Transmigrated into the body of the vicious first wife of a fallen prime minister

Qi He couldn't stand the atmosphere in the car any longer, so she got out of the car on her own.

Shang Jue feigned ignorance, but a slight raise of his eyebrows betrayed his mischievousness: "Why did you get out of the car?"

You know perfectly well what you're asking, you bastard!

Qi He stubbornly refused to admit it, his eyes darting ahead as he said in a pretentious tone, "The night is long, I want to wander around."

Shang Jue remained silent for a moment, without replying.

Qi He immediately changed the subject, taking the initiative: "So what are you doing down here?"

Shang Jue paused, then raised his eyebrows slightly: "The night is long, I'd like to accompany you for a walk."

Qi He felt that the heat that had just subsided on her face was about to return.

That bastard was quite good at talking today...

Since he's said that, should I...agree?

Otherwise, it would make me seem guilty.

"Hmph, your legs are your own, why are you telling me?"

......

The snow outside had stopped for a while, and they happened to stop at a small street corner, where a few stalls selling hot soup and roasted chestnuts were scattered along the roadside.

Qi He's stomach growled loudly, and she looked longingly at Shang Jue, pointing to the steaming soup stall: "I'm hungry, I want to eat that."

Having transmigrated into this book for more than half a year, Qi He was kept like a precious sparrow in a brocade garden every day, and the number of times she ate street food could be counted on one hand.

It's one thing to not see them on ordinary days, but the moment you see them, your taste buds are reminded of the sweet and glutinous aroma of roasted chestnuts and the sizzling umami flavor of hot soup.

Shang Jue found the nearest stall, and Qi He followed him excitedly.

When he bought chestnuts, Miss Qi, with her big eyes and small belly, urged, "I want the biggest bag! I want the biggest one!"

In her opinion, bigger is always better, even with gemstones, she would choose the biggest one.

Shang Jue ignored her, picked out a bag that was neither too big nor too small, paid the bill, and went to choose hot soup.

Qi He was sullen for a moment because she couldn't buy the largest bag of chestnuts, but the aroma of the hot soup dispelled her anger before she could even gather it.

The soup bowl was no bigger than the palm of her hand, but Qi He insisted that the stall owner add more than ten pieces of ingredients and also asked him to ladle more soup.

The stall was run by a young couple who seemed quite efficient and were very welcoming to customers like Qi He who could eat a lot.

Shang Jue bought two bowls of soup, and Qi He's bowl clearly had several more ingredients than his.

Qi He sat on a low stool, happily waiting for Shang Jue to remove the ingredients from the bamboo skewers for her.

She took a few bites and put down her chopsticks. Shang Jue looked up and asked, "If it's so good, why only a few bites?"

Qi He said modestly, "I'm afraid of getting fat."

Shang Jue looked her up and down, but couldn't see where she had gained weight.

"You're not fat," he commented honestly.

"What do you know? The flesh grows in places you can't see." Qi He said confidently.

She hasn't been to the martial arts gym for the past few days, and the faint, almost imperceptible abs on her waist and abdomen are almost gone again!

"Oh?" Shang Jue drawled, "Where do they grow, in places we can't see them?"

Qi He muttered, "On my waist, on my stomach, there are so many."

Her waist was so thin that Shang Jue felt he could almost wrap his hand around it.

Shang Jue slowly stirred the ingredients in his bowl: "I don't feel anything."

Qi He replied matter-of-factly, "Of course you didn't feel it, since you've never touched it."

Shang Jue scooped up a fish ball: "Are you inviting me to try it?"

Qi He immediately shut up, pretending I hadn't said anything.

shameless.

She picked up a fish cake and stuffed it into Shang Jue's mouth: "Eat more. Your mouth is for eating, not for being mean to others."

She pushed her unfinished bowl of food over to him, lowered her head to flip through her sketchbook, and ignored him completely.

Flipping through the picture book was just a pretense; as she flipped through it, she secretly glanced at Shang Jue out of the corner of her eye.

To be honest, if Shang Jue didn't speak, his appearance would indeed be impeccable.

His skin tone was a cool, pale white, unlike Qi He's delicate white. It was a cool, aloof white, and today he was wearing a dark black robe, which made his brows and eyes appear even more stern.

Shang Jue doesn't wear glasses often. Qi He has seen him wearing those tortoiseshell-rimmed sunglasses a few times when he's looking at account books. A thin silver chain hangs down his cheek, making him look much more composed than when he's not wearing them.

As Qi He looked at the portrait, a thought suddenly popped into her mind: Why not secretly draw a portrait of him?

The urge grew stronger and stronger; I absolutely had to draw it.

She observed that Shang Jue was looking down and drinking soup, so he shouldn't have noticed.

Qi He opened the sketchbook, pretending to sketch a street scene, but actually secretly aimed the pen tip at Shang Jue and quickly made a few strokes.

But feeling guilty, she pressed her brush too hard, and the ink smeared onto the paper, blurring Shang Jue's face.

Qi He froze, almost wanting to bury herself in that bowl of hot soup right then and there.

How many times will this happen, where the effort backfires?

I feel like my IQ has been declining because I've been playing the role of Miss Qi for too long.

"Are you drawing me?" Shang Jue glanced at the sketchbook she hurriedly closed, his voice carrying a hint of understanding.

Qi He, with her neck stiffened, said matter-of-factly, "So what if I drew it?"

It had the air of "I've drawn it, what can you do about it?"

Shang Jue's lips curled up almost imperceptibly, and he drew out his words, "Why can't you get enough of looking at it during the day? You even want to draw it again to look at at night?"

