If word spread that Liu Feng favored another woman, belief would not need proof to grow. The clan thrived on observation more than truth; a glance held too long, a shared walk, a rumor repeated by the wrong tongue—these were enough. Once people began to assume, respect shifted subtly, like soil loosening beneath a foundation. Engagements were not matters of affection but hierarchy, and hierarchy survived only so long as appearances remained unchallenged.
Whispers would follow naturally. Servants would lower their voices behind sleeves, young nobles would exchange knowing looks, and elders would pretend not to notice while quietly recalculating alliances. Doubt would seep into every interaction, invisible yet corrosive, weakening authority piece by piece until obedience became courtesy rather than necessity. Humiliation, once permitted to exist, never stayed contained; it spread eagerly, feeding on curiosity and cruelty alike, devouring reputation faster than fire racing through dry summer grass.
Xue Ruo's lips curved as the realization settled fully into place, but the expression held no warmth. It was thin, deliberate, and edged with something dangerously unresolved, as though restraint itself were cracking beneath pressure. Her fingers tightened around the porcelain teacup until the faint creak of stressed ceramic echoed in the quiet courtyard.
"If he wishes to embarrass me," she murmured, her voice low and steady despite the heat rising behind her calm expression, "then I will show him what true embarrassment is."
The spy nearest to her lowered his head further, yet the sound of his swallowing carried clearly through the still air. No wind stirred the hanging lanterns. Even the attendants standing at the courtyard entrance seemed to shrink inward, sensing the shift in her mood long before she moved.
When Xue Ruo rose, the motion came abruptly, silk sleeves snapping through the air with a sharp whisper. The suddenness broke the fragile calm of the courtyard, startling a pair of resting birds from the roof tiles above. She walked toward the koi pond with swift, controlled strides, each step measured yet fueled by gathering impatience. The late afternoon light reflected across the water's surface, turning the pond into fractured gold, while beneath it bright koi circled lazily, ignorant of the violence brewing just beyond their glasslike world.
She stopped at the water's edge, her reflection staring back—perfectly composed, perfectly noble, and suddenly intolerable to her own eyes.
"How many witnessed them?" she asked without turning, her gaze fixed on the shifting image below.
"Several clan youths," the spy replied carefully, "and merchants passing through the outer streets, Miss. The encounter drew… attention."
A faint sound escaped her throat—not quite laughter, not quite anger. Her shoe nudged a loose pebble into the pond, and concentric ripples shattered her reflection into broken fragments that twisted across the surface.
"So," she said softly, watching her distorted image reform and collapse again, "it was meant to be seen."
The conclusion ignited something sharp and immediate within her. This was no careless meeting hidden in shadow; it was a display, whether intentional or foolishly naïve. Either possibility insulted her equally. The koi gathered near the disturbance, their bright bodies flashing beneath the water as if drawn toward conflict, and for a brief moment she imagined overturning the entire pond simply to watch the calm destroyed.
Good. If Liu Feng desired spectacle, then she would give him one so overwhelming that the clan would speak of nothing else for months. Let them watch. Let them judge. She would ensure that when the story spread, it would not be her dignity questioned—but his.
She returned to the stone table and set her untouched tea aside with deliberate care, though the porcelain struck harder than necessary, producing a sharp crack against the surface. The spies lifted their heads instinctively, unease flickering openly now as they sensed decision replacing contemplation.
Her expression hardened, impulse and calculation merging into something far more dangerous than anger alone. When she spoke again, her voice carried the crisp authority of someone already envisioning the chaos to come.
"Prepare my carriage," she ordered, each word precise and unforgiving. Her gaze lifted toward the courtyard gates, as though she could already see the path unfolding before her. "We are going to the Liu Compound."
XXX
Liu Shiye finished his talks with Old Meng and returned to the Liu Compound in good spirits. The evening sun hung low behind drifting clouds, bathing the compound walls in warm amber light that softened even the stern stone lions guarding the entrance. For the first time since arriving in this unfamiliar world, momentum seemed to favor him. Knowledge, allies, and opportunity were slowly aligning; each careful step felt like laying another stone across a dangerous river.
Things were finally looking up since he arrived in this world. But as he approached, a servant nearly collided with him at the compound gates.
"Young Master! Lady Xue Ruo has arrived—she demands an audience!" he spoke in a hushed shaky voice.
The servant's complexion had drained nearly pale, sweat clinging to his temples despite the cool breeze. Behind him, other attendants lingered uneasily, pretending to work while their attention remained fixed toward the inner courtyards, as if a storm had already entered the estate and they feared being caught beneath it.
Liu Shiye's heart dropped.
"Now?" he asked.
'What the hell is this crazy bitch planning?' he asked himself.
He had intended to approach her carefully, weaving the net slowly. Building weapons and maneuvering skirmishes that shaved the factions' power. Timing mattered more than strength in clan politics; pressure applied too early only united enemies.
