The Fengyue Pavilion was a small paradise within the Ye family estate. In winter, the air was filled with the scent of plum blossoms; in summer, the peach trees bloomed in dazzling pinks. Even the golden peonies — symbols of wealth and nobility — bloomed all year round. It was a place so beautiful that even the main branches of the Ye family couldn’t help but envy it.

A sharp knock echoed through the quiet room.

Ye Qingge’s eyes glimmered with cold light. She changed unhurriedly into a clean, dark-green robe before opening the door.

Outside stood a young maid in light blue. The girl’s brows were drawn together, her expression full of disdain. “Third Miss, you certainly made me wait long enough. Don’t tell me you think that just because the Grand Elder favors you, you can act lawlessly in the Northern Moon Kingdom?”

It was Lvhe, the personal maid of Ye Qingqing — the family’s darling and Ye Qingge’s ever-present tormentor.

Ye Qingge had always been meek in the past. Everyone in the Ye household — from servants to elders — showed her smiles in front of her grandfather, yet behind his back, they treated her worse than a stray dog. Sometimes she went hungry, sometimes she was beaten, and the maids… they had their own cruel games.

They would prick her with silver needles — pain that left no marks, no evidence — but enough to make her writhe in silence.

Ye Qingge’s eyes were like shards of ice as she gave Lvhe a passing glance.

“Arrogant little lapdog.”

Her tone was flat, indifferent — yet it cut like a blade.

Without another word, she walked past the maid toward the corridor. She already knew why Lvhe had come — it was because she had appeared earlier that day, disheveled, in Huarong Alley, supposedly disgracing the Ye family’s name.

The family elders were surely waiting to interrogate her.

Lvhe froze, then rage exploded in her chest. “Lapdog? You useless waste dare call me a lapdog? Without the Grand Elder, what are you, Ye Qingge? You’re nothing — just trash for us to toy with!”

She lunged forward, seizing Ye Qingge by the hair.

A flicker of irritation crossed Ye Qingge’s face. Then — crack!

With one swift motion, she twisted Lvhe’s wrist.

The sound of snapping bone echoed through the hallway. Lvhe screamed, collapsing to the floor, clutching her arm in horror.

“Y–Ye Qingge, you—”

Her words died on her lips when she met Ye Qingge’s gaze.

Those eyes were no longer timid and dull. They were black as ink, sharp and silent as death — eyes that pierced right through the soul, cold and lethal like a drawn sword.

“No…” Lvhe stammered, trembling. “You’re not Ye Qingge… who are you?”

Ye Qingge’s voice was calm, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Whether I am or not — who are you, a servant, to question me?”

She turned and walked away, leaving the girl trembling behind her.

As she moved through the corridor, her mind was clear. Her grandfather, Ye Qingtian, had entered secluded cultivation three months ago. The only one who had ever protected her was gone — and the rest of the Ye family would show no mercy.

Her uncle, Ye Zhengxiong, held the title of patriarch now. He had always smiled kindly at her in public, but Ye Qingge could feel the truth beneath the mask: he despised her.

When she finally reached the main hall, she could already feel the oppressive tension inside. Everyone was waiting — waiting for her humiliation.

She pushed open the doors.

Inside, the hall was packed — elders, cousins, the main and side branches — all gathered, all watching her.

At the head of the hall sat Ye Zhengxiong, a middle-aged man with sharp, sword-like brows and hair at his temples streaked with silver. His gray robe was embroidered with a python pattern — the mark of the family head. Even seated, he radiated authority, cold and proud.

Ye Qingge stepped inside calmly, her back straight, her eyes unwavering.

Her gaze caught on the figure kneeling at Ye Zhengxiong’s feet — Steward Lin. And beyond him, standing among the crowd, was Ye Qingqing, her head held high, her lips curved in a faint, smug smile.