Chapter Two: A Mysterious Origin

You are not my daughter!

The cold voice, mingling with the chill of the first snow, sounded all the more merciless.

Lang Jiuchuan’s heart tightened. Instinctively, he looked into Lady Cui’s eyes. They say a mother and daughter share a deep bond—could she really see at a glance that he was a soul returned to a borrowed body?

No, that couldn’t be right.

There was no fear or doubt in Lady Cui’s eyes, only resolute determination and obsession, tinged with a hint of disgust, irritation, even grievance.

As a mother, such a look was far too complicated.

Lang Jiuchuan was puzzled, but if he wasn’t her daughter, then he wasn’t. He replied faintly with an “Oh.”

Lady Cui was momentarily stunned.

The governess, feeling a headache coming on, said to a maid, “Jianlan, take Miss Jiu to the ancestral hall first.”

Jianlan immediately stepped forward, bowing slightly to Lang Jiuchuan. “Miss, please follow me.”

Without a trace of attachment, Lang Jiuchuan turned and followed her through the moon gate of the small courtyard. The governess’s voice floated on the wind behind them, “Madam, more than ten years have passed. Miss is about to come of age. Why must you do this again?”

Lady Cui said nothing. She stared in the direction Lang Jiuchuan had disappeared, her brows furrowed as she pressed a hand to her chest, trying to suppress the strange discomfort stirring within her.

It felt as if something had been lost.

On the path to the ancestral hall, Lang Jiuchuan remained uneasy. Seeing Lady Cui’s disgusted expression, did she truly dislike her, or had she genuinely sensed something—that Lang Jiuchuan was not her daughter?

Yet, Lang Jiuchuan distinctly felt a faint bond between them.

Unfortunately, when she entered this body, the original soul had died a tragic death, completely dissipated, leaving her unable to access this body’s memories.

Still, this body was indeed the ninth young lady of the Lang family, raised at the manor—confirmed by the official in charge of spirits.

“Miss, please don’t take it to heart. Madam has had a hard time these years,” Jianlan said softly, noticing Lang Jiuchuan’s gloomy, chilly expression. After several glances her way, she finally spoke in a dry voice, “You’ve just returned home. Give it time; it will get better.”

Lang Jiuchuan looked at her. The maid was about eighteen or nineteen, composed and calm—surely one of Lady Cui’s most trusted attendants.

Curious, she asked, “Why does she say such things?”

Jianlan hesitated awkwardly. She had served in the Xizhao Courtyard for ten years, rising from a lowly maid to a senior attendant responsible for Lady Cui’s clothes and jewelry. From the very first day she worked there, during her training, the governess and senior maids had repeatedly warned her against mentioning the ninth young lady, especially in Madam’s presence.

She found it strange. Wasn’t the ninth young lady the only daughter of the second wife and the sole heir of the second master? Not only was it forbidden to mention her, Jianlan had never even seen the young mistress herself. Over time, she learned the truth: Madam hated this daughter because the second master had died in battle when the girl was born, and she was considered an ill omen.

But Jianlan heard from a cousin who once served as Madam’s senior maid that it wasn’t simply that. Madam had been driven mad by the second master’s death, stubbornly convinced that the girl was not her own flesh and blood. On several occasions, she nearly smothered the girl to death. Because of Madam’s hatred, the old matron had to intervene, sending the girl to be raised at the manor, sparing them the tragedy of mother-daughter strife, and the horror of mother killing daughter.

It was hard to believe that even after more than ten years, Madam still held this belief. The ninth young lady’s features bore some resemblance to her—how could she not be her daughter?

Madam had been widowed too long, unwilling to emerge from her madness.

Jianlan forced a dry laugh and replied curtly, “You’ve been away from the household for many years and are somewhat unfamiliar now. Besides, Madam has had restless nights lately and must attend the ancestral hall vigil. She’s simply exhausted.”

This ambiguous answer did not convince Lang Jiuchuan.

But since Jianlan was unwilling to say more, she didn’t press. The truth would reveal itself in time. She was only a little curious.

Could a mother truly despise her daughter so much that she would heartlessly send her away from childhood?