Watching Hei Meilu across the table trying (and failing) to mask his sour expression, Ye Qingju happily popped another piece of meat into her mouth.
【This guy definitely thought I'd sit next to him and, with Qi Weiran right there, try to pull some bold moves under the table and flip the power dynamic.】
Qi Weiran’s hand paused mid-motion. A chopstick slipped through his fingers and clattered to the floor, echoing sharply through the otherwise quiet dining room.
Ye Qingju, putting on a performance of dainty concern, shifted as if to pick it up—but after several seconds of wriggling in place, she still hadn’t bent down.
【What’s wrong, old man? Too frail to hold chopsticks now?】
Before either of the two could act, Auntie Zhang quickly knelt down and retrieved the fallen utensil.
Qi Weiran ignored the smug voice echoing in his mind and instead watched Auntie Zhang’s face closely as she picked it up.
Nothing unusual under the table.
With that confirmed, he calmly returned his focus to his meal.
One of them was his wife—the legal keyholder to his inheritance.
The other, a high-priced private tutor he’d hired himself.
There was no way in hell he’d let a situation unfold where he paid someone to cuckold him.
Across the table, Hei Meilu’s eyes flashed with barely hidden disdain.
So this was Qi Weiran? Supposedly intimidating—but in reality? Not so impressive.
Couldn’t even hold his chopsticks steady.
Auntie Zhang, handing over a new pair, looked apologetic.
“It’s that damn design—too slippery.”
“Then don’t buy from that brand again, Auntie Zhang,” Qi Xinian chimed in helpfully. “Total garbage.”
Even the ever-silent Zhang Wei pushed up his sunglasses and added,
“It’s a Wang Group product. I’ll inform Assistant Wan to cut all contracts with them.”
Qi Weiran nodded slightly. His lips parted, just about to speak—
【It’s getting chilly. Time for the Wang Group to go bankrupt~】
Ye Qingju, face full of righteous indignation, looked like she was taking a moral stand on his behalf.
Qi Weiran: “...”
“Eat.”
That one word shut everyone up immediately.
Hei Meilu was stunned by the seamless coordination.
So this… this was the power of old money?
A single pair of chopsticks… what did it ever do wrong?
Dinner ended early, well before bedtime.
Hei Meilu, eager to prove his worth as a world-class tutor, proposed a talent demonstration from Qi Xinian—like reciting a poem he’d just learned.
Qi Xinian was visibly excited by the idea.
Ye Qingju, having overheard the suggestion, found herself deep in thought.
Maybe the reason Qi Weiran doesn’t like this little bun is that he’s too mature.
She remembered the orphanage she grew up in—how adoptive families always preferred the polite, sweet-talking kids who knew how to act adorable.
Kids who are too self-aware don’t get candy.
(t/n: A Chinese saying suggesting precocious children are often overlooked or punished.)
It wasn’t just a phrase—it was lived truth.
“Xinian,” Ye Qingju called gently.
Seeing her, Hei Meilu’s eyes lit up. He bent slightly to murmur to the boy,
“Your aunt’s calling. Go on, now.”
He even flashed a gentlemanly smile.
Too bad Ye Qingju didn’t spare him a single glance.
Xinian trudged over reluctantly.
“What is it?”
She crouched down and asked quietly,
“Are you going to perform?”
Qi Xinian puffed out his cheeks, eyes wide like two black grapes.
“You were eavesdropping!”
Ye Qingju wasn’t in the mood to argue. She got straight to the point:
“Do you want Qi Weiran to like you?”
The little bun stared back as if thinking, Isn’t that obvious?
“Then you can’t recite a poem,” she said seriously.
Xinian frowned. “Why not?”
He was still young, but Ye Qingju didn’t want to patronize him.
She patiently explained:
“If you perform perfectly, Qi Weiran will feel confident leaving you in Mr. Hei’s care. He’ll come home even less.”
“Because he’ll think you’re such a capable kid that he doesn’t need to worry about you.”
Panic flashed across the little boy’s face. He grabbed her sleeve, voice trembling:
“I don’t want that.”
Ye Qingju stroked his soft hair.
“Then listen to me.”
She leaned down and whispered something into his ear.
Xinian hesitated, then asked in his syrupy voice,
“Are you sure?”
Ye Qingju nodded firmly.
Hei Meilu, watching them from a distance, felt a twist of jealousy in his chest.
He wanted to lean in and whisper secrets with the pretty lady too.
In the living room, Qi Weiran was watching the evening news.
Hei Meilu came over and made his proposal.
Qi Weiran glanced at the small, soft-eyed child beside him, then gave a nod.
Ye Qingju also walked over, lowered her head sweetly, and asked if she could watch as well.
With outsiders present, Qi Weiran had no intention of being mocked for pettiness.
He nodded again.
“Begin,” he said hoarsely. His voice—deep, low, all bass—sent a wave of envy crashing over Hei Meilu.
Qi Xinian cleared his throat, arms at his sides, standing upright before Qi Weiran.
Everyone looked at him expectantly.
And then, in his high-pitched, earnest little voice, he began:
“Love you walking alleys all alone—
Love your pride that won’t be overthrown—
Love you defying every doom,
Still standing tall in every room!”
(t/n: These lyrics mimic the structure and tone of a popular Chinese power ballad, often overly dramatic and emotional.)
The child’s impassioned wail thundered through the Qi estate.
And the one suffering most from the sonic assault?
Qi Weiran—squarely in the blast zone.
“…”
This kid was officially tone-deaf.
He raised a hand to signal the child—who was now singing with tear-filled eyes—to stop.
Qi Weiran rose in the sudden, deathly silence.
He stepped in front of Hei Meilu, who looked as stunned as if he’d been slapped by a Beethoven concerto.
His voice, cold enough to flake ice from the air, dropped:
“Don’t bother coming back tomorrow. I’ll settle today’s payment.”
Hei Meilu’s face turned ghost-white.
His hand twitched, as if he wanted to protest, but his pride—what was left of it—wouldn’t let him.
Qi Xinian, now realizing what he’d done, looked nervously up at his uncle.
Qi Weiran turned to the boy and gestured,
“Come here.”
Xinian glanced at Ye Qingju—who gave a small nod—before dashing over.
Qi Weiran patted the child’s soft hair, a rare flicker of emotion crossing his features.
Well. At least we’ve confirmed music’s not his path.
“You’re coming to A City with me tomorrow,” he said.
The boy’s eyes instantly lit up.
That pig-raising lady didn’t lie to him—it worked!
From her quiet corner, Ye Qingju glanced at Hei Meilu, whose expression had turned pale as death.
A flash of cunning shimmered behind her lowered eyes.
Xiao Jiji finally caught on:
【Host, you did this on purpose—so Qi Weiran would fire him!】
【But now that he’s gone, how will we get close enough to eliminate him?】
Ye Qingju smirked.
【A man fired by Qi Weiran after just one day—who’s going to hire him now? Once someone like him runs out of cash, a breakdown’s just a matter of time.】
Xiao Jiji launched into a full-blown praise barrage.
Thinking of how Qi Weiran had invited her to A City, Ye Qingju felt an immediate surge of joy.
Finally! No more acting. Time for a carefree, drama-free life!
“You too.”
The deep, magnetic voice caught her off guard.
Ye Qingju blinked. “What?”
Qi Weiran had already turned around, walking off with Xinian in tow.
But the words he left behind hit her like a truck:
“You’re coming with us tomorrow.”
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