Lin Xiwei went upstairs to change into her mourning clothes, taking the opportunity to remove the Phoenix Conch Pearl she always carried.
She opened her wardrobe, pushed aside the hanging clothes, then opened the hidden compartment embedded in the wall and turned the combination on the mechanical safe.
Click—
The safe opened.
Lin Xiwei gently placed the Conch Pearl inside and closed the safe.
Inside were numerous gold bars and jewels, all stored there long ago to hide them from looters and thieves.
Last night, Lin Xiwei had already transferred them all into her spatial storage.
Judging from Lin Haojie’s expression today, he was probably going to freak out.
Lin Xiwei was fully prepared, anticipating that he might try to kidnap her to force her to reveal where the treasures were.
Killing her? That was impossible—Lin Haojie wanted the treasures, not her life.
Being a transmigrator, Lin Haojie should have sensed something unusual about her—but he had no evidence.
Out of caution, Lin Xiwei made sure her spatial storage was properly secured.
Just as she closed the wardrobe door, Wang Ma entered the bedroom carrying the mourning clothes, tears in her eyes:
“Only six months back, and now… it’s all gone so suddenly…”
Lin Xiwei walked over and hugged her as if to console her, causing Wang Ma to tear up even more.
“Since none of them are my siblings, the chances of them making a move against me—or my grandfather—during chaos are much higher.”
Wang Ma’s tears vanished in an instant, her gaze turning sharp and merciless:
“Let them even try to touch you—do they really think my reputation as Wang Yijun in the Jianghu is for nothing?!”
Though Wang Ma appeared ordinary, in her youth she had been a top-tier assassin, nicknamed “Double Pistols Yijun.”
Lin Xiwei’s mother had been the famous “Madame Luo” of Shanghai, surrounded by capable aides and experts.
That Wang Ma had survived the turbulent times and lived out her later years safely, after all the bloodshed she had seen, spoke to the deadly skill she possessed.
“Wang Ma, we’re in peacetime now, no need for the old killing tricks.”
Lin Xiwei arranged while dressing, strategizing:
“You just make sure to watch over us. As long as no one kidnaps me, that’s enough. No need to draw weapons—if you end up being taken in by the police, it won’t be worth it.”
Wang Ma thought for a moment, then agreed:
“Alright!”
Still, Wang Ma couldn’t fully relax.
During the funeral, she kept two guns strapped to her lower back—
One, a Mauser pistol, also known as a “box gun.”
The other, an American M1911, 11.43mm caliber—powerful enough to blow a skull apart at close range.
An honest person pushed too far could still be deadly.
There were very few people Wang Ma cared about in her life.
Lin Xiwei, to her, was both daughter and granddaughter—anyone who harmed Lin Xiwei would pay with their life.
…
During Lin Chengyou’s funeral, the Lin mansion was bustling with people.
As the eldest daughter, Lin Xiwei was assigned to receive and see off guests at the mourning hall, bowing countless times.
Fu Cuilian, with her children in mourning attire, knelt in the hall burning paper offerings.
Outwardly, everyone appeared submissive and respectful, but in whispers, they were scheming:
Lin Juying: “Why is she standing there? If anyone should, it’s our Haojie!”
Fu Cuilian: “Keep your voice down.”
Lin Yulan: “Heh.”
Lin Haojie: “Doesn’t matter for now. We’re aiming for the big prize…”
They were all after the Lin family fortune.
The huge, luxurious Lin mansion before them.
The businesses still operated under Lin family control, though state-owned.
Perhaps even the family’s overseas funds, secretly managed through trusts.
As a transmigrator, Lin Haojie’s ambitions were enormous.
Yet, Fu Cuilian was nervous.
None of the three children were Lin Chengyou’s biological offspring. If anyone demanded a paternity test, everything would be exposed.
But in front of her son Lin Haojie, Fu Cuilian didn’t dare say a word.
Her husband dead, she would depend on her son for the rest of her life—she couldn’t risk offending him.
Lin Haojie didn’t notice his stepmother’s unease, focusing instead on his sister:
“Yulan, tell me again what happened in the basement that day.”
Lin Yulan had a question of her own: “First, tell me—those love letters Qin Nancheng wrote me… where exactly did you get them from?”
