The Daughter-In-Law Is So Pitiful? Just Take Her Home and Pamper Her! - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Breaking the Peace

When Chen Mi closed his little notebook, the last ray of sunset outside slanted through the window and cast a golden glow on a glass jar.

He carefully tucked the notebook into the gap under his pillow, his fingers brushing against a candy wrapper he had hidden there a few days ago. It was well preserved, the creases already smoothed out by his hands.

Downstairs, the electric clippers buzzed to life, followed by Xu Yao’s impatient voice:
“How many times do I have to say it? You shave the sideburns at an angle.”

Ah Jie mumbled something under his breath, making Xu Yao snort in amusement.

From the stairwell landing, Chen Mi could see the reflection of Xu Yao’s earring flicker on the wall like a glimmering spot of light.

Life like this was so peaceful—it made your heart go soft.

Three days later, at dusk—Chen Mi was crouched in the storage room, folding towels that had dried earlier in the day, when he suddenly heard the glass door slam open.
The wind chimes clattered violently, letting out a jarring ring.

There was a new smell mixed into the usual shampoo scent—Not the minty tobacco Xu Yao smoked, but the stench of cheap cigarettes and even cheaper cologne.

Chen Mi’s back went ramrod straight.

His ears rang with the sound of his father’s drunken curses:
“That bastard Zhao Jinrong’s smoke—you can smell it three streets away…”

“Yo, little Chen Mi, hiding in here folding towels?”

That greasy, familiar voice slithered into his ears like a venomous snake.
Chen Mi’s whole body stiffened, a chill shooting from the base of his spine to the top of his head.

Disgusting.

He slowly raised his head.
At the doorway stood a man leaning against the frame, looking at him with a mocking smile—Zhao Jinrong.
His father’s debt collector.

A thick gold chain hung from Zhao Jinrong’s neck, flashing in the sunlight.
The jade Pi Xiu pendant was stained with soy sauce and grime, exactly as it had looked years ago when he’d forced Chen Mi’s mother to sign a contract with a fingerprint.

A cigarette dangled from the man’s lips, smoke curling around his sneering face, making him look even more sinister.

“Your dad’s debt—it’s time to pay up, isn’t it?” Zhao Jinrong flicked his cigarette ash and stepped inside, his eyes sweeping around the barbershop.
“Well, well, not doing bad for yourself. Hitched a ride on someone important?”

Chen Mi’s fingertips turned ice cold, as if gripped by some invisible force.
His throat tightened to the point where he couldn’t even breathe.

“Ran off before your dad’s seven-day funeral ended?” Zhao Jinrong tossed the still-burning cigarette onto the floor and ground it out under his shoe.
“Touching. What a display of filial piety.”

He sauntered over toward Chen Mi.

Then, the light in the storage room was suddenly cut off by a tall silhouette.

Xu Yao was leaning against the doorframe, slowly scraping hair gel off a comb with his razor.

The metallic rasp of the blade immediately turned Zhao Jinrong’s swagger into a rigid stance.

“Haircut?” Xu Yao’s voice rang out coldly from behind.
It was like the edge of a blade dipped in ice.

His eyes landed on Zhao Jinrong’s receding hairline. “That little bald patch…”

The razor tilted toward the man’s half-missing eyebrow.
“Fixing that’s gonna cost extra.”

Zhao Jinrong flinched.
Xu Yao had seen right through his cheap toupee.
Now he was silently fuming, already planning to leave a bad review for the wig seller.

Chen Mi turned and looked back.

Xu Yao stood casually in the doorway to the back room, still lazily postured with a razor in hand.
Under the light, the blade gleamed coldly.

His expression was calm, but his eyes—dark and threatening.

Zhao Jinrong squinted and gave Xu Yao a long, deliberate once-over.
“Boss Xu, is it? Heard the name. This brat’s father owes me 430,000 yuan. It’s all written down—debts pass from father to son—”

“Get out.” Xu Yao cut him off.
His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a weight that couldn’t be challenged.

Zhao Jinrong’s fat face twitched.
He abruptly yanked open his briefcase and slapped a yellowed IOU onto the barber chair.
Chen Mi caught a glimpse of his father’s scrawled signature—and next to it, a red fingerprint.
Smaller than a regular thumbprint.
His mother’s.

