Chapter 23.2

Ye Jianzhou looked at Wen Xin as if she were his own granddaughter, his eyes full of warmth and admiration. He kept repeating that from now on, he would make sure to follow the commander and Captain Yan to her house for meals whenever possible.

Such remarkable culinary skills—truly astonishing! Who would have thought? As for Wang Jiajia’s so-called skilled maid, Ye Jianzhou didn’t even bother to entertain the thought. Having eaten twenty years’ worth of bland communal meals, he had long grown sick of them. Even now, when allowed private cooking, the taste still carried the dullness of mass-produced meals—absolutely dreadful.

Wang Jiajia, seeing Ye Jianzhou continuously praising Wen Xin, was visibly displeased. She didn’t want to admit that the Yan family’s “maid” was superior, but having eaten so much herself, she felt embarrassed to argue. Forcing a smile, she turned to Yan Zeyang and suggested, “Brother Yan, your maid is quite decent at cooking crabs. My family received a basket as well, but we’re not sure how to prepare them. How about lending us your maid for the night? She could teach our maid how to make this crab paste. If that’s inconvenient, maybe we could even swap maids for a while? I really want my parents to try her cooking!”

Wen Xin had just finished coaxing little Yan Miaomiao onto the sofa to watch TV when she overheard this ridiculous request.

For a moment, anger flared in her chest.

Did she think a maid wasn’t human? Even servants weren’t ordered around like this! Swap maids? Swap your damn motherf***er!

If the Yan family truly agreed, she would immediately take off her apron and leave! She’d rather walk all the way south than tolerate such nonsense.

Her expression darkened instantly, her pink lips pressed into a tight line. Her dark, fiery eyes locked onto Yan Zeyang, silently daring him to say even a single word in agreement—if he did, she would walk out that door.

Before she could react further, Yan Zeyang’s face turned cold. Ignoring Wang Jiajia, he spoke directly to Ye Jianzhou:

“Commissar Ye, you heard her. Please relay this message to Comrade Wang’s wife: Our maid is a member of our household, and we are not swapping. As for their daughter’s upbringing, I, Yan Zeyang, can’t handle it. Just pretend today never happened, and this request was never made. Take her home.”

As he finished speaking, he threw his napkin onto the table.

In that instant, the once mischievous and carefree military brat revealed his true colors—standing tall, exuding an air of superiority, looking down on the entire situation with an almost disdainful indifference.

Wang Jiajia was utterly stunned.

What… what did she say wrong? She only suggested a simple maid exchange!

Ye Jianzhou, meanwhile, rubbed his temples in frustration. Dammit, he thought. I’ve messed up again. The commander had taken great interest in this dinner, and now Ye Jianzhou would have to explain why it ended in disaster.

And Wang Jiajia? For all her years of education, she still didn’t understand basic respect. No wonder Yan Zeyang was furious, outright rejecting her without giving a damn about the Wang family’s reputation.

In the end, Wang Jiajia ran off in tears.

Throughout the entire ordeal, He Wenyan remained seated, casually sipping her juice, silently observing the spectacle.

This girl was arrogant, rude, and overbearing. She didn’t know when to yield and had no control over her temper. Sure, some men might find that endearing and indulge her whims. But one thing was certain—Yan Zeyang never would.

After all, He Wenyan had lived with her stepson for a year now, and she understood his character well.

Yan Zeyang had endured the darkest two years of the Yan family’s history, learning to conceal his true emotions. But deep down, the innate arrogance of a man raised as a golden child had never disappeared.

As a child, he was called the “Little Tyrant” of the compound. He had long been accustomed to being treated like a prince. Anyone who tried to manipulate him with petty tricks or throw tantrums in front of him was doomed to fail.

And his greatest flaw? His fierce protectiveness.

Take his younger sister, for example. Did he share a deep sibling bond with her? No. She had been sent away at birth, and he had remained in the military. By the time they reunited, their mother was gone, and his sister was only four years old.

Yet, despite barely knowing her, he still protected her fiercely—watching over her even when she annoyed him to death.

Anyone under his wing? He could boss them around, but no one else could touch them.

And Wen Xin? Someone he actually cared about?

For Wang Jiajia, meeting him for the first time and thinking she could take his people away? She must be delusional.

Honestly, she should be grateful he didn’t throw her out on the spot.

…

Outside, under a tree in the courtyard, Yan Zeyang had a cigarette between his lips, the tiny ember glowing in the night.

Ye Jianzhou approached and frowned. “I thought you didn’t smoke?”

