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Chapter 9 - Breakfast

And so, somehow, Lan Yue found herself being the one following right behind the mistress.

Both Liu Ruyan and Chen Mei had exchanged one look before conveniently falling behind. Clearly, they knew what might happen inside and decided to push the task onto her.

Huh. Some loyal maidservants they were.

Zhao Lingxi walked ahead, tall and graceful, her pale robe flowing softly with each step. Even after years away, there was something naturally dignified about her like someone who refused to bow, even if the world turned its back.

The courtyard leading to the main hall was bustling with servants carrying trays and steaming dishes. Yet as Zhao Lingxi passed, the lively chatter died down. Eyes turned. Whispers followed.

"She's back?"

"After what she did, how could the master allow it?"

"She's a murderer."

"Hush! Do you want to lose your tongue?"

Lan Yue kept her head lowered, but her jaw tightened. These people had no shame whispering right in front of them.

When they reached the front of the hall, a servant stepped forward and announced, "Eldest Miss Zhao Lingxi has returned."

The heavy wooden doors opened. Warm sunlight spilled across the polished floor, revealing a large dining table laden with breakfast dishes—steamed buns, porridge, vegetables, meat rolls. The aroma filled the air, but the atmosphere was stiff and quiet.

Lan Yue followed silently, moving to stand among the other servants lined neatly along the wall. From there, she could observe everything without being noticed.

At the center sat General Zhao Wenyuan, still broad-shouldered despite his age. His expression was hard, his posture straight, his hands resting on the table. He didn't lift his gaze when Zhao Lingxi entered.

On his right sat Madam Hua, the current main wife.

Even seated, she radiated elegance. Her every gesture was refined, her lips curved in a practiced smile. She wore a light lavender robe embroidered with orchids, her hair pinned with delicate jade.

Lan Yue had heard stories about her from the novel. Before marrying into the Zhao family, she had been one of the top courtesans of Qinghe Pavilion, a place where powerful men competed just to hear her sing. After Zhao Lingxi's mother died, Madam Hua quickly rose to become the main wife.

And sitting beside her, all smiles and charm, was her daughter—Zhao Ruoqing, the second young miss.

"Elder Sister, you've finally returned," Zhao Ruoqing said sweetly, rising halfway from her seat. "We were just talking about you. Come, sit beside me."

Lan Yue glanced toward Zhao Lingxi, whose face remained calm, unreadable. She gave a faint nod and walked over, bowing slightly before sitting down.

"You must have suffered outside," Zhao Ruoqing continued, voice full of practiced concern. "The countryside must have been so hard on you. You've grown thinner—look at you."

Lan Yue's lips twitched. Ah, yes. Concern with knives hidden underneath.

"I'm fine," Zhao Lingxi replied simply.

Zhao Ruoqing smiled, pretending not to notice the distance in her tone.

From where she stood, Lan Yue could feel the tension that filled the air. The faint clinking of chopsticks, the sound of tea being poured—it all felt uncomfortably loud against the silence.

But it wasn't just the main wife and her daughter. Four other women sat further down the table, each dressed elegantly in softer colors that marked them as concubines.

Madam Wei, the fourth concubine, was among them—pretty and sharp-eyed, her painted lips curled with a touch of smugness. Lan Yue recognized her immediately; she was the one who had tried to cause trouble the moment they'd arrived yesterday.

Beside her sat Madam Lian, the third concubine—a woman with a warm face and a calculating smile. The second concubine, Madam Qiao, was delicate-looking, her eyes darting nervously as if always afraid to speak. And then there was Madam Yun, the youngest, meek and quiet, seemingly trying to make herself invisible.

They all offered polite smiles when Zhao Lingxi sat, but the glances they exchanged were anything but kind.

Before long, Madam Wei laughed lightly, setting down her chopsticks. "It feels strange, doesn't it? Seeing Eldest Miss back at the table after all these years. Time really flies."

