Ye Qingge walked forward until she stood beside Steward Lin, right before the patriarch himself. She stood straight as a blade, her gaze cold, expression unreadable.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Ye Zhengxiong set down his teacup — clack! The porcelain struck the table with a sharp crack, tea splashing across the wood.

“Kneel.”

His voice thundered through the hall.

A wave of spiritual pressure burst forth from him — sharp and heavy as a mountain. Invisible blades of aura pierced through the air, slamming into Ye Qingge’s body. With her dantian destroyed, she had no spiritual energy to shield herself. He knew that — and yet he still struck.

A metallic taste filled her mouth. She coughed, crimson blood staining her lips. Her knees bent under the weight of his power… but she did not kneel.

Lifting her head, she met his furious gaze with icy calm. “May I ask, Patriarch, what crime I have committed that warrants me kneeling before you?”

Gasps rippled through the hall.

Ye Zhengxiong’s expression darkened. With a roar, he slammed his hand onto the table. The solid red sandalwood shattered into splinters under his palm.

“You dare defy me? You forget your place! I am the Patriarch of the Ye Family — and you are but one of its daughters!”

Ye Qingge wiped the blood from her lips, her voice steady. “I am indeed a daughter of the Ye family. But not your daughter. If I must kneel… then only to the Grand Elder.”

At those words, Ye Zhengxiong’s fury faltered.

For all his authority, even he knew the truth — the position of Patriarch had been granted to him by the Grand Elder, Ye Qingtian. And the same man could take it away just as easily.

The silence thickened until Ye Qingqing broke it with a soft, honeyed voice.

“Father,” she said, her tone sweet but her eyes gleaming with malice, “Elder Sister and Steward Lin are… in love. You can’t separate them so cruelly. Even Grandfather would support their union if he were here.”

“Silence!” Ye Zhengxiong’s voice cracked like a whip.

Everyone in the hall knew — Ye Qingge had long been betrothed to a young prince. To pair her with a servant was not only an insult to the Ye family, but also to the royal household itself.

Steward Lin still knelt on the floor, head bowed. His pale robe was smeared with dust, his lips trembling. “Patriarch… the Third Miss and I have pledged ourselves to one another. Please… grant us your blessing.”

“Filth!” Ye Zhengxiong roared.

His foot lashed out, kicking Lin square in the chest. The steward’s body rolled across the floor, crashing into a table. Blood splattered as his head struck the corner, leaving a dark trail down his face.

“I raised you, trusted you — and this is how you repay me? A wolf’s heart in a man’s skin!”

The Matriarch rushed forward, placing a calming hand on his arm. “Patriarch, please — there must be another way to resolve this. Let us speak calmly.”

“Calmly?” he spat. “The whole city knows! What calm is left?”

He raised his leg again — but before he could strike, a small voice piped up.

“Daddy, Steward Lin doesn’t like Sister Qingge,” said a little girl, blinking up at him with innocent eyes. “He likes Sister Qingqing! I heard it myself…”

The hall fell silent.

A maid immediately rushed forward, scooping the child into her arms. She covered the girl’s mouth, bowing nervously toward the Patriarch. “Please forgive her, Patriarch — she’s only a child, she doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

Ye Qingqing’s face turned white as snow. Rage flared in her eyes as she glared at the child, then turned back toward Ye Zhengxiong, panic creeping into her expression.