The next trouble began with a servant’s child.
It was late autumn, the winds had grown colder, and golden leaves drifted through the western courtyard like scattered pieces of sunlight.
Qingli was in the herb garden when frantic knocking sounded at the gate.
Lan Yue hurried to answer it.
Moments later, a young servant woman stumbled inside, carrying a small child.
The little boy couldn’t have been older than six.
His face was flushed red, his body shook violently, and he breathed in shallow, ragged gasps.
“Miss Qingli!” The servant dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face.
“Please save my son!”
Qingli was already on the move.
“What happened?”
“He developed a fever three days ago,” the woman sobbed.
“The physician refused to see him because we couldn’t pay.”
Lan Yue’s expression darkened immediately and Qingli gently touched the boy’s forehead.
Her face grew serious.
The child’s skin was burning.
“Bring him inside.”
The servant woman froze.
“Miss…”
“Now.”
The firmness in Qingli’s voice left no room for argument.
Together they carried the child into the small residence.
For hours Qingli worked.
She prepared medicinal remedies.
Lowered his fever.
Monitored his breathing.
Changed cold cloths.
Mixed herbs, and refused to leave his side.
By sunset the child’s fever finally began breaking.
The servant woman burst into tears of relief.
“He’ll recover?”
Qingli smiled softly.
“Yes.”
The woman immediately dropped to her knees.
“Thank you, Miss.”
Qingli quickly helped her stand.
“You don’t need to kneel.”
“But you saved him.”The servant’s voice trembled, “You saved my child.”
Qingli looked toward the sleeping boy, “No.” She smiled gently, “He fought very hard himself.”
The servant woman cried harder and Lan Yue turned away, as her own eyes had become suspiciously red.
However, the problem was not that Qingli saved the child.
The problem was who witnessed it and before long, word traveled quickly through House Wen.
Servants talked and maidservants talked even more.
By the next morning nearly everyone knew the hidden daughter had saved a servant’s son after the household physician refused treatment, and unfortunately, that story eventually reached Zhao Meilin.
The Lady of House Wen was having tea when one of her senior maids quietly delivered the news.
The more Zhao Meilin listened, the darker her expression became.
“Repeat that.”
The maid immediately lowered her head.
“The servants are calling Miss Qingli a miracle healer.”
The porcelain teacup cracked.
A thin fracture spread across its surface, and the room became silent.
“A miracle healer?”
The maid trembled.
“Y-Yes, Madam.”
“And how many people know?”
The maid swallowed.
“Most of the household.”
The atmosphere immediately turned icy, and Zhao Meilin’s eyes narrowed as anger spread through her.
For years, she had carefully kept the secret of Qingli’s existence.
Years.
Yet lately the girl had become increasingly visible.
Servants praised her, and before long, those outside of Wen residence will start hearing rumors, which makes it very dangerous for the Wen residence.
Very dangerous.
Wen residence had spent twelve years pretending Qingli didn’t exist.
If it isn’t stopped now, people will begin to notice her.
And Zhao Meilin hated it.
That afternoon, Qingli was helping Lan Yue prepare herbs when footsteps entered the courtyard.
The atmosphere immediately felt wrong.
There were too many people and too much tension.
Qingli looked up, and her smile disappeared as she saw Zhao Meilin standing at the entrance with several servants followed behind her.
For a brief moment, Qingli’s heart leaped.
Her mother had never voluntarily visited the western courtyard.
Not once.
Perhaps—
“Mother—”
“Do not call me that.”
The words struck like a slap and Qingli instantly lowered her head.
“I’m sorry.”
Lan Yue clenched her fists.
She hated when Zhao Meilin did this.
Hated it.
Yet she could do nothing.
Zhao Meilin slowly approached as her gaze swept across the herb garden.
The books.
The drying medicinal plants.
The evidence of Qingli’s work.
Disgust flashed briefly across her face.
“So.”
Her voice was sharp.
“You’ve been treating servants.”
Qingli hesitated briefly before answering, “Yes.”
“Why?”
The question surprised her, and she tilted her head slightly to the side, “Because they were sick.”
Zhao Meilin stared, as if the answer itself was offensive.
She smoothed the front of her robe before glaring at Qingli.
