Qiao Yihuan frowned slightly, a subtle ripple disturbing the placid surface of her composure. A flicker of something unreadable – envy? Resentment? – danced in her eyes before vanishing, leaving behind only a mask of concern.
Zi Yuan had just arrived, her initial panic upon hearing of her young lady's mishap quickly morphing into cynical amusement upon witnessing the Crown Prince's dramatic rescue. In her mind, the gears were already turning, calculating the potential benefits of this carefully orchestrated scene.
Well done, Miss! You're a regular actress, Miss! she mentally applauded, stifling a smirk.
If Yanyan could have read her maid's thoughts, she would have groaned inwardly. Here we go again.
He Zhiyu's body was rigid, the cold seeping into his bones, but it was the weight of the trembling, weeping woman in his arms that truly discomfited him. Qiao Wanyan's tears soaked through the layers of his robes, a burning contrast to the frigid air that nipped at his exposed skin.
He was no stranger to the tears of noblewomen, but there was something different about the raw, unrestrained grief that wracked Qiao Wanyan's slender frame. It was the first time he had ever felt a tug of something akin to pity, a foreign sensation that unsettled him.
From his vantage point behind the artificial hill, he had witnessed the entire scene unfold. Though the words themselves were lost to the distance, the venomous glint in Xiaoying's eyes and the forceful shove that sent Qiao Wanyan spiraling into the icy water spoke volumes. There was no mistaking the intent.
Whether in his presence or not, Qiao Wanyan's demeanor towards Qiao Yihuan remained consistently gentle, almost self-effacing. She seemed to shrink in her sister's shadow, a stark contrast to the fiery outburst he had expected.
Xiaoying, on the other hand, had acted with shocking impulsivity, her anger a palpable force. He suspected the incident with the hairpins and Shu brocade had been the catalyst, the unmasking of her deception triggering a violent outburst.
Regardless of the cause, the maid was a liability, a viper lurking in Qiao Yihuan's seemingly idyllic world.
Keeping such a volatile creature close to Yi Huan would only lead to heartbreak and ruin.
Her voice, raw and ragged from the icy water and her sobs, was barely a whisper. Qiao Wanyan, her body still convulsing with shivers, lifted her head, her gaze frantically searching for Xiaoying.
Upon finding her target, all that escaped her lips was a strangled, "You..." The word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken accusations and the lingering terror of her near-drowning. If she claimed to be unaffected, she would be lying. Fury simmered beneath the surface, a potent cocktail of fear and indignation. The injustice of it all – the near-death experience, the blatant betrayal – threatened to overwhelm her. And the inescapable realization that she was trapped in this pre-ordained plot, destined to relive these traumatic events, only fueled her despair.
Everyone braced themselves for the expected tirade, the scathing reprimand befitting a pampered noblewoman. But instead, Qiao Wanyan simply bowed her head, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, the tears continuing to stream down her face, leaving glistening trails on her pale cheeks.
Despite her reputation for mildness, Yanyan possessed a breaking point. And when pushed beyond that limit, when the injustice became too much to bear, she retreated into a world of silent, inconsolable tears.
He Zhiyu, observing her quiet devastation, felt a flicker of something akin to remorse. His initial assessment of Qiao Wanyan had been harsh, colored by the rumors and whispers that painted her as a spoiled and capricious socialite. He had expected theatrics, a calculated display of outrage. But this raw, unadulterated grief was unexpected, unsettling. Perhaps he had misjudged her. Perhaps there was more to Qiao Wanyan than met the eye.
Zi Yuan, ever the opportunist, seized the moment. Giving her mistress a subtle, almost imperceptible nod of approval, she launched into a tirade of her own, her voice dripping with righteous indignation. "Xiaoying, you insolent wretch! You've always been reckless and disrespectful towards my young lady. Just because my young lady has shown you kindness doesn't give you the right to treat her this way! I'll see to it that you're punished severely! I'm going straight to the Madam and Master with this!"
Yanyan, struggling to catch her breath between sobs, vaguely registered her maid's outburst. The words were garbled, lost in the cacophony of her own distress. "No... I..." she managed to choke out, her voice barely audible.
Before she could articulate her thoughts, before she could intervene, Qiao Yihuan stepped forward, her voice laced with a practiced blend of concern and self-deprecation.
"It's all my fault," she declared, her eyes fixed on He Zhiyu, her voice trembling with carefully controlled emotion. "I haven't disciplined Xiaoying properly, and Wanyan suffered as a result. Blame me, not her. Xiaoying has been by my side since we were children. If she were sold off, I truly don't know how I would survive."