Mu Qingyue leaned lazily against the cake table, lifted a napkin, and unhurriedly wiped the cream from her fingertips as if she had all the leisure in the world.
As for Mu Lei's self-righteous scolding—
She did not so much as grant it a glance.
In her previous life, she had longed for the simplest thing: to be acknowledged by her biological father, to share with him some fragile thread of kinship. Because of that longing, she had listened obediently to Yin Xiaonan—who had already enjoyed seven years in the Mu household—believing that if she only followed Xiaonan's advice, if she only behaved as instructed, her father might finally be pleased with her.
Now?
Now Mu Qingyue understood, with a clarity that felt almost cruel, why her mother had chosen to die sick and alone rather than return to the Mu family.
Mu Lei was a selfish man.
He had never truly cared for his wife, nor for his daughter. The affection he showed his adopted child was not tenderness born of love, but a shallow pride—because the adopted child excelled, because she brought him admiration, because she fed his vanity and made him look successful.
That kind of "family" was not something Mu Qingyue cherished.
It was something she despised.
"Enough," Old Master Mu said, breaking the tension with a decisive wave of his hand. "Qingyue has returned today. Then let this banquet serve as a celebration for both of you. I prepared two gifts—one for each."
At his signal, servants stepped forward carrying two identical gift boxes, their lacquered surfaces gleaming beneath the garden lights.
Mu Qingyue's gaze softened. The chill in her eyes thawed slightly. "Thank you, Grandfather."
In this vast estate—so grand it seemed designed to swallow people whole—only Old Master Mu had ever truly cared for her. Even when she was absent, even when the household treated her name like a nuisance, he still remembered her birthday. He still prepared a gift for her. That small constancy carried more warmth than all the Mu family's riches.
Mu Xiaonan accepted her own gift, then turned to Mu Qingyue with a look of practiced remorse. Her tone was gentle, her expression full of apparent sincerity.
"Qingyue," she said softly, "you didn't notify anyone before coming back. Everyone's been focused on me, so we didn't have time to prepare anything for you. How about this—I'll give you my necklace as compensation."
The words sounded like an apology.
But beneath the apology was something else—an emphasis, subtle but unmistakable: my celebration, my spotlight, my attention from everyone.
After all, the Mu family surely knew today was actually Mu Qingyue's birthday.
Yet look at the scene.
Around Mu Xiaonan were piles of lavish presents—countless gift bags and boxes, jeweled packaging, luxury-brand ribbons, offerings stacked like tributes to a crowned princess. Around Mu Qingyue there was… nothing.
Only a suitcase.
Only the single gift box from Old Master Mu.
No flowers. No chorus of congratulations. No glittering mountain of offerings.
In an instant, it was clear to every guest who was cherished and who was merely tolerated—who was treated as the true princess, and who was allowed to exist like an abandoned stray.
Mu Qingyue dropped the napkin back onto the table. Calmly, she picked up a strawberry. As her sleeve slid back, it revealed a slender wrist as pale as porcelain.
She cast one brief glance at the necklace in Mu Xiaonan's hand—a chain adorned with tiny diamonds, pretty enough to impress the average person, expensive enough to be flaunted.
Then she said, in a languid voice, "I don't want it."
It was worth, at most, a few hundred thousand.
To her, it was nothing.
She didn't even consider it.
"You… don't want it?" Mu Xiaonan's smile wavered, just for an instant.
"Then… later we can open gifts together—"
"Open yours," Mu Qingyue cut in, uninterested. "Go ahead."
Without waiting for a response, she turned away. She moved to Old Master Mu's side and supported him with easy familiarity, lowering her voice as she began to tell him amusing stories from the past few years—small adventures, curious encounters, lighthearted incidents she had experienced while traveling.
Old Master Mu's stern face gradually softened. Soon, he was laughing aloud, the sound booming and hearty, as if the heaviness of age had momentarily lifted from his shoulders.
Nearby, Ning Xi hooked her arm through Mu Xiaonan's and rolled her eyes so dramatically that anyone with sight could see it.
"Putting on airs," she sneered loudly. "She was probably out there fooling around until she ran out of money. That's why she crawled back."
Mu Xiaonan sighed, shaking her head with a delicate look of concern. "Sister Qingyue is very pitiful out there," she murmured. "She must have gone back to living with those little hoodlums again."
Mu Lei overheard. His brows twisted into a knot tighter than a lock, and the disgust in his heart deepened. The more he imagined it, the more he resented this "daughter" who never brought him face—only embarrassment.
Just then, a sudden commotion erupted from the outer edge of the crowd.
Murmurs swelled. Heads turned. Someone gasped. Then another.
Ning Xi frowned and asked a security guard sharply, "What is it now?"
"Someone has come specifically to deliver gifts," the guard replied.
Ning Xi waved her hand dismissively. "Then let them in."
She wasn't the least bit impressed.
The Mu family was wealthy and influential. Mu Xiaonan was famously beautiful and accomplished—widely considered the dream girl of countless privileged young heirs. Tonight, if eight hundred men arrived to deliver presents, it still wouldn't be surprising.
But the commotion didn't die down.
It grew louder—more astonished, more incredulous.
"Look—there's the Mo family emblem!"
"No way… is it really the Mo family from the capital?!"
"I just heard someone say they're here on behalf of the Xiao family of Ning City…"
Those two names struck like thunder.
Mu Lei's expression changed instantly.
Ning Xi's face drained of color just as quickly.
Because those were not ordinary families that one could dismiss with a careless wave of the hand.