"Where's the poison?"
Gu Yanshen's voice was icy, every word like ice.
Gu Xiuzhen's wailing abruptly stopped, choking in her throat.
The color drained from her distorted face, leaving only a deathly pale.
Poison?
She knew better than anyone that there was no poison in the soup!
The castor powder was still clenched in her own palm, she never got the chance to sprinkle it!
Gu Yanshen drank the whole bowl of soup; he was still standing there, as solid as a tower.
The major performance she had meticulously planned, the "poisoning scheme," turned into a colossal joke before everyone's eyes.
At the kitchen door, all those once sympathetic gazes had changed.
Suspicion, scrutiny, disdain, ridicule.
Numerous gazes, like countless needles, fiercely pierced Gu Xiuzhen's face and body.
She felt as though she was stripped bare, thrown into a snowy field in the deep of winter, with nowhere to hide.
No!
She can't just admit to this!
