When the Sun family and the Zhao clan elders stepped out, they saw all of Zhao's hired thugs sprawled on the ground, howling in pain.
The Zhao clan members here today were from the second branch, led by the infamous Zhao Second Master.
Zhao Second Master took in the scene, his face darkening. He flicked his sleeve with arrogant hauteur: "So this is the Sun family's handiwork? If you don't give my Zhao clan a proper explanation, you can expect to spend the rest of your lives in prison."
He snorted, chin raised high, radiating disdain for everyone present.
Serena Feng shook her head—there really was no comparison between people. When Ninth Royal Uncle simply stood there, his presence was regal and unmatched; no one dared look him in the eye.
But this guy? No matter how high he held his chin, it couldn't give him a shred of true nobility.
"Your Zhao clan has gone too far. Get out—get out now!" Sun Laoye was forty-two this year, but looked every bit the part of a sixty-year-old man.
His face was lined with hardship, as if life had ground him down; he no longer resembled a member of a noble scholar clan. Only his eyes shone with unyielding defiance.
It made sense—if the Sun clan hadn't fallen, Sun Yijin would never have been forced into a marriage alliance with the Zhao family.
"Get out? Ha! I think it's you who should be leaving. If you don't return the betrothal gifts my Zhao clan gave within seven days and don't send Second Miss Sun into the House of Duke Zhen, your branch of the Sun family will be expelled from the clan. Today is the seventh day." Zhao Second Master was smug, and a man beside him—who resembled Sun Laoye by about thirty percent—echoed coldly:
"Fifth Brother, you know what the clan patriarch decided. Today is the final deadline. If you won't agree, then get out of the capital immediately—the main branch will disown you."
Sun Laoye trembled all over, his eyes full of helplessness, lips quivering as tears welled up.
A man of his age, driven to such desperation—it was truly heartbreaking.
"Father, we can't agree. Jinyan is already dead; we can't let Yici die too. If the patriarch wants to expel our branch, I'll leave—I'll go back to our ancestral home."
The Sun family's eldest son supported Sun Laoye, his youthful face shining with determination. The second son stood on the other side, looking frail but equally proud and unyielding.
This must be the scholar's backbone—unyielding pride, no matter the cost.
Serena Feng respected that. In her modern life, she had seen too many spineless men. Maybe pride wasn't worth much, and maybe the price of it was heavy, but without even that, what was the point of living?
Sun Laoye's tears finally spilled over. He trembled as he spoke: "But what will happen to you? If we're expelled from the clan, you'll lose your future, and our descendants will never have a chance to rise."
Sun Laoye seemed to age another decade in that moment. Even his once-straight back bent under the weight of blow after blow.
Serena Feng had wondered why both the Sun and Zhao clans had ignored her presence—now she realized they simply didn't care.
These thugs were here to stir up trouble. The Sun family endured humiliation and dared not resist, so my appearance played right into the Zhao clan’s hands...
The Zhao clan—just a dog on a leash for the House of Duke Zhen.
At the Peach Blossom Festival, I publicly humiliated Duke Zhen’s daughter, Lady Bianca of Wu’an, ruining her reputation and driving her out of the capital overnight.
The House of Duke Zhen lost so much face, there’s no way they’d let it go.
Me landing in the Bloodcloak Guard’s dungeon let them vent some anger, but that wasn’t enough.
Now the House of Duke Zhen set their sights on the Sun clan.
Sun Yijin saved me at the Peach Blossom Festival—no wonder the Sun family is getting dragged into this mess.
So, with Duke Zhen’s backing, the Zhao clan started squeezing the Suns: first they humiliated Sun Yijin by breaking off the engagement, then immediately demanded that Lily Sun—the younger daughter—be sent into Duke Zhen’s estate as a concubine.
The Sun clan, a family of scholars for generations, would never agree to such shameless demands. Sun Laoye refused outright.
But he forgot—the Suns have fallen. All it took was Duke Zhen dangling a Ministry of Revenue post, and the rest of the clan was tempted. Even the patriarch personally showed up to force Sun Laoye to send his daughter as a concubine.
Sun Laoye refused, so now they want to expel his branch from the family—cut them off forever.
In the modern world, maybe people wouldn’t care about being kicked out of the clan, but here it’s different. If the clan expels you, you’re shunned by everyone and barred from ever holding office—doomed to spend your life as a nobody.
At the same time, the Sun clan withheld the betrothal gifts Zhao gave years ago, making it impossible for Sun Laoye to return them.
Finally, I pieced together the whole mess. I was so furious I nearly smashed my cudgel over Zhao Second Master’s head.
House of Duke Zhen, you’ve gone way too far.
With a loud smack, I threw my cudgel to the ground, strode straight up to Zhao Second Master, and said, "I’ll count to three. Get out, or don’t blame me for what happens next."
"Who are you?" Zhao Second Master was startled, and the Sun father and sons were just as baffled.
They hadn’t even noticed who’d beaten up the Zhao thugs—it was me, this girl.
"Miss, thank you for your righteous help, but this matter is tangled up with powerful houses. You’d better stay out of it." Sun Laoye had regained his composure and tried to persuade me.
