The crowd turned as one, as though pulled by the same invisible string.
There—perched with languid insolence atop the cake table—sat the masked girl. She looked as though she had wandered into this glittering banquet out of boredom rather than obligation, long legs casually drawn up, posture loose and unrestrained. Between her fingers she tossed a small strawberry smeared with cream, flipping it lightly as if it were a toy. The arrogance in her air was unmistakable, the kind of careless dominance that did not need to announce itself.
Compared with Mu Xiaonan's carefully trained sweetness, her polished smile, her deferential grace—
Mu Qingyue's attitude was another world entirely.
The Xiao family's bodyguards broke into smiles at once.
Yes. This was exactly right.
The "divine physician" who had cured their master's chronic headaches—this was precisely how she had been described: young, razor-sharp, irreverent, carrying a blade-like edge beneath her beauty, as if her presence alone could cut through hypocrisy.
The leading bodyguard stepped forward with unmistakable respect. He bowed deeply and spoke with careful formality.
"Our family head asked me to convey this: if I saw you, I must invite you to visit the Xiao family from time to time—have tea, at least. Please don't disappear again without a word."
Mu Qingyue's response was mild, almost indifferent. "We'll see."
There was no flattery in her tone, no fear, no trembling reverence. She did not react as others would upon hearing the Xiao family's name—falling over themselves, eager to please, practically ready to kneel.
She treated their immense status as though it were merely weather: notable, perhaps, but not enough to alter her posture.
After that, the representatives from the Mo family—and other powerful figures who had sent gifts—stepped forward in turn. One after another, they offered Mu Qingyue congratulations, respectful greetings, and carefully chosen words of goodwill.
And as they did so—
They completely ignored Mu Xiaonan.
Mu Xiaonan stood beside them in her layered, elaborate princess gown, crowned with a crystal tiara. By all logic, by all expectation, she should have been the undeniable protagonist of this coming-of-age banquet.
Yet now, she was reduced to a decorative figure at the edge of the stage.
The true center was a girl in nothing more than a loose shirt and short denim—carelessly seated above everyone else, chin half propped in her palm, smiling like a bandit enjoying the tribute of lesser men. The contrast was so brutal it felt humiliating to witness. It made Mu Xiaonan look like a servant standing dutifully beside her mistress, like a handmaiden beside a queen.
Mu Xiaonan's nails sank into her palm.
Hard.
So hard it hurt.
No.
It should not be like this.
For more than a decade, Mu Qingyue had always been her shadow.
Back in the village, she had been the charming one—the sweet-tongued child who knew how to please adults and win affection. Villagers liked her more. Other children gathered around her more. She had always been the one who knew how to perform "love" convincingly.
In the Mu family, too, she had been the better fit. She learned noble etiquette with ease. She was obedient, graceful, disciplined. She didn't talk back. She didn't clash with elders. She didn't carry that stubborn defiance Mu Qingyue wore like thorns.
Mu Qingyue was supposed to remain beneath her.
Forever.
Mu Qingyue should have been the one watching from the corner, quietly eclipsed, permanently inferior—
Not the one stealing every gaze in the entire garden.
Not the one receiving reverence as though she were some hidden sovereign finally revealed.
A black-suited bodyguard stepped forward, voice respectful. "Miss Qingyue, would you like us to carry these gifts inside for you?"
"Sure," Mu Qingyue replied lightly, her tone casual to the point of laziness. "But my room is small. It might not fit everything."
It was the truth—and it was a quiet slap.
In this enormous estate, the finest rooms had been given to Mu Xiaonan, aside from the old master's quarters and the main suite occupied by Mu Lei and his wife. Mu Qingyue—the true eldest Miss Mu—had been relegated to an ordinary guest room, serviceable but unremarkable.
The bodyguard's expression darkened. "With an estate this large," he said coldly, "complete with golf course and swimming pool—why is the room given to you so small?"
A representative standing nearby smiled, adding smoothly, "You could return to the Mo family instead. Our young master said he's willing to build you a private villa."
Those words fell like stones into still water.
Mu Lei's face flushed—first red, then pale—his expression twisting with panic. He was terrified these men would return and speak ill of the Mu family's treatment of their true daughter. He hurried to salvage face, forcing a laugh.
"Qingyue is just being modest," he said quickly. "I've recently built a new annex. I was planning to give it to her the moment she returned."
Ning Xi's eyes widened.
That annex had been promised to her.
"Dear—" she began, voice sharp with protest.
Mu Lei shot her a warning glare so fierce it cut her off instantly. Her mouth snapped shut, resentment burning silently behind her forced composure.
Mu Qingyue rested her cheek in her palm, eyes half-lidded, and smiled—light, calm, faintly amused.
"Then," she said gently, as if granting them a favor, "please carry everything into the annex."
She slid off the cake table in one fluid motion. In her hand, the strawberry she had been playing with pressed down against the table's surface.
Red juice smeared across the white cloth.
It spread in glossy streaks, thick and vivid—bright, passionate, and somehow unsettling, like spilled blood disguised as fruit.
That was exactly what many people felt as they looked at Mu Qingyue in that moment:
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
Too vivid to ignore.
She turned toward Old Master Mu, her tone suddenly warm, almost tender. "Grandfather, I brought back some ginseng. It's good for strengthening your body. Later, have Aunt Wang simmer it into ginseng soup for you."
Mu Qingyue reached out and supported the old man's arm with practiced care.
Old Master Mu looked over the stunned faces—Mu Xiaonan frozen in place, Ning Xi stiff with anger, Mu Lei tense with embarrassment—and a faint fatigue flickered through his eyes. The banquet no longer held any appeal.
"All right," he said simply.
Then, leaning on his cane, he turned away from the crowd and walked back toward the house alongside Mu Qingyue—leaving the garden, the gifts, and the once-glittering celebration behind as though it were nothing more than a tasteless show.