"Qingyue," Old Master Mu asked as they walked side by side, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice, "how did you come to know people from families like the Mo clan and the Xiao clan?"
Even for him—once the most capable ruler the Mu family had ever produced—those ancient houses were not circles one could casually step into. He had met their family heads only a handful of times, and even then it had been in formal settings, with careful etiquette and distance maintained on both sides. When it came to his own milestone birthday celebrations, they would at most send a few pieces of calligraphy or paintings—polite gestures, tasteful and restrained. Never would they arrive with such extravagant fanfare, never with such a spectacle of priceless gifts.
Mu Qingyue smiled faintly, her tone effortless. "I helped them with a few small matters while I was away," she said. "It's nothing worth making a fuss over."
The old master's doubts did not vanish, but he could see she had no intention of explaining further. So he did not press. Instead, he nodded slowly, a mixture of pride and relief softening his face.
"I've always known you were a good child," he said quietly. "Now that you're home, focus on your studies. Work hard. Make me proud."
"I understand," Mu Qingyue replied, answering lightly.
As she spoke, she lifted a hand and swept her long hair back—black silk catching the lamplight, glossy and smooth. The motion was casual, unthinking, but it exposed a glimpse of her shoulder.
A tattoo.
A butterfly's wing in blue—delicate, vivid, as if it might flutter free from her pale skin at any moment and vanish into the night to dance alone beneath the moon.
It was alluring in a way that felt faintly dangerous, like beauty touched by poison.
Nearby, Qin Ziqiao stood by a flowerbed, staring as Mu Qingyue passed him.
She did not raise her head.
She did not spare him a single proper glance.
The school's celebrated heartthrob—praised and pursued wherever he went—was treated by her as if he were no more than air.
And yet…
He was supposed to become her fiancé.
Qin Ziqiao's gaze slid from the corner of her almond-shaped eyes to the fall of her hair, and then to that blue butterfly nestled beneath the curve of her swanlike neck.
His throat tightened.
For a moment, it felt as though he couldn't breathe.
This woman… was like a drug.
Only a few looks, and his eyes refused to leave her. The more he stared, the deeper the pull became, a silent seduction that made him furious with himself and helpless all at once.
"Brother Ziqiao."
Mu Xiaonan's voice snapped him out of his trance.
Qin Ziqiao blinked, regained himself, and quickly arranged his expression into cool indifference—using coldness to conceal his flustered heart.
"I should go," he said.
"So soon…?" Mu Xiaonan lowered her eyes, then glanced toward the direction Mu Qingyue had gone, biting her lip as she spoke in a tone of gentle understanding. "Qingyue is just like that. Her personality is rather… arrogant. Brother Ziqiao, please don't take it to heart."
"It's fine," Qin Ziqiao answered, his voice still restrained and distant, the image of the aloof school prince restored.
Mu Xiaonan sighed softly, as if weighed down by sisterly concern. "Qingyue has always been vain since she was little," she said. "I'm just afraid that while she was away, she might have tried to climb into higher circles by doing things that… damage other people's families."
Her words sounded like worry.
But the implication was a needle carefully slid under the skin.
She was suggesting that Mu Qingyue had gained access to those great families through improper means—perhaps by becoming someone's mistress, perhaps by using her body rather than her ability.
And she made sure her voice was loud enough.
Loud enough for the surrounding guests to hear.
The effect was immediate.
Those who had still been quietly envious—those who had privately marveled at Mu Qingyue's sudden prestige—found their expressions changing. Their admiration cooled into suspicion. Their curiosity turned into judgment.
Yes, being connected to ancient families was enviable.
But a young woman becoming a powerful man's secret lover?
That was another matter.
It was disgraceful.
It was morally crooked.
It was the kind of "success" that left a stench behind it.
Mu Lei's brows furrowed. He let out a cold, disdainful snort.
His daughter had no achievements worth mentioning. She was neither outstanding nor obedient. It was difficult to believe she had earned the favor of those great families through genuine capability.
Most likely, it was exactly as Mu Xiaonan implied—she had used shameful methods to curry favor.
…
Moonlight slanted across the night.
In her guest room, Mu Qingyue dragged her suitcase inside and lifted her handbag out, placing it on the desk by the window. She pulled a chair over and sat down, posture relaxed.
From her bag, she took out an ancient medical text.
Her long, slender fingers—pale under the moon—caught a thin wash of silvery light, glimmering like gemstones under a veil of mist. As she moved, she accidentally pulled something else from the bag along with the book.
A dagger.
Silver. Lethal. Its surface engraved with obscure, mysterious patterns that seemed to swallow the light rather than reflect it.
Mu Qingyue's expression did not change.
She simply nudged it back into the bag as calmly as tucking away a hairpin, then opened the medical text and began to read by lamplight, quiet and composed.
As for the gilded gifts stacked outside—
She did not touch them.
She did not even look at them twice.
She left them strewn across the floor as if they were meaningless clutter, as if riches and spectacle held no temptation for her at all.