...
Her words, soft and broken, fell like drops of water onto stone—gentle on the surface, yet carving deep cracks into the hearts of everyone present.
"Enough, Yulan. You don't have to trouble yourself over your sister any longer," Lin Zhixuan said, his voice unusually tender, yet underlined with a firmness that left no room for negotiation. His gaze lingered on her pale, fragile face with a trace of pity, almost indulgence. "You just focus on your recovery. As for everything else… Uncle Shen will see to it."
In his haste to comfort her, Lin Zhixuan completely disregarded propriety. He was, after all, Shen Yuhan's official fiancé and Shen Yulan's future brother-in-law—yet in this moment, that line seemed blurred, if not entirely erased.
At the sight of Lin Zhixuan's unusual tenderness toward her daughter, a flicker of calculation gleamed in Su Wanning's eyes, the corners of her lips almost curving before she quickly masked it with sorrow. Shen Zhirui, however, chose to turn a blind eye, as if such impropriety was not only acceptable, but natural. To him, as long as the heir of the Lin family became his son-in-law, it mattered little which daughter ended up as the Lin family's young mistress.
Shen Yulan, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, let her eyes glisten with tears as she whispered weakly, "Brother Zhixuan… you mustn't speak up for me. If sister were to hear of this, her resentment toward me would only deepen. I don't wish for her to misunderstand… about us."
Her trembling voice, threaded with both fear and sorrow, coupled with her frail, tear-streaked face, made her appear the very picture of innocence. Yet every word, while sounding considerate, quietly painted Shen Yuhan as petty and vindictive. The effect was irresistible—those watching only felt their hearts ache tighter with pity for Yulan and a growing loathing for Shen Yuhan.
Just as she had predicted, hearing the name of Shen Yuhan, Lin Zhixuan's face darkened.
"She dares?" he said coldly, his voice laced with restrained fury. "If she dares to resent you for this, then she truly isn't worthy of being the future young mistress of the Lin family. Yulan, you needn't worry about her any longer. I won't allow her to bully you again."
His words, firm and resolute, fell like a heavy gavel in the silent room. For Yulan, it was exactly the reaction she had wanted—his anger redirected entirely at Shen Yuhan, while she herself played the helpless, selfless victim.
Inside, however, a spark of triumph flickered in her gaze.
Her lashes lowered, veiling the satisfaction that glimmered beneath. Shen Yuhan... Shen Yuhan. Your luck is truly wretched in this life. First your mother failed to keep her husband's heart, and now you can't hold on to your future husband's either. You and your mother—both destined to lose against us. Hmph. Who told you to be born to such a pathetic mother?
A weak cough escaped her lips, masking the satisfaction swelling in her chest. She leaned against Madam Su's embrace, her frail body trembling delicately.
While Shen Yulan was busy weaving her pitiful act and turning hearts against Shen Yuhan, across the manor in the quiet Osmanthus Courtyard, the atmosphere was starkly different.
The courtyard carried an unusual warmth and cheer compared to the somber air of previous days. Ever since the death of Shen Yuhan's mother, the once-bright and lively girl had grown quiet and withdrawn. But today, there was a spark in her eyes once more—radiant, steady, as if she had finally been enlightened and found her way back. She seemed different: confident, unafraid, and brimming with a quiet strength.
At the dining table, Shen Yuhan sat happily stuffing her mouth with steaming soup and dumplings, not sparing a thought for etiquette or rules. Ming'er could only shake her head in helpless exasperation, while Ah Zhu watched with eyes full of warmth and nostalgia, as though she were seeing a shadow of the girl's mother in her carefree smile.
"Miss, slow down," Ming'er chided gently as she refilled the cup with warm plum tea. "No one is going to snatch your food away. If you keep eating like this, you'll end up choking."
"Slurrrp—" Shen Yuhan noisily sucked up her noodles, completely ignoring Ming'er's warning, just as she used to in her modern world.
Her carefree display was utterly unbecoming of a young lady of a noble house, yet the sight was so genuine and amusing that both Ming'er and Ah Zhu couldn't hold back their laughter.
At last, after polishing off the final bite of noodles, Shen Yuhan finally lifted her head. Her eyes sparkled with a rare brightness, satisfaction written all over her delicate face. With a quick swipe of her tongue across her lips, she suddenly let out a loud, unapologetic—
"Buuurrrp~!"
The sound echoed through the quiet courtyard, so out of place in its elegance that both Ming'er and Ah Zhu froze for a momet.
Seeing their reaction, Shen Yuhan stuck out her tongue playfully and muttered, "Hehe… sorry~" Her tone was anything but apologetic, more mischievous than remorseful.
Ming'er sighed and shook her head, trying to look stern but failing to hide the twitch at the corner of her lips. Ah Zhu, on the other hand, laughed outright, her eyes crinkling with warmth. "Miss, only you could turn something so unladylike into something so… adorable."
"Miss, don't listen to this old woman," Ming'er quickly interjected, shooting Ah Zhu a glare. "This foolish one has clearly lost her mind and doesn't know better. But you—" she leaned closer, her voice urgent yet gentle, "you are a young lady of a noble family. You mustn't abandon your etiquette. It may be fine before us, your servants, but if outsiders were to see you like this, they would call you mannerless… a country bumpkin. That would not do well for your reputation, Miss."
Hearing her words, Ah Zhu immediately flew into a false rage. Her hands went to her hips as she puffed out her cheeks, glaring at Ming'er with exaggerated indignation.
"Who did you just call an old woman?!" she snapped, her voice rising in mock offense. "I may be older than you by a few years, but I can still carry two buckets of water faster than you can lift a teapot! Hmph—old woman, my foot!"