POTINS 49

Meng Chuan didn’t hand the evidence over to the police immediately.

As he had said—he wouldn’t let Jiang Ming get off easy.

In early April, multiple media outlets simultaneously released negative reports about Jiang Ming. Numerous men and women who had been coerced into relationships with him stepped forward, publicly denouncing Jiang Ming as a complete scumbag in a suit.

The news rapidly went viral online.

Netizens quickly joined the outcry. Zhaobo Technologies was pushed into the spotlight, its reputation severely damaged, and its stock value plummeted.

Huanyu, meanwhile, seized the opportunity to wrest three major projects from Zhaobo’s hands.

Just as Jiang Ming was attempting to use money to suppress the crisis, the media blindsided him with a second bombshell—he was suspected of money laundering.

Over the years, Jiang Ming had repeatedly bought real estate, antiques, and artwork, often throwing money around at auctions. Later, he would resell the items in batches, claiming he had lost interest.

Because of his identity as both entrepreneur and collector, these actions had previously drawn little attention.

But now, the media hinted vaguely that the money used for these purchases likely came from illicit activities.

What kind of illicit activities exactly? No one had confirmed anything yet.

But what was certain was that the amount was massive, and the implicated crimes could only be a few major ones.

Netizens jumped at the chance to speculate and had practically pieced together the truth.

Meng Chuan casually flipped through a few pages of comments, raising his brows slightly. “Are netizens all Sherlock Holmes these days?”

Wen Zhongyi, who had been reading, looked up and took his phone to glance at it, then pointed to the screen and asked, “What do these letters mean?”

Meng Chuan looked down. “Honestly, I’m not sure either.”

There were too many slang terms among younger users. Meng Chuan didn’t usually follow entertainment news and knew little about them.

But Wen Zhongyi was a curious learner. He spent less than twenty minutes with the phone and figured out most of it.

“They’re all acronyms,” Wen Zhongyi explained. Then he added, “It’s actually pretty interesting.”

Meng Chuan looked down at him, gaze lingering on his softly moving lips. He couldn’t help but lean down and kiss him.

Wen Zhongyi pushed him. “Stop messing around. I’m teaching you something.”

Meng Chuan nodded earnestly. “Mm-hmm, I got it.”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t believe him. He gave him a sideways glance. “Then let me test you.”

There was paper and pen at hand, so Wen Zhongyi thought for a moment and wrote a long string of letters, then handed it over mysteriously. “Guess what I wrote?”

Meng Chuan stared at the paper for a long time and truly couldn’t make sense of it. He pointed at the letters and said solemnly, “Meng Chuan is the handsomest and most amazing…”

Before he could finish, Wen Zhongyi gave him a light punch. “Stop making things up. Just guess.”

Meng Chuan grabbed his fist and kissed it, then admitted, “I really don’t know.”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” Wen Zhongyi chuckled.

Meng Chuan heard the teasing in his voice and pretended to lean in for another kiss.

“No kissing,” Wen Zhongyi said, using the paper to cover his face. “I wrote: ‘The sun is beautiful today. Come sunbathe with me this afternoon.’”

Meng Chuan pulled the paper away from his face, looked at the letters again, and slowly repeated the sentence. Sure enough, it matched. He laughed. “Okay.”

Unlike the peaceful air in the bedroom, the public uproar online was quickly intensifying.

After all, it was rare to find someone so vile as Jiang Ming—especially considering how often he’d appeared in the media as a so-called philanthropist.

To mix so seamlessly in important social circles, there were surely many interest ties involved.

That afternoon, while sunbathing with Wen Zhongyi in the courtyard, Meng Chuan received a call from Jiang Ming.

His voice sounded extremely weary. He got straight to the point: “What do you want? Name your price.”

“I want you dead,” Meng Chuan replied cordially. “Can you manage that for me?”

“…”

Jiang Ming exhaled sharply. “I apologize for the car accident. I just wanted the driver to stop the vehicle—you crashing into it wasn’t part of the plan…”

“Don’t bother telling me that,” Meng Chuan interrupted coldly. “The moment you tried to go after Wen Zhongyi, you should’ve known this day would come.”

There was a pause on Jiang Ming’s end. As if offhandedly, he asked, “So he really is pregnant, isn’t he?”

