"You weren't in your room all night?"
"Lord Lin…? What's going on? Why are you all staring at me like that? Oh—Young Master Wen, what are you doing in my room?"
Wenbo glanced from Zhao Shuning to the woman on the bed, then dropped his head in shame. Not ashamed because he had done anything unbearably cruel, but because he could not stomach what his own body had betrayed him into enjoying. The memory of last night—how long and how thoroughly he'd been entangled with Lin Qingying—made him feel sick to his stomach.
Lin Qingying was the youngest daughter of Madam Haitang and Lin Feng. On paper she had pedigree: an elegant mother, a respectable father. In person she had faults. She didn't take care of herself or watch her diet; she was plumper than most women. She'd long had a habit of peeking at Wenbo when he bathed. The first time he caught her, she didn't blush and stop; she grew bolder, counting on her status as the family head's daughter to treat him with impunity. Only after Wenbo's cultivation surged and Lin Feng began to rely on him did Lin Qingying moderate her excesses. Even so—the image of that small, pudgy hand laid over his chest made his skin crawl. He would never forget it.
"Who is the person in that bed?" Madam Haitang demanded.
Xiao Huan sprang forward, impetuous as ever, and threw the blanket back. Beneath it, the woman curled into a ball, exposed to everyone's view.
When Madam Haitang got a good look, her face went white; she nearly collapsed. Lin Feng, seeing Lin Qingying's face, spun around and roared, "Shameless! Dress yourself at once. Everyone else—out!"
A dozen people filed out of Zhao Shuning's room. Huan'er steadied Zhao Shuning, whose voice trembled, "That person—she's my aunt? How did she get into my room?"
"Huan'er, how could you sleep so soundly last night? Your aunt came and you didn't even greet her?"
Huan'er understood the implication and dropped to her knees, stammering, "Master, Madam, Miss, please forgive me. Last night I honestly didn't know when the Lin family lady arrived. If I'd known, I would have made sure she had a guestroom. Maybe—maybe the Lin young mistress wanted to talk to Miss…that's why—"
Her excuses were rambling and thin. Everyone could see the truth. The evidence was laid bare: Lin Qingying had been in Zhao Shuning's bed with Wenbo, and in the process had turned through Miss Zhao's clothes like rifling a drawer.
"Lord Lin, this must be some misunderstanding between your daughter and Young Master Wen. It couldn't have been deliberate—" someone tried to interject.
"Zhao Shuning, shut your mouth. Do not utter Qingying's name," Lin Feng barked.
"Madam Haitang—I'm not suggesting that," Zhao Shuning said, clamping her sleeve against her leg so hard it bit the flesh, forcing tears to her eyes.
A ripple of sympathetic noises swept the room. Look at Miss Zhao—so considerate, so sweet-voiced, pleading for the family. Weakness stirred protective instincts in men; that kind of performance could move a great many hearts. Watching Zhao Shuning's tearful, hurt expression, Wenbo's regret deepened. This—this was the woman he'd wanted last night. If not for Lin Qingying's appearance, he might have had the world's fairest beauty by his side as leader of the Tianxian Sect.
"Silence!" Lin Feng's voice cracked like a whip. "Do you take no shame? Look at what your daughter has made of herself."
He kept glancing to the side as he spoke—toward Lin Qingying's husband. Yang Chen stood there like a statue, jaw clenched so tight his face had gone the color of iron. The Yang family was a respected household on the frontier; not as illustrious as the Lins, but formidable in its own right. To see his wife disgraced publicly was a bitter humiliation.
"Yang son-in-law," Lin Feng said through grit teeth, "I will give your family answers. I, Lin Feng, will not protect a daughter who brings this kind of shame on the Lin name."
Yang Chen's fist tightened. He placed great store by a wife's obedience—the social code in his house was clear: men were heaven, women below. To have been cuckolded and publicly mocked—then to hear Lin Qingying say she had once loved another—was too much.
Lin Qingying finally pulled on her clothes and stepped out, head bowed. Lin Feng lunged forward and slapped her so hard she tumbled to the floor. The right side of her face swelled instantly.
"You disgrace," he spat. Decades of painstakingly built reputation, he felt, had been squandered in one night by this prodigal daughter. With so many witnesses, the stain on the Lin name would spread.
"Father—why are you hitting me? I wanted to marry Wenbo in the first place! It was you who refused and forced me to marry Yang Chen!" she cried, scrambling back to her feet.
Yang Chen's hand remained a clenched fist.
"Qingying, stop talking," Madam Haitang whispered quickly, urging, "Admit your mistake to your father."
Lin Feng had never struck Lin Qingying before; the sudden slap and her dramatic reaction only made the scene worse.
"Wenbo," Lin Qingying called, turning to him desperately, "why don't you defend me? Just one word in my defense would be enough. Last night—you came at me. I was drunk and thought you were Zhao Shuning; you should have recognized me. You could have pushed me away! Why didn't you?"
Wenbo's eyes burned with a cold anger at being implicated. Lin Feng's own glare hardened. Now that Wenbo had become powerful with the Tianxian Sect, he behaved as if the Lin family were beneath him. Even if Lin Qingying were at fault, she was still Lin Feng's daughter—no outsider had the right to point fingers.
"Enough," Lin Feng roared. The room snapped shut. He turned to Yang Chen in a voice that sought resolution. "Son-in-law, how do you want to handle this?"
If Lin Qingying had kept her mouth shut, Yang Chen might have granted face and settled the matter privately. Now it was too late. The offense had become a public scandal, and Yang Chen, proud and strict, could not abide it. In front of everyone, he drew a blade and with a single decisive motion sliced a corner from the hem of his ceremonial garment. The small scrap fluttered to the floor like a white flag.
"From this day forward," Yang Chen said, voice cold as steel, "the Yang household bears no connection to the Lin child. We are done."