“Do you enjoy humiliating this family?”
Qingli’s eyes widened.
“No.”
“Then explain.” Her voice rose slightly, “Why are servants discussing you?”
The courtyard fell silent and Qingli finally understood.
This wasn’t about the servant child.
This wasn’t about medicine.
This was about attention.
Any attention directed toward Qingli was unacceptable.
“Mother—”
“I told you not to call me that.”
Qingli immediately lowered her gaze again, “I’m sorry.”
The apology came automatically.
As it always did, and yet, somehow it never helped.
Zhao Meilin’s expression hardened further, “Have you forgotten your place?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps you require a reminder.”
A terrible feeling settled over the courtyard, and Lan Yue’s face turned white.
“No.”
She stepped forward instinctively.
“Madam—”
“Silence.”
The maid immediately dropped to her knees.
Qingli’s heart began pounding as she froze on the spot.
She knew that look.
She had seen it before.
Punishment.
“Bring the whip.”
The command echoed through the courtyard.
Lan Yue gasped, “No!”
Several servants looked horrified since even they had not expected this.
Qingli felt her blood run cold.
The whip?
For treating a sick child?
A servant hurried away and within minutes he returned carrying a thin bamboo disciplinary whip.
Qingli stared at it as her hands trembled slightly.
Not because she feared pain, but because she finally understood.
Nothing she did would ever be enough.
Nothing.
No matter how kind.
No matter how obedient.
No matter how careful.
Zhao Meilin would never see anything good in her.
“Twenty lashes.”
The courtyard erupted.
“Madam!”
Lan Yue threw herself forward, “Please!”
Zhao Meilin didn’t even look at her, “Twenty.”
Qingli quietly grabbed Lan Yue’s hand.
The maid was crying and holding onto her hand tightly.
“Miss—”
“It’s alright.” New chapters come out on g.com first.
“No!”
Lan Yue shook her head frantically.
“It’s not!”
Qingli smiled sadly, then released her hand.
The servants hesitated because no one wanted to do it.
No one.
Finally an older steward stepped forward.
His face was pale.
“Forgive me, Miss.”
Qingli nodded.
“It’s not your fault.”
The first strike landed.
Crack.
Pain exploded across her back.
Lan Yue screamed.
Qingli bit her lip.
She refused to cry out.
The second strike came.
Then the third.
And the fourth.
The world blurred.
Each lash burned hotter than the last.
Yet Qingli remained kneeling.
Silent.
Dignified.
The onlookers began to cry, some turning away while others averted their gazes.
No one could endure the sight, fully aware that the punishment was unjust.
Halfway through, blood stained the back of Qingli’s pale robes.
Lan Yue was openly sobbing.
“Please stop!”
No one listened, and Zhao Meilin watched with cold indifference.
As if she is observing a lesson.
Not a child.
Not her child.
A lesson.
By the twentieth lash, Qingli could barely remain upright.
The steward lowered the bloody whip and his hands shook violently.
The punishment was finished.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Zhao Meilin looked down at the kneeling girl, “Remember this.” Her voice carried no warmth, “No one wants a hidden daughter drawing attention to herself.”
Then she turned and left without another glance.
Without a single shred of concern.
Without even asking if Qingli could stand.
The moment Zhao Meilin disappeared, Lan Yue rushed forward.
“Miss!”
Qingli nearly collapsed.
The maid caught her as tears streamed down Lan Yue’s face.
“I hate them.” Her voice broke, “I hate them.”
Qingli leaned weakly against her, and for several moments she said nothing.
Then quietly whispered,
“Yue’er.”
“What?”
“Please don’t cry.”
Lan Yue cried harder.
“How can I not cry?”
Qingli managed a faint smile despite the pain, and despite the blood.
“The child recovered.”
Lan Yue froze.
Qingli looked toward the fading sunlight and a small smile touched her lips.
“The little boy recovered.”
The maid stared at her.
Speechless.
Because even after being whipped.
Even after suffering.
The first thing Qingli thought about was whether the child lived.
At that moment, Lan Yue finally understood something she had always known.
Wen residence did not deserve Wen Qingli.
Not even a little.
And somewhere beyond the western courtyard walls, unseen by everyone, fate quietly took note.