The chill outside the study pressed in with dampness, and Lin Qianshan leaned against the cold corridor pillar, drawing deep, steadying breaths to suppress the dizzy emptiness that followed the harrowing confrontation.
A dull ache from her knees reminded her of how tense and exhausting that encounter had been.
She stepped back toward the small kitchen, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Though she had temporarily won Xiao Yu’s trust, she knew a fissure had already formed.
Trust was like glass—once flawed, it could never be fully restored.
Today, he trusted her because her reaction was flawless and her “value” intact, not necessarily because he wholly approved of her character.
Pushing open the kitchen door, she was enveloped by warmth mingled with lingering food aromas—but it could not dispel the chill in her heart. Chun Tao, Aunt Zhou, and the others were all there.
When they saw her, their expressions varied, but they silently respected her space, continuing their tasks without a word.
Lin Qianshan went to the water basin, scooped a ladle of cold water, and buried her face in it.
The icy chill made her shiver violently, clearing her muddled mind.
She lifted her head, letting the water trickle down her cheeks and hair.
The reflective surface mirrored her slightly pale yet unyielding face.
She could not afford to collapse. Liu Rusi’s goal was clear: to destroy Xiao Yu’s trust in her, to expel her from the mansion—or worse. If she allowed even the slightest sign of weakness, it would give her adversary an opening.
She wiped the water from her face with force and turned to the others. “Once you’re done, go get some rest. There’s still tomorrow’s work waiting.”
Her voice was calm, betraying none of the storm she had just endured. They nodded quietly and gradually dispersed.
Chun Tao lingered until the end, concern etched on her face. “Qianshan, are you alright?”
Lin Qianshan gave her a reassuring smile, though it was somewhat forced. “I’m fine. Go get some rest.”
After Chun Tao left, Lin Qianshan sat alone on the small stool by the stove, watching the embers glow a dark red. The flickering flames danced in her calm eyes, dying and reviving in rhythm with her thoughts.
Xiao Yu’s final, unspoken warning pierced her mind like a spike: “If I discover even a single word of falsehood in what you said today…” He did not distrust her completely but had tied an invisible line around her. One misstep, and that line would tighten, strangling her.
And why did he suddenly ask about the rumors?
Was it purely because he had heard the gossip, or had someone—Liu Rusi herself perhaps—brought it to him directly?
Or was there another observer in the mansion who disliked her?
Thoughts swirled chaotically in her mind, leaving her unsettled.
She rubbed her still-sore knees, fingertips brushing the faintly warm skin beneath the fabric—the mark of long kneeling.
Then, an almost imperceptible footstep sounded outside the courtyard, pausing briefly before receding. It wasn’t the heavy tread of the night-watch maid but something more deliberate, almost like a furtive spy.
Lin Qianshan lifted her head sharply, peering into the blackness outside. Alarm bells rang in her mind. Even with the prince’s order, some people had not given up—they were still watching her every move in secret.
For the next few days, the mansion seemed calm on the surface.
Rumors about Lin Qianshan seemed to vanish overnight; no one dared speak openly.
Little Lingdang and her grandmother were reassigned to the laundry quarters. Lin Qianshan had glimpsed them from a distance once—their complexions looked much better than before. When they saw her, the grandmother instinctively lowered herself to kneel, but Lin Qianshan stopped her with a glance.
She knew this protection was orchestrated by Xiao Yu or Fubo—a shield, keeping her away from potential trouble. She accepted it cautiously, becoming even more careful: aside from the small kitchen and her own quarters, she rarely left her room.
Yet beneath the calm, a subtle undercurrent never ceased.
She always sensed eyes watching her—from the courtyard walls or the evasive gazes of certain servants. She inspected every ingredient delivered to her with increasing thoroughness, even checking the water she used to ensure it was drawn personally from the well.
That day, while washing vegetables for dinner, a young servant arrived carrying a basket of freshly harvested winter bamboo shoots, beaming: “Manager Lin, these are the finest winter shoots that arrived this morning. Please take a look.”
Lin Qianshan accepted the heavy basket. She peeled the outer layers of a shoot, revealing the tender yellow core—it was indeed fresh. She leaned closer, inhaling the sweet scent, a habitual check.
But then her nostrils twitched, detecting a faint, unusual smell beneath the bamboo’s aroma. It was strange—slightly fishy, with the subtle undertone of decayed medicinal herbs.
She froze. Once might be coincidence, twice an accident—but repeated “accidents” could no longer be ignored. What was it this time? Was the soil on the outer layers tampered with, or the tender core itself altered by some clever hand?
She calmly placed the shoot back in the basket, smiling faintly at the boy: “Yes, very good. Thank you for your trouble. Leave it over there for now; I’ll handle it shortly.”
The boy, unsuspecting, set down the basket and left.
Lin Qianshan stared at the fresh bamboo shoots, her gaze growing colder. She lightly traced her fingers over the damp, muddy outer layers, a chill resolutely settling in her chest.
Her adversary’s methods were becoming increasingly sophisticated—and stealthy. This time, if not for her extraordinary senses, she might have been fooled.
These bamboo shoots were definitely problematic. The question was: where exactly was the tampering hidden?