Chen Luoru was furious so she secretly stomped on Meng Jianchen’s foot with her heel, but he remained unruffled. Her petty antics didn’t even cause a reaction from him.
After breakfast, the father and son left the hotel surrounded by their entourage.
Chen Luoru felt a sense of doom looming over her. If she went back to China, wouldn’t she just become Meng Jianchen’s baby-making machine?
No way was she going to play the role of a dutiful wife and mother for him.
Back in her room, Chen Luoru began packing, ready to make a run for it.
She didn’t actually have much to pack—just a handbag and the clothes she changed out of yesterday.
Her camisole and leather skirt were lying quietly in the wardrobe. As for the last set of underwear—
Chen Luoru cried out in alarm. She had left her underwear hanging in the bathroom last night.
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Yldt Kkydnbld bye tsdl kd vs pbsola—eke vbyv xlyd bl pyo vbyv plv sq zkdtlakl vbyv oyp lhld aynkla vbyd vbl nyxkpszl yde zlyvbla pjkav?
Fbl awpble kdvs vbl cyvbassx sdzu vs qkde vbyv bla wdelaolya oyp ds zsdtla sd vbl aynj.
Gqvla plyanbkdt yaswde, pbl qkdyzzu qswde kv vspple kdvs vbl zywdeau cypjlv wdela vbl pkdj—zkjlzu clnywpl Yldt Kkydnbld eked’v oydv kv vs tlv przypble okvb oyvla.
Ubld Nwsaw’p lyap cwadle ale.
Btb, rlahlav!
Fbl bypvkzu pvwqqle vbl wdelaolya kdvs bla cyt, vbld tayccle y ryka sq pwdtzypplp yde rwv vblx sd.
Ekvb bla cyt kd byde, pbl blyele esod vbl lzlhyvsa yde oyzjle vsoyae vbl bsvlz ldvaydnl—sdzu vs cl pvsrrle cu y byde.
“Yyeyx, oblal yal usw tskdt?”
It was Gao Qian.
Chen Luoru paused, took off her sunglasses, and snapped, “Do I have to report to you wherever I go?”
“Mr. Meng is concerned for your safety,” Gao Qian replied.
Bullshit! It was obviously because Meng Jianchen was afraid she’d slip away.
Even catching her at the bar last night had been part of his setup!
He knew Chen Luoru barely read Gao Qian’s messages. If he really wanted to inform her, he wouldn’t have used that method.
Sending a fake message was just a cover, a way to justify his actions.
If she had known ahead of time that Meng Jianchen was coming to the UK, she would’ve been the first to make a run for it.
In the four years of their marriage, Chen Luoru had pulled these tricks more than once.
Once, when Meng Jianchen said he was coming to see her in the UK, she claimed she was on vacation abroad, not in the country.
When he asked where she was, she told him Morocco.
So he flew to Morocco to find her—when in fact, she was in Norway eating salmon with friends.
After being stood up like that, Meng Jianchen never trusted her again.
Later, she tried the same trick—said she was in the Maldives while actually in Mauritius—but was caught red-handed by Meng Jianchen, who brought people and tracked her down at her hotel in Mauritius.
Since then, Chen Luoru had learned to be more cautious.
Every time she traveled, she made sure not to use his credit cards.
But she still felt she was at a loss—ever since the marriage, her father had cut her allowance by more than half, and traveling cost a lot of money.
No wonder the Beijing elite said the Chen family lacked real substance. Chen Guanglong had basically shifted the cost of raising a daughter onto Meng Jianchen. That kind of stinginess was truly unmatched.
So whenever she was in the UK, Chen Luoru often engaged in “revenge spending,” maxing out Meng Jianchen’s cards—serves him right for always trying to catch her!
Fortunately, Meng Jianchen didn’t have the time or energy to keep playing cat-and-mouse games with her. After returning to China from the U.S., he became even busier, barely able to get away.
Chen Luoru didn’t care much for him. The two of them rarely saw each other—maybe once a year, and only when it was a holiday and she absolutely couldn’t avoid it.
