The warmth in the teacup had long dissipated, and occasionally strange bird calls from the next door pierced the eerie atmosphere.
At the same time, the sound of a child's wailing came through.
It seemed to resonate with her memory, causing Ying Changqiao to shudder suddenly.
With a slap, she remembered her day of childbirth, when her mother consort rushed over and slapped her hard.
The golden armor left a bloody mark.
—"You wretch, satisfied now?"
—"That impoverished scoundrel dared to sweet-talk you; he deserved to be cut to pieces! Yet here you are, treasuring his illegitimate child as if it were a treasure?"
Her body ached uncontrollably, and the newborn in swaddling clothes cried non-stop, irritating her.
Ying Changqiao felt aggrieved, thinking her mother consort didn't love her.
In truth, she had long regretted it.
But she was unwilling to bow her head to her mother consort, nor could she turn back or admit she was wrong.
