Zhu Weijin was silent for a very long time.

So long that when everyone thought her next words would be critically important, Zhu Weijin instead said:

“Miss Yan, I discovered nothing. I only thought about the chess game.”

Thought about the chess game?

Yan Sanhe’s mind turned, following her words:

“The chess game didn’t stop. Both sides were still sitting at the board, the game continued, correct?”

“Yes. My mother held black and moved first, advancing triumphantly. My father held white and moved second, retreating steadily.”

Zhu Weijin smiled: “When everyone thought my father would lose, suddenly the tide turned. Who would have thought the final winner would be my father!”

Yan Sanhe: “You felt your father’s victory was somewhat suspicious?”

“I don’t know.”

Zhu Weijin looked at the stone floor tiles, her face somewhat inscrutable. “I only know I was somewhat afraid.”

“You were afraid that if what Geng Songsheng’s master and servant said was true, then this so-called turning of the tide…”

Yan Sanhe drew in a sharp breath: “…was terrifying upon reflection!”

“Not terrifying upon reflection, Miss Yan.”

Zhu Weijin raised her eyes, staring blankly at Yan Sanhe.

“I simply didn’t dare think further. He’s my father. Even if he despises me, he’s still my father, the one who gave me life and raised me.”

After that incident, Father still diligently supported the family, tenderly and affectionately cared for Mother, lovingly and kindly taught his children.

Everything remained unchanged.

Father even began helping Eldest Sister look at potential matches. Among the capital’s elite young talents, he and Mother screened them one by one, examining their family backgrounds, calculating their birth charts, divining their futures.

Geng Songsheng was gradually forgotten.

Except for Zhu Weixi, who still carried some pain and wounds, even Mother, who had been most entangled with the Geng family, seemed to have emerged from that shadow.

Not to mention the elder brothers.

But every night, Geng Songsheng’s suppressed sobbing entered her dreams, so real and clear, as if she were sleeping in that inn again.

One year passed.

Two years passed.

Three years passed.

Eldest Sister married.

The day Eldest Sister married, the newlywed couple was led into the main hall to bid farewell to Father and Mother. Mother wiped tears and gave a long string of instructions.

When it was Father’s turn, tears streamed down his face, yet he couldn’t say a single word.

“In all my years, I’d never seen Father so heartbroken. It was as if a treasure he’d held close to his heart would no longer belong to him from that day forward.”

Zhu Weijin smiled miserably: “But when I married, Father only said indifferently: ‘Go on, live well in your husband’s family.'”

She turned to look at Zhu Yuanmo: “Elder Brother, I’m not exaggerating, am I?”

No exaggeration.

The scenes of both sisters’ weddings were carved in Zhu Yuanmo’s heart—one carved deeper, one more faintly.

And he remembered something else.

After Eldest Sister married, Father fell ill for a full two weeks. When Eldest Sister returned for her third-day visit, Father didn’t even appear—he, the eldest son, accompanied the Xie family throughout.

“From that day on, I died to this family.”

Zhu Weijin: “These years I rarely returned. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to—returning had no meaning.”

Father rarely saw her, only calling her husband into the study for a few words. Mother only reminded her to be filial to her in-laws and harmonious with her sisters-in-law.

If Zhu Weixi and her husband happened to return, one moment Mother would be chatting warmly with her, the next moment Mother would completely forget her, with eyes and heart only for Eldest Daughter and Eldest Son-in-law.

Father was even more so.

What dishes Eldest Son-in-law liked to eat, what wine he preferred to drink—all were in Father’s heart.

Xiang Yanrui wasn’t good at socializing, but he wasn’t stupid. With his father-in-law and mother-in-law treating him this way, he kept his own accounts, and gradually stopped coming to the Zhu family often.

“Of course, there’s another more important reason.”

Yan Sanhe: “What?”

“Whenever I returned to the Zhu family, for the next several days I would dream of Geng Songsheng’s crying.”

Zhu Weijin looked at Zhu Weixi and hesitated a moment before finally gritting her teeth:

“That man is a thorn in your heart, and also a thorn lodged in my throat.”

Hearing these words, Zhu Weixi showed no expression, still keeping her head lowered.

In fact, she hadn’t raised her head for quite some time. From Yan Sanhe’s angle, she could only see tear after tear falling from her eyes.

Yan Sanhe silently turned away and asked: “When Old Master Zhu passed away, you didn’t come for the funeral. Why?”

Zhu Weijin pondered silently, seemingly unwilling to speak.

“Did Old Master Zhu say something or do something to you before he died?”

Zhu Weijin looked at Yan Sanhe, her heart seizing violently. After a long while, she finally spoke: “On the third day of Father’s illness, Yanrui and I returned…”

Unfortunately, Father had taken medicine and was already asleep.

Elder Brother had gone to the yamen. Second Brother and Third Brother were talking with Yanrui in the outer room. Mother and she were keeping watch in the inner room.

After just a short while, the head steward called Mother out to ask about Dragon Boat Festival gifts.

As soon as Mother left, Father’s body suddenly began trembling.

She moved closer to look—he was having a nightmare.

Seeing him shake more and more violently, she called out twice with no response, so she reached out to shake him.

Just as her hand reached out, Father’s eyes suddenly flew open. Seeing it was her, he hissed with disgust: “Get out!”

Each word fell like thunder in Zhu Weijin’s ears.

She instantly recoiled, said nothing, and rushed out.

To this day, Zhu Weijin still remembered Father’s expression when he roared those three words.

That look was icy, furious, disgusted, and carried bone-deep venom, making every part of her body, her five organs and six viscera, her seven meridians and eight vessels, cold as ice.

“Miss Yan.”

Zhu Weijin’s voice suddenly became hoarse.

“I know people’s hearts are naturally biased, but I never imagined they could be biased like this. Since I never existed in his heart as a daughter, why should I pretend to be filial? Better to be out of sight, out of mind!”

Yan Sanhe’s brows furrowed: “Are you certain that sentence was directed at you?”

“Miss Yan is truly clever, detecting the problem immediately.”

Zhu Weijin laughed inexplicably: “Yet it took me three months to carefully discern something was wrong.”

Little Miss Zhu was listening in complete shock, asking impatiently: “What was wrong?”

Yan Sanhe: “Old Master Zhu had taken medicine and was asleep. He didn’t know Second Daughter and Second Son-in-law had returned to see him.”

Little Miss Zhu looked horrified, cold sweat suddenly breaking out on her back: “You mean it was…”

“He mistook Zhu Weijin for your mother.” Yan Sanhe enunciated each word.

“How is that possible?”

Little Miss Zhu practically jumped from her chair, shaking her head while saying in panic:

“That’s impossible. My father would never tell my mother to get out. Impossible, impossible…”

Yan Sanhe ignored her, looking directly into Zhu Weijin’s eyes: “So that’s what led to your earlier statement?”

*Zhu Weixi, do you know—it’s precisely because you look like Father that Father doted on you so much. If you looked like Mother, Father wouldn’t even spare you a glance.*

Zhu Weijin met her gaze for a moment, pressed her lips together, and said very softly:

“I don’t know if my thinking is correct, but I… that’s just what I think!”