The Daughter-In-Law Is So Pitiful? Just Take Her Home and Pamper Her! - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Conquer

Chen Mi stared wide-eyed at the pile of hairdryer parts on the ground, as if they were some terrifying monster. The silver casing gleamed in the sunlight, so bright it hurt his eyes.

He unconsciously took half a step back, wanting to distance himself from the thing that filled him with unease.

But as he moved, his foot accidentally stepped on a cable. There was a sharp crunch—the wire deformed under the pressure. The sudden sound startled Chen Mi so badly that he flinched violently.

“Pick it up.” Xu Yao’s voice came from right beside his ear, firm and unquestionable.

Chen Mi looked up in surprise. Xu Yao stood there, expressionless, a cigarette between his fingers, ash drifting down onto the disassembled hairdryer.

Chen Mi’s fingers began to tremble uncontrollably. He hesitated, but eventually reached out to pick up the parts. However, the moment his fingers brushed the plastic casing, he recoiled as if burned.

Xu Yao frowned. With a sharp flick, he stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. Then he took a few quick strides forward and squatted down in front of Chen Mi.

Before Chen Mi could react, a large, warm, dry hand wrapped tightly around his.

That grip was unrelenting.

He was forced to hold the handle of the hairdryer.

“This is the power switch,” Xu Yao pressed his hand over Chen Mi’s and forced the switch down. His voice was steady.

“This is the heat setting.” His thumb slid over Chen Mi’s knuckles. “Now it’s just a busted hunk of plastic. Can’t even fart.”

Chen Mi’s palm began to sweat, making the plastic slick. Xu Yao’s hand was so warm—so hot—it almost made him forget his fear.

“Rule number two,” Xu Yao suddenly leaned closer, his stubble scraping across Chen Mi’s ear, “My things, my rules.”

He grabbed Chen Mi’s hand and twisted. With a loud crack, the hairdryer snapped in two.

Chen Mi sucked in a breath.

“You see now?” Xu Yao tossed the broken pieces aside. “It’s dead.”

From outside came a sudden clang! Ahei fumbled to catch a fallen mop. “B-Boss, a customer wants to dye their hair—”

“Scram.” Xu Yao didn’t even look back. He flung a piece of the broken hairdryer at the doorframe. It clanged sharply, vibrating against the wood.

When Ahei’s footsteps had faded, Xu Yao suddenly pulled something out from the bottom of the toolbox and tossed it to Chen Mi—it was a battered old Walkman, its paint almost entirely worn off.

“Fix it by tonight.” Xu Yao turned and headed upstairs. “If you can’t, go sleep under a bridge.”

Chen Mi looked down at the small machine in his hand and found a note stuffed inside the battery compartment:

“Louder than a hairdryer —Xu”

The attic door slammed shut with a bang.

Chen Mi pressed play.
A blast of raspy rock music exploded in his ears.
He nearly dropped the thing.

Amid the deafening guitar riffs, he realized—He was laughing.

At 6 a.m. the next morning, Chen Mi found the hairdryer again—this time, completely rebuilt.

The once-silver body was now a matte black. On the control panel, there were handwritten labels:

• [Level 1 – Silent]

• [Level 2 – Normal]

• [Level 3 – Do Not Use]

The power cord had been extended and wrapped with insulating tape, with the control switch moved under the sink.
At that distance, the roar would be much quieter in the main area.

“Come here.” Xu Yao’s voice drifted from the back room.

Chen Mi blinked, dazed. Hearing his name, he snapped out of it and obediently walked over.

Disassembled motor parts lay scattered across the workstation. Xu Yao was squeezing a clear gel into the bearing.

“Sound-dampening lubricant,” he said without looking up as he tightened a screw, “Military-grade.”

Chen Mi stared at the black grease on Xu Yao’s thumb joint—it looked like a bat spreading its wings.

“Rules have changed.” Xu Yao suddenly grabbed his wrist and pressed Chen Mi’s palm onto the hairdryer.

The metal was cold, with a faint medicinal smell.

“You’re only allowed to use Level 1.” His thumb traced across Chen Mi’s fragile wrist bone.

“Touch Level 3—” He leaned in, voice low, “And I’ll tie you to the building’s earthquake machine to toughen you up.”

At 10 a.m., the first perm customer sat down.

While folding towels, Chen Mi suddenly heard the familiar motor noise.
This time, after being treated with gel, the hum felt like it was muffled under water—dull, soft, suspended in air.

“Temperature,” Xu Yao nudged the hot water bucket at Chen Mi’s feet.

Startled, Chen Mi realized he’d been staring at the sound source the entire time. Flustered, he looked down and focused on adjusting the water, pretending he’d never spaced out.

Yet his peripheral vision kept drifting toward Xu Yao.

The man stood not far away, one hand gently cupped around the customer’s ear.

It looked like he was shielding them from the noise—or maybe completing some unfinished act of protection.

Xu Yao’s fingers were long and strong.

Strands of golden hair slipped through them, gleaming in the sunlight like molten gold.

Chen Mi stared for a moment—Then quickly returned to work.

During lunch break, Chen Mi walked into the tool room to tidy up.

When he opened a cabinet, he was surprised to find a disassembled old hairdryer.

It had clearly been used for years—the casing worn, the cord aged.

But what caught his eye was the motor rotor—It had been removed and turned into a keychain, now hanging on the disinfecting cabinet handle.

Curious, Chen Mi picked it up for a closer look.

The metal surface had been polished smooth, with some simple engravings etched into it. It looked delicate and well-crafted.

When he shook it lightly, it made a soft click-clack sound—Like the gentle heartbeat of a mechanical creature.

“Rule number three.” Xu Yao had appeared at the door, casually tossing a screw in the air.

“In my shop, hiding is not an option.” He flicked the screw toward Chen Mi.

“Only conquering.”

The screw spun through the air, a silver arc.
Chen Mi instinctively caught it.

On the surface, tiny words were etched:
[dB 58] —
The volume of Level 1.
Lower than normal human conversation.

That evening, when blow-drying the last customer’s hair, Chen Mi reached for the dryer without being told.
The Level 1 setting buzzed softly—like a faraway hum.

In the mirror, Xu Yao watched him.

The dye on his apron had bloomed into nebula-like stains.

When the customer complained the wind was too weak, Xu Yao flicked open his razor with a loud snap:

“Want it faster? I’ll thin your hair for you.”

Late at night in the attic, the old Walkman was still playing that blaring rock song.

Amid the deafening guitar solo, Chen Mi pressed his ear to the modified hairdryer.

Even with all the noise—He could still hear Xu Yao downstairs, humming off-key.