Chapter 41: How could there ever be fairness between her and her?

“Auntie, do you think my gloves are pretty?”
“Oh? Yeah, they’re really nice!”

Wen Xuxu, who had been intently peeling shrimp shells, glanced down at her son’s tiny hands the moment she heard his voice. One look—and her mind flashed back to the scene she’d walked in on just moments ago. A sharp pang shot through her chest.

“See? Auntie Gu made these for me,” Mo Bao said proudly, stretching out his hand toward his mom like he was presenting a trophy. “She said she knitted them herself.”

Wen Xuxu: ……

Knitted by hand?
No way. Hand-knit gloves wouldn’t have stitches so perfectly uniform—every single one exactly the same. And those colorful gemstones? Anyone who knew knitting would’ve woven them into the fabric using the yarn itself, not stitched them on separately. That kind of thing only looked tacky. The real craftsmanship showed in how natural it all felt—seamless, organic. This wasn’t handmade. It was factory-made, polished to look like love.

Wen Xuxu let out a dry, cold laugh. “No way. These aren’t hand-knitted. The knots on real handmade stuff don’t tie this clean.”

“Wait… really?”

The question hung in the air like a dropped knife. Silence crashed over the table.

And Gu Xia? Her face went pale in an instant.

“What do you mean? Why aren’t they handmade? Can you even knit, Wen Xuxu?”

Huo Sijue spoke first—sharp, defensive, almost angry. He didn’t know why, but something inside him refused to let this woman’s words become truth.

But Wen Xuxu just gave him a sly, mocking glance. “Oh, I can knit. I make them every year for myself. Look—” She tugged at her sweater, pulling it slightly to show off the bat-wing sleeves. “This whole thing? I knitted it myself.”

The room froze.

Dead silence.

Finally—*the show was about to begin*.

Wen Xuxu settled back into her chair with slow, deliberate grace, watching the faces around the table shift like storm clouds rolling in. There was Gu Xia, now ashen-faced. The others—shocked, confused, guilty.

Her mood lifted.

She picked up her chopsticks.

“I don’t want it anymore, Daddy. They’re not handmade. I don’t want them. Here—take them back. You’re a liar!”

Mo Bao was quick. As soon as his mom finished speaking, he yanked the gloves off in three swift motions and hurled them across the table straight at Gu Xia.

Gu Xia’s face turned ghost-white.

“No! Sijue, please—listen to me! I *did* buy the yarn myself. I found the gems and hired someone to sew them on. I just… I just couldn’t knit. But everything else—the colors, the design—I chose it all! I swear!”

“They’re not yours! You told me you made them! You’re a liar! I’ll never believe you again!”

Mo Bao screamed, louder this time. Furious, he threw down his chopsticks and tried to scramble out of his chair.

Wen Xuxu caught him mid-leap. “Yin Yin, Yin Yin, don’t be mad. She can’t knit. But *I* can. Let me make you some. I’ll make you tons. What do you want? I’ll knit it. Okay?”

“Really?”

Mo Bao tilted his head up, eyes brimming with tears, his little face twisted with hurt. Pure, heartbreaking innocence.

Wen Xuxu’s heart shattered.

She pulled him close, whispering against his ear, “I promise. I’ll make them for you. I’ll have them ready by tomorrow. By the day after, I swear.”

Huo Sijue: ……

Just when tension was about to explode—Gu Xia suddenly lunged forward, dropping to her knees with a loud *thud*, grabbing hold of his legs.

“No, Sijue—please listen! I didn’t mean to lie! I *really* wanted to knit them myself. But I’ve never learned. I tried and tried… I couldn’t get it right. Look at my hands—look! All broken, all raw! I love you so much. Yin is your son. How could I ever fake something like this? I’m desperate, Sijue—I just didn’t know what else to do!”

She held up her hands—pierced with needle holes, swollen, bleeding. Her eyes were wide, glistening with tears. So helpless. So tragic.

Wen Xuxu saw it all—and instantly, a cold dread crept up her spine.

She knew this trick.

Too well.

It wasn’t new. It was Gu Xia’s favorite move: the *sacrificial act*. The moment things unraveled, she’d play the victim. Make everyone feel sorry for her.

But what stunned Wen Xuxu was that this time—this *smart*, calculating man—didn’t see through it.

He stared at her hands, silent for a long beat. Then, slowly, the fire in his eyes dimmed.

“You brought this on yourself.”

“Yes, yes, I did. But I still want to try. Yin is your son. I want to do more for him. If Miss Wen knows how to knit… can I learn from her? I’ll work hard. Once I master it, I’ll knit something every single day. Whatever he wants—socks, mittens, sweaters—I’ll make them all.”

She repeated Wen Xuxu’s own words—like a mirror, mimicking her tone, her posture, her *confidence*.

As if she’d studied every move.

As if she’d already planned this.