Everyone walks into a bar with a different purpose—some seek amusement, others crave the noise and the crowd, some simply want to drown in alcohol, and a few come hunting for a fleeting romance. But the moment Wen Nuan appeared, most men forgot why they had come in the first place. Now, they shared only one goal:
The chase.
One can grow accustomed to roses, but it's only after encountering the delicate fragrance of lilies that one realizes what the heart truly longs for.
More captivating still was the fact that this woman clearly came from wealth. Her attire and phone were modest, her spending seemed unremarkable—yet the Cartier bracelet on her wrist told another story entirely.
Men often indulge in the fantasy that a goddess will descend into their lives—beautiful, affluent, and utterly enamored with them. Even if she doesn't bankroll their existence, at the very least, she won't become their burden.
Men are ever brimming with inexplicable confidence, especially when under the influence of alcohol.
Many had already tried and failed to strike up a conversation with her. Yet the lily sat alone at the bar, quietly sipping glass after glass of expensive red wine, oblivious to the bartender's flair and showmanship. All she wanted from him was to keep her glass filled.
The more Wen Nuan drank, the more anger simmered within her. How could she, in such a pitiful state, still be thinking of Han Qian? Apart from being a decent cook, tidy with chores, a meticulous laundress, sharp-minded, and admittedly handsome—what other virtues did he possess?
And yet, this man had dared to suggest divorce.
Han Qian had the audacity to cast her aside?
Tipsy and fuming, Wen Nuan failed to notice that Lin Zongheng—the man she was supposed to be angry about—hadn't even crossed her mind.
"Wine doesn't intoxicate the heart—the heart intoxicates itself. Good evening, beautiful, may I have the honor of buying you a drink?"
She'd lost count of how many had come to bother her. All Wen Nuan wanted was to drink in peace. She turned to glance at this man, clad head to toe in designer labels, clearly around forty, and frowned as she asked:
"Do you earn a six-figure salary? Wear a watch worth over a million? Have a high-ranking official in your family? Do I look like I need your drink?"
The man offered a wry smile and turned away. He understood—this woman wasn't asking; she was making a statement. She had all those things already.
Just as Wen Nuan was about to leave, another man appeared—much younger, perhaps twenty-three or twenty-four. Dressed in trendy fashion, with white-dyed hair and frameless glasses, he lacked even the pretense of the previous man's elegance. Without a word, he reached for her. Wen Nuan frowned and dodged, grabbing her phone to leave.
But street punks like him don't give up easily. He spread his arms, blocking her path, his eyes scanning her with lewd delight.
"Come on, babe, don't be like that. Everyone's watching. Just come over for a drink, yeah? A pretty girl like you alone at a bar—how lonely. What could an old man possibly know about our world? Those legs of yours… mind if I get a feel?"
"Get lost."
The words left her lips as she flung her drink into his face. The man, humiliated, looked ready to strike—but his raised hand was caught mid-air.
A newcomer had arrived.
He was short, maybe five foot nine, but immensely overweight—easily over 240 pounds. His round face and cherubic features gave him an oddly endearing look. He clutched the punk's wrist and sneered.
"Zhang Haowei, roughing people up in here? You want to be dragged out? Not every woman is yours to mess with, got that?"
Seeing the commotion, Zhang Haowei's friends started toward them. But the chubby man didn't flinch. With a twist, he tossed Zhang Haowei aside and turned to Wen Nuan with a gentle smile.
"Sis-in-law, what're you doing here alone?"
Wen Nuan blinked through her drunken haze, tilting her head in confusion.
"Han Qian's brother?"
"Sworn brother. Ma Kexin's the name. This bar's co-owned by my uncle's sister. I'm here often. You drove here? That's not safe this late, especially with those bastards lurking around. I already called Qian-ge—he should be here soon. Just wait a bit, okay?"
Han Qian is coming?
Panic fluttered in Wen Nuan's chest. She stood up unsteadily, desperate to leave. The more she tried to stay away from him, the more fate seemed to entangle them. But Zhang Haowei and his group refused to let her go, shouting for an explanation. Ma Kexin scowled, grabbed a chair, and barked at them:
"You bunch really want to test me tonight? Hua, go upstairs and tell the guys to stop playing—some idiots are looking for trouble."
Zhang Haowei and his crew understood the implications immediately. They exchanged glances and began backing off.
Ma Kexin's voice rang out once more:
"My sis-in-law's uncle is with the city's public security bureau. Don't even think about keying a car out of spite. Think you can afford the damages here?"
The gang slinked away, visibly spooked. The older man from earlier, disappointed his damsel-in-distress moment never came, lingered in hopes of seeing who this lily truly belonged to.
Wen Nuan stumbled toward the exit. Ma Kexin followed at a respectful distance—never touching, never allowing others to draw near. He was the only one among Han Qian's friends who knew Wen Nuan's worth—literally. Everything she wore, everything she carried, was of value.
Just as she was about to reach the door, she collided into someone—a man entering the bar. He caught her instinctively, lifting her into a princess carry. It was Han Qian.
Ma Kexin grinned and turned away, while the onlookers finally understood—the lily had been claimed.
"You've been drinking? And you drove here? What if Kexin hadn't been around tonight—have you thought about what could've happened? And what's with covering your face?"
Cradled in Han Qian's arms, Wen Nuan hid her face behind trembling fingers, not wanting him to see her like this. Han Qian, exasperated, turned to leave—only to be stopped by the same older man.
"You can't take her away. Her safety is my responsibility."
Han Qian had dropped everything and rushed over the moment he heard she was at the bar. Seeing her like this only stoked his fury further. Now this man dared to block his path?
Han Qian's eyes narrowed.
"She's my wife. Her safety isn't your concern. And let's not pretend—this isn't the place for moral posturing."
The man remained calm, offering a faint smile.
"Who can prove she's your wife?"
Han Qian looked down at the drunken woman in his arms, lips curving into a smirk. He reached into his pocket and flung a document at the man.
"Even a divorced husband is more legitimate than a stranger like you. And one more thing—keep your eyes where they belong."
"Ah, former spouses. My apologies. Here's my card—perhaps we can be friends?"
"No thanks. I don't want anyone hovering around my ex-wife. If you really care, do me a favor—pick up that divorce certificate."
Just outside the bar, the wind hit them—and Wen Nuan threw up all over Han Qian.
For a moment, he nearly lost it.
"I should drag you to my mom right now—let her see what you've become after our divorce! Give me your car keys!"
Wen Nuan groggily stared at him and mumbled:
"She's my mom, not yours."
"Oh, so I should take you back to your mom, then? You didn't even bring your keys—were you planning on not going home?"
Han Qian's voice rose—he was truly angry now.
Wen Nuan shrank in his arms like a child caught misbehaving. A quiet sob soon followed.
"Han Qian... I don't have a home anymore. My mother sold my apartment."