“I’m going out to shop,” Chen Luoru said, shooting a sidelong glance at Gao Qian. He was Meng Jianchen’s close aide and had probably given him no shortage of lousy advice.
That damn man—he leaves and still has to leave a guard dog behind to keep watch on her! she grumbled inwardly.
“Take care, Madam,” Gao Qian said, lowering his arm.
Just as Chen Luoru was about to leave, he added, “Mr. Meng has assigned bodyguards to help you carry things.”
She turned around and saw four tall, strong men in black suits and sunglasses standing behind Gao Qian, hands behind their backs.
Chen Luoru: “……”
She had to revise her inner grumble.
That damn man didn’t just leave a guard dog—he left five!
She had hands! She could carry her own things!
Doing things for yourself was a traditional virtue of the Chinese nation!
With a snort, she put on her sunglasses and walked out.
Sure enough, the four bodyguards followed her like chewing gum—stuck to her and impossible to shake off.
Fine, she thought. If they’re here to carry things, then today she’d make sure they earned their keep. If they didn’t drop from exhaustion, she’d consider it a loss.
Chen Luoru went to Harrods near Hyde Park.
The interior of Harrods was as luxurious as a palace. The massive store could fulfill just about every shopper’s dream.
Starting from the high-end luxury boutiques, Chen Luoru strolled from shop to shop at a leisurely pace.
She was a regular here, and the sales associates (SAs) lit up with joy when they saw her.
She’s here! She’s here with her money again!
The entire store’s staff buzzed around her like spinning tops. She requested a mountain of items, and the clerks rushed to pack everything up.
The store brimmed with a festive air.
The bodyguards exchanged looks as more and more boxes piled into their arms.
They had only occasionally heard Secretary Gao say Madam Meng could spend money. Now all they could think was: seeing is believing.
By mid-afternoon, the bodyguards were already groaning with exhaustion, while Chen Luoru finally got tired herself and sat down for afternoon tea.
The restaurant she chose specialized in Hong Kong–style dim sum—more suited to her tastes than traditional English tea. She ordered scallop shumai, shrimp rice rolls in tofu skin, king crab soup dumplings, and custom-made macarons.
Holding a cup of classic Hong Kong milk tea, she sat in a rattan chair outdoors.
Not far away, the shimmering Thames flowed peacefully, Big Ben stood tall like a solemn soldier, and red double-decker buses drove across Tower Bridge.
Chen Luoru tilted her head back 45 degrees toward the sky, looking just one teardrop short of a tragic heroine.
The Thames could hold 30 million gallons of water, but not all the sorrow in her heart.
Life is precious, love is priceless, and for freedom, both may be given up.
She, about to lose her freedom, was no different from a bird with broken wings.
At this thought, her sadness nearly overflowed like a river.
Afternoon tea should be shared with friends—but sadly, she had no friends around who truly understood her.
She thought of her friend, Chen Xiao, who had already returned to China.
Chen Xiao wasn’t a relative—just a Chinese international student she had met by chance.
Chen Xiao was doing her master’s at the London School of Economics and worked part-time at a luxury boutique to help cover living expenses.
Since Chen Luoru often shopped there, they grew closer. Sharing the same surname, “Chen,” made them feel like long-lost relatives.
With time, they got to know each other well. Chen Luoru left her contact info so Chen Xiao could notify her immediately when new items came in.
Eventually, they became friends. Every time Chen Xiao had to hit a sales target, Chen Luoru would generously step in and help.
Chen Luoru forwarded Chen Xiao the Weibo post she had submitted yesterday, lamenting that she had married the wrong man—even online strangers were furious on her behalf.
Chen Xiao received the message early in the morning while on the subway.
Reading through Chen Luoru’s lengthy rant, she gave the same expression as those elderly uncles on the train squinting at their phones.
She couldn’t help but recall a few things about their friendship.
Chen Luoru spoke with a posh, sweet Oxford-accented English. She was pretty, poised, and always the center of attention.
She spent money without batting an eye—clearly a pampered daughter from a wealthy family.
At first, Chen Xiao admired her. But later, she realized that although Luoru always seemed surrounded by people, she had few real friends.
