Chapter Forty-Nine: Jiang Lingyao Is Not Her Daughter

The maid, hearing the commotion, turned around as if she had seen her savior. She knelt down, crying, and pleaded, “Please, Miss, save your servant. If this soup isn’t properly simmered, Madam will surely sell me off. I beg you!”

Jiang Lingyao remained silent, bending down to take the soup bowl from her hands. She opened it and gently inhaled the aroma. “It must be simmered over a low flame, continuously.”

The maid was stunned but wore a mournful expression. “But if it’s always on low heat, the soup won’t boil. How can it be fully cooked?”

“You lack patience. If it doesn’t boil, just wait. After three hours, it will naturally be ready.”

The maid thanked her repeatedly, tears streaming down her face as she hurried towards the kitchen.

Wen Qiu, standing nearby, felt a pang of sorrow and grew more resentful of Jiang Xiuyuan. Her lady was so kind to him—how could he bear to side with Song Lian’er in bullying her?

Jiang Lingyao’s heart, however, remained unmoved. She knocked on the door and then pushed it open.

“Mingzhu!”

Madam Jiang sat by the bedside, her eyes red and swollen from crying. “Look at your brother; he keeps calling out for you.”

Jiang Lingyao did not step further inside but cast a faint glance at Jiang Xiuyuan.

Having once gone to great lengths to seek medicine and apprenticeship for Jiang Xiuyuan, she could immediately discern his condition.

During the past year, when she had not been at the estate, no one had cared for Jiang Xiuyuan’s health as attentively as she did, nor had anyone tended to him with seasonal adjustments.

His illness today was the accumulation of neglect over the past year.

Jiang Lingyao suddenly found him amusing. It was Jiang Xiuyuan himself who had left her at Qingshan Temple—now, was this not a case of poetic justice?

“Mingzhu, he is your brother. How can you bear to see him punished by grandmother?” Madam Jiang cried even louder upon seeing her expressionless face. “You know he’s weak. With this illness, who knows how long it will take him to recover.”

Jiang Lingyao lifted her eyes, a faint curl tugging at her lips. “So you admit you know. I shouldn’t watch him suffer just because I am his sister.”

Madam Jiang was taken aback, staring into her icy calm eyes, an inexplicable unease stirring within.

“And what about me? As his sister, should he watch me suffer? And this suffering was caused by him. If he hadn’t accused me, I wouldn’t have been left at Qingshan Temple for a whole year.”

Jiang Lingyao thought her heart had long ceased to feel anything about this, yet as she spoke, a trace of sorrow slipped through.

She was Jiang Xiuyuan’s sister—and Madam Jiang’s own daughter.

Fortunately, she quickly suppressed this sorrow and looked up coldly. “They are all your children, yet you treat us so differently. I know the eldest brother is the legitimate heir, so you care for him the most.”

Madam Jiang sobbed, “No, Mingzhu, you are my daughter too.”

Jiang Lingyao retorted, “Am I really your daughter?”

“Enough. If you insist on treating me as your true mother from today onward, then stop using excuses to oppress me. Don’t ever do anything in the name of ‘for my own good’ again.”

“How can you say that?” Madam Jiang suddenly stood, her voice trembling. “Are you not afraid your words will break my heart?”

Jiang Lingyao took a step forward, closing the distance between them, and spoke deliberately, “You see, you know the truth. Yet when you did those things, when did you ever care whether my heart was broken?”

Madam Jiang stood frozen.

She fell silent, then her throat tightened painfully. After struggling for a long moment, she continued, “Mingzhu, you know only you can—”

Jiang Lingyao gave a cold, faint smile. “The medical skills I learned for him can save more than just him. Should I save anyone who asks? Besides, Jiang Xiuyuan’s persistent fever today is only because he’s been neglected for a year. It’s beyond my control.”

She lied—of course she was capable, but she did not wish to expend effort on Jiang Xiuyuan.

“I’m leaving.”

Jiang Lingyao’s footsteps quickened as she left, without a trace of hesitation. Even when she heard Jiang Xiuyuan’s muffled groans of pain, she did not slow her pace.

Madam Jiang’s expression gradually hardened, revealing a rare sharpness.

Jiang Lingyao’s words had cut into her heart like a knife, rousing a restless turmoil that had lain dormant for over a decade.

Am I really her mother?

Her thoughts were abruptly pulled back over ten years, to a rainy, misty night when she took Jiang Lingyao from the midwife’s hands and handed over her own daughter.

She had been relieved that her daughter would grow up in a fine family, spared from discordant parents, destined for a life of wealth and honor.

Yet, as she thought, she could not help but recall when Jiang Lingyao had first softly called her “Mother.”

Little Jiang Lingyao had stumbled all the way from the old madam’s estate to her, clumsily offering the candy in her hand and comforting her, “Mother, mother, eating a bit of candy will make your heart sweet.”

When she was ill, Jiang Lingyao had anxiously kept vigil through the night. When she opened her eyes, Jiang Lingyao was already asleep by the bedside, brow furrowed in worry.

She truly treated her as a mother and truly loved her.

Somehow, Madam Jiang felt her heart shatter, the pain draining the color from her face.