“Don’t go spreading baseless rumors,” Meng Chuan said, not about to fall for it. “The real show’s just getting started, President Jiang—look forward to it.”

He hung up and turned around. At some point, Wen Zhongyi had fallen asleep.

The afternoon sun cast a warm light over him, making his skin glow pale and luminous.

He was dressed in light, comfortable loungewear, covered with a blanket. One ankle stuck out. In his arms, he held a small speaker—he’d just been playing music for little Liu Yi and ended up falling asleep himself.

Meng Chuan walked over quietly and took the speaker from his arms. Wen Zhongyi stirred a little, turned on his side, and, possibly bothered by his glasses, groggily reached up to take them off.

A few strands of black hair fell across his peaceful face. Meng Chuan reached out and brushed them aside, whispering, “Let’s go sleep inside.”

Eyes still closed, Wen Zhongyi mumbled, “…Don’t wanna.”

He liked the feeling of the sun on his body, the scent of flowers and fresh air in the courtyard. The recliner was so comfortable that before long, Wen Zhongyi had drifted into a deep sleep.

At the same time, a news report attempting to expose Wen Zhongyi’s pregnancy was suppressed.

Inside, there are quite a few high-definition photos, including a picture of Wen Zhongyi and Meng Chuan holding hands while walking home, a frontal shot of Wen Zhongyi getting out of Meng Chuan’s car, and a photo of the two entering a private hospital together.

The wind lifted Wen Zhongyi’s coat, and the camera captured this moment, directly focussing on his protruding belly.

Wen Zhongyi has a tall and slender figure, so his stomach appears somewhat protruding.

People’s first reaction is usually that he has a beer belly or that he ate too much. But the news clearly stated the fact that he is pregnant, even without any evidence.

At first glance, it’s obviously Jiang Ming’s work.

Ji Ying had already contacted several media friends as soon as she knew Meng Chuan was going to wage a public opinion war. Now, she is intercepting the news as quickly as possible and calling Meng Chuan.

“A cornered dog will jump over the wall, that’s about it,” Ji Ying said, “Don’t drag Xiao Wen into this.”

“I know,” Meng Chuan said.

This play has indeed reached the point where it should come to an end.

But this is just the first act.

He wants to make Jiang Ming pay blood for blood.

As for the news, Wen Zhongyi didn’t know; Meng Chuan hadn’t mentioned it in front of him.

Pregnancy is already very difficult, and Meng Chuan doesn’t want these matters to disturb Wen Zhongyi’s peaceful state. He feels that as long as Wen Zhongyi remains happy like this, it’s all good, and there’s no need to worry about these things.

Just two days later, while watching TV in the evening, Wen Zhongyi turned on the local channel and saw Jiang Ming, who was down and out.

“Recently, Jiang Ming, the president of Zhaobo Technology, has been subjected to coercive measures due to suspected illegal activities…”

In the footage, Jiang Ming, wearing a black mask and with a noticeable bruise on his eye, is being taken away by the police from the Zhaobo Technology Building.

A crowd of reporters gathered downstairs, the flashes of cameras constantly changing, with sharp questions being thrown one after another. Jiang Ming turned a deaf ear, showing no signs of emotional fluctuation in his eyes, as he stepped down the stairs under police escort.

Wen Zhongyi noticed that his arm was in a cast, and his legs weren’t moving smoothly. Every time he went down a step, his brow would furrow a little more.

“Did you do all this?” Wen Zhongyi looked at Meng Chuan and asked.

“Not the arm.” Meng Chuan was holding a computer and handling documents nearby. He looked up and said, “That was Ji Shu who hired someone to do it.”

The rest is just fine.

Wen Zhongyi reacted: “So you came back late the night before last because of this?”

“Mm.” Meng Chuan didn’t deny it, his fingers flying over the keyboard, speaking casually, “Set him up for an accident and gave him a beating.”

Not only did he beat him up, Meng Chuan used all the brutal torture methods he learnt in Sanka on Jiang Ming.

If it weren’t for the concern about not causing any fatalities, Jiang Ming would have been dead long ago.

Wen Zhongyi glanced at Jiang Ming being taken into the police car on TV and said with a hint of regret, “It’s a pity that carrying a gun is illegal here.”

