Chapter Thirty-Five: A Gentle Cadence

That soft, languid tone sent a chill through everyone in the house.
“So, you’re the new arrival, aren’t you? Come here, I have something to say to you.”
A beauty with a serpent’s charm—that was how it felt. At first, she lulled you into a false sense of security, making you believe she was harmless. Then, in a swift, sudden attack, she left you utterly defenseless.
“Why are you so frightened? I’m not some monster that eats people. Come closer, let me take a good look at you. You remind me of someone—a friend of mine...”
A sudden wave of melancholy shifted the atmosphere in an instant. It was as if this young lady truly had a confidant. Yet, the only one who had ever managed to remain safely in this house was the old man who had always tended the gardens outside.
The old man had once been the house’s steward, but after Yuan Lan was sent away for treatment, the household’s authority fell into the hands of those two cruel women. The old man gradually retreated, taking up the role of gardener instead.
“Grandpa Zhong, please help us. If you don’t go soon, someone really might die!”
This child was the younger brother brought along by the last new housemaid.
The old man, hale and hearty, smiled like the Colonel from the fried chicken ads. This boy loved to run over and help out with chores.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened? Don’t be so flustered. Come, have a drink of water at Grandpa’s house, then tell me slowly.”
The child was nearly in tears. “Grandpa, there’s no time! If we wait any longer, my sister won’t survive!”
His voice trembled with sobs, but it was not out of place.
The old man wasted no time, hurried back to his room, and made a call.
He pulled out a dusty old phone and dialed a number he knew all too well.
“Well, well, after all these years of staying out of things, the old man finally calls. Have you come around at last?”
Zhang Xi was the picture of ease, lounging at a mahjong table, her manicured nails brushing over vibrant green tiles, a proud gleam in her long, narrow eyes as she surveyed her hand.
The clatter of mahjong tiles sounded in the background as the old man spoke, disbelief in his tone.
“I’ve told you before—pay more attention to your daughter. Even if she is not the master’s child, she’s at least your own flesh and blood. Now there’s about to be a tragedy at home. Uncle, how many maids have gone through this household already?”
The old man shouted the last words, startling the child beside him.
He reached out with hands as gnarled as old branches, gently stroking the child’s head. He paid no heed to the chaos on the other end of the line, words too harsh to bear.
“Go, child, and quickly. You run fast—just push that woman aside and protect your sister.”
The old man’s advice always worked. The boy remembered how, just days before, he’d been caught running amok and threatened with the police; it was Grandpa who had spoken up for him.
The boy dashed off, leaving the old man standing still, tears glimmering in his eyes. While dialing, he had glimpsed a notification.

There, in bold print, was the eldest miss’s name: Congratulations to Miss Yuan Xiangdie for winning first prize in the professional competition; her graduation work to be published in a magazine, with a promising future ahead.
“Master, may your spirit bless the young miss. These old bones of mine must step out and help her. I cannot let this family be ruined by those two outsiders.”
“Who are you to break into my house? You must be out of your mind! Get that damned brat out of here and take him to the police!”
As Grandpa Zhong reached the doorway, he heard furious shouting, laced with all manner of curses. Such a din had not been heard in years. He pressed on, step by step, leaning on his cane.
“Miss Yao’er is as unreasonable as ever. I was so startled, I nearly tumbled down the stairs.”
Each tap of his cane echoed like a blow to Yuan Yao’er’s heart, casting a darker shadow over her face.
She snapped, “You old fossil, hiding in the garden all this time. If it weren’t for you, I’d never have bothered keeping that blasted garden. Do you know how many people I had to hire to tend it? How much it costs?”
But the old gentleman paid no mind to such words.
He smiled kindly, refusing to sit, standing tall and surveying the scene.
What a fine place, now reduced to ruin by this mother and daughter.
Once, a crystal chandelier in the hall had glittered with gems personally selected by the lady of the house, crafted by the renowned French artisan Chevalier Delmar.
The table, too, was of pale marble, each piece chosen with care—costly, yes, but together they made a home.
Now, everywhere lay debris and shards, blood streaked on more than one person. That was the best of it—the boy’s sister’s face, legs, and body were battered all over.
“Grandpa, save my sister! If she doesn’t get to the hospital soon, her hand will be ruined!”
The child wept, lifting the woman’s arm to reveal wrist wounds crisscrossing like the aftermath of a failed suicide—blood was pooling fast.
For once, the old man frowned, his eyes filling with ice. But Yuan Yao’er was not afraid—of this old man, never.
“Don’t think I’ll spare you just because you hold thirty percent of the company shares. You’re nothing but a decrepit old man, always living in the garden. Even if I told people you suddenly died of illness, who would doubt it? At your age, you’re overdue for death. Stop getting in my way.”
Her true face had long since been revealed; Yuan Yao’er no longer even bothered to pretend. After so long feigning gentility, she almost forgot she was ever this petty, calculating person.
Step by step, she approached, a half-shattered vase in hand, closing the distance to just a single table.
Everyone present clenched their fists, ready to leap in should she so much as threaten the old man.
“Let’s be reasonable, Second Miss. What you want isn’t so hard to come by. But those three percent of shares—that’s what you lack. The majority shareholder is still Yuan Lan.”
How that stung. In half a year, Zhang Xi had ingratiated herself into every social circle, scheming for a controlling stake in the company.
But even if she stripped herself bare and offered herself up, the men still might not want her. Forced to change tactics, Zhang Xi played the philanthropist—claiming she wanted to aid poor children, build schools in mountain villages. She used these pretexts to siphon off millions, and as for the finances, Yuan Lan had no strength left to keep watch.

