The Yang family gained an illegitimate son, and they threw a lively banquet to celebrate.
The boy had skin so soft it looked like you could squeeze water from it. He never dared look up when he met someone, like a frail, sickly kitten.
They said he was the illegitimate son of a woman Mr. Yang had met by chance in Jiangnan. His bloodline could not be allowed to leave the family, so they kept him at home.
He had a dimple on his cheek, and when he smiled, he could steal half a soul.
None of the four young masters in the household treated him like a person.
The eldest was gentle but distant, the second was sharp-tongued, the third was a shameless troublemaker, and the fourth was vicious.
He had no choice but to struggle to survive in the cracks between them, clinging day after day to his eldest brother, whose face wore a mask of hypocrisy. He pleaded for pity in a soft voice, lowered his eyes and let others pinch his chin and cheeks, begging for the smallest chance to live.
The Yangs were famous wealthy merchants, and he benefited from their riches, dressing in fine clothes and attending a private school.
In front of the other students, his brothers pointed at him and cursed,