Meng Chuan smiled and said, “I also think it’s a pity.”

If it were in Sanka, Jiang Ming would definitely not be alive now.

However, the current outcome is somewhat satisfying.

Jiang Ming has already shed tears behind bars, and now there’s still Jiang Ye to deal with.

But Jiang Ye is not like his brother; so far, he has not caused any substantial harm to Wen Zhongyi. Jiang Ye said he was completely unaware of the car accident.

“To be honest, I don’t really believe it,” Meng Chuan said. “And the fact that he keeps running into you by chance is actually intentional. They’ve already sent someone to follow you.”

Wen Zhongyi held a glass of milk and, lost in thought, said, “No wonder I always feel something’s off whenever I meet him.”

The environment will assimilate a person to a certain extent. If it is on a battlefield fraught with danger, Wen Zhongyi will be alert to any changes around him.

But in this peaceful country, Wen Zhongyi had already unconsciously and slowly let down his guard, not even noticing when Jiang Ye sent someone to follow him.

“What does he want to do now?” Wen Zhongyi asked, “Does he want to continue dealing with us like his brother?”

“Who knows?” Meng Chuan said, “Anyway, I won’t let anyone harm you.”

Wen Zhongyi smiled and said, “Actually, I’m not that fragile.”

If it weren’t for being pregnant, who would be hurting whom is still uncertain.

Meng Chuan didn’t want to talk too much about his rival in front of Wen Zhongyi, so he subtly changed the subject: “How’s your back? Do you want me to give you a massage?”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t feel uncomfortable at first, but after he asked, his waist suddenly felt a bit weak.

“Give it a rub.” Wen Zhongyi said, “I’ll go take a shower first.”

It was just about time to go to bed. Wen Zhongyi finished his shower, changed into clean pyjamas, lay on his side in bed, played music for Xiao Liuyi, and enjoyed Meng Chuan’s massage service.

His shirt hem was lifted up, exposing his waist and lower abdomen. The temperature in the bedroom was high, so it wasn’t cold even without clothes. Meng Chuan said it was more accurate this way.

Wen Zhongyi’s belly was swollen, but her back remained smooth and slender. There were no stretch marks on his belly, only a faint line running vertically through his navel.

Meng Chuan’s fingers gently massaged his lower back, recalling the early days of the month when Wen Zhongyi, with his belly protruding, sat on him. Meng Chuan could see the line just by looking down.

Then, some hard-to-describe images floated into his mind. By the time Wen Zhongyi noticed, the clasp of his bra had already been undone.

The bitter coffee pheromones lingering in the room became intense, filled with a certain longing, enveloping Wen Zhongyi within.

Meng Chuan turned Wen Zhongyi’s shoulder, making him lie flat, and lowered his head to meet his eyes.

Wen Zhongyi: “……What do you want to do this time?”

Meng Chuan looked down, swallowed, and said, “I’m a bit thirsty.”

Wen Zhongyi: “……”

“Is it okay?” Meng Chuan asked.

Wen Zhongyi glared at him. “Would it matter if I said no?”

Meng Chuan smiled, picked up Wen Zhongyi and placed him on himself, unbuttoning his pyjamas one by one, then lifted up the loose underwear.

Wen Zhongyi’s breathing quickened. He bit his lower lip, wondering if Meng Chuan’s taste buds were broken.

It tasted awful.

Since the first time he tasted it, every time Meng Chuan leaned in to kiss him, Wen Zhongyi would avoid it.

“……That’s enough.” Wen Zhongyi was already sensitive during him pregnancy, and now he was feeling a bit uncomfortable because of him.

Meng Chuan’s hand, resting on his waist, slowly moved down, slipping into his pyjama pants and precisely finding a certain spot.

Wen Zhongyi’s body trembled, and his upper body leaned forward uncontrollably.

Whenever doing such things, Wen Zhongyi would intuitively feel the difference between Meng Chuan before and after his amnesia.

The amnesiac Meng Chuan would cling to him, asking where the reproductive cavity was, while the Meng Chuan who had regained his memory, although he had never entered his reproductive cavity, knew very well how to make him feel good.

Wen Zhongyi melted in his palm, the bulging belly pressed against Meng Chuan’s chest. Meng Chuan gently kissed his belly, but his fingers pressed down heavily.