So gradually, she was sidelined, and the steward cursed himself for not seeing through it sooner—for watching the family fortune fall into the hands of this unworthy woman.
Step by step, the gap shrank—only a table between them.
Zhang Xi ran every red light on her way home that day—driving herself, relishing the thrill. Of course, the consequences would be dire: tomorrow, she would receive a hefty fine from traffic authorities.
“Yao’er, don’t do anything foolish! The old man’s life isn’t worth your future!”
Her anxious voice rang out from the entryway, loud enough for half the neighborhood to hear.
No one came to open the door. Zhang Xi’s unease grew. She fished out the spare key from under the rug, rushed inside, not even bothering to change her shoes.
The scene nearly sent the lady of the house into a faint—she collapsed, but at least managed to shut the door, sparing the family further disgrace.
“What on earth are you doing? Put that thing down—did I ever teach you to treat elders this way?”
Before Yuan Yao’er could speak, she was assaulted with a barrage of admonishments. Frustrated beyond endurance, she wanted to smash everything in the house.
“Why are you siding with that old coot and not me? Aren’t I your real daughter? Aren’t I the one you love most? Why won’t you help me?”
Faced with such accusations, Zhang Xi could hardly admit her fear—the old man might expose her past: the false pregnancy, the staged abortion.
She stared coldly at the half-shattered vase in her hand, feeling the loss keenly. Thankfully she’d returned early—another round of mahjong, and she’d have lost even more money and property.
“You wretched girl, don’t you know the family finances? If you keep this up, I’ll send you to a military boarding school!”
Zhang Xi had long wished to do just that, but circumstances wouldn’t allow it. Xunfang had always been the most profitable brand, with annual sales over a hundred million.
Given that, even Yuan Yao’er’s spoiled behavior was somewhat understandable.
“Stop this nonsense. Apologize to Grandpa. Let’s put this behind us and live peacefully as a family.”
To Yuan Yao’er, her mother had always seemed the cleverest of women, giving her a sense of security. Just as when she’d once pinned the blame for an incident on Yuan Xiangdie—it had all started because that man drank too much at dinner, and she’d accidentally swapped the bottles of sleeping pills and candy.
Today, Yuan Xiangdie’s heart was restless, despite the sample in her hand being nearly ready for final revision.
Her earlier work, with its palace-inspired style, was destined only for costume rentals in film and television. But now, she had reworked the gown into a two-piece: the lower half was a convertible skirt-pants, the upper half a jacket. Both in pure white, perfectly suited for young women.
It was ethereal yet contemporary, blending elements of traditional dress beloved by many today—a true innovation, though she could only hope it would catch the judges’ eyes.