A suffocating silence enveloped the courtyard.
The weight of Hua Jing's words had crashed over the guests like a tidal wave, leaving them drowning in disbelief. Faces were pale, mouths gaped open in shock, and an eerie stillness settled over the crowd as the full implication of what had just been revealed began to sink in.
Murder.
Mistresses of noble houses often dealt with concubines or lowborn women in ways that maintained their dignity—perhaps exile, a quiet dismissal, or at worst, disgrace. But for Chen Li to have outright killed a woman?
That was unthinkable.
The whispers began—soft at first, then rising like a chorus of condemnation.
"She killed her…"
"This woman—how could she…"
"Hua Jing's mother was just a maid, but to murder her?"
"A noblewoman with blood on her hands…"