“Four hundred thirty-eight thousand six hundred,” Zhao Jinrong growled, his thick fingers pressing down on the edge of the paper.
“But out of respect for Boss Xu, I’ll waive the small change—”

Whoosh—!
A flash of silver split the air.
The razor embedded itself into the back of the chair, pinning the IOU in place.
Its handle quivered slightly.

At some point, Xu Yao had picked up a dyeing bowl.
Blue hair dye dripped steadily onto the tile floor, forming a puddle that looked like eerie blue bl00d.

“First,” Xu Yao said, tapping Zhao Jinrong on the forehead with the dye brush,
“I don’t allow filth in my shop.”

“Second,” the brush lowered to the tacky gold chain, “Fake jewelry that stains my floors—you pay for it.”

“Third—” He suddenly grabbed Chen Mi’s hand and pressed it onto the armrest of the barber chair.
“This kid belongs to me now.”

Chen Mi felt Xu Yao’s palm burning hot against the back of his hand.
He saw the tattoo on Xu Yao’s right arm flex with tension—the jagged mountain line pointed straight at Zhao Jinrong’s throat.

“Big words for a barber,” Zhao Jinrong sneered, flashing his gold tooth.
“I heard you used to be at that place five years ag—”

CRACK! The rotating light above suddenly flashed an intense blue.

Xu Yao had kicked over the circuit box, and in the same instant shoved Chen Mi behind him.

In the darkness, Chen Mi heard a dull thud—Then Zhao Jinrong’s panicked scream:
“Sh1t! My eye!”

“Just hair dye.” Xu Yao’s voice brushed past Chen Mi’s ear.
“Close your eyes. Don’t be afraid.”

When the lights flicked back on, Zhao Jinrong was staggering backward, clutching his left eye.

His suit jacket was soaked with blue dye, and his fake hairpiece was hanging crookedly over his forehead.
Xu Yao stood in the halo of light, idly twirling the razor.
At his feet lay the gold chain—snapped clean in two.

“Out.”
He flicked the IOU with the tip of the blade, sending it fluttering toward the man.
“Next time, bring the real stuff.”

As the glass door trembled behind the retreating Zhao Jinrong, Xu Yao was already reaching for the disinfectant to clean the floor.

Chen Mi knelt down to help, and spotted bl00d welling up from Xu Yao’s right hand.
It was from when he had cut through the chain with the razor.

His own fingers trembled as he pressed a cotton swab onto the wound.
Xu Yao let out a nearly inaudible hiss of pain.

That sound was like a tiny needle piercing straight into the softest part of Chen Mi’s heart.

Bl00d seeped out slowly, blooming into a small red flower on the gauze.

Suddenly, Chen Mi remembered that snowy night—His mother kneeling on the ground, wrapping his bleeding knee with scraps of torn fabric.
The sharp scent of bl00d in that memory mixed with the smell of disinfectant now, making his eyes sting.

“Clumsy,” Xu Yao muttered. But his hand stayed open, allowing Chen Mi to tend to him, not moving even his fingertips.

Calluses on his palm had softened under the bl00d, their edges pale and wrinkled.
These hands had fought, had held razors—And now, they rested gently on Chen Mi’s knee.

The IOU had already dissolved in the dye.
The blue color sank slowly like tears.

Chen Mi stared at the small fingerprint on the paper—it matched his own exactly.
The second joint of the thumb curved inward, like a crescent moon.

He froze.

The cotton swab rolled out of his hand and onto the floor.

Then Xu Yao suddenly covered his eyes with his uninjured left hand.
“Don’t look.”
The warmth of his palm filtered through Chen Mi’s eyelids—only then did he realize he was crying.

Blue dye mixed with his tears and slipped through Xu Yao’s fingers.

“…It’ll leave a scar,” Chen Mi murmured, his voice hoarse.
His fingers brushed the gauze absentmindedly.

“Put it on my tab,” Xu Yao said abruptly.
He stood and walked over to the register, pulling out a sheet of paper.
In his usual scrawl, he wrote:

“Scaring away debt collectors: +500”
“Poor bandaging skills: -200”
“But warm hands: +1000”

Chen Mi looked up and met Xu Yao’s gaze—
There was still some lingering menace in those eyes.
But when they looked at him, something else had quietly crept in.

Chen Mi blinked, stunned—Then smiled.

Xu Yao shot him a glance and slapped the note against his chest.
“What are you grinning at? Paying off debts is only fair.”

Chen Mi held the paper in his hand, the curve of his lips deepening.