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Meanwhile, inside the Main Hall...
The echo of Shen Yuhan's departing footsteps had barely faded before silence descended once more—tense, suffocating, and thick with unease.
She had walked out without a backward glance, her spine straight, her silhouette framed by the falling snow like a lonely figure on a painted scroll. The glow of the candles flickered weakly in her wake, casting long shadows that crept across the marbled floor.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Lin Zhixuan's gaze remained fixed on the door. His heart stirred with a discomfort he couldn't name. The sharpness in her eyes just before she left, the cold clarity in her tone—it felt unfamiliar. Unsettling. This wasn't the willful, clingy Shen Yuhan he remembered.
This version of her was… dangerous.
Before the thought could settle, a soft cry broke the silence.
"It's all my fault," Shen Yulan choked out, her eyes turning red with moisture. "If it weren't for me… Sister wouldn't have been scolded. She wouldn't have had to bear it…"
Her voice trembled, and then she raised her pale hand and struck herself across the cheek with a loud—
Smack.
The sharp crack rang out across the hall like a slap to everyone present.
"Yulan!" Madam Su let out a piercing cry and rushed to her daughter's side. She caught Shen Yulan in her arms, her face stricken, tears already brimming in her eyes. "Why would you do this to yourself? You're not to blame—don't ever say that! It's me. It's all my fault."
She clutched Shen Yulan tightly, shielding her like a mother hen guarding her chick. Her voice broke with feigned grief. "If I hadn't married into this family… If I hadn't taken your aunt's place… maybe she wouldn't have died so early. Maybe Yuhan wouldn't hate you so much. If I could go back and change everything, I would…"
Under the golden candlelight, Madam Su's tears sparkled with heart-wrenching intensity. To the uninformed, it was a scene of tragic repentance. To anyone with sense, it was a display choreographed to perfection.
Commander Shen, whose expression had been carved from stone, finally moved.
He walked over, his heavy boots thudding against the polished floor, and crouched beside the mother and daughter. With a large, calloused hand, he gently helped them both up from the cold ground.
"Stop it," he said, voice thick and hoarse. "You've both done enough. There's no need to blame yourselves."
His eyes darkened as he turned toward the doors Shen Yuhan had exited from. "It's her. That child… she can't let go of old grudges. Always so stubborn, so unreasonable. She sees kindness as insult, love as threat."
"She's just… hurting," Shen Yulan whispered, biting her lip. "I don't blame her. I never have. I only want her to be happy…"
Commander Shen's jaw clenched.
"Enough, Yulan. You're too soft-hearted," he said, voice low with both anger and frustration. "If she chooses to alienate herself, we can't force her to accept our goodwill."
He looked to Madam Su, then to his daughter.
"From now on, let her be. We'll continue as a family. If she doesn't wish to be part of it… that's her choice."
Hearing his words, Shen Yulan's eyes flashed with a victorious glint but it went as soon as it come before filling with tears again.
The warmth of the candles danced across the walls, flickering like the fragile harmony they clung to. But behind the teary eyes and soft embraces, a storm brewed—quiet, deliberate, and unrelenting.
Back to Osmanthus Courtyard...
The cold night wind rustled through the dried branches of the osmanthus trees, their once-sweet fragrance now only a memory. Shen Yuhan sat at her desk, a solitary oil lamp casting her shadow long across the floor. The flickering flame mirrored the turmoil in her heart.
She had been racking her brain for useful clues from the novel—any early signs of betrayal, anything she could exploit. But most of it had blurred with time, until a memory hit her with piercing clarity.
The phoenix hairpin.
Her fingers froze mid-motion.
She remembered now—the first time Shen Yuhan had been publicly shamed in the novel. A theft accusation. A phoenix hairpin.
According to the story, the hairpin was a reward bestowed upon Shen Yulan for allegedly saving the life of a powerful official's family member. That official had gifted her the phoenix hairpin, a rare heirloom said to contain an astonishing secret. In time, that very item became the foundation of Shen Yulan's immense wealth. With it, she had opened trade routes, gained exclusive access to rare commodities, and eventually rose to become the richest woman in Meixi County.
But the official narrative had accused Shen Yuhan of stealing that very hairpin in a fit of jealousy.
She had denied it. Again and again.
And for that, her own father—Shen Zhirui—had dragged her before the local magistrate, had demanded they extract a confession.
In the novel, she had finally confessed.
Not because she was guilty.
But because they had beaten her until her face was no longer recognizable.
Back when Shen Yuhan had first read that part, she'd clicked her tongue and thought coldly: She should've just confessed earlier. She would've spared herself the pain.
But now… now she knew.
That pitiful girl who bled on the floor was telling the truth.
That phoenix hairpin hadn't belonged to Shen Yulan at all—it was part of Madam Lu's dowry. Her mother's most precious belonging.
It had been stolen.
By Shen Yulan.
And the secret within—whatever it was—must have been deciphered by her, used to build her wealth and future power. No wonder she was always one step ahead.
Shen Yuhan closed her eyes for a brief moment, her breath shallow, her fingers curling into fists atop the desk.
So that's how it was.
That hairpin… it was the key all along.
She rose from her seat slowly, a new weight settling across her shoulders—not burden, but purpose.
In her past life, money had been nothing but a tool, a number in accounts she never cared to remember.
But in this world, without money, one couldn't even survive, let alone fight a war.
And she had a war to fight.
"No matter the era," Shen Yuhan murmured, her voice low and cold, "power comes after money. And that hairpin is my first weapon."
She turned to Ming'er, who was waiting quietly near the entrance.
"Bring me all the old ledgers from my mother's courtyard," she ordered. "Check the dowry list. See if the phoenix hairpin is recorded."
"Yes, Young Miss." Ming'er's voice was soft but steady. She bowed and left swiftly, already sensing the change in Shen Yuhan's mood.
Shen Yuhan remained by the window, watching the snowflakes fall silently through the branches.
Her eyes, once calm and indifferent, now glimmered with the sharp light of a predator.
Shen Yulan… you stole my name, my dowry, and my father's trust.
But I swear—
I'll take it all back, piece by piece.