Lin Haojie’s heart tightened, but his expression remained calm as he added more joss paper to the fire:
“Of course, I got them from the county post office.”
“Liar!” Lin Yulan’s voice trembled with a hint of hysteria. “Why is it that every time I go to the post office to ask, they say there’s no letter from Qin Nancheng?”
“Just bad luck,” Lin Haojie replied, avoiding her gaze and fiddling with the fire.
“Brother Nancheng’s letters never came at a fixed time. I just happened to get there when one arrived—that’s all.”
Lin Yulan’s defenses cracked, tears welling in her eyes. She asked again, “Then why does he deny it? Several times he claimed he didn’t write them. Tell me the truth—what really happened?”
Deep down, she already had a hunch, but she refused to give up.
Lin Haojie deflected: “He only corresponded with you, never met you in person. When he finally saw you, he thought you were so-so. Then he compared you to Lin Xiwei… you’re not as pretty as her, obviously he’d choose Lin Xiwei. What else is there to it? Men are all like that.”
Even at this point, Lin Haojie was still gaslighting Lin Yulan, disparaging Lin Xiwei, and stoking jealousy between the two, trying to make Lin Yulan continue to compete with Lin Xiwei.
“Besides, these people care a lot about social standing. Lin Xiwei is the legitimate eldest daughter of the Lin family, and she’s so beautiful. You? You’re just ‘okay-looking,’ nothing to write home about. And now, you can’t even get onto the Lin family genealogy!”
The implication was clear: Lin Yulan wasn’t chosen by Qin Nancheng because Lin Xiwei stood in her way, dazzling and irresistible.
Having been thoroughly manipulated by Lin Haojie over time, Lin Yulan now looked at Lin Xiwei with tearful, unmasked jealousy and hatred.
Seizing the moment, Lin Haojie asked, “That day… was it Lin Xiwei and Wang Ma who moved the items from the basement?”
Lin Yulan mechanically turned back, tears in her eyes, forcing down her immense hatred, and through gritted teeth said:
“Yes… it was Lin Xiwei and Wang Ma who moved the items. They even threatened me not to tell anyone—otherwise, it wouldn’t just be a beating, they’d have killed me.”
…
That night, the Lin family held another three-hall interrogation.
Lin Yulan stood up to testify, insisting that all the treasures in the basement had been taken by Lin Xiwei and Wang Ma:
“Grandfather, look at my face! It’s all beaten up, boo-hoo-hoo! Wang Ma… Wang Ma pressed me to the ground and beat me to scare me, I’m so pitiful…”
Wang Ma, enraged, rolled her eyes: “Nonsense! Don’t you know why I hit you?”
Even in old age, Wang Ma still carried the aura of the Jianghu, temper short and fierce.
Lin Xiwei had anticipated this scene and gave Wang Ma a reassuring glance.
Then, she calmly explained:
“Wang Ma hit you to teach you not to speak nonsense. And you tore my cloud brocade qipao—it wasn’t to threaten you, nor was it to kill you.”
False accusations—they’d done it countless times without getting tired.
Lin Xiwei, relaxed and composed, played along:
“You claim that Wang Ma and I moved the treasures—so tell me, what exactly did we move? How many items were there? How many hours did it take?”
Lin Yulan froze, completely unprepared for such a question, instinctively glancing at Lin Haojie.
Lin Xiwei mocked her: “You don’t actually know, do you? Looking at him for answers? Could it be that you two teamed up to frame me?”
Incited, Lin Yulan lost control: “Who said that? I saw it clearly! You and Wang Ma spent two hours moving things, filling that little car with countless gold, silver, and jewels!”
Lin Haojie’s expression turned strange.
Lin Xiwei snorted: “But the police already searched the car. The conclusion was… there was no sign anything had been loaded or unloaded. You’re blatantly lying.”
Lin Yulan’s face went through every color imaginable—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.
The truth was obvious.
Grandfather, protective as ever, interjected firmly:
“Stop causing trouble in the Lin family. Chengyou is already buried. You’re not even on our family register, and I won’t recognize you. Go home.”
He was now utterly annoyed just seeing these people.