Most of the Rong family had a knack for spite. The Lins were better—outwardly at least—because of the friendship between Lin Qingzhi and Luo Feiyan; they had never openly feuded with the Marquis’ household. The Ye clan’s in-laws had long split from Ye Qingluan’s father and lived in poverty before coming to the Marquis’ house to beg protection. Once they prospered again, they forgot their debt. And because Luo Feiyan had no obvious talent for cultivation, she gradually drifted into neutrality.
Now, with just a few careless words from Ye Xirou, they all lined up squarely against the Luo household. Ungrateful scoundrels—there was no more apt description for them.
“Luo Hao,” an elder of the Rong family began, his tone oily with condescension, “we helped you when you were young and reckless. We supported you often. Now that you’ve made a name for yourself, you not only fail to show gratitude but speak to your elders like that. A real Marquis indeed.”
“Elder Rong,” Luo Hao answered coldly, “if I’m ungrateful, then why didn’t I cut ties with you twenty years ago, when my reputation and power were at their peak? Why wait until now to call me base? Do you think I’ve lost my roots and can’t even protect my own wife and children?”
“Brother-in-law, you should say less,” Ye Qingyuan interjected quickly. “Elder Rong did you no small favors—he’s been your mentor. He’s only speaking for your own good.”
Zhao Shuning looked toward the man everyone had been glancing at: Ye Xirou’s father. He was the kind who smiled while sharpening a knife—two-faced, always adding venom at the right moment.
“Yes,” another voice chimed in. “Marquis, you’ve held a great deal of power in Ruoqiang for years. We’ve never complained. Bringing everyone together tonight to discuss Ruoqiang’s future—what’s wrong with that?”
“Exactly,” someone else agreed. “Isn’t this just proper? Little to be upset about.”
“And you remember when the Luo family threw that grand full-moon banquet?” an older woman reminded them with a smirk. “The Imperial Seer himself predicted your daughter would be a red-lotus-fated child, a blessing to Ruoqiang—rare talent, unmatched. If she truly were a prodigy, we’d all rejoice. But—Marquis—over the years we’ve seen it for ourselves. Miss Luo may be a beauty…but her abilities are wanting.”
“She can’t even manage a basic mind technique,” another scoffed.
“We’re not forcing you to step down,” the same woman continued, voice honeyed with malice. “Just saying you should share power. The Luo family has no heirs but your daughter, and she’s proud to a fault. Even the little prince from Hailing wouldn’t look at her. Where’s your future then?”
“Brother!” Zhao Shuning muttered, trying to steer the tone kinder. “Don’t talk like that. Look at Feiyan—her face alone will keep her from starving even if the Luo house falls.”
She thought it a shrewd argument. Not everyone agreed. Ye Qingluan did not.
The woman who’d spoken—Rong Qing’s aunt, a long-time hanger-on of the Rong family—had the air of someone used to bullying through her family’s name. Today, with a target in hand, she couldn’t help herself.
“Rong Fang, what kind of rubbish are you spouting!” Ye Qingluan snapped.
Before anyone could react, Ye Qingluan had rolled up her sleeves and lunged.
“What are you doing?!” the woman shrieked.
“Brother—help! Get this madwoman away from me!” the aunt wailed.
Ye Qingluan’s spirit power was no small thing, and anger sharpened it. She barreled through those trying to separate them, hands like iron.
“Marquis, control your wife!” someone shouted.
A pained scream cut through the clamor.
It was Rong Lan. Ye Qingluan didn’t stop—she grabbed at Rong Lan’s hair, hauling it back. Rong Lan’s husband was from Tianli, where a husband’s honor was tied closely to his wife’s hair. To have hair pulled so publicly was a disgrace so profound it made Rong Lan go pale.
They finally pried them apart. Rong Lan stood trembling, hair a ruined tangle, face streaked with tears and red marks. Zhao Shuning covered her mouth, eyes wide. Ye Qingluan, in that moment, was formidable—raw, furious, and utterly fearless. She bore some bruises, but nothing like Rong Lan’s ruined elegance.
Rong Lan began to sob and scream, pointing at Ye Qingluan. “She’s a shameless bitch! How dare she pull my hair!”
Ye Qingluan surged forward again, but this time her attendants were faster and held her back. The sight alone sent Rong Lan staggering backward, fear replacing her earlier fury.
“If you lay a finger on my sister again, Mrs. Luo, the Luo family will pay,” Rong Lan snarled, indignation and terror mingling.
Ye Qingluan didn’t flinch. She glanced at her retainers; they loosened their hold. She smoothed her dress with an efficient motion, then faced the gathered Rong clan without hesitation.
“If she dares to spit another insult at my daughter,” Ye Qingluan said quietly, “I don’t care how powerful your family is. Next time, I’ll tear her mouth open myself.”
“You—how dare you!” Rong Fang shouted. “Fine! Very fine!”
Ye Qingluan’s voice went cold. “Very fine indeed. Elder Rong, you should mind your sons and grandsons and keep them from tarnishing your house. I may have set up my own household in the years since, but I’m still a daughter of the Ye family. If anything happens to me—do you think my father, Ye Feng, will let it go?”
At the name Ye Feng, conversation died down. Ye Qingluan’s temper and skill were formidable, but it was Ye Feng’s reputation that silenced them—the man who had once swept across five nations, the leader of the largest shadow organization of assassins. Men who’d crossed him had met grisly ends. Mentioning him sent a tremor through the assembly.
“Marquis,” someone whispered. “Your wife is acting too rashly. Will you not stop her?”
Luo Hao reached out, trying to pull Ye Qingluan toward him. “Wife—”
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, wrenching free. “Don’t brand me as ‘Marquis’ wife’ to cow me. From this night on, I will write my own divorce papers. I will no longer be your lady. Whatever I choose to do after that will be my own business.”