“No.”

Just one word — but it carried the weight of thunder.

Ye Qingge brushed Qin Lan’s hand away and stood tall like a pine tree in winter, her expression as cold as carved jade. Her almond-shaped eyes gleamed with razor-edged light.

Everyone stared in disbelief.

The once-weak, cowardly Third Miss had become someone entirely different.

“Elder Sister,” Ye Qingqing interjected delicately, “how can you be so heartless?”

Her seemingly innocent words made Lin Chen flinch. Still kneeling, he turned toward Ye Qingge, tears of pain and confusion in his eyes. Crawling closer, he clutched her legs and looked up miserably.

“Third Miss… did something happen? You told me just yesterday — you’d marry no one but me!”

Ye Qingge bent slightly, her voice cool and unhurried. “Are you sure it was me who said that — and not Qingqing?”

Her hand reached down, slender fingers lifting his blood-streaked chin. She gazed at him from above, her dark eyes deep and unreadable, like ink unmoved by wind.

Lin Chen froze, his body trembling. From the crowd, Ye Qingqing’s face blanched.

Moments passed before Lin Chen fumbled inside his robe and finally produced a piece of translucent jade — glowing faintly, with the character “Ge” engraved upon it.

“This… this was your token of affection,” he said, voice cracking. “Do you remember, Third Miss?”

Ye Qingge glanced at it, then smiled faintly. “Ah, so that’s where it went. I lost that pendant after teasing the dog one day. Since fate brought it to you, consider it yours now.”

As she pushed the jade back toward him, she leaned close, her voice soft as falling snow.

“Ye Qingqing is cruel and venomous. Why keep helping her hurt others?”

Before he could respond, she straightened, her expression once again calm and distant.

“If the Master and Madam truly care about my marriage,” she said evenly, “then let’s wait for the Grand Elder’s return. It’s late. You should all rest — I’ll take my leave.”

She turned sharply and walked away, ignoring the stunned faces around her.

“Stop right there!” Ye Zhengxiong’s roar shook the hall. “How dare you walk away before your master? Do you mean to insult me in front of everyone?”

Ye Qingge didn’t even glance back.

Her silk skirts brushed the floor, each step poised and graceful.

So what if they called her a fallen woman or heartless wretch?

As long as she was alive, there was hope.

Outside, beneath the moonlight, she paused by a carved pillar. The night breeze stirred her hair as she gazed up at the star-filled sky — vast and eternal.

Then came the sound of hurried footsteps.

A small maid stumbled forward, nearly tripping. Ye Qingge moved swiftly, catching the child before she fell.

The little girl giggled, clapping her tiny hands — a few baby teeth missing, her grin bright and innocent.