Ye Qingyang crossed his legs, tallying up his current total assets.
Excluding the money Lu Jingcheng had transferred to him, he had earned 300 from selling earrings, 40 from selling instant noodles, 105 from selling snacks, and now adding Wang Yue’s 300, bringing the total to roughly 745.
Not bad—enough for him to last over a month.
Ye Qingyang put on his headphones and listened to music for a while, waiting for night to fall.
By midnight, Ye Hong and her family of three had, as usual, drifted into sleep.
Before bed, Ye Hong had proudly stood at the bedroom door to tease him, saying, “Enjoy sleeping on the balcony! The balcony suits you best!”
Ye Qingyang had remained silent at the time. Ye Hong, feeling victorious like a triumphant old hen, barely refrained from clucking.
“Foolish,” Ye Qingyang thought. “You’ve forgotten the last time you were locked outside the bedroom. Who did that again?”
Feeling the house fall into quiet, he slowly sat up, stretched, and walked into the living room.
He turned on the light. This time, he didn’t sing but went straight to Wang Fan’s bedroom.
Without hesitation, he lifted his foot and kicked the door.
Ye Qingyang controlled the force perfectly—loud enough to be heard, but restrained so the door wouldn’t swing open immediately.
Having trained every day with his retired special forces father, not just in combat but also in stamina and strength, controlling force was second nature.
“Bang! Bang! Bang!” The repeated kicks sounded startlingly loud in the silence.
Wang Hui’s bedroom, next to Wang Fan’s, was the first to be awakened by the noise.
She angrily switched on her bedside lamp, shouting, “What now?!”
All she received in response was more door-kicking.
Irritated, Wang Hui stormed out and found Ye Qingyang kicking the door.
“What are you doing, going crazy in the middle of the night?” she yelled.
Ye Qingyang feigned innocence. “The balcony is too cold; I want to sleep in the bedroom.”
“Cold? At this hour? What are you making such a fuss for? Go back!”
Ye Qingyang magnanimously replied, “Since you don’t feel cold, you two go ahead and sleep.”
He glanced at Wang Hui. “You’re pregnant, right? The two of you together will be warmer. Go on~”
Wang Hui: ……
She kicked off her shoes and swung them at him, but Ye Qingyang nimbly dodged.
“Aren’t you going to sleep then? Don’t you say you’re not cold?”
Wang Hui began hurling a small stool at him.
Ye Qingyang let her throw, unconcerned about breaking furniture—not his money. Once she was done, he was still cheerful.
Ye Hong, wearing earplugs, and Wang Yue, who found them uncomfortable, heard the commotion growing louder and pushed Ye Hong.
“Huihui seems to be arguing with Qingyang; go see.”
Ye Hong, confused, hadn’t heard clearly.
Wang Yue pulled out her earplugs, and she immediately heard a loud “clang,” scaring her and Wang Yue into jumping out of bed.
The living room was chaotic: shoes scattered, the small stool tipped over, and worst of all, the glass coffee table shattered.
Wang Hui, holding her belly, leaned against the door, her face pale from anger and shock.
Ye Qingyang stood in front of Wang Fan’s bedroom, unruffled, hair perfect.
Seeing the mess, Ye Hong’s voice wavered. “What happened here?!”
“Ask him!” Wang Hui pointed at Ye Qingyang, panting with anger. “This shameless little bastard kicked the door at night instead of sleeping!”
Ye Hong glared at Ye Qingyang.
Ye Qingyang pointed at Wang Hui. “She threw things at me first and smashed the coffee table. I didn’t do anything!”
“Then why are you kicking the door?” Ye Hong demanded.
“I’m just cold and wanted a warmer place to sleep.”
“Can’t you sleep on the sofa? How cold can the balcony be? What’s the point of this late-night chaos?” Ye Hong went to the kitchen to fetch a broom.
Ye Qingyang: ……
What did she just say? She hit herself more than me, yet she’s blaming me?
He thought the broom was overkill; why not a feather duster or stick? Probably didn’t have any, he guessed.
As he dodged, he moved toward the potted plants.
“Smash!” A flowerpot broke. Ye Hong’s anger surged.
Ye Qingyang jumped onto the sofa, saying, “Auntie, stop hitting. Let me sleep in my original bedroom. It’s empty now, and my brother’s gone. Better I stay than leave it vacant.”
Ye Hong sneered. “Never!”
She planted her hands on her hips, broom in hand. “I tell you, this bedroom can stay empty, be rented out, or even for pets—it’s mine, never yours!”
Wang Hui smiled, agreeing. “Exactly. You, little trash, should stay on the balcony, not in the bedroom.”
Ye Qingyang calmly replied, “Then fine, no one sleeps anywhere else.”
Ye Hong, enraged, “Are you threatening me?”
Ye Qingyang denied it. “Not at all. I just want a warmer place to sleep. You won’t let me sleep in my old room or yours, so we’re at a stalemate.”
“Stalemate my foot! You deserve a beating!” Ye Hong swung the broom.
