If she is Meng Changle, then who is she?
Page 1/3
Qingyue Meng was carried by several burly servants, all because of a single sentence from Changle Meng: “The less we wear, the more sincere we appear.” On this freezing snowy night, she was stripped of her outer garment and roughly thrown down in front of the Residence of the Duke of Zhen’guo.
The cold wind bit harshly, and she swayed precariously.
No one knew how long she waited until finally a servant returning from errands approached the mansion.
Dragging her stiff legs, she grabbed hold of him, and when she spoke, her voice was hoarse, “Please convey a message... The Second Young Lady of the Marquisate of Huainan requests an audience...”
Startled by the sudden grasp, the servant jumped back. Upon recognizing the woman before him, he exclaimed in shock, “Good heavens—where did this snowman come from? Wait here, I’ll notify them right away.”
The servant went inside, and a faint hope slowly rose within Qingyue.
Before leaving, Xingzhou Meng had coldly warned her, “The heir apparent is fiercely protective. You’ve harmed his precious parrot; he will not let this go easily. It’s possible he’ll make you kneel all night.”
“In short, if you do not receive the heir’s pardon, do not dare step inside the Marquisate’s gate.”
Qingyue Meng was freezing to the point of numbness, but the chill in her heart was far worse than the bitter weather. She sobbed quietly, thinking of her parents, her elder brother—but she gritted her teeth and swallowed her tears and blood, forcing herself not to think anymore.
They were no longer her parents, nor her brother.
Suddenly, a wave of confusion swept over her. Everyone said she had taken over Changle Meng’s life—then what of her own original life? Whose had it been taken by?
If Changle Meng was herself, then who was she?
All her bitterness and grievances were shattered, her blood and tears swallowed down. When she opened her eyes again, her face was nothing but endless pallor.
At the same time, in the main hall of the Zhen’guo Duke’s residence—
The candlelight was warm and yellow, the brazier burning brightly.
The prodigal heir held a letter sent by his uncle, barely able to contain his excitement.
Looking up, tears shimmered in his eyes: “Father! Mother! Our sister has been found!”
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His words trailed off as tears streamed down his face.
When their sister, only three years old, had gone missing at the Lantern Festival years ago, there had been no news since, and their parents and clan had worried themselves sick.
Unexpectedly, today they received a letter from their uncle, who claimed to have discovered her whereabouts.
Though some details still needed confirmation, and a decision would be made only after his return to the capital in a month.
Even so, it was enough to bring tears to the eyes of the Duke and Duchess, desperate with longing for their daughter.
“Xian’er, write your uncle back quickly and ask him to return to the capital as soon as possible!”
The Duchess urged repeatedly, the usually composed noblewoman showing signs of agitation and helplessness.
Xian Qiao nodded frantically, wiping away tears, overwhelmed with joy.
Just then, a servant hurried in to report, “Master, Mistress—The Second Young Lady of the Marquisate of Huainan requests an audience, currently kneeling outside, saying she wants to...”
Before he could finish, Xian Qiao sharply interrupted, “Don’t you see we’re in the middle of a family discussion? Get out!”
The servant wanted to mention that the young lady seemed near collapse, but hesitating, he feared Xian Qiao’s usual sternness and had no choice but to leave.
So cold...
Qingyue Meng weakly hugged herself. Even so, the chill seeped into her very bones, as if her insides were filled with lead, heavy and unyielding.
When would that little heir finally come out...
She felt she could not hold on much longer...
Xian Qiao was eagerly telling his parents how to prepare the sister’s chamber, what clothes and fabrics to ready, jewelry and hair ornaments, and fretted over whether she would like what he chose—deciding it would be best to wait until she returned to select them herself.
Only then did he notice the servant still waiting in the corridor and frowned, belatedly realizing, “What did you just say?”
The servant, nearly asleep from waiting, quickly repeated his earlier message at Xian Qiao’s order.
The Duchess sat upright, frowning upon hearing this: “So the child is still kneeling outside?”
She urged Xian Qiao to go see for himself.
Xian Qiao remained motionless, sneering coldly, “Kneeling in the snow? Ha, it’s nothing but a self-inflicted show staged by the Marquisate of Huainan. Mother, don’t be fooled.”
But the Duchess shook her head, “Even if it is a ploy, the child is genuinely freezing. We are kin by marriage; there’s no need to make a scene like this.”
“Besides, I once saw the girl from afar—she’s no more than fifteen or sixteen. If your sister is still alive, she should be about that age too.”
Xian Qiao folded his arms, determined not to acknowledge the girl, but hearing his mother’s last words, he hesitated and eventually agreed reluctantly.
“Fine, I’ll look—though if she dies, it won’t be my problem.”
With that, he stepped outside.
Even the most wayward heir could not help but soften when thinking of a sister lost for so long.
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Cold.
Piercing cold.
So cold that Qingyue Meng’s vision blurred, as if she were seeing mirages.
Whether it was a dying illusion or not, she noticed the gate she had been staring at for two full hours seemed to move.
She forced her eyes open wide, but they refused to stay open.
As Xian Qiao stepped outside, this was the sight before him:
In the icy snow, scantily clad, a frail young woman knelt on the ground, her body already a snow-covered figure.
Seeing him emerge, the girl sluggishly lifted her head, her face flushed with an unnatural redness.
The next moment, she collapsed stiffly onto the snow.