Chapter 11

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Silence.

The kind that made your ears ring.

Even the soft crackle of incense seemed to vanish into the thick, oppressive stillness of the Main Hall. All eyes were on the fallen girl sprawled by the stone pillar, blood glistening on her forehead, her chest rising and falling faintly. She had fainted clean, the madness still etched into her contorted expression.

Shen Zhirui's expression was thunderous. Veins bulged slightly at his temples, yet for all his authority, he didn't speak. His eyes flicked from Xiao Ling's unconscious form to Su Wanning, then to Shen Yuhan—measuring, weighing, calculating.

Su Wanning's face was ghostly pale. Her extended arm trembled, slowly falling to her side. Her lips opened, then closed, then opened again—no excuse came.

Shen Yulan stood frozen like a porcelain doll about to crack. Panic bubbled in her eyes, her mouth dry. She hadn't expected Xiao Ling to actually say it. That was not in the plan.

Shen Yuhan stood like a lone mountain in the center of it all—calm, commanding, with an air that did not belong to a helpless daughter but to a blade forged through fire.

"Well?" Her voice cut through the stillness like the final stroke of a sword. "Father, do you still think I'm the criminal?"

Shen Zhirui's jaw clenched, the words caught in his throat. He glanced at Su Wanning, who was shaking her head in denial. Then at Shen Yulan, whose were red and lips trembling as if she had been wronged.

"Yuhan," Su Wanning finally managed, her voice strained and falsely gentle, "Xiao Ling must've been sick. That kind of madness… she was clearly spouting nonsense. We shouldn't take a servant's words so seriously."

"But just now," Shen Yuhan smiled thinly, "you asked us all to believe her, didn't you, 'Mother'?" She intentionally emphasized the word 'Mother' to show her sarcasm before continuing. "You said she was trustworthy. That she wouldn't lie. Now that she has confessed everything, is she suddenly unreliable?"

"That's not what I meant—"

"Then what did you mean?" Shen Yuhan asked, taking a slow step forward. "Was it not you who presented her as a witness? Was it not Shen Yulan's maid who tried to kill me just now?"

Su Wanning opened her mouth again, but the words wouldn't come.

The servants and stewards lining the hall began to murmur.

No one missed the words Xiao Ling had screamed—'Second Young Miss told me to frame her.'

No one missed the fact that Su Wanning had tried to shut her up with a slap.

And no one missed Shen Yuhan's calm—too calm for a girl who had just been falsely accused and almost attacked.

This wasn't the Eldest Miss they once knew.

This was someone dangerous.

The murmurs grew louder—whispers curling like smoke through the Main Hall.

Under the weight of a so many doubtful gazes, Shen Yulan bit her lip delicately, lowering her eyes as though shame itself had taken root in her chest. Her hands, clenched tightly at her sides, trembled. Then, in a show of pure contrition, she stepped forward, voice soft and tremulous.

"Sister," she began, tone fragile as rice paper in rain, "I've failed in my duty. I never expected Xiao Ling to act so insolently… to accuse you falsely, then turn her venom on me when cornered." She lifted her chin, tears brimming in her eyes. "I swear, I never instructed her to harm you, much less frame you. She acted on her own, twisted and ingrate that she is. You, of all people, should understand how it feels to be wrongly accused. Sister, I'm innocent."

Shen Yuhan remained silent.

Shen Yulan faltered, then pressed on, voice catching like silk over thorns. "I know you don't believe me. I know I have no right to ask anything from you, but—" her breath hitched as she moved closer, and then—

With a rustle of her silken skirts, Shen Yulan knelt.

Gasps rippled through the hall.

"I only beg you," she whispered, "to give me a chance to make amends. If you don't… I truly don't know how I'll live with this regret."

It was a well-rehearsed act. And a convincing one.

Even Shen Yuhan, who knew her sister's true colors, had to admit—she had the aura of a tragic heroine. Her face, bowed low, carried a sorrowful dignity. Her words were perfectly measured. Her tears fell just right. If she hadn't read the truth in Xiao Ling's final scream, she might have been moved herself.

The hall began to murmur anew—this time, favor shifting like reeds in the wind.

But Shen Yuhan didn't budge. Her stillness drew scornful glances. The stewards and maids began to frown.

Cold. Heartless. Cruel.

They didn't say it, but she could feel it in the weight of their stares.

Then, softly—mockingly—she laughed.

"Heh…"

Her voice, low and crisp, rang like frost cracking across glass.

"Second Sister, you truly are gifted at playing the victim." Her gaze swept across the hall. "Let me recount what just happened: I was the one falsely accused, shouted at in front of everyone. I was the one scolded by Father without trial. I was the one nearly clawed by your maidservant like some common street whore. And yet here you are… kneeling. Crying. Being pitied."

She looked around at the servants, at the housekeepers, whose faces flushed with realization.

"Tell me—what exactly have I done wrong in this entire farce? Why do I deserve your accusing glares? Why does she," she gestured at Shen Yulan, "deserve your sympathy?"

There was a pause.

And then—like a stone sinking into a still pond—the mood began to shift.

Again.

Shen Yulan's face twitched. Her lips parted in disbelief.

But she quickly gathered herself, biting her lip again with trembling lashes. "I… I only meant to apologize for my failure to discipline Xiao Ling. I didn't mean to shift blame. Sister, please don't misunderstand…"

"Oh? So you do admit," Shen Yuhan interrupted, her smile sharp as a blade, "that you didn't raise your maid properly. Good." She turned to Shen Zhirui, her tone polite but unmistakably cold. "Father, since Second Sister has admitted fault… how do you propose we handle this matter?"

Another gasp echoed through the hall.

Shen Yulan's eyes widened, all pretense forgotten. "S-sister?!"

She had played the part of the repentant victim perfectly—so why wasn't Shen Yuhan giving her the script's proper ending?

Shen Zhirui stepped forward, rage surging back into his voice. "Shen Yuhan, enough! Don't push your luck. Yes, you were wrongly accused, and yes, your sister failed to rein in her servant. But she has apologized. She's kneeling. Do you want her flogged next?"

The disapproval in his tone was no longer hidden.

"Father," Shen Yuhan said, turning slowly toward him, "if everything could be dismissed with just an simple apology then you wouldn't have thrown that porcelain tea cup filled with scalding tea on my face the moment I entered this Hall." She took a single step forward, eyes steady. "You could have just asked me to kneel properly and apologize for my mistakes. But you didn't do that."

Silence fell again.

"Father," her voice dropped, sharp and deadly. "even if you are biased, you shouldn't be so openly biased. If others knew the garrison commander of the Meixi County is so biased with his two daughters, how do you think your subordinates would see you?" Her cold and crisp words sounded across the silent Hall. Her gaze icy, swept across the Hall as a silent warning.

With that, she turned.

No bow. No farewell.

She walked out of the hall, her steps slow, steady—like a victor leaving a battlefield.

The heavy silence cracked like a dam after she left.

Su Wanning stumbled slightly, catching herself on the armrest of a chair. Shen Yulan reached for her sleeve, lips quivering. Even the servants dared to breathe again.

But the storm was over.

And its aftermath had only just begun.

Shen Zhirui's fists clenched at his sides. His face darkened to the color of ink as his cold, hard gaze remained fixed on the place where Shen Yuhan had disappeared.