The Golden Hairpin Bride · chat.title

The Chinese peonies in the Eldest Princess's manor were in glorious bloom, yet she stopped in her tracks at the corner of the veranda. Xie Hualou's voice drifted from behind the shadow of the blossoms, neither loud nor soft, but distinct enough for every word to carry—whispering of "that Fourth Miss from the Earl's estate," and murmuring about her "birth mother's conduct." Jun Dai did not stir. The round fan in her hand pressed lightly against the hem of her skirt, her fingertips tapping slowly, rhythmically against the handle. Beside her, Bi Tao barely dared to breathe. She did not lash out then and there. Instead, she merely sent someone to invite Xie Hualou, claiming that Heir Lu Zhuo awaited her at Diecui Pavilion. When Xie Hualou arrived, a smile still lingered on her face. Jun Dai sat inside the pavilion, her face half-veiled behind the fan, watching her approach and curtsy, noting her maid Ping Xiang stationed three paces away. Then she spoke—repeating every single word she had just overheard, throwing them right back verbatim, without altering even the slightest inflection. Xie Hualou's complexion drained of color; Ping Xiang's knees trembled so violently she could scarcely stand. Jun Dai gave them no chance to speak. A slap cracked across Ping Xiang's face first, followed immediately by another striking Xie Hualou. The pavilion stood high and the steps were steep; as Xie Hualou stumbled backward, Jun Dai's hand had already shoved her forward. The moment she tumbled from Diecui Pavilion, Jun Dai caught the rustle of skirts scraping against stone steps, followed by a muffled thud as someone caught her. Lu Zhuo stood beneath the pavilion, Xie Hualou trembling in his arms, paralyzed with shock. Jun Dai glanced down at her own hand. Her palm was clean. She snatched up a hairpin from the nearby table, turned her hand, and slashed it across Bi Tao's cheek. Beads of blood welled faster than she anticipated. Then, clenching that bleeding hand and letting the blood seep through her fingers, she infused her voice with a calculated tremor, though a ruthless chill still burned in her eyes.