Chapter 4: This Child Will Not Live Long

“What kind of look is that?” Ye Ming asked in confusion, feeling as though the boy was looking down on him.

At that moment, Dongmen Meng appeared, dressed in fresh attire. Seeing her husband holding the child by the back of his collar, she immediately exclaimed, “Ye Ming! How can you carry the child like that?”

“Uh… I was just trying out my hands,” he replied.

Using me as a practice dummy? Stepfather, don’t blame me for what comes next.

Without a word, Ye Kun began to cry. After all, the most powerful weapon of a child is crying—no rhyme or reason required.

Dongmen Meng hurriedly took Ye Kun into her arms, shooting Ye Ming a fierce glare. “You need more practice!”

Ye Kun thought, What kind of family have I ended up in?

A month later, Ye Kun had finally seen things more clearly: this stepfather and stepmother were truly characters.

His stepfather was all bark and no bite.

His stepmother, on the other hand, spoke little but was tough as nails.

As for the maid, Xiao Ling, she seemed the only normal one, spending her days tending to the mistress.

But the real point of interest was the captain of the guards, Zhang Tiantian. The name lacked any sense of grandeur, much like his stepfather, but that wasn’t the main thing. What stood out was Zhang Tiantian’s apparent infatuation with Xiao Ling. Whenever he cleaned the courtyard, he’d steal glances at her, thinking no one noticed. But Ye Kun, with the experience of a previous life, could see right through him.

It was almost painful to watch.

Moreover, that captain seemed to be one of his stepfather’s men. Ye Kun remembered that night when there were so many people, but after arriving here, they all seemed to have vanished. Could it be that his stepfather and stepmother were intentionally keeping a low profile? It seemed likely—no visitors had come in the past month, nor had they gone out themselves. It was all very odd.

In another two months, their own child would be born. By then, he supposed, he would be set aside, out of sight and out of mind.

Ye Kun had already steeled himself for it—it was only natural, after all, and entirely understandable.

The months slipped by in the blink of an eye. Despite carrying memories from a past life, Ye Kun was still an infant, unable to escape the endless cycle of eating and sleeping.

One night, Ye Kun lay awake—his stepmother was in labor.

He thought, If only it’s a little sister. But if it’s a boy, then I’m surely finished.

Yet fate seemed intent on opposing him, for Dongmen Meng gave birth to a plump, healthy baby boy. At the sight of this chubby little brother, Ye Kun felt as if he were witnessing his own nemesis, an adversary already plotting against him from within the womb.

Alas, now he had a little brother. His stepfather named the child Ye Qin. It seemed that his days of favor were over.

Yet, to Ye Kun’s surprise, even with their own child now in their arms, his stepfather and stepmother’s affection for him did not wane in the slightest.

The reason was simple:

He was “frail.”

Despite his stepmother feeding him all sorts of “beans,” nothing seemed to make a difference. The impression he gave was that this child might not survive the year.

Thus, the radiant presence of Ye Qin was completely overshadowed by his own sickly state. Indeed, being an invalid did invite sympathy. But Ye Kun knew he was perfectly healthy; he simply couldn’t explain it, being an infant. Poor little brother—one day, your elder brother will make it up to you.

A year passed swiftly.

Ye Kun remained weak and thin, looking as if his days were numbered, causing endless worry for Ye Ming and Dongmen Meng.

Action needed to be taken.

In the main hall, Dongmen Meng held Ye Kun in her arms, Ye Ming carried Ye Qin, Xiao Ling attended to them, and Zhang Tiantian stood guard outside. Everything seemed as normal as ever.

“Husband, do you really think this will work?” Dongmen Meng sounded skeptical.

Lying comfortably in his stepmother’s arms, Ye Kun had completely usurped the rightful place of the biological child. The little one was oblivious, making Ye Kun feel a twinge of guilt.

But what exactly was his stepfather planning? No more beans this time? He’d grown tired of those, anyway.

Ye Ming, holding his son with a serious expression, said, “Meng’er, back in the day, this was how my father cured me.”

“Oh? Did you fall ill as a child?” Dongmen Meng inquired with concern.

Ye Ming’s face flushed. “It was nothing serious, just a small… habit.”

Outside, Zhang Tiantian pricked up his ears. What kind of “habit” could a child possibly have?

“Just looking at you is enough,” Dongmen Meng teased, letting the matter drop.

Ye Kun pondered what kind of oddities his stepfather might have had as a child.

Knock, knock, knock…

A series of solemn raps sounded at the Ye family’s main gate—not loud, but carrying an unmistakable air of authority.

“I’ll get it,” Ye Ming signaled to Zhang Tiantian.

Ye Kun, unable to restrain his curiosity, peeked over. A monk appeared at the door, and Ye Kun instantly grew wary.

Were they about to perform some ritual to exorcise him?

It seemed that, with medicine failing, they’d resorted to chanting and prayers.

Suddenly, a dreadful thought struck him—did they intend to have him ordained as a monk?

He was far from finished with the mortal world; it was much too soon for that.

The monk’s robe was plain and threadbare, his shining bald head reflecting the light, and his straight, single eyebrow gave him a certain presence.

Ye Ming’s demeanor changed instantly, casting aside his usual levity and adopting a serious air.

Here we go, Ye Kun thought. Stepfather’s about to put on a show.

“Master Qingxin, it’s been a long time.”

“Ye Ming, it’s been decades since we last met. Have you stopped wetting the bed?” the monk replied.

The room tensed instantly.

Within a family, it was unthinkable to poke fun at one another—such things were simply not done. But if someone couldn’t help themselves, decorum might be forgotten.

Ye Ming felt the awkwardness in the air and quickly changed the subject. “Master Qingxin, I invited you here today to take a look at my son.”

Master Qingxin had taken note of Ye Kun the moment he entered, already guessing the purpose of his visit.

“Could it be that your son has inherited your… condition?”

Ye Ming resisted the urge to poke a few more scars into the monk’s shiny scalp. Was it really the pleasure of a monk to tear open old wounds?

Dongmen Meng rose quietly and spoke softly, “Master Qingxin, it’s an honor.”

“People of the Dongmen clan, you truly are well-matched,” Master Qingxin replied with a faint smile, then approached Ye Kun to observe him.

Ye Kun sensed something was off about the monk. There was something peculiar in the way he looked at him. What did he want?

Was he planning to take him in as a disciple?

“This child, I’m afraid, will not live long. If you let him stay by my side, perhaps his life can be prolonged.”

Ye Kun thought, Didn’t I say so? Just another charlatan.

Everyone who came said the same thing: the child wouldn’t live long.

Ye Kun knew he was perfectly healthy. Anyone declaring otherwise was simply a swindler.

To suggest taking him away to become a monk—how wicked could one be?

When Master Qingxin made his proposal, Ye Ming glanced at his wife. This was, after all, an opportunity; to become the disciple of such a master was to be destined for greatness.

But Dongmen Meng did not see it that way.