Instead, the fish had leapt into the boat.
A faint murmur drifted from deeper within the compound—servants whispering, footsteps gathering, curiosity spreading faster than propriety could restrain it. Her arrival had not been discreet. It had been deliberate.
He rushed toward the inner court, grabbing a dark outer robe from a rack, wrapping it around himself. The fabric smelled faintly of sandalwood and dust, barely settled before he secured it at his waist. As he moved, he noticed doors slightly ajar and figures withdrawing just out of sight; news traveled quickly when scandal promised entertainment.
As he approached the gathering courtyard, he spotted her figure ahead—poised, furious.
Xue Ruo stood beside her carriage like a blade unsheathed before witnesses. Her attendants formed a careful semicircle behind her, silent and disciplined, while several clan members lingered at a respectful distance, feigning coincidence. She had chosen her position well—visible enough to invite attention, restrained enough to remain technically proper. Every eye in the courtyard drifted toward her and then quickly away, tension hanging thick in the air.
He stooped, picked up a pebble, and with a flick of spiritual force snapped his own smallest finger backward.
Crack.
Pain flared.
The sharp agony grounded his thoughts instantly, scattering hesitation. Breath steadied. Emotion cooled into calculation.
He channeled it into precision.
The pebble shot forward at blinding speed, striking the carriage wheel beside Xue Ruo with a sharp ping.
The sound cut cleanly through the courtyard murmurs. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the horses shifted uneasily.
She turned instantly.
Liu Shiye intercepted her path, bowing low.
"Turn around," he hissed urgently.
Her eyes narrowed. "Explain."
He stepped closer, voice low and hurried. "Politics is never direct. If you strike him openly, he becomes the victim. If you surround him, he suffocates."
She crossed her arms. "Speak clearly."
"If Liu Feng is the problem, do not hurt him. He is tied to you. If you ruin him, you ruin yourself."
"And Liu Mingfei?" she asked coolly.
"She cannot leave me freely. She needs a reason. A moral high ground. If I divorce her outright, her reputation collapses."
Xue Ruo's gaze sharpened.
Around them, the courtyard appeared calm, yet Liu Shiye noticed how nearby servants slowed their movements, subtly adjusting positions to listen without appearing to listen. The stage was already forming; all that remained was deciding who would control the narrative spoken afterward.
"But," he continued softly, "if you publicly show affection for Liu Feng—shock everyone—tie his hands… he cannot defend Liu Mingfei without insulting you."
Realization dawned.
A slow understanding replaced the initial fury in her expression, not softening it but refining it. Anger became intent. Her posture straightened almost imperceptibly, as though she had stepped onto a battlefield she suddenly recognized.
"And then?" she pressed.
"I accuse. Not of adultery directly. Of impropriety. Doubt spreads. Pressure mounts. All the while avoiding Liu Feng. I offer mercy instead of wrath. Three moons to prove loyalty. That's all I… We need."
Her lips curved slowly.
"You are vicious," she murmured.
"Survival requires it."
For a brief moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with mutual recognition. This was not alliance born of trust, but convergence of necessity—two predators acknowledging the usefulness of shared prey.
She stepped past him. "Then march into your clan, Liu Shiye. Execute."
Her voice carried just enough volume for nearby listeners to hear, transforming private conspiracy into something that sounded like rightful authority. As she advanced toward the inner halls, attendants hurried to follow, and the watching clan members straightened instinctively, sensing that whatever unfolded next would not be a simple visit—but the opening move of a carefully staged humiliation.
Behind her, Liu Shiye flexed his injured hand once, pain still pulsing faintly through his finger. The ambush had already begun; the only question now was who would realize they were trapped first.
'Turn the tables...I can't become canon fodder...' He assured himself.
XXX
The main hall of the Liu Compound filled quickly, drawn by instinct stronger than etiquette. Word traveled ahead of Xue Ruo like wind before a storm, and by the time she crossed the threshold, elders had already taken their seats while younger clan members lingered along the edges under the pretense of duty. Incense smoke curled upward in thin strands, unable to soften the tension tightening the room.
Xue Ruo swept into the main hall like a blade.
"I wish to see Liu Feng."
Clan elders stiffened. Servants scattered.
Her voice did not rise, yet it carried effortlessly across the chamber, sharp enough to halt movement mid-step. She did not bow deeply—only enough to remain technically respectful—forcing the elders into the uncomfortable position of accepting her urgency without openly rebuking it. It was a calculated imbalance, and Liu Shiye, watching from the side entrance, immediately recognized the trap: she had turned etiquette itself into pressure.
She's controlling the frame, he thought. Not attacking—forcing everyone else to react.
Liu Feng arrived, composed but wary.
"Ruo'er—"
"Where have you been?" she demanded sharply.