She had gone to study in Hong Kong at age seven, where local kids were xenophobic and mocked her as a country bumpkin from rural Guangdong.
Later, abroad, she made friends of various nationalities—but rarely any from mainland China. Her background and education made her destined to be lonely.
At seven, most girls were still cuddled up in their parents’ arms. But Chen Luoru had already left home and been cut off from her family’s warmth.
Over the years, lacking affection and love, maybe the only time she felt cared for—even if artificially—was when she threw money at luxury goods.
Poor, sweet girl. You just wanted to hug her.
But the more Chen Xiao got to know her, the more she realized: Chen Luoru wasn’t nearly as pitiful as she seemed.
The truly pitiful one was herself—studying while also working part-time.
Being friends with Chen Luoru required a strong heart. Every day, she got bombarded with messages like:
Chen Luoru: “The new Hermès bags are so pretty. Should I pick blue or orange?”
While Chen Xiao was debating whether to add pickled mustard greens or a tea egg to her instant noodles, she still gave thoughtful advice:
Chen Xiao: “Blue is elegant and classy. Orange is lively and bold. Depends on the style you prefer.”
A moment later, Chen Luoru replied:
Chen Luoru: “Money comes and goes, but beautiful bags are rare. To avoid future regrets—I’ll just buy both.”
And then came the inevitable sigh:
Chen Luoru: “Ugh, making decisions is so exhausting. My life is so hard.”
After many conversations like this, Chen Xiao learned to stop offering sincere advice.
At the end of the day, shopping solved everything. Miss Chen lacked love, not money.
Sometimes Chen Luoru confided in Chen Xiao, and over time, she learned that the credit card Luoru used to shop was actually her husband’s.
“Just my husband in name,” Chen Luoru clarified.
After hearing her whole story, Chen Xiao didn’t know how to comfort her.
Every family has its issues. To be so young and forced into marrying an older man by her family—how tragic.
But when Chen Xiao learned that Chen Luoru’s husband was the heir to Jinghong Holdings, she just wanted to flip her middle finger in outrage.
Ungrateful while living in luxury—if that wasn’t Chen Luoru, who was?
Look at her, this melodramatic drama queen was at it again.
Chen Xiao sneered.
Ten minutes later, she replied with a message summarizing Chen Luoru’s post with full sarcasm and brutal clarity:
“I’ve been married for four years. I’m from the south (Guangdong rich girl), he’s from the north (Beijing elite). He’s six years older. Our marriage was arranged by our families. I had never dated before marrying him (I was only 18, just became an adult). He had a former fiancée he almost married (she got pregnant with someone else’s child and cheated on him).”
“My family is well-off (but still not as rich as his). He was older (only 24 at the time), so he was in a hurry to get married (the invites were already sent, how could he not be?). Under pressure from both families, we married quickly.”
“After marriage, I realized the house he got was tiny (a 2,000 square meter hillside villa on the east extension of Chang’an Avenue, with a pool and private garden), not even half the size of my family’s place (we bought land in Guangdong and built a private estate with a mountain, lake, and golf course—big enough for horseback riding).”
“He never does chores at home (we have 20–30 servants, what chores?), and he’s never given me a single cent (he pays off over a million yuan in credit card bills for me every month—that money goes to the bank, not me).”
“He’s not gentle at all. Avoids touching me if he can. We’ve slept in separate rooms ever since (because I refuse to sleep with him). I’ve tolerated all of this.”
“This year on my birthday, he was out of town and only mailed me a heart-shaped stone (an £8 million pink diamond). I didn’t even see his face.”
“I want a divorce, but my family says I’m being unreasonable and forbids me from even mentioning the word. Dear Roast Master, am I really being unreasonable? (Yes. Yes, I am.)”
Chen Xiao: “Miss Chen Luoru, if you add all this in, do you think netizens will call him a scumbag—or call you a spoiled brat?”
Chen Xiao: “I suspect you didn’t graduate from Cambridge University. You must’ve gone to the Royal Academy of Drama instead.”
Sansukini: This friend is one of the best characters in this novel. They’re not plastic friends, btw. Even when they have a gap in social status, this poor friend never hugged her thighs.
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