The words were soft, yet they carried the weight of a thousand blades.
The air shifted, turning cold despite the warmth of the late morning sun.
Madam Lu felt her breath hitch, her hands instinctively clenching as she took a step back.
Hua Jing stood motionless, her form deceptively relaxed, but her gaze burned with quiet, deadly fury.
Madam Qiao swallowed thickly, sensing the shift in power.
This was not the meek consort they had expected to torment.
This was not the young woman they had been told was unrefined and in need of discipline.
The intensity in Hua Jing's gaze was something they had never encountered before—
It was the look of a predator.
And they—
They were the prey.
The cane in Madam Lu's grip felt heavier than before, as if the weight of her intentions had suddenly become unbearable.
"Y-Your Highness…" she stammered, trying to compose herself, but her voice wavered.
