Deep into the night, the same moonlight spilled over a different world—over the glittering city, over another mansion so ornate it looked less like a residence and more like a private castle.
Inside, a man lounged against a genuine leather sofa with a kind of indolent authority, as if even relaxation belonged to him by right. His hair was pitch-black, still wet from a recent shower. Water beaded at the tips and slid down into the slightly open collar of his shirt, tracing the carved lines of his chest and abdomen in slow, glistening rivulets. The scene carried a strange beauty—cold, decadent, faintly ruined—like something elegant on the verge of darkness.
A wineglass swung idly in his hand. The deep red liquid swirled with each lazy motion, catching the dim light like blood in crystal. He listened to his subordinate's report with an air of detached boredom, as though the entire world existed merely to provide him updates.
"Seventh Master," Heifeng said respectfully, head lowered, "that girl hasn't appeared in Ma Family Village again. Should we pull our people back?"
"Keep watching," Quan Yeting replied.
His gaze remained fixed on the small medicine bottle on the table—the one Mu Qingyue had left behind. In the depths of his eyes, cold as a starless night, a faint chill surfaced, sharp and unreadable.
Mu Qingyue woke on a velvet bed that was so soft it felt almost unreal—like sinking into a cloud made of fabric. She blinked away sleep, rubbed her eyes, and greeted the fierce sunlight pouring through the window with a long, luxuriant stretch.
"Eldest Miss," a servant called from outside the door, knocking politely, "Sir has asked you to come down for breakfast."
"Mm." Mu Qingyue responded lazily.
She rose and went into the walk-in closet.
Inside were rows of luxury-brand gowns and dresses—meticulously tailored, exquisitely finished, the kind of clothing that could turn a person into a display piece. Everything was elegant, everything was expensive, everything was designed to emphasize refinement and status.
Mu Qingyue felt no fondness for any of it.
To her, that perfumed extravagance carried the scent of weakness. It was softness disguised as nobility, indulgence masquerading as power.
After washing up, she opened her suitcase and pulled out a T-shirt and shorts of her own. She dressed lightly and casually, put on a mask, slipped into slippers, and walked downstairs toward the dining room as if she were strolling through her own house.
Mu Lei's eyes darkened the moment he saw her.
His face tightened, displeasure settling over his features like a shadow. "If you're going to call yourself the Mu family's eldest young lady," he said in a low, stern voice, "then behave like one. If you keep refusing to improve yourself, don't blame us for favoring Nan Nan more."
Mu Qingyue merely shrugged, utterly unconcerned. "I'm not stopping you from favoring her."
"You—!" Mu Lei choked on his anger.
After years apart, this rebellious child was still the same—improper, shameless, and impossible to discipline. No matter where he placed her, she somehow remained an embarrassment.
Mu Xiaonan spoke gently, voice soft as a feather. "Dad, don't be angry. Getting upset isn't good for your health."
Ning Xi ate with her knife and fork, expression cold with contempt. She snorted. "Look at her. Even if she goes back to No. 1 High School, she'll just become the school's laughingstock."
"No. 1 High School?" Mu Qingyue repeated, faintly curious.
She pulled out a chair and sat down without asking permission, ignoring the unspoken rules of table etiquette. She lifted a hand, took several slices of bread, spread jam across them, and stacked them neatly on her own plate—calm, efficient, as if she were simply preparing rations.
Old Master Mu frowned slightly.
Not because he disapproved of her lack of manners. Mu Qingyue's behavior had always been rough, always a little unruly.
But her eyes—
Her eyes were different now.
Where she once carried only wounded defiance and childish volatility, there was now a strange detachment—an airy, otherworldly clarity, as though she were no longer easily dragged into ordinary emotion. And beneath that calm floated something wild, untamed, like a blade refusing to be sheathed.
Her aura reminded him, faintly, of men he had once seen—men returning from battlefields, stripped of softness, hardened by blood and survival.
Surely it was only imagination.
A girl… how could it be?
"You studied at No. 1 High School before, in tenth grade," Old Master Mu said at last. "If you return now, you should be in twelfth grade."
"Oh." Mu Qingyue nodded.
She remembered then: in her previous life, she had indeed graduated from No. 1 High School. Back then, her mind had been full of nothing but Qin Ziqiao. She had drifted through her days in a stupor, obsessed and foolish, and in the end she hadn't even made it into university.
Come to think of it, she had seen Qin Ziqiao last night.
Once, she had thought him dazzling beyond compare. Now, when she looked back, the memory felt flat—mediocre, even.
He couldn't begin to match the man she had once encountered in Ma Family Village—the breathtakingly handsome stranger who had looked like something carved out of myth.
At the thought of that face—so stunning it felt almost violent—Mu Qingyue's heart gave a small, unwilling sigh. She felt a twinge of regret. Would she ever see him again?
Mu Xiaonan spoke again, wearing the gentle smile of a considerate sister. "Qingyue, if you can't keep up with schoolwork, you can come to me. I can lend you my notes."
Mu Qingyue didn't even glance at her.
"Grandfather," she said instead, voice calm, "I'm going back to my room to prepare."
She stood up, lifting her plate piled with bread as though she were carrying her own simple meal, not participating in a formal breakfast.
Of course she understood.
Any notes Mu Xiaonan offered would be laced with traps—carefully planted errors designed to mislead her, to ensure she never improved, never rose, never threatened her.
"That girl has no manners at all," Ning Xi said icily, watching Mu Qingyue's back. "Nan Nan, don't you ever learn bad habits from her."
"I won't," Mu Xiaonan replied, lowering her head with a docile smile. Her voice was obedient—perfectly obedient.