“Occasionally,” Yan Zeyang replied.

Ye Jianzhou sighed. “You know, kid, you’ve caused me a lot of trouble. First, you got mixed up with He Yingchang’s son, and now you made Wang Jiajia cry. Is there anyone left in this compound that you haven’t offended? You could at least give them some face. We all live here, after all.”

Yan Zeyang let out a short, disdainful laugh. “Did anyone in this compound speak up for my father when he was in trouble? Do I owe them anything now?”

Ye Jianzhou looked at him helplessly. “You…! If it weren’t for the fact that I used to serve under the commander, do you think I’d still be here dealing with you?”

Yan Zeyang glanced at him but said nothing.

After a pause, Ye Jianzhou carefully asked, “That girl, Wen Xin…?”

“You’re overthinking it,” Yan Zeyang cut him off, frowning as he extinguished his cigarette with his fingers.

“Is there a problem? Family background? Political issues? Do you need me to look into it for you?” Ye Jianzhou had plenty of connections for that sort of thing.

“No need. Let’s go,” Yan Zeyang said flatly. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

Yan Zeyang had already made up his mind. This meeting today was not some trivial affair, but the situation had spiraled out of control.

A wave of irritation welled up inside him, stifling his chest with an oppressive feeling. It was so stifling that he had to step outside to stand beneath a tree, lighting a cigarette to ease his emotions.

As he reentered the courtyard, he saw the warm glow of light spilling from the window. Perhaps due to years of field training, his footsteps were completely silent. When he walked into the living room, he saw Wen Xin, freshly showered, her long hair cascading down, wearing a loose-fitting white top with traditional Chinese frog fastenings and blue pants. She was standing by the bookshelf in the living room, tiptoeing in an attempt to reach a bottle of liquor placed on the upper shelf.

While taking a shower, a wave of dejection had suddenly washed over Wen Xin, making her crave a drink. But there was no red wine in the house—only white liquor on the bookshelf. She had wanted to take it down, pour herself a small glass, mix it to her liking, drink it, and then get a good night’s sleep to forget all her grievances.

But the bottle was placed too high. She was wearing soft blue cloth slippers custom-made by an old craftsman according to her design, making her fair feet look even whiter in contrast.

Just a little bit more. If she were wearing heels, she could have reached it.

But before she could try again, a tall and imposing figure blocked the light in the living room. He reached out effortlessly, took the bottle, and placed it even higher.

Now, there was no way she could get it.

Wen Xin turned around and looked at him.

His gaze swept over her, with a clear warning in his eyes. “What drink are you having, comrade?”

Wenxin’s eyes immediately turned red. “You’re the one acting like a comrade,” she thought, but she remained silent.

“Come here.” The living room was large, so the lighting was soft. He walked to the cabinet opposite the coffee table, opened a door, and took out a first aid kit marked with a cross. As a doctor, He Wenyan’s family was never without a medical kit.

Wen Xin watched as he opened the kit, carefully checking the contents. As someone frequently engaged in field training, he was well-versed in handling external injuries—after all, there were no doctors to bandage wounds in the wild.

He quickly found a bottle.

“Hand.”

Wen Xin hesitated. She didn’t want to apply medicine. That bottle was probably disinfectant. Did they have Yunnan Baiyao^[1]famous traditional Chinese medicine that originated in Yunnan Province, China? Disinfectant on a wound would sting.

Yan Zeyang glanced at her. Her red-rimmed eyes made her delicate skin look even softer.

Seeing that she wouldn’t extend her hand, his expression darkened. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

Her eyes reddened even more. Why was he so fierce? She refused to comply.

Before, he had only glanced at her hand. Now, upon closer inspection, he finally understood why people described women’s skin as “so delicate it could break at a touch.” The hand in front of him was fair and tender, yet just from peeling a few crabs, all five fingers bore varying degrees of red marks. A little more force, and the skin would have torn.

He carefully poured some disinfectant onto her wound. The stinging pain made Wen Xin instinctively try to pull her hand back, but his grip was firm.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she muttered in a small voice, “Are you a demon? You only know how to bully people.”

He ignored her complaint and reached for a white powder bottle from the first-aid kit, sprinkling the medicine onto her wound. Though the wound wasn’t large, it was deep, and exposure to water could easily lead to infection.

Under the warm light, his movements were gentle. His side profile was sharp, his posture upright, his attire neat. His long fingers held her delicate hand, carefully rubbing the medicine into her wounded fingertips. Only after a long pause did he respond with a flat “Mm.”