The Sun family was already mud on the ground, for anyone to trample. Even so, they refused to bow. They’d already lost one daughter to submission; Sun Laoye would never send another to her death.
“Old Sun is right. Little lady, you’d best not meddle in things that don’t concern you, or you might not even know how you died.” Zhao Erye eyed Serena Feng up and down, arrogance written all over his face as he toyed with the jade pendant at his waist.
Zhao Erye clearly couldn’t resist flaunting his superior status.
Maybe I won’t know how I die, but I’ll definitely know how you die. The Sun family’s business is my business now, and today, I’m not backing down.
“Ha! You’re not backing down? What makes you think you have the right? Who do you think you are, daring to meddle in Zhao clan affairs?” Zhao Erye burst out laughing, looking at her like she was a joke.
The three Sun men—father and sons—looked uneasy.
Serena Feng just let out a cold, unconcerned laugh. She pointed to the corner, where General Warren Yu and Caleb Wang were trying to blend into the background. “If I can’t handle it, what about them? Can General Warren Yu and the Seventh Young Master of the Wang Clan handle it?”
Leverage! Serena Feng was getting good at this—and the more she used it, the smoother it felt.
If Ninth Royal Uncle saw this, he’d probably be pleased.
Serena thought to herself.
“General Warren Yu, Young Master Caleb Wang?”
Everyone followed Serena Feng’s gesture and looked over, stunned into silence.
When did those two arrive?
Warren Yu and Caleb Wang could only offer helpless, wry smiles.
They’d known Serena Feng wouldn’t let them off the hook. Sure enough, here she was.
Fine, if they had to get involved, so be it.
After all, Sun Yijin’s death was inextricably linked to Serena Feng.
The two men stepped out of the shadows. Zhao Erye and the Sun family immediately bowed to Warren Yu.
Warren Yu responded with cold indifference, making it clear he had no regard for them.
Zhao Erye’s forehead was slick with sweat, but he didn’t dare wipe it. Internally, he cursed his luck—why did he have to run into General Warren today?
Wait a minute—when did General Warren get so friendly with the Sun family?
No, that's not it—who is this woman, anyway? How could she bring General Warren here?
“General Warren, this is a matter for the House of Duke Zhen. What do you think?” Zhao Erye asked, forcing a smile.
“Zhao Erye, take your people and get out. If there’s a next time, I won’t go easy on you. House of Duke Zhen? If Duke Zhen wants a marriage alliance with the Suns, fine—he can come talk to me directly. I’m free these days, so I’ll take care of it myself.” Warren Yu’s words showed not a trace of respect for Duke Zhen.
Since the founding of the Eastlyn Empire, there have been four major ducal houses: Duke Zhen, Duke Ning, Duke Rong, and one more.
The ancestors of these houses were the ones who helped the founding emperor seize the throne. Afterward, they were granted the highest ducal rank, just below princes and royal dukes. Of course, the original dukes are all gone now; their sons have inherited the titles.
Normally, inherited titles would drop a rank, but the four houses earned such great merit that the Emperor allowed three generations to keep the full title.
Warren Yu had just earned military honors; even if he was promoted to marquis, in the ranking of duke, marquis, count, viscount, and baron, he’d only be a count at best.
By rights, his rank and status should be far below the House of Duke Zhen. But as a general with real military power, even the ducal houses had to give him some respect.
Besides, Warren Yu utterly despised the ducal heirs. Not only were they bureaucratic, but most importantly, their fathers were all former ministers of the old dynasty—traitors who sold out their country to get where they are now.
Though he himself served the Eastlyn Empire, Warren Yu looked down on the four ducal houses from the bottom of his heart.
So, the House of Duke Zhen wanted to use its power to pressure him? Dream on!
Everyone in the Eastlyn Empire knew Warren Yu had no time for the ducal heirs, and the Emperor was happy to let it be.
Zhao Erye could use Duke Zhen’s name to pressure anyone—except Warren Yu.
Zhao Erye’s face went from green to white, but under Warren Yu’s fierce gaze, he could only retreat, bow, and withdraw. Yet before leaving, he couldn’t resist asking Serena Feng:
“Miss, since you’ve involved yourself in the Sun family’s affairs, shouldn’t you tell me who you are?”
Zhao Erye was well aware that Warren Yu was only meddling because of this young woman.
“Me?” Serena Feng pointed at herself. “Tell County Princess Wu’an that Serena Feng sends her regards, wishes her good health, and hopes she finds a worthy husband soon. If after marriage she can’t conceive, she’s welcome to come see me—I’ll do my best to treat her.”
No need to play nice—the feud between her and Duke Zhen’s house only grows deeper.
“You’re Serena Feng?” Zhao Erye spat, his eyes practically devouring her.
“That’s right. What, are you here to consult me for treatment? Sorry, I only treat humans, not livestock. You’ll have to find someone else.” Serena Feng replied, perfectly calm and infuriating.
Zhao Erye was so furious his beard stood on end. As he stormed out, he shouted, “Serena Feng, just you wait! The House of Duke Zhen won’t let you off!”
“Fine, I’ll be waiting!”
Xiao Zhi, Sun Yijin—their tragedies were all orchestrated by Duke Zhen.
Serena Feng and the House of Duke Zhen are sworn enemies—there’s no turning back.