Chapter 23: Longevity Noodles

Xie Yixing remained unmoved by Imperial Chef Shen’s pleas for mercy. His heart and eyes were filled only with the sight of Yaoyao’s falling tears.

The sadder Yaoyao cried, the colder the little heir’s face became.

Imperial Chef Shen knelt on the ground, his aged bones trembling as if they might fall apart. Yet the little heir still wore a black, stormy face.

Caiwei looked at Imperial Chef Shen with sympathy, suddenly feeling like a few more strands of white hair had sprouted on both sides of his temples.

When Imperial Chef Shen first came to the marquis’ residence, his long hair had been jet black and glossy from care.

But in just two years, half of it had turned white, and the remaining half looked like it wouldn’t last much longer.

After spending half a lifetime walking on eggshells in the palace, he had never imagined that he would encounter someone even harder to serve once he left.

Luckily, Caiwei quietly reminded him,
“Imperial Chef, Miss Yaoyao has been craving crispy candy lately…”

Imperial Chef Shen, being a sharp man, immediately realized—it wasn’t the young heir he needed to beg for mercy from, but the young heir’s dearest favorite.

As long as he could coax Yaoyao into happiness, the young heir wouldn’t hold a grudge against him.

“Crispy candy! As it happens, the kitchen has some. I just made a fresh batch this morning. Originally, I planned to wrap them up as treats for the children during New Year. I didn’t expect Miss Yaoyao to want some—I’ll go fetch it right away!”

Logically, Yaoyao would usually stop crying immediately at the mention of something tasty.

Especially crispy candy—if it weren’t for Xie Yixing limiting her intake out of fear for her teeth, she could eat half a plate in a single afternoon.

But this time, upon hearing the words “crispy candy,” Yaoyao became even more upset.

Her tears fell like a string of pearls, clattering to the ground. Though they landed silently, each drop hit the little heir’s heart with the weight of a thousand pounds.

Imperial Chef Shen saw that the situation was clearly going downhill, and slipped away as fast as he could.

Though he had only been in the residence for two years, he had heard plenty of stories about how the young heir punished servants.

Every servant who had been disciplined by him became a hot topic of gossip in the household. Imperial Chef Shen had no intention of becoming the next.

Seeing that Yaoyao was crying even harder, Caiwei was just about to step forward and wipe her tears when Xie Yixing beat her to it, scooping Yaoyao into his arms to comfort her.

Yaoyao burrowed her head into his chest. Feeling his body warmth, her emotions slowly began to settle.

Caiwei saw Yaoyao’s face—red like a pomegranate seed—and all the sympathy she had for Imperial Chef Shen instantly vanished. She even felt a twinge of guilt.

It was all her fault for talking too much with that old foodie. The man never knew when to keep his mouth shut and ended up making Miss Yaoyao cry for nothing.

Yaoyao cried until she was exhausted, her body going limp.

She was like a soft glutinous rice ball nestled in Xie Yixing’s arms, murmuring quietly,
“Mother promised Yaoyao she would make longevity noodles for my birthday. But she lied. Mother really doesn’t want Yaoyao anymore.”

At once, a ghostly cold gleam surfaced in the little heir’s obsidian-like eyes. So that’s why she’d been so gloomy lately—because of her family?

They had abandoned her, and yet she still missed them?

The young heir pressed his thin lips together. A bone-chilling aura spread from him in an instant. The air turned so cold and oppressive even Caiwei didn’t dare step near.

Meanwhile, Imperial Chef Shen—who had returned with the crispy candy—saw from afar the servants standing outside the Weirui Courtyard all backing away, and suddenly grew frightened.

This time, the young heir was truly angry.

He was doomed.

More than anything, Imperial Chef Shen feared ruining his reputation at this old age. After some consideration, he decided to drop the candy and flee from the marquis’ residence.

Just as he had packed half of his belongings, a knock came at the door. Caiwei’s anxious voice followed:
“Imperial Chef Shen, why haven’t you brought the crispy candy yet?”

Crispy candy?

He wasn’t about to worry about that now—his life was at stake.

Outside the door, the young heir heard the commotion inside and his already sour expression grew darker.