Ye Qingyang dodged with ease. Seeing her stepping on the shattered glass, he leapt from the sofa.
Caught off guard, Ye Hong stumbled back, right into a trail of glass.
“Ah!” she cried, as her heel hit a shard.
Ye Qingyang feigned shock, stepping back. “Auntie, are you okay?”
She glared, pulled the shards from her foot.
Ye Qingyang, horrified, turned to Wang Hui. “Sister! Look at what you’ve done! If you hadn’t smashed the table, auntie wouldn’t be hurt!”
Wang Hui: ???
Fuming, she grabbed her water cup and threw it at Ye Qingyang, but it hit Ye Hong instead.
Already hurt, Ye Hong yelled, “What are you doing? You want to turn this house into a trash heap? Kill me?”
“I didn’t want to! You should dodge!” Wang Hui retorted.
“You still have reason?” Ye Hong snapped, grabbing a cup to throw back.
She yelled, “This is my house! I have the right to be angry!”
Wang Hui, pregnant, stepped forward, shouting, “You dare hit me? Think of my son inside me! This is monstrous!”
“I’m not! I’m just mad at you!” Ye Hong cried, realizing her foot was injured. Tears fell.
Wang Hui, satisfied, retreated, glaring at Ye Qingyang.
“All your fault, you debt collector! Shameless little brat!”
Ye Qingyang replied, “It’s you who made auntie cry, yet you blame me? With a role model like you, your future child will probably scold you daily too.”
“Shut up! How dare you speak of my son? You’re unworthy, you little trash!”
Son, son, son! How does she know the baby’s gender?
Ye Qingyang found it ridiculous—still secretly favoring sons.
He, a devoted younger brother, was fed up, too tired to argue.
Wang Yue, observing the chaos, felt weary. Unlike Ye Hong, he maintained composure, rarely raising his voice.
Seeing the scene, he suppressed his irritation.
“Qingyang, enough! Apologize to auntie and sister, then go back to sleep.”
“Me? Why apologize? It’s not me who upset auntie.”
“Isn’t it you? Kicking the door caused all this!”
“If auntie hadn’t locked my room, would I need to kick?”
“That room isn’t yours anymore. Forget it.”
Ye Qingyang disagreed. “I still want to sleep there.”
“Nonsense! This house is decided by me and auntie. You go back to your balcony.” Wang Yue’s eyes were full of disapproval.
Locking Wang Fan’s room was Wang Yue’s suggestion—to show Ye Qingyang who was in charge.
Dogs are dogs; make them used to it, and they’ll forget they’re human.
Ye Qingyang’s parents had died, and Wang Yue’s family took care of him, making the house theirs by right. Only the balcony was left for Ye Qingyang.
The original owner accepted this; Ye Qingyang did not. He lived freely, taught by his parents to defend, attack, and strategize.
“Fine,” Ye Qingyang jumped down and returned to the balcony.
Wang Yue felt pleased, thinking he had persuaded him. Wang Hui returned to her room. Ye Hong limped to hers.
Ye Qingyang, lying on his bed, bobbed his head to the music.
When all lights went out, he waited fifteen minutes before attempting another round of door-kicking.
Smiling, he lifted his feet. “Left, right, left, left, right, left.”
Wang Hui: ……
Wang Yue: ……
Ye Hong, injured and sleepy: ……
Ye Qingyang encouraged them: “Come on, exercise with me! Life is movement. High knees together! Then you won’t feel cold or sleepy.”
The Wang family, middle-aged and unaccustomed to late nights, could not keep up.
Wang Hui shouted, “Just give him the key! I need sleep!”
Ye Hong hesitated.
Ye Qingyang kicked again. “Left, right, left, left, right, left.”
One kick at a time, right at Ye Hong’s heart.
Wang Yue realized Ye Qingyang was determined to get into Wang Fan’s room.
“If he goes in, he may never stop,” Wang Yue thought.
“Let him kick,” he decided. “No one sleeps then.”
Ye Qingyang increased the force.
Wang Yue glared but didn’t intervene.
Wang Hui protested, concerned for her baby, insisting, “I must sleep! Give him the key!”
Ye Hong looked to Wang Yue.
He hesitated, then stepped back for the baby’s sake.
Wang Hui retrieved the key, hurled it at Ye Qingyang: “Take it! But one more disturbance, I won’t let you live, you shameless brat!”
She slammed the door.
Ye Qingyang caught the key without a glance at them and opened the door.
He preferred forcing them to let him in over breaking the door himself—more satisfying.
Watching them fight, tearing each other apart, delighted him.
Ye Hong, exhausted, limped away.
Wang Yue, inwardly worried, wondered if Ye Qingyang had designs on the house, since his will clearly stated it would belong to him at eighteen.
Ye Qingyang, happy, lay on the bed. The bedroom had changed after Wang Fan moved in, but it didn’t matter. It was his house, his rules.
He undressed, slid under the covers, and drifted into a perfect night’s sleep.