In a quaint, old-fashioned courtyard.
The gentle breeze stirred the hem of a blue skirt, carrying with it a slight chill.
Qing Dai, who was brewing tea, asked cautiously, "Is something on your mind, my lady?"
"Everyone outside thinks I'm a widow. How could I possibly be calm?" Meng Qiewei said, looking up at Qing Dai.
Hearing this, Qing Dai immediately replied, "Then wouldn't it be better if you just told them who your husband is, my lady?"
Meng Qiewei stared at Qing Dai with cold eyes.
Forcing Qing Dai to lower her head.
'You won't explain yourself, and your reputation is already terrible,' she thought. 'It's no wonder people are letting their imaginations run wild.'
But she only dared to think it, not say it aloud.
"What are you thinking?" Meng Qiewei asked softly.
"Nothing," Qing Dai replied, shaking her head at once.
"I know what you're thinking," Meng Qiewei said coldly, her eyes downcast.
"What do you think I'm thinking, my lady?" Qing Dai asked.
