Chapter 27: Yaoyao’s Palm Hurts

Wei-shi stood frozen in place, as if she’d just been viciously stung—numb from head to toe.

A ringing filled her ears as she stared dazedly at Xinghua, who was usually so meek and well-behaved. She couldn’t get a single word out.

Yaoyao had never seen Wei-shi like this before. It was a kind of soul-wrenching despair, like her very spirit had been drained, leaving only an empty shell behind.

Seeing Aunt Wei, who usually smiled at her and gave her little gifts, now wiping tears away with a handkerchief, Yaoyao didn’t understand what had happened—but she felt sad along with her.

Her large eyes were locked tightly onto Xinghua’s face. Because of her sorrow and anger, her pupils gleamed like freshly washed jade—cold and crystal clear, like they were coated in a thin layer of frost.

Yaoyao rarely got angry with people. Normally, no matter who spoke to her, she would respond with cheerful giggles.

But now, with one hand on her hip and her brow furrowed, her fair little face flushed red with anger, she said with conviction,
“Aunt Wei is as beautiful as a fairy, and she gave birth to Persimmon Brother who’s also good-looking. But you’re not as pretty as Aunt Wei, and your child won’t be as handsome as Persimmon Brother either!”

Though she was young, when Yaoyao got serious, both her expression and tone carried a maturity far beyond her age. She was calm, composed, and her words came out forcefully, with undeniable weight.

Xinghua hadn’t expected that before Wei-shi could say a thing, she would be scolded by a little girl.

Of course she knew who Yaoyao was—everyone in the manor did. She was the apple of the young heir’s eye right now. But so what? Children were fickle. Who knew how long this favor would last? Maybe one day he’d grow bored of this fat little girl and have her beaten to death.

Xinghua had followed Wei-shi for many years, maturing from a young maid into a grown woman—all for this day.

She wasn’t about to be suppressed by a child.

Curling her lips slightly, Xinghua lowered her eyes with feigned humility and sneered,
“It’s true this servant is not as beautiful as Madam, but the child I bear will surely be healthy!”

Hearing such a humiliating remark, tears gushed from Wei-shi’s eyes like a spring. She was furious, ashamed, and consumed by guilt all at once.

Seeing his wife in distress, the Marquis of Chengming immediately straightened his clothes and stepped forward, trying to comfort her—but she took a step back and avoided his touch.

Red-eyed, Wei-shi said nothing. The marquis didn’t even know where to begin. His mind was a mess, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out,
“Well, who told you not to invite me for dinner?”

Despite the tense situation, he felt wronged.

Ever since Yaoyao arrived at their home, Wei-shi had poured all her attention into the Weirui Courtyard and no longer doted on him the way she used to.

Just the thought that two little children had taken up all of Wei-shi’s love made the marquis suddenly abandon any desire for more sons or daughters.

Xinghua, seeing her provocation was working, raised her voice and shouted,
“Madam! The marquis holds a high and noble title! The rear courtyard can’t be without a proper heir!”

Yaoyao lifted her round little chin. Seeing Wei-shi’s eyes turn even redder, she clenched her tiny fists and darted out from behind Nanny Zhao.

At that moment, Nanny Zhao was too focused on comforting Wei-shi to notice that the little girl had walked straight toward Xinghua.

Xinghua did see Yaoyao approaching, but she didn’t take it seriously.

A chubby little brat—she was lucky the young master fancied her for now and let her eat and drink well. But when he grew tired of her, she’d have nothing.

With a mocking glint in her eyes, Xinghua snorted at Yaoyao.

Yaoyao sensed her contempt, but paid it no mind.

All she could think about was how sad Aunt Wei looked.

Aunt Wei was Persimmon Brother’s mother. If she was sad, then Persimmon Brother would be sad too.

And if Persimmon Brother was sad, then Yaoyao would be sad.

She didn’t speak, but her clear, sparkling eyes were filled with fire.

The faint anger in her gaze landed squarely on Xinghua, who initially felt nothing—but soon her heart trembled with fear.

She was just a little girl. So why did she carry this subtle yet commanding presence that made her feel uneasy?

Yaoyao stretched out her palm and rubbed her little hands together.

Just as Xinghua was about to stir up more discord between the marquis and his wife, Yaoyao suddenly raised her chubby little hand and slapped Xinghua hard across the face.

Smack!

Smack! Smack! Smack!

A flurry of crisp slaps rang out. Yaoyao’s palm stung from the effort, and Xinghua screamed.

Yaoyao silently counted in her heart, reciting the numbers that Xie Yixing had taught her.

Only when she reached ten did she stop and withdraw her hand.

Wei-shi, startled by the sound of the slaps, stopped crying. Her handkerchief froze mid-air, and her lips parted slightly as she stared in disbelief.

The entire room fell silent.

Other than Xinghua’s ragged, angry breathing, no one dared interrupt Yaoyao’s “spell.”

When Yaoyao finally finished, Nanny Zhao—afraid that Xinghua might lash out—quickly pulled Yaoyao in front of her and protectively shielded her with one arm.

Everyone could now clearly see the five distinct chubby finger marks on both sides of Xinghua’s face. Her eyes were wide with humiliation and shock, the rims reddened as blood rushed up.

Xinghua had been prepared to play the victim—if Wei-shi punished her, she planned to spread rumors that the madam was a jealous woman who couldn’t tolerate any other women near the marquis.

But now, Wei-shi hadn’t ordered anything. No accusations, no punishment.

Instead, this fat little girl had barged in and slapped her right across the face.

And the marquis was standing right there!

She couldn’t even retaliate—how could she argue with a child?

She had to swallow this humiliation whole.

Her cheeks burned with pain. Her slim frame trembled from rage and shame.

Before anyone could ask Yaoyao why she did it, tears began to pour from her eyes like strings of broken pearls, hanging from her long lashes, pitiful and heart-wrenching.

She sniffled and cried out,
“Aunt Wei is so kind! How could she bully Aunt Wei!”

Her pale little face was flushed red from holding back her tears. Even the Marquis of Chengming couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.

Hearing Yaoyao cry, Xie Yixing, who had been standing quietly in the courtyard, immediately lost his composure and stepped over the threshold.

Xinghua, still kneeling, gasped when she saw him. Her heart filled with panic and resentment.

She was the one who had been slapped—yet the girl was the one crying? How was this her fault now?

Unwilling to accept defeat at the hands of a child, she opened her mouth to defend herself—but froze under the icy gaze coming from the doorway.

Xie Yixing walked straight in and took Yaoyao from Nanny Zhao’s arms, ignoring everything else as he cradled her in his own.

He gently wiped the tears from her cheeks with his long, slender fingers.

Her hot tears scalded his fingertips.

His dark eyes, already stormy, now blazed with fury.

Then he saw the red marks on Yaoyao’s palm—and his expression darkened even further.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his breath heavy.

Nestled in his arms like a soft, obedient little bunny, Yaoyao raised her chubby little hand and said pitifully,
“Yaoyao hurts. Persimmon Brother, blow on it.”

When she scraped her knee before, her mother would blow on it to make the pain go away.

Under her pleading gaze, Xie Yixing didn’t hesitate. He gently blew on her hand twice, then turned his head ever so slightly—his gaze landing on Xinghua.

His eyes were like blades of ice—cold, cruel, and deadly.

Xinghua’s blood turned cold. In a panic, she blurted out,
“Y-Young Master, this servant didn’t bully Miss Yaoyao! It was Miss Yaoyao who hit me!”