Reborn in the 80s: My Whole Family Secretly Hears My Thoughts and Goes Wild with Success! - Chapter 8

“If the Yue family thrives, we thrive. Wouldn’t that benefit you and Dad?”

“Xiang will have me and Liya looking out for him—with the Yue and Chen families backing him, he’ll never have to worry about anything.”

Shen Zhiqiu knew Shen Xiang was Wang Fengqin’s golden child. As long as it served Xiang’s interests, she could control the old woman’s loose tongue.

“Medicine shouldn’t be taken recklessly, and words shouldn’t be spoken carelessly. Trouble comes from the mouth.”

“I understand you don’t care about me, but do you really not care about Liya and Xiang either?”

“Think carefully—am I wrong?”

“No, no! You’re absolutely right, my dear!”

Wang Fengqin nodded eagerly, her face cracking into a grin. Shen Zhiqiu had struck a chord.

She’d sent Shen Liya to dance classes hoping she’d join the cultural troupe and marry well—all to pave the way for her precious son.

Yet somehow, this little wretch Shen Zhiqiu had snatched all the advantages. First Chen Can (whom Wang Fengqin had painstakingly steered toward Liya), and now Yue Mingyuan and the prestigious Yue family.

Just like her slut of a mother, flaunting that fox-faced beauty to seduce her betters.

But her good fortune wouldn’t last. Until then, Wang Fengqin would squeeze every drop from her.

“Zhiqiu, don’t say I don’t care about you! You’re all my lifeblood! But that useless daughter of mine… Xiang will have to rely on you, his eldest sister.”

“Honestly! You both joined the troupe together, yet you’ve performed onstage countless times while she’s still backstage scrubbing floors.”

She seized Shen Zhiqiu’s hand, voice dripping with faux humility. “The troupe leader adores you. Please put in a good word for Liya.”

Shen Zhiqiu’s resolve wavered. She’d always softened to such pleas—like when Wang Fengqin begged her to get Liya into the troupe, which only made her colleagues resent her for “flaunting connections.”

[Mom! Don’t fall for the old witch’s act!]

Ya-Ya’s sudden wail snapped Shen Zhiqiu back to reality.

“Oh, the baby’s awake! Let Grandma see—”

Before Wang Fengqin could rise, Yue Mingyuan was already at the crib, lifting Ya-Ya protectively.

“Xiao Yuan, men shouldn’t fuss with babies! You’ve been up all night—I’ll take her.”

She reached out, but Yue Mingyuan pivoted away, shielding Ya-Ya with his broad back.

“Zhiqiu…” Wang Fengqin’s voice trembled with manufactured hurt. “Has Xiao Yuan taken some offense? He’s never been so cold…”

In the past, Shen Zhiqiu would’ve blamed him. Now, Ya-Ya’s warnings rang clear—this was pure manipulation.

“That’s just how he is.” She glanced at Yue Mingyuan’s steadfast silhouette. “Quiet. Reserved.”

But kind. Dependable. Safe.

The words stayed unspoken, leaving Yue Mingyuan unaware of her true regard—until Ya-Ya balled her tiny fists and shook them vigorously.

[Dad, hang in there! If you keep loving Mom, she’ll see it!]

The encouragement reignited a light in Yue Mingyuan’s eyes. He kissed Ya-Ya’s cheek. “Hungry, little sprout?”

“My, how he dotes on her!” Wang Fengqin’s smile didn’t reach her venomous gaze as her hand crept toward the cursed needle hidden in her pocket.

Why should this bastard child have such luck? Just wait—I’ll steal every shred of it!

Shen Zhiqiu caught the murderous glint and the furtive movement. “What’s in your pocket? Show me.”

Wang Fengqin jerked back, clutching the fabric. “J-just tissues! My stomach’s been… delicate.”

“Did Xiao Yuan call her ‘Ya-Ya’ earlier?” she deflected.

“Ya-Ya. Like a seedling’s first sprout.”

“Ah, bean sprout.” Wang Fengqin wrinkled her nose. “Who picked such an unlucky name? Sprouts are so… fragile. Hard to survive.”

Shen Zhiqiu’s voice turned glacial. “Father Yue chose it.”

The old woman backtracked instantly. “Oh! The General has exquisite taste! I’m sure there’s profound meaning—”

“Look what I sewed for the baby!” She unfurled a bundle of tiny garments.

Shen Zhiqiu’s blood ran cold.

These were her late mother’s dresses—locked away in a cabinet for safekeeping, alongside heirloom jewelry. And there, glinting at Wang Fengqin’s collar, was her mother’s silver necklace.

How dare she?!

Her knuckles whitened against the sheets, fighting tremors of rage.

“I worked nights on these!” Wang Fengqin feigned innocence at her pallor. “Don’t be angry—I only used your mother’s clothes thinking, as the baby’s true grandmother—”

[She’s doing this ON PURPOSE!]

[Mom, don’t react! She WANTS you to collapse!]

[Stay calm—she’ll twist it against you!]

Ya-Ya’s panic mirrored Shen Zhiqiu’s memories of her past life’s outburst—when Wang Fengqin’s crocodile tears had turned the Yue family against her.

This was calculated. The stress, the hidden needle, the poisoned meals—all to kill her.

Before Shen Zhiqiu could speak, a voice sliced through the tension:

“True grandmother? Since when do we dress living children in a dead woman’s clothes?“