Ye Qingqing stormed off like a madwoman, refusing even to let Lin Chen touch her sleeve.

He stood there, beneath the moonlight outside Fengyue Pavilion, looking like a wounded beast — silent, forlorn. Blood trickled from the cut on his forehead.

“Hey, Steward Lin.”

A lazy, teasing voice drifted down from above.

He looked up.

Perched on the high wall beside the gate, half her face hidden in shadow, Ye Qingge leaned forward with a faint smile. “Why do you like Ye Qingqing so much?”

Even if it meant throwing away your pride…

Lin Chen sat down heavily, back against the door. His hands covered his head as he murmured, “When I was starving on the streets… she gave me a bun.”

He laughed bitterly. “Forgive me for making you laugh, Third Miss.”

He stood and offered a formal bow before limping away. Under the silver moonlight, his shadow stretched long and lonely.

Ye Qingge watched him vanish into the dark, her eyes thoughtful.

“Ji Yue,” she said softly.

“Call me Master,” came the smooth, mocking voice in her mind.

“...”

She rolled her eyes. “Ji Yue, when the real Ye Qingge was a child, didn’t she once share her bun with a hungry boy?”

Ji Yue thought for a moment. “Yeah. Now that you mention it… that boy did look a lot like this Lin Chen.”

Ye Qingge’s smile sharpened, glinting with cold amusement.

“Then it all makes sense.”

If someone wanted her dead — she wouldn’t sit around waiting for it to happen.

The night deepened, moonlight spilling like ink across the vast Ye estate.

Inside the main hall, red candles flickered. Qin Lan helped Ye Zhengxiong remove his robes, her every gesture practiced, sensual.

“I’ll go to the palace tomorrow,” Ye Zhengxiong muttered. “That wild girl, Qingge — she’s brought disgrace to our family. The Emperor will be furious.”

Qin Lan chuckled softly. “Perhaps this isn’t such a bad thing.”

“Oh?” Ye Zhengxiong glanced at her, puzzled.

She removed her jeweled hairpin, letting her long hair fall in dark waves. The candlelight danced over her elegant features as she said slowly, “Ye Qingge is a useless girl — ugly besides. Do you truly think the Emperor or the Little Prince want her as a bride? For years, she’s chased him shamelessly, and he’s never looked her way.”

Ye Zhengxiong nodded approvingly. “You have a point.”

They lay side by side on the embroidered bed, the flickering light painting strange patterns on the ceiling.

Qin Lan’s eyes gleamed as she whispered, “With the Grand Elder alive, the royal family dared not annul the betrothal. But now that Ye Qingge’s name is ruined, it actually works in their favor. They can break the engagement and save face. Outwardly, they’ll pretend outrage — but inside, they’ll be relieved.”

She turned to him, her smile cunning, voice low.

“Our daughter will soon return from her training. The Little Prince is the Emperor’s favorite, gifted beyond compare. Why not seize this chance to ask His Majesty to bestow a marriage? It would preserve royal dignity — and secure a glorious match for our family.”

Her eyes sparkled with triumph. “I’ve even heard that the Little Prince once praised our Xue’er’s beauty as divine.”