Han Yan’s eyes widened suddenly—twelve years old! The nightmare from when she was twelve surfaced again, and now, he knew about it… How would he view her? He must think she was impure and utterly despise her. Han Yan’s heart turned to ashes, and tears streamed down her face.

Zhuang Yu Shan seemed delighted to see her desperate and pathetic state, laughing with increasing joy: “Sister needn’t worry about father either. Father would rather lose a daughter than lose this marriage alliance. Besides, father never liked you—otherwise, how could he have allowed mother to eliminate Madam Wang?”

Mother! Mother was murdered?!

Yu Shan giggled: “Sister probably doesn’t know, but that’s not surprising. Zhuang Han Yan only stayed in her room embroidering and playing the zither, never leaving the mansion. The ladies of other households don’t even know such a person exists in our family.” She brought the cup closer: “What does it matter if someone whose face no one remembers dies on her wedding night? Perhaps in the ladies’ eyes, I am the true legitimate daughter!”

Han Yan’s face turned pale, her whole body trembling. What she thought would be a happy and blessed life was an enormous conspiracy. A terrible scream came from Mother Chen nearby. Han Yan realized she hadn’t seen Mother Chen since Yu Shan entered. Could it be… Her heart turned cold as she stared at Yu Shan in disbelief.

Yu Shan walked over to Ji Lan and Shu Hong: “I see these two maids are loyal, and they look pretty too. The guards on night duty must be tired—these two maids will be their reward. Tomorrow morning, mistress and servants can meet again.”

Ji Lan and Shu Hong were maids her mother had left her, like sisters since childhood. Because of her, they would die here and meet such an end! Her dear sister! Her good stepmother!

Yu Shan seemed to finally tire of talking. She crouched down, grabbed Han Yan’s chin, and forcefully poured the wine down her throat.

Deadly poison, fatal upon contact with blood. Han Yan felt sweetness in her throat as blood trickled from the corners of her mouth.

It was her fault! She had failed to see through people, mistaking enemies for family! She was too naive, treating her stepmother and sister with genuine affection! If she hadn’t stayed in the mansion all day ignorant of the world if she hadn’t placed all her hopes on others if she hadn’t fallen in love with Wei Ru Feng!

Would none of this have happened?

No! The human heart is the most unpredictable thing—even without this incident, the Zhou mother and daughter wouldn’t have spared her, nor would her heartless and uncaring father.

Han Yan collapsed to the ground, her autumn-like eyes filled with bloody tears. Zhuang Yu Shan, even as a ghost, I won’t let you go!

The beautiful bride smiled slightly, her words as venomous as a scorpion: “Dear sister, watch how I become the Young Lord’s Wife when you’re on the road to the underworld.”

Everything before her eyes became blurry, her chest burning with pain. As consciousness faded, Han Yan saw a pair of sky-blue silk official boots walk in.

That was her husband. She hadn’t expected that instead of the peaceful life she’d hoped for, she would meet with such a deadly fate.

On the soft sable bed, the misty silk curtains of post-rain sky color hung faintly. The sleeping young woman’s fingers twitched slightly, and a pair of black eyes slowly opened.

When Han Yan woke, her head felt like it was splitting apart, her eyes unbearably dry. What happened? Hadn’t she been poisoned by Yu Shan and died? How was she still alive?

Struggling to sit up and look around, the room was filled with strong medicinal fragrance. This was her maiden chamber, but why did it look so unfamiliar, as if from another lifetime? She reached out to rub her temples—had someone saved her?

“Fourth Young Miss.” At this joyful call, Han Yan looked up. Mother Chen was holding a gold-decorated porcelain bowl with a beauty pattern. She set it down on a small table nearby and hurried forward to ask: “Young Miss is awake? Is anything wrong?”

Han Yan stared at her blankly. Hadn’t Yu Shan dealt with Mother Chen? The scene from the wedding night floated before her eyes again, and her nose stung as tears fell.

Seeing her cry, Mother Chen’s heart suddenly panicked, and she grew emotional, pulling her into a tight embrace: “My poor Young Miss. The Madam has just passed, and the Master wants that cheap woman to enter the door. It’s not easy for you either. How did you fall ill from anger? Young Miss, don’t cry anymore—the Master will be unhappy if he sees…”

“What’s wrong with Young Miss?” A clear voice rang beside her ear. Han Yan sat up straight suddenly. Ji Lan and Shu Hong stood two steps away, holding preserved fruit jars with worried expressions: “Young Miss, are you unwell? Should we call the doctor again?”

The maids who had died for her in her previous life stood perfectly fine before her. Han Yan couldn’t describe the feeling: “Ji Lan… Shu Hong…” After choking out these names, she could say no more and simply buried herself in Mother Chen’s embrace, sobbing.

Ji Lan and Shu Hong were startled, not knowing what was wrong with Han Yan, and looked questioningly at Mother Chen. Mother Chen assumed she was grieving over her mother’s death and her father’s remarriage, so she gently patted her back in comfort.

After crying for who knows how long, Han Yan gradually calmed down, but the doubts in her heart grew stronger.

Mother Chen looked younger, with much less white hair at her temples, and Ji Lan and Shu Hong also looked somewhat different. “Ji Lan, bring me the mirror.”

Though Ji Lan didn’t understand why Han Yan wanted it, she brought the flower-patterned bronze mirror from the dressing table. Han Yan looked in the mirror—a pale, thin face, bright big eyes, a delicate nose, and cherry lips, with black hair flowing down like tassels. The person in the mirror was gentle and graceful, still with traces of youth—it was her, but not her current self.

The bronze mirror fell to the ground with a “clang.” Shu Hong was startled and hurried forward: “Young Miss.”

Han Yan froze for a moment, waving her hand, her heart churning like a stormy sea. The person in the mirror was herself from three years ago—twelve-year-old Zhuang Han Yan!

She looked up, observing her surroundings again with scrutinizing eyes, finally understanding where that strange familiarity came from. Because the room’s arrangement was exactly as it had been three years ago!

“Mother Chen, what year is it?” Han Yan finally asked.

“The thirteenth year of Da Zong,” Mother Chen looked at her strangely: “Why does Young Miss ask?”

Han Yan’s heart jumped. The thirteenth year of Da Zong—when her mother fell gravely ill and died, when Madam Zhou entered the household when Yu Shan came to the mansion. It was also the year she was kidnapped by bandits. Though nothing had happened and the matter was hushed up, she carried the burden in her heart forever, fearing the day it would come out and ruin her reputation.

People’s words were fearsome.

It was because of this incident that she no longer wanted to go out, spending her days in the mansion embroidering and writing, losing touch with the outside world. Even when her younger brother got into trouble and was imprisoned, she only learned of it at the last moment.

When she was kidnapped by mountain bandits, it was Madam Zhou who searched for two days and nights to get news, and then the royal mansion sent people to rescue her from the bandits. She was grateful to Madam Zhou, and with Yu Shan’s careful attention, gradually accepted this mother-daughter pair.