Chapter 183 Making Trouble

"Who asked you to touch me!"

Song Yazhi reacted as if she had been burned, abruptly shaking off her hand, her voice sharp and shrill.

She exerted too much force, and her body was already unsteady. With this struggle, she lost her balance again, swayed, and almost fell down again. Fortunately, she managed to grab the wall in time.

Qiao Wanyin withdrew her hand, frowned, and pursed her lips, as if trying her best to suppress a laugh, but the corners of her eyes couldn't help but curve up. "Mom, if you really hurt yourself, Maidong will be heartbroken when he gets back. He's already so busy these days, if he finds out you fell at home, he'll rush back overnight, won't he?"

Upon hearing the words "Ophiopogon japonicus," Song Yazhi's anger flared up instantly, and the veins on her face throbbed.

Her finger trembled as she pointed at Qiao Wanyin. "You still mention Adong? You dare to mention him? You only dare to be so presumptuous because he protects you! You act like a tyrant at home, showing no respect for your elders. Do you think I don't know? You're just sure he won't care about you!"

Qiao Wanyin blinked twice, her long eyelashes fluttering, looking innocent and naive. She tilted her head and said, "Mom, I really didn't do anything. Please don't wrong me. I cook, wash dishes, and mop the floor every day. I even pickled your favorite pickles on time. What did I do wrong? Tell me, I'm all ears."

Song Yazhi was so angry that her teeth itched and she gritted them, but she couldn't find any fault with her.

This girl is meticulous in everything she does and speaks. She appears respectful on the surface, but every word she says is barbed and piercing. She always does the opposite of what she wants, yet she always puts on an act of innocence and suffering.

She leaned against the wall, her fingertips digging into the rough surface, slowly propping herself up.

After regaining her balance, she vigorously brushed the flour off her clothes, sending up a small cloud of white powder.

She glared at Qiao Wanyin, her eyes sharp as knives, but the other woman just stood there quietly, her head bowed, as if nothing had happened.

Song Yazhi didn't say anything more. She turned around without a word and dragged her heavy steps into the house.

Once inside, she slammed the door shut, sat down on the bed, and the mattress sank slightly under her weight.

She was panting heavily, growing angrier the more she thought about it, feeling a tightness in her chest as if a heavy stone was pressing down on it.

Having lived for decades, from the countryside to the city, from youth to middle age, what kind of people haven't I seen?

What hardships haven't I endured?

I've never seen such a difficult person before!

Qiao Wanyin was like a lump of mud, impossible to push, impossible to hit, impossible to scold, and impossible to anger.

The angrier you get, the quieter she becomes; the more you criticize her, the more obedient she becomes.

She curses at people, and they never talk back, but nod in agreement; she picks fights, and they accept them all with a smile, without a single complaint. In the end, it's she who gets sick from anger!

"no!"

Song Yazhi slammed her hand on the edge of the bed, her voice echoing in the room, "I have to find a way to teach her a lesson! I can't let her keep riding on my head like this!"

She leaned against the headboard, closed her eyes, and repeatedly recalled the events of the past few days, turning them over and over in her mind, wishing she could analyze every single detail.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't come up with any way to control her.

This girl is quiet and unassuming, never argues or contradicts herself, and everything she says and does is reasonable. Yet, she always manages to make you so angry that you feel like banging your head against the wall.

Meanwhile, Fu Li'an's troops suddenly had an emergency mission and were notified that all personnel must not leave their posts and would not be able to go home for the next two days.

She was so angry that night that she didn't eat. She tossed and turned in bed all night and couldn't close her eyes.

She crumpled the pillow into a crooked shape, kicked the blanket to the foot of the bed, and her whole body was like a small firecracker that had been lit, smoldering in the darkness.

My eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts a jumbled mess.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Her chest ached, and the events of the day kept replaying in her mind.

Qiao Wanyin's smiling face made it seem like she had planned everything all along, which was infuriating yet impossible to find any fault with.

She sat up abruptly, then fell back down, tossing and turning until dawn broke, before finally managing to close her eyes for a short while.

The next morning, Song Yazhi walked out of her room with dark circles under her eyes, her face ashen, and her brows furrowed into a deep frown.

His eyelids were so heavy they felt like they were weighed down by two stones, and he walked with a dragging gait, looking like someone had drained all his energy.

Her hair was disheveled and hung loosely on her shoulders, and her lips were chapped from staying up all night.

She slowly moved to the living room, supporting herself against the wall, looking both haggard and irritable.

Qiao Wanyin had already prepared breakfast. The pot lid was lifted, revealing steaming hot millet porridge that was golden and thick, and plump white buns that were arranged in the steamer, filling the air with their aroma.

Seeing her come out, Qiao Wanyin immediately turned around, her face beaming like a forsythia, her eyes crinkling, her voice clear and crisp: "Mom, you're up? The millet porridge is ready, and the steamed buns are freshly steamed, still warm. Come and try some! I guarantee you'll have a great appetite."

Song Yazhi, with her nostrils flared and lips pressed into a thin line, snorted coldly, her voice sharp and icy: "I won't eat! Who knows what you're up to! Who knows if there's laxative in this porridge, or poison in the bun filling? Stop pretending to be a good person!"

She slumped heavily onto the sofa, her back ramrod straight, looking like an angry Vajra.

Qiao Wanyin wasn't angry at all; her smile remained unchanged. Instead, she gently lifted the lid of the steamer, and the aroma of hot meat immediately wafted out.

She picked up a steamed bun, blew on it slowly, sat down and started eating. She took a bite, and as the oil seeped out slightly, she squinted her eyes in satisfaction: "Then I won't be polite. A full breakfast gives me energy all day."

Song Yazhi secretly glanced at her out of the corner of her eye and saw that she was eating with great relish, with some sauce on her lips, and the fragrant aroma was wafting into her nose.

But her stomach betrayed her with a loud rumble, like an echo in an empty valley, making her ears turn red.

He cursed inwardly: "Useless coward, always causing trouble at this time!"

But the aroma was so enticing that she couldn't help but wonder—what kind of filling did this brat make that smells so good?

Could it be that some kind of mind-altering drug was used?

Qiao Wanyin noticed her mother-in-law swallowing hard, her eyes drooping slightly. She sighed and said sincerely, "Mom, you'll hurt your health if you're hungry. Your stomach is different from others; it can't take much stress. Please eat something, even just a sip of porridge."

Song Yazhi was so hungry that her vision blurred, her head felt dizzy as if she were walking on cotton, and her ears were ringing.

She tried to hold on, but her legs were so weak she could barely stand, and her stomach felt as empty as if it had been scratched by a cat's claws.

She couldn't take it anymore. Finally, she gritted her teeth, moved to the table, and plopped down, still stubbornly saying, "I'll just try one bite. It's not that I trust you, it's that I'm afraid I'll get sick from hunger!"

Qiao Wanyin immediately scooped a bowl of hot millet porridge and handed it over, placing a small cloth around the edge of the bowl so as not to burn her hands.

"Mom, have some porridge first to warm your stomach. I specially picked out this millet at the market yesterday, and cooked it for more than an hour until it's soft and tender."