Qi He's ears burned at his words: "Who stole your drawing? Don't flatter yourself!"

"Oh, so that's what we'll be looking at tonight," Shang Jue added casually.

Qi He retorted angrily, "Who wants to watch at night! You're the one who wants to watch at night!"

Shang Jue paused for a moment, then suddenly lowered his voice: "Then can I draw one for you?"

Qi He was taken aback.

Shang Jue's voice was gentler than usual: "I'll take it back and look at it secretly at night."

Qi He's ears burned even hotter. She muttered something like, "Who asked you to peek?" but still dragged her low stool over to his side.

Shang Jue took out a sketchbook from his pocket, casually flipped to a page, and was about to start drawing when Qi He quickly stopped him: "Is this how you draw?"

Shang Jue asked, puzzled, "Otherwise what?"

Qi He was speechless. What kind of straight-man drawing style is this?

Those skills are worse than the stick figures I drew myself!

She couldn't help but feel a little suspicious. Did that bastard just want to make her look ugly?

That's absolutely vicious!

In the end, it was Qi He who wrote it.

She drew more than one, because Qi He was not satisfied with any of them. She felt that the hair bun was drawn crooked, the folds of the clothes were not arranged properly, or the expression was too stiff.

Shang Jue felt that these paintings were all similar, all stick figures.

After selecting a few satisfactory ones, Qi He carefully put each painting into her sleeve.

Shang Jue finished the remaining soup, stood up, and went to throw away the bowl.

As Qi He watched his retreating figure, a thought struck her, and she picked up her pen to add another quick sketch of his back.

What did this dog eat to grow up like that?

He's almost 1.9 meters tall, isn't he?

......

After New Year's Day, Juxian Trading Company was extremely busy.

Shang Jue used to come home late, but lately he's been staying at the shop for the past few days.

Qi He's favorite martial arts school suddenly announced that it would be closing for a while, as the owner was going back to his hometown for the Chinese New Year and was rushing to renovate.

During this downtime, she could only stay at home and wait for the martial arts gym to reopen. The weather had also gotten cold, and she could no longer even practice high diving.

She didn't plan to look for another place, fearing that she would leave too many traces and that Shang Jue would find her if she ran away later.

In the days that followed, Miss Qi's schedule consisted of one banquet after another. Later, she became too lazy to even attend banquets and simply stayed indoors, spending her days reading a few books in the hall to pass the time.

After being idle for most of the week, Qi He was awakened by a noise in the courtyard one night.

She got up, put on her coat, and looked out the window. She saw Shang Jue standing wearily in the small kitchen, pulling open the cupboard and rummaging through something. He probably hadn't eaten anything that evening.

Miss Qi has always been a woman who never lifts a finger in the kitchen. Her meals are all prepared by the cook on a regular schedule, and only as much food as she needs is cooked, so there is never any leftover food on the stove.

Shang Jue searched everywhere but found nothing. He hadn't been back for several days, and they hadn't even run out of rice or flour.

Qi He stood there watching from afar, and for some reason, a strange sense of guilt arose in her heart.

This guilt reached its peak when he saw Shang Jue sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard, slowly sipping his tea.

His face was paler than usual, with a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, and his other hand was unconsciously pressed against his abdomen, as if he was enduring something.

Qi He watched for a while, and seeing that he still didn't get up, but instead sat on the stone bench for a long time, so long that she felt something was wrong.

Why sit outside when there's a house to rest in?

She went downstairs, her steps a little faster than usual.

Upon entering the courtyard, Shang Jue was already leaning against the stone table with his eyes slightly closed and his brows furrowed.

Qi He squatted down beside him: "Shang Jue?"

He opened his eyes, his voice a little hoarse: "Did I wake you?"

"No," Qi He denied instinctively. "I slept too much during the day, so I'm not sleepy at night. Are you feeling unwell?"

She sat down on the stone bench beside him. "You don't look well. Should we call a doctor to take a look?"

It's the middle of the night, and the doctor should be resting, but it's not that we can't call him.

Shang Jue shook his head: "It's nothing, just bear with it and it will pass."

"How can you bear the pain?" Qi He frowned.

She was annoyed by Shang Jue's dismissive attitude, and for some reason, she felt both anxious and frustrated.

It was at this moment that she remembered that hot soup and ginger and jujube tea could warm the stomach.

Qi He remembered that she had them at home, so she got up and went to the small kitchen, found the red dates and ginger that were prepared, and also found a piece of brown sugar. She then started a fire and boiled a bowl of hot ginger and date soup.

The cook changes the ingredients daily to ensure they don't spoil.

She estimated that it was almost done cooking, so she poured it into a bowl and carefully brought it to Shang Jue.

"Drink it while it's hot, it won't be good once it's cold." She turned around with the bowl in her hand and realized that Shang Jue had been staring at her for a long time.

Qi He felt a little uncomfortable under that gaze. Was there something on her face?

Or is it strange that she makes soup?

Does that bastard think she can't even make a proper soup?

Forget it, the patient's condition is the priority, I won't argue with him.

"What are you looking at me for? Drink up!" she urged.

Shang Jue didn't reach out to take it, so Qi He simply held the bowl to his lips and fed him a sip.

"How is it?" she asked nervously.

Shang Jue paused for a moment: "It's a little hot."

Qi He suspiciously took the bowl back and sipped it. The temperature was just right, and she had watched the heat carefully.

Could it be that Shang Jue is ill, and even his sense of taste has become dulled?

"It's not hot anymore." Shang Jue lowered his eyelashes and slowly drank the rest of the soup from the rim of the bowl she had just drunk from.