Chapter 4 – Whispers in the Halls
By dawn, the city had already begun to buzz.
"She rejected the Xu heir?" a maid whispered behind a closed door, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Impossible—no one dares humiliate the Xu family," a tailor muttered, tightening the strings on a gown.
"They say she went mad overnight. Poor girl… her family must be beside themselves," a chamberlain added, voice trembling slightly as he passed the words along to the next servant.
Every whisper carried her name like a poison. Every sneer dripped with disdain, twisting through the streets, ricocheting from marble halls to gilded parlors.
And yet, Liang Yue moved through it all untouched.
By evening, she arrived at the Orchid Pavilion, the glittering heart of the city's elite social circuit. Crystal chandeliers cast halos of golden light across polished marble floors, and the air shimmered with a perfume of roses, fine wine, and the faint, bitter tang of jealousy. Servants scurried with trays of crystal glasses, but all eyes—not on them—rested on her.
The moment she stepped into the grand hall, a hush rippled through the crowd.
"She actually came?" hissed a dowager in pearls, her eyes narrowing.
"Bold… given the scandal," muttered a young socialite, clutching her fan as though it could shield her from Liang Yue's presence.
"Without Xu Liwei, who will marry her now?" a whispering voice followed, brittle and sharp like splintered glass.
Liang Yue's spine remained perfectly straight. Her chin lifted, shoulders squared, a faint, serene smile curving her lips. Every step she took was deliberate; every click of her heels against the marble was a drumbeat of defiance.
Once, she might have shrunk beneath these stares. Once, the venomous whispers might have cut deeper than any blade. But this was no longer the Liang Yue of before. She had been forged in fire, sharpened by betrayal, resurrected with a purpose.
The whispers, the judgment, the simmering envy—they were now ornaments, like jewels in a crown she alone had earned.
A soft voice called out, honeyed and practiced. "Yue!"
Chen Yulan glided across the floor, a vision of elegance in pale silk and gold embroidery. Every movement was calculated, every tilt of her head rehearsed. She clutched Liang Yue's hands with exaggerated tenderness, her eyes shimmering with the perfect mixture of concern and artful deceit.
"Cousin, you're so brave to come tonight," Yulan cooed, leaning in just enough so that the nearest guests could catch every word. "I feared that others might… be unkind. But perhaps it's for the best. Brother Liwei deserves someone who truly appreciates him. Sometimes, love demands sacrifice, doesn't it?"
Gasps of sympathetic murmurs scattered through the hall, like leaves caught in a sudden gust.
Liang Yue tilted her head, observing her cousin with the calm precision of a seasoned strategist. The pitying smile, the delicate tremble in Yulan's voice, the subtle angling of her body to appear protective—all of it was theater. A brilliant performance, but a performance nonetheless.
"Sacrifice?" Liang Yue's voice was light, teasing, yet edged with steel. "Oh, Yulan… don't flatter yourself. The only thing I sacrificed was… time wasted on illusions."
The hall shifted slightly, some guests hiding smiles behind delicate fans, others whispering urgently into their partners' ears. Liang Yue's gaze swept across the room, sweeping up every reaction, noting every heartbeat. Power, she realized, was not in the words you spoke but in the silence you commanded afterward.
Her smile sharpened. She raised her voice just enough for the nearest guests to catch the truth behind her calm words. "As for Xu Liwei… if a man's fortune depends on clinging to a woman, then perhaps he was never worth much to begin with."
A ripple of laughter surged through the Orchid Pavilion. Some gasped in shock, others chuckled discreetly, but now the whispers had a new edge—not pity, not scorn, but intrigue and admiration.
Yulan's face turned crimson, lips pressing together as tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. She gave the illusion of wounded grace, but beneath the mask, fury simmered, barely contained. Liang Yue could see it—the tremor of her cousin's hands, the stiffening of her shoulders. Every performance has its cracks.
The orchestra struck up a waltz, saving Yulan from further humiliation. With a trembling curtsy, she slipped into the crowd, leaving whispers that hung like smoke around Liang Yue's poised figure.
Liang Yue allowed herself a moment to breathe, letting the tension of the room settle. Every eye remained on her, some with envy, others with curiosity, all acknowledging her emergence as something untouchable.
And then she saw him.
Across the ballroom, in the shadow of a towering marble column, a man watched her. Broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed in a black suit tailored to perfection, his gaze sharp, assessing, unreadable.
Something stirred in her chest—not fear, not desire, but an acute awareness. This was no ordinary man, no idle observer. He exuded power quietly, deliberately, the kind that could unseat even the mightiest of families.
Her pulse quickened, an unfamiliar thrill threading through her veins. A game was beginning, and she could already feel the tension of it in the air.
The music swelled, crystal glasses chimed in a toast somewhere across the room, yet Liang Yue felt only the electric hum of anticipation—the delicate, dangerous dance that was about to begin.
She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of roses and intrigue, the heady mix of fear and desire that laced the grand hall. Tonight, she realized, was not about the past. Tonight was about the world bending to her will, and perhaps, the first spark of something… else.
A dangerous, thrilling heartbeat echoed in her ears as she allowed herself the smallest of smiles—knowing that the night, and every moment after, would belong to her.
And for the first time, amid whispers, stares, and the sharp tang of envy, Liang Yue understood the true power of being reborn: she was untouchable.
Yet the glance she had exchanged with the man across the room promised more than power alone—it promised a collision of fates, a fire yet to be ignited.
The Orchid Pavilion might be grand, the gossip sharp, but Liang Yue's eyes were on something far more intoxicating than scandal. A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips.
The game had begun.