Caiwei caught a glimpse of his face from the corner of her eye and immediately started knocking harder.

In her heart, she grumbled that Imperial Chef Shen truly had aged—so slow! It had already taken him half an hour to get the candy, and now he couldn’t even open the door promptly?

Inside the room, Imperial Chef Shen had just slung a large bag over his shoulder and was holding his family heirloom as he opened the door.

He looked down and came face-to-face with a pair of eyes cold as sharpened blades. He instinctively stumbled back and slammed the door shut.

After a moment, he opened the door again—only to find those same black eyes staring fixedly at him, unblinking.

He must have been seeing things due to his failing old eyes. Let’s try again.

Then Caiwei called from outside,
“Imperial Chef Shen, the young heir is looking for you.”

The rumors he had heard instantly filled his mind. Substituting himself into those stories, his soul nearly shattered from fright.

So the young heir had come to settle the score?

Before Caiwei could finish her sentence, Imperial Chef Shen fainted on the spot like a sheet of paper blown over by the wind.

After diagnosis by the residence physician, the conclusion: excessive fright—he had scared himself unconscious.

The residence doctor stuck two acupuncture needles into him, and Imperial Chef Shen slowly regained consciousness.

He opened his eyes in a daze, thinking he was on his way to meet the King of Hell. But when he turned his head, he saw a well-dressed young man standing by the bed.

Xie Yixing had always been fussy about cleanliness and disliked the room, but for Yaoyao’s sake, he endured it and stayed.

When Imperial Chef Shen got a good look at that devilishly handsome face, his expression twisted in disbelief.

What? Did the King of Hell share a face with the young heir?

Before he could faint again from fright, Caiwei quickly pinched the philtrum under his nose, painfully jolting him awake.

Once he came to his senses, Xie Yixing finally stepped forward. His expression remained unchanged as he spoke in a cold tone:
“I want to learn how to make longevity noodles.”

Imperial Chef Shen: “?”

He had served in the residence for two years, always hearing about what the young heir disliked eating or using, but never once had he heard what the young heir liked—or wanted to do.

To confirm whether this was a hallucination, Imperial Chef Shen raised his bony hand and pinched his own face hard.

Ouch. It hurt. Guess he wasn’t seeing things.

He opened his mouth slightly in shock.
“Young Master, who do you want to make longevity noodles for?”

He remembered the young heir’s birthday was in March. The marquis and his wife’s birthdays weren’t this month either. And the young heir didn’t even like noodles!

Xie Yixing still wore a straight face, but when he mentioned “Yaoyao,” his eyes sparkled brightly.

When Madam Wei heard that her son had entered the kitchen, she immediately put down her abacus and didn’t even bother grabbing her warming hand stove before rushing to the back courtyard.

With the New Year approaching, she didn’t want any accidents in the marquis’ residence.

Imperial Chef Shen was a cook she had painstakingly recruited. For the past two years, he had been solely responsible for Xie Yixing’s meals. Other than the dishes Shen made, Xie Yixing refused to eat anyone else’s cooking.

It was partly her fault too. When she first heard that Chef Shen had upset Yaoyao, she hadn’t taken it seriously, thinking it was just a joke among the servants.

She didn’t expect the situation to escalate to the point where her son personally stepped in.

The kitchen was full of dangerous utensils. If he hurt someone—or himself—how would the marquis’ household get through the New Year?

As Madam Wei rushed to the back kitchen of Weirui Courtyard, she saw Caiwei standing at the door. Without stopping to ask, she hurriedly pushed inside.

Clutching her handkerchief nervously, she was just about to speak when she looked up—and saw her son with his sleeves rolled up, kneading dough.

Xie Yixing’s usually fair face was dusted with flour, and even his clothing wasn’t spared.

Normally, he couldn’t even tolerate a single speck of dust. Yet now, he was kneading dough with bare hands?

Was she dreaming?

Madam Wei clutched her chest in disbelief. Behind her, Nanny Zhao had the same expression.
“Madam, I must truly be getting old—I thought one of the kitchen lads looked just like the young master. Funny thing is… he really does look like him!”