Only after reaching the last page did she gently close the documents and place them back on the Coffee Table, her movements calm enough to be called composed.

Then she raised her head and looked at Zhao Chen. The corner of her lips even curved very faintly, though there was no warmth in that smile.

"More than I guessed."

Her voice was flat, without the slightest tremor.

"That's fine," she continued, her gaze drifting into the distance, settling on empty space.

"The clearer I see it, the more completely that little bit of something that should never have existed in the first place can die. Now, not even ashes need remain."

Without expectations, there could be no disappointment.

She had long cultivated herself to this point.

"What do you plan to do?"

She asked, turning the subject back to Zhao Chen. Her tone regained its usual gentleness, though it now carried a decisive bluntness.

Zhao Chen did not immediately answer her question. Instead, he asked, "After seeing all this, what about you? Have you ever thought about... leaving this place?"

"Leaving?" Su Wantang repeated the word, as though savoring its meaning.

Her gaze refocused on Zhao Chen's face. Those eyes, always warm and hazy like the misty waters of Jiangnan, were now crystal clear as they looked directly at him.

"Xiao Chen," she called softly, her voice light but carrying an unmistakable certainty, "you don't need to test me. I may not understand your capital operations or the ups and downs of the Sea of Commerce, but I'm not foolish."

"Everything you did tonight, every word you said, was not the reaction a panicked, helpless son should have."

She leaned forward slightly, her tone becoming clearer and more resolute:

"Tell me what you need me to do. If divorcing him immediately and publicly tearing things apart would benefit your plans going forward, I can go find a lawyer tomorrow.

If maintaining the identity of his wife and temporarily keeping certain people steady would benefit you more, then I'll continue being 'Mrs. Zhao.' The choice is yours."

Zhao Chen's heart shook violently.

He had anticipated her calmness, her compliance, and even that she might need time to process and decide.

But he had never expected her to be so perceptive, to see straight through the schemes beneath his calm exterior—and, without the slightest hesitation or reservation, hand herself over to him as a chess piece, letting him place her wherever she was most needed on the board.