Feud

The Servant's Testimony

The room was tense with anticipation, the kind that presses against the ribs and tightens the throat. The Cheng family had gathered in the high-ceilinged media room of the headquarters — a symbolic space for statements, press conferences, and now, a reckoning. Yihan and Yirai sat side by side, faces composed but brittle under the surface. Madam Cheng hovered behind them, hands folded, still trying to maintain an air of dignity despite the chaos.

Yiyai entered quietly, unannounced, dressed in the same austere gray as usual, carrying nothing but a leather folder. The room seemed to contract, as if the walls themselves recognized her presence. She didn’t need a podium. Every eye was drawn to her.

The former maid, Chen Lifen, shuffled in beside her. She was older now, but her hands trembled — whether from nerves or long-suppressed fear, no one could tell. She had been summoned as a witness, the keeper of a truth the Cheng family had worked for years to erase.

Yiyai gestured for her to begin. Chen took a deep breath, glancing at the assembled family before she spoke, her voice quivering but gaining strength with every word.

“It was the year Yiyai was born,” Chen began. “The family had just returned from the summer estates. The birth was not… announced. Not because she was ill. Not because she was unwanted. She was born, and her mother — my lady, the maid — begged for care, begged for recognition. But…” Her voice faltered, but she continued. “…but she was told she was nothing. A child born out of convenience, unworthy of the Cheng name.”

Yihan’s face darkened. “Chen… this is nonsense. Lies.”

“Am I lying?” Chen asked, voice rising slightly. “You and Yirai, you were given the title of heirs. You were celebrated. Yiyai? She was hidden. Neglected. Punished. Called names. Locked away when you could not bear the sight of her crying. And yet…” Chen looked at Yiyai, eyes filled with quiet reverence. “…and yet she survived.”

Yirai’s hand clenched into a fist on her lap. “She’s twisting memories. Manipulating history. I don’t recall any of that.”

Chen’s gaze cut to Yirai. “You wouldn’t. You were the apple of their eyes. You were golden. Yiyai was the one they discarded.”

Madam Cheng’s face stiffened. “Enough, Chen. You are here to speak facts, not embellishments.”

“The fact,” Chen said, swallowing, “is that Yiyai was born of the maid, and the father knew. He knew of her existence, and yet he allowed her suffering, allowed the narrative to be shaped so she could be hidden and dismissed. He… allowed it.”

The air shifted. Silence pressed down.

Yihan’s lips tightened. “You’re accusing our father of intentional neglect?”

Chen’s eyes met his. “Yes. And worse — the public myth, the story of legitimacy, the flawless inheritance line — it is false. Yiyai is Cheng blood, just like you, but she was treated as less than nothing because of her mother’s status. And now she has returned to claim what should have been hers all along.”

A reporter’s phone buzzed from the corner of the room — Yiyai had ensured that the session was being live-streamed selectively to key media outlets. Every word was now permanent, indelible.

The father’s face went pale, hand gripping the arm of his chair. For years he had cultivated an image of propriety, of fairness, of control over legacy. That image now cracked under the weight of truth.

Madam Cheng stepped forward, voice icy. “This… this is manipulation. Fabrication. You are defaming the family.”

“I am revealing what has always existed,” Yiyai said calmly, voice carrying across the room. “Not defamation. Not revenge. Documentation, witness testimony, and corroborated records are here to show that the foundation you built on lies is collapsing.”

Yihan’s jaw twitched. “You cannot—”

“Yes, I can,” Yiyai interrupted. She opened the folder, sliding it across the table toward the media cameras. Inside were scanned letters, hospital records, payroll slips for the maid, and other documents meticulously gathered over the past five years. Each piece told the same story: Yiyai’s mother had served the family faithfully, yet her child had been deliberately ignored, unacknowledged, and mistreated while the golden heirs were celebrated.

Yirai’s nails dug into her lap as the folder’s contents were displayed. She had prided herself on perfection, on social supremacy, on the myth that the family’s hierarchy was unassailable. But here, in stark black-and-white, was the truth: a c***k in the myth of legitimacy that underpinned everything she had ever known.

The father, still seated, finally found his voice. “This… this is highly irregular. Old records can be misinterpreted. You are twisting context.”

Yiyai’s expression hardened. “Interpretation requires honesty, Father. The facts are these: I am your daughter. I am Cheng blood. And the narrative that justified my neglect is false. You, the so-called arbiter of hierarchy, knew of my birth and allowed my suffering.”

Chen Lifen nodded emphatically. “I am willing to testify under oath, anywhere, anytime. The truth has never been spoken.”

Yihan’s face twisted, a mixture of fury and disbelief. “You… you are undermining the entire family. The family’s reputation! Everything we built!”

Yiyai’s smile was faint, cold, precise. “Exactly. Because your reputation is built on a lie. And once the lie is exposed…”

The father slumped, too late realizing that his carefully constructed world was unraveling. The golden myth, the hierarchy that had justified cruelty and neglect, was cracking. And the cracks ran from his own hands outward.

The media coverage began spreading fast. Headlines splashed across news feeds and social media:

“Secret Heiress Exposes Cheng Family Scandal”

“Former Maid Confirms Discarded Daughter of Prominent Business Family”

“Cheng Inc. Faces Legitimacy Crisis Amid Public Revelations”

Yihan’s phone buzzed incessantly. Investors, partners, and reporters were all demanding statements. The myth of the golden, untouchable heirs had shattered.

Yirai’s voice was a whisper now. “She’s… unstoppable. She doesn’t just fight on the corporate front. She destroys everything we thought untouchable.”

Yiyai’s gaze swept the room, calm and unwavering. “I do not need to destroy you personally. I only need the truth to stand. Lies cannot hold against facts forever. The rest will collapse under its own weight.”

Madam Cheng, her matriarchal authority shaken, tried to regain control. “This is disgraceful! You are publicly humiliating the family!”

“No,” Yiyai said softly. “I am correcting history. Public perception follows truth. And the truth cannot be silenced anymore.”

The father buried his face in his hands. The golden siblings, once proud heirs of a myth, were exposed — their legitimacy questioned, their moral authority broken. For years, they had wielded their lineage as a weapon; now, it had become a liability.

Yiyai turned to leave, gesturing for Chen Lifen to follow. “This is only the beginning. The story of neglect is complete. The story of accountability starts now. And the first lesson is this: those who discard the rightful heir will one day answer for their choices.”

As she walked out, the room seemed colder. The dynasty of control, hierarchy, and golden favoritism was no more. In its place was uncertainty, exposure, and the undeniable truth that Yiyai had returned not just as an heiress, but as a reckoning.

Outside the Cheng estate and headquarters, the city absorbed the news like dry earth absorbing rain. Investors murmured. Media circulated. Competitors watched. The legend of the golden heirs had been fractured irreparably.

Yiyai stood atop her own building later that evening, the city spread below like a map of opportunity. The servant’s testimony had done more than humiliate her family — it had stripped away illusions of untouchable power. And for the first time in five years, she allowed herself a faint smile.

Her journey was far from over, but the myth of her family’s untouchable hierarchy had crumbled. And Yiyai — the discarded, neglected daughter — now walked among the ruins, poised to claim everything that should have been hers.