Chapter 9: Who Is the Mistress of the House?

When Si Yao heard Xing Jue say, "It's not impossible," her heart turned cold, but soon after, warmth returned. Xing Jue... would never marry her. If he would, there wouldn’t have been that endless parade of women afterward, nor would there have been that wretched Xing Ani.

Si Yao pressed her lips together for a long time, still too afraid to take the risk. After all, Xing Jue was a man of shifting moods, impossible to fathom. “Maybe... we should ask Grandfather first,” she suggested.

Xing Jue looked at her for a long while, put his glasses back on, picked up his notebook, and opened it. “Go pack up,” he said.

Without a direct answer, Si Yao felt uneasy, sitting motionless on the tea table across from him.

Tapping on his notebook, Xing Jue said coldly, “Let’s talk about it when there’s a child.”

Si Yao nodded.

Xing Jue’s gaze shifted from his notebook to Si Yao’s retreating figure. After a long silence, he let out a short, derisive laugh.

Si Yao appeared before Wen Sui, dragging her luggage. Wen Sui squealed with delight and hugged her tightly. “I don’t know why, but seeing you now makes me feel so safe, Yao Yao.”

Si Yao could hardly stand her pitiful display, but still smiled affectionately. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“Why didn’t A-Jue come?” Wen Sui hopped to the door to look out, then returned, disappointed.

“He’s busy. He’ll come later,” Si Yao replied, feeling tired. She said a few perfunctory words, found a room, and made a bed on the floor.

Except for the large bed in Wen Sui’s master bedroom, the rest of the furniture had been moved out earlier that day. The guest room didn’t even have a light.

Si Yao didn’t mind. She roughly laid out her bedding, closed the door, and tried to catch up on sleep.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

From six o’clock on, Wen Sui kept coming in to ask why A-Jue hadn’t arrived yet.

Perhaps Si Yao usually seemed too mild-tempered, because even when her face darkened, Wen Sui wasn’t afraid. She even grew a bit petulant. “Yao Yao, why don’t you call and make him come now! I haven’t seen him in two days.”

After she finished, she paused. There was no light in the room, but the living room lamp shone in through the open door, casting a dim glow over Si Yao’s face.

Her smile had disappeared, her expression icy, especially her eyes, which gleamed coldly in the gloom, almost frightening.

Wen Sui instinctively shrank back, becoming more aggressive. “What’s with that look on your face?”

The frigid expression vanished instantly. Si Yao smiled gently and replied softly, “Don’t worry, I’ll call him right now.”

She sat cross-legged, took out her phone, and dialed.

She set the phone to speaker. “When are you coming back?”

A brief silence on the other end. “Back where?”

Feigning ignorance.

Suppressing her fatigue, Si Yao continued in a gentle voice, “Sui Sui misses you.”

Wen Sui squeezed closer, took the phone, turned off the speaker, and began chattering away with Xing Ke.

After a while, she handed the phone back to Si Yao, sweetness in her voice. “He said he’ll be here soon and told me to get dinner ready.”

Si Yao made a noncommittal sound, wanting to send her away so she could sleep.

“The housekeeper won’t come until tomorrow. I can’t cook—you do it.”

Si Yao paused, then chuckled. “How do you know I can cook?”

She already knew the answer without being told.

Aside from Xing Jue, who had grown up on her cooking, who else would have told her? And the fact that the housekeeper wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow and Wen Sui couldn’t cook—she herself had told Xing Jue that. If they wanted a meal, it meant she was to cook for them.

Si Yao got up and went to the kitchen.

She had restocked the fridge earlier that day. At Wen Sui’s request to give Xing Jue a sense of “home,” Si Yao prepared four dishes and a soup.

When Xing Jue returned, Si Yao was simmering the last pot of soup in the kitchen.

Wen Sui skipped over to greet him, wrapping her arms around his waist and whining sweetly, “You’re back?”

Her voice was soft and sugary—no man could resist such a tone.

Si Yao, unmoved, continued tending the soup.

When she finished, she drank two bowls in the kitchen, then brought the rest out, and went to her room to sleep.

But sleep eluded her.

The old house had decent soundproofing from the outside, but inside it was lacking—or perhaps her room was simply too close to the living room. Either way, the voices of the two in the living room seeped in.

One was cute and sweet as sugar, the other’s tone cool but incredibly tender, every word dripping with affection, as if coated in honey.

Half-asleep, half-awake, she felt her blanket being lifted.

Before opening her eyes, Si Yao’s hand shot out, slicing the air with a fierce wind, her fingers aimed straight at the shadow’s throat.

Easily stopped.

The moment her eyes met Xing Jue’s, Si Yao’s gaze froze to ice. “Do you want some water?”

Bathed in the moonlight pouring through the window, Xing Jue’s features were striking, a familiar spark in his eyes. It was clear—he wasn’t here for water, but for something else that happened in bed.

But Si Yao didn’t want that tonight. Exhaustion and lack of sleep weighed her down, and some impatience leaked into her tone. “I’ll go get it for you.”

She started to rise, but before she could, his hand pressed her shoulder firmly back onto the thin, hard bedding. “Even if it’s not Xing Ani, even if it’s some little thing who becomes mistress of the Xing family, what difference does it make to you?”