“Guohuai, Old Wan, I’m terribly sorry. I suddenly feel unwell and need to excuse myself to take some medicine.”
Tan Yingjun pressed one hand to her forehead and the other to her chest, swaying slightly as if she might collapse at any moment.
When she saw Chen Can still trying to drag Shen Liya—that disgraceful fool—Tan Yingjun’s face twisted in fury. She gritted her teeth and barked, “Chen Can, we’re leaving!”
“Aunt Tan, please wait.”
Shen Zhiqiu stepped forward, blocking her path. “It’s better if you stay.”
“They are Shen Liya’s biological parents—your real in-laws. Shouldn’t you take this chance to learn more about what kind of people they truly are?”
She glanced at Shen Daqiang and Wang Fengqin, then leaned in, lowering her voice so only Tan Yingjun could hear:
“Wouldn’t it be a shame if one day you fell mysteriously ill… or had an accident… without ever knowing why?”
Tan Yingjun frowned. “What are you implying?”
“Keep watching, and you’ll find out.”
“Shen Zhiqiu, you bitch—I’ll kill you!”
Wang Fengqin yanked Shen Liya away from Wu Qingyun, but the moment Liya spotted Zhiqiu, she screeched like a rabid dog, lunging at her.
Chen Can shot her a disgusted glare, and Shen Liya immediately shrank back, silenced.
Her mother had just whispered to her—the matter with the song and dance troupe was already settled. She had to cling to Chen Can now. If he divorced her, everything would be ruined.
As for Shen Zhiqiu? Her mother would handle it.
“Liya, my poor girl… What did you ever do to deserve this from your sister?”
Wang Fengqin dropped to her knees, kowtowing violently. “Zhiqiu, if you have any grievances, take them out on me! Why harm Liya?”
“Ungrateful wretch!” Shen Daqiang roared. “How could you be so vicious? Liya is your own sister!”
“Go tell your troupe leader right now that you fell on your own—that Liya had nothing to do with it!”
“If you ruin her life, I’ll disown you!”
Logically, she thought she’d stopped caring. But his words still stabbed into her heart like a blade.
Every syllable was another cut.
Drip. Drip. Each one bled her dry.
“Dad, but if I miscarry, I could die,” Zhiqiu whispered, pressing a hand to her chest, as if that could dull the pain.
“Did you die? You’re fine!” Shen Daqiang bellowed. “That brat of yours is fine too! Look at you—living in a VIP hospital room, throwing this lavish banquet… What more do you want?”
“I always knew you were a backstabbing viper! You don’t even remember who raised you!”
He pointed at Wang Fengqin. “Your mother wakes up before dawn to cook congee and fish soup for you! She stays up all night sewing clothes for your daughter! And this is how you repay her?”
“Get on your knees and apologize to her—to Liya! Maybe they’ll forgive you, for my sake!”
“I’m not the one who should be apologizing!”
Zhiqiu straightened her spine, defiance flashing in her eyes. “And I only have one mother.”
“You need to be taught a lesson!”
Shen Daqiang’s rage spiraled. He scanned the room for something to hit her with.
The way Zhiqiu looked now—that stubborn glare—was exactly like her mother, Ye Yunshuang.
And the mere thought of Ye Yunshuang made him lose all reason. Sometimes, he swore she wasn’t dead—that her ghost had possessed Zhiqiu just to torment him.
He grabbed a wooden rod, raising it—
—only to freeze under Yue Mingyuan’s icy glare.
The fury drained from him. His grip slackened.
Yue Mingyuan didn’t speak. Instead, he pulled Zhiqiu into his arms, shielding her as he gently wiped her tears.
His silence said everything:
No matter what happens, I’m here.
As long as I’m standing, no one touches you.
Once she steadied herself, Zhiqiu held out a hand. Mingyuan passed her another file.
She pulled out two lab reports:
“These are the test results for the ‘nutritious’ congee and fish soup Wang Fengqin made me. Every sample contained blood-activating herbs—if I’d consumed them throughout my recovery, I would’ve hemorrhaged to death.”
“And these are the tests on the food she gave Mingyuan. All laced with aphrodisiacs. Coincidentally, Shen Liya visited me every single day that week.”
She then accepted a bundle from Ye Jiawen, unfolding a stack of tiny garments.
“These are the clothes Wang Fengqin sewed for Yaya. Every one was made from my deceased mother’s old dresses.”
She shook out the top piece, plucking a slip of paper from the collar.
“And this was hidden inside.”
Tan Yingjun, standing closest, gasped. “Heavens—it’s a death curse!”
“Aunt Tan, the day Shen Liya came with Chen Can, she brought another outfit and insisted Yaya wear it. When I refused and slapped her, Chen Can took it home in his pocket.”
Zhiqiu tilted her head. “Chen Can, did you ever throw that piece away? Or… does it still sit in your house?”
Chen Can paled. “I—”
Before he could answer, Tan Yingjun shrieked, slapping him. “You fool! You brought that cursed thing into our home?! No wonder I’ve been feeling ill!”
“We’re leaving—now! Find it and burn it!”
She dragged Chen Can out, Shen Liya scrambling after them.
…
A simple push wouldn’t make the Chens abandon Liya.
They shared a child, and Chen Can cared too much about face. With his promotion pending, a divorce would wreck his reputation.
But even if they didn’t split now…
That cursed garment would fester in Tan Yingjun’s mind like a thorn.
Every minor discomfort would make her wonder:
Was Shen Liya trying to hex her?
“Zhiqiu, I know you won’t believe me. You’ve already decided I’m a monster.”
Wang Fengqin staggered to her feet, her pitiful appearance almost convincing.
“Fine. Whatever I say is wrong.”
She tugged Shen Daqiang’s arm, shaking her head. Enough. We’ve lost this round.
Shen Zhiqiu had laid a trap—and Liya had already stumbled into it.
If they kept fighting, they’d only expose everything.