He blinked. "I—"
"You escort another woman while neglecting your fiancée?"
Murmurs rippled.
The sound spread outward in waves, subtle but devastating. No accusation had been proven, yet the wording forced witnesses into silent judgment. Liu Shiye almost admired the efficiency. In his previous world, reputations were destroyed online the same way—questions framed as concern, conclusions supplied by the crowd.
Liu Feng straightened, clearly attempting to regain control of the conversation.
"I was discussing—"
"Do you yearn for her more than for me?"
He opened his mouth again.
She cut him off every time.
The humiliation mounted.
From Liu Shiye's perspective, the pattern became obvious. Liu Feng was reacting linearly, answering each question as if logic would resolve emotion. A protagonist's flaw, he realized—the belief that sincerity alone could stabilize chaos. Liu Feng behaved like the righteous hero of a story, convinced truth would prevail if only he explained himself clearly enough.
He still thinks this is a conversation, Liu Shiye thought. It's a performance.
Then, abruptly, she softened.
The shift was so sudden the entire hall leaned unconsciously forward.
"I came today," she said quietly, "for another matter. I ran into Liu Shiye recently. He seemed… dejected."
All eyes turned.
Liu Shiye felt the weight of dozens of gazes land upon him at once. Timing perfect. Transition flawless. She had redirected emotional momentum before resistance could form, carrying the audience seamlessly from jealousy to moral concern.
"He has recovered from illness, yet his fiancée has not visited him. I investigated. I learned Liu Mingfei has been meeting someone privately."
The courtyard erupted.
Gasps broke decorum. Elders frowned. Younger members exchanged stunned looks. The accusation did not claim adultery—only secrecy—and that made it infinitely harder to refute. Liu Shiye almost smiled internally.
Ambiguity. The deadliest weapon.
He stepped forward, face darkening perfectly on cue.
"Is this true?" he demanded, staring at Liu Mingfei.
She trembled. "No! I—"
"You dare accuse her?" Liu Feng snapped.
There it was—the predictable response.
Liu Shiye watched carefully, almost clinically, as Liu Feng stepped into the role expected of him: defender, righteous protector, emotional anchor. In another story, Liu Feng would be correct. Loyalty would triumph. Truth would reveal itself.
But this was not a story written for heroes.
Xue Ruo turned sharply. "If I were caught meeting another man in secret, what would you demand of me?"
Silence fell like a hammer.
The trap closed audibly in Liu Shiye's mind. By forcing Liu Feng to imagine reversed roles, she bound him to his own moral standards. Any answer now condemned him regardless of choice.
Liu Feng hesitated—just a fraction too long.
And the hall noticed.
Liu Mingfei collapsed to her knees, forehead striking the stone.
"Elders! I have done nothing improper!"
Her father stepped forward urgently. "There must be misunderstanding—"
Liu Shiye raised a trembling hand.
Inside, his thoughts remained cold and precise.
Slow the pace. Control sympathy. Become reluctant authority.
"I was arrogant in the past," he said heavily. "I treated you poorly. That does not excuse betrayal."
The word hung in the air.
He felt the shift instantly. Not accusation—disappointment. Far more powerful. Several elders nodded subtly, their expressions softening toward him while hardening toward Liu Mingfei.
Liu Mingfei sobbed harder.
"But," he continued slowly, "out of respect for my uncle… and for Liu Feng… I grant three moons. Prove your loyalty. After that, I will decide."
The clan gasped.
Divorce meant ruin. Social death.
Liu Shiye sensed the psychological pivot take hold. Mercy created obligation; obligation created scrutiny. Every action Liu Mingfei took from this moment forward would be interpreted through suspicion.
Xue Ruo hid her delight behind a concerned expression.
"She should accept," she said crisply. "Or accept divorce now. Innocence does not fear time."
Clan members from both branches nodded. Pressure mounted.
The agreement spread organically, exactly as planned. No elder wished to appear unjust; no relative wished to defend potential impropriety publicly. Consensus formed not through command but through shared discomfort.
Liu Mingfei's shoulders shook.
This was no longer about guilt.
It was about survival.
And across the courtyard, Liu Feng stood frozen—trapped between pride, politics, and a tightening snare he had never seen forming.
From where he stood, Liu Shiye watched him carefully, almost curiously.
In another life—in another genre—Liu Feng would have overturned the accusations with a single decisive speech. Witnesses would confess misunderstandings, villains would falter, justice would shine clean and immediate.
But reality favored preparation over righteousness.
You really do look like the protagonist, Liu Shiye thought quietly, studying Liu Feng's conflicted expression. Strong, honorable, admired… and completely unprepared for people who weaponize perception instead of truth.
Around them, whispers resumed, softer now but far more dangerous. Judgments had already formed. Positions had already shifted. The ambush was complete long before anyone realized a battle had even begun.