Her tone was casual, but the words dripped with meaning.

Madam Lian gave a soft sigh. "Yes, indeed. So many things happened back then. Such unfortunate matters… if only they hadn't occurred."

Madam Qiao murmured timidly, "I still remember how the household mourned for months."

Lan Yue frowned. What are they talking about?

And then, Madam Wei spoke again, voice gentle, "It's a blessing Miss Lingxi survived that accident at all. Though… losing an unborn child is something no woman should experience."

The air froze.

Lan Yue's eyes widened. So this was it—the rumor that Zhao Lingxi had murdered her unborn sibling years ago.

But before she could even process it, Madam Hua's voice broke the silence, calm and poised. "Enough."

Her tone was soft, yet every word carried authority. The concubines lowered their gazes immediately.

Then, as if realizing her own 'mistake,' Madam Hua smiled, her expression gentle. "I'm sure Lingxi did not do it intentionally. She was young and reckless then. I believe she has learned her lesson. Let bygones be bygones."

Lan Yue's jaw nearly dropped.

What a green tea bitch. Pretending to be all kind and forgiving when in truth, she was the one who had fallen down the stairs herself and caused the miscarriage. Now Lan Yue knew where Zhao Ruoqing got her personality from. Truly like mother, like daughter.

No one at the table dared to say more after that. Only the faint scraping of bowls and cups filled the room.

As Lan Yue's gaze drifted across the table, she noticed the rest of the family.

Three more girls Zhao Ruolin, the third miss, gentle but timid, always glancing between her parents for approval; Zhao Ruoyan, the youngest, a spoiled child who pouted when ignored; and Zhao Ruoqing, of course, the one who smiled like a blooming flower while hiding thorns beneath.

There were also two boys. The eldest son, Zhao Rui, lounged carelessly at the far end, his robe half undone, eyes hazy from wine even this early in the morning. A known good-for-nothing who only cared about women and drink.

The younger one, Zhao Ran, sat upright, calm and quiet. His gaze was sharp and calculating, every move deliberate. Even at such a young age, he had the air of someone who saw more than he should.

That was when Lan Yue realized something.

Zhao Lingxi's younger brother, Zhao Han was not present.

Zhao Lingxi noticed too. Her voice, calm but faintly worried, broke the silence. "Where is Han?"

For the first time, a flicker of discomfort passed across Madam Hua's expression. Before she could respond, Madam Wei spoke smoothly, "The young master is in his quarters. The doctor advised him to rest more, so we thought it best for him to have breakfast in his room, without the need to strain himself."

Lan Yue narrowed her eyes. That excuse sounded far too neat.

But Zhao Lingxi didn't question further. She only lowered her gaze, her chopsticks pausing briefly before she resumed eating quietly.

The rest of the meal passed like that calm on the surface, but every word and movement laced with quiet cruelty.

When the dishes were cleared and everyone began to rise, Zhao Wenyuan finally spoke.

His voice was deep and cold, heavy with authority.

"Lingxi."

The entire hall went silent.

For the first time since she'd entered, Zhao Lingxi lifted her gaze toward him.

Her father's eyes were hard, unreadable. "Since you've returned," he said slowly, "it's time you fulfilled your duty to this family."

Lan Yue's stomach tightened. Duty?

Zhao Wenyuan continued, each word precise and final. "You shall be married to Young Master Shen Yiming of the Shen family. The betrothal will be announced next month."

The air seemed to thin.

Even Madam Hua paused, surprise flashing briefly before she smiled again.

Wait, she remembered this scene. Married? To that bastard?

The name alone was enough to make Lan Yue's scalp prickle. Shen Yiming the spoiled, arrogant son of a minor noble, infamous for his temper and vices.

Zhao Wenyuan didn't look at her again. "This matter is settled."

And just like that, he lifted his cup and resumed drinking, as though he hadn't just handed down a sentence.

So this was the Zhao family's idea of "welcome home."

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