You are not my daughter!

The ice-cold voice mingled with the ice-cold first snow, making it feel all the more merciless.

Lang Jiuchuan’s heart gave a sudden tightening. On instinct, she looked directly into Cui Shi’s eyes.

The so-called bond between mother and child — could she truly be perceptive enough to see through my borrowed shell at a single glance?

No. That was not it.

There was no fear or suspicion in Cui Shi’s eyes — only absolute certainty and an unshakable conviction, with a trace of something more beneath: revulsion, agitation, even a kind of grievance?

For a mother, those emotions were far too complicated.

Lang Jiuchuan did not quite understand it, but not being her daughter was fine — she was not, after all — and so she replied with a flat, indifferent “Oh.”

Cui Shi faltered slightly.

The Nanny felt a headache coming on. She turned to a maidservant and said, “Jian Lan, take the Ninth Young Miss to the mourning hall first.”

Jian Lan stepped forward at once and gave a small curtsy toward Lang Jiuchuan. “Young Miss, please follow this servant.”

Lang Jiuchuan turned away without a trace of reluctance and followed her out through the moon gate of the small courtyard. The Nanny’s voice floated over on the wind behind her: “Madam, more than ten years have passed. The young miss is almost of age now. Why must you still be this way?”

Cui Shi said nothing. She stared at the direction in which Lang Jiuchuan had disappeared, her brow furrowing, and pressed a hand to her chest — trying to press down the strange, unsettling ache that had risen there.

It felt as though something had been lost.

On the small path leading to the mourning hall, Lang Jiuchuan remained puzzled. Judging by the revulsion on Cui Shi’s face, did she truly dislike her — or had she genuinely perceived something, and truly believed she was not her daughter?

And yet she had unmistakably felt that faint thread connecting the two of them.

It was a pity. When she had entered this body, not only had the original soul died in a state of utter wretchedness — the spirit had been entirely extinguished as well — leaving her with no way to draw upon this body’s memories.

But this body truly was the Ninth Young Miss raised by the Lang Family on a country estate — the Panguan himself had confirmed it.

“Young Miss, please do not take it to heart. The Madam has not had an easy time of it these years.” Jian Lan noticed Lang Jiuchuan’s grim, frost-cold demeanor and, after glancing her way several times, finally forced herself to speak in a dry, stilted voice. “You’ve only just come home. It will get better with time.”

Lang Jiuchuan looked at her. The maidservant appeared to be around eighteen or nineteen, composed and steady in her bearing — clearly one of Cui Shi’s trusted senior attendants.

Something stirred in her heart. “Why did she say that?” she asked.

Jian Lan was somewhat at a loss. She had served in Xizhao Courtyard for ten years now, having risen from a lowly maidservant to a first-class attendant in charge of Cui Shi’s clothing and jewelry. From her very first day in the courtyard, the Nanny and the older attendants had drummed one thing into her repeatedly: the Ninth Young Miss was never to be mentioned — especially not in front of the Madam.

She had found it strange. Was the Ninth Young Miss not the only young lady of the Second Branch? And the sole blood of the Second Master, at that? Not only was she never to be mentioned — Jian Lan had never even laid eyes on the young mistress. As she grew more seasoned in her duties, she gradually came to understand: the Madam had taken against this daughter because, at the time of the young miss’s birth, the Second Master had died on the battlefield, and so the child had been regarded as an ill omen.

But Jian Lan had once heard from an older cousin — a former senior attendant to the Madam — that this was not the whole truth. The Madam had become consumed by her grief over the Second Master’s death, and had fixed upon the idea that the child was not her own flesh and blood. On several occasions, she had come close to smothering the infant. Because of her revulsion, the old Madam had ultimately made the decision to send the child away to the country estate, sparing both mother and daughter from each other — preventing what could have become a mother killing her own child.

It was shocking that after more than ten years, the Madam still harbored the same belief. The young miss’s features even bore a faint resemblance to her own by now — how could she possibly not be hers?

The Madam has simply been a widow too long, and has never been willing to step out of her obsession.

Jian Lan forced out two awkward sounds and gave a dry, vague reply: “You have been away from the residence for many years, Young Miss. There is bound to be some distance. Besides, the Madam has not slept well these past few days, and is exhausted from keeping vigil at the mourning hall.”

This noncommittal answer left Lang Jiuchuan unmoved.

But since Jian Lan would not speak plainly, she had no particular interest in pressing the matter. The truth would make itself known eventually. She was only mildly curious, after all.

Could a mother truly steel herself to send her own daughter away from infancy, out of nothing but revulsion?