A tremor ran through Jiang Lan. Thinking he was angry, her hands flew up in sign language: *Isn't the congee to your liking?* Lu Jingchi tugged at the collar of his shirt, his voice edged with impatience. “No. Just eat.” When he didn't eat, Jiang Lan stopped as well, rising to clear the table. Lu Jingchi watched her in silence, his eyes cold. By the time she had cleared the table and changed upstairs, Lu Jingchi was already waiting for her in the car. The car moved along the road, the scenery on either side a rapid blur. Jiang Lan turned her head, her eyes fixed on the fleeting landscape outside. Jiang Lan had come to the Lu household when she was very young, brought back by the Old Master himself. He had doted on her, treating her as his own granddaughter. While he was alive, Old Master Lu had always worried about what would become of her. Three years ago, as he lay on his deathbed, he forced Lu Jingchi to marry her, only closing his eyes for the last time once the union was secure. The Old Master had said that, given her condition, he couldn't trust anyone else with her. Only by marrying her to Lu Jingchi could he rest in peace. At the time, Lu Jingchi had a girlfriend. Her name was Xia Yan. Perhaps because they had grown up together, or perhaps out of duty to his grandfather's promise, Lu Jingchi had reluctantly married her. He wasn't overtly cruel, nor did he go out of his way to make her life difficult. But that was the extent of it. He did not love her. He would never again call her "Lan Lan" with that gentle voice. They had become the most familiar of strangers. The Lu family home was bustling with activity today. Lu Jingchi’s sister had given birth to a son, and this was his hundred-day celebration. Jiang Lan followed Lu Jingchi through the crowded front courtyard and into the main hall. Inside, Mrs. Lu was cooing over her grandson, her face wreathed in smiles. But the moment her gaze fell upon Jiang Lan, that smile vanished, and her expression hardened. Jiang Lan offered a greeting, but Mrs. Lu acted as if she hadn't seen her, turning to speak to her own daughter. “You know what they say, the nephew resembles the uncle. And it’s true—this little one is the spitting image of Jingchi as a baby.” Lu Wanrou gently stroked the infant’s cheek and smiled. “You all say he looks like my brother, but I don’t see it at all.” Mrs. Lu bounced the baby’s tiny hand in hers, a benevolent smile on her face. “Of course you can’t see it. You weren't even born when Jingchi was this small.” Ignored, Jiang Lan felt no anger. She simply stood quietly to the side. “Mother,” Lu Jingchi said, his voice cutting through their chatter. Only then did Mrs. Lu turn to him, her acknowledgement lukewarm. “You’re here? What are you standing around for? Sit.” Lu Wanrou shot a glance at Jiang Lan. The moment Lu Jingchi sat down, she spoke up. “Brother, you two need to get a move on. When are you going to have a child?” Before Lu Jingchi could answer, Mrs. Lu scoffed. “Don’t you go putting ideas in his head. It’s humiliating enough to have one mute in the family. If she gives birth to another, do you expect the Lu family to ever show its face in public again?” At these words, Lu Jingchi glanced at Jiang Lan beside him. Her head was bowed, her expression unreadable. Lu Wanrou’s mention of a child was, of course, laced with malice. Everyone knew that Jiang Lan had been pregnant last year. Afraid she would give birth to another mute, Mrs. Lu had forced her to have an abortion. When Lu Jingchi found out, he had said nothing. As a result, Jiang Lan, who already had a fragile presence in the family, lost what little standing she had. If that child had been born, he would be almost six months old by now. Other than the Old Master, no one in the Lu family liked Jiang Lan. Lu Wanrou hated her, even more fiercely than her mother, and had since they were children. Jiang Lan had arrived at the Lu home at the age of five. Lu Wanrou, preying on Jiang Lan’s inability to speak, would lock her in the storage closet or burn her hair with a lighter. Once, she pushed her down the stairs, an act that Lu Jingchi witnessed. Lu Jingchi had scolded Lu Wanrou. Already resentful of their grandfather’s favoritism toward Jiang Lan, she now had to watch her beloved older brother defend the mute girl against her. How could she not hate her? Back then, Jiang Lan didn't know sign language, couldn't write, and had no way to tattle. This only emboldened Lu Wanrou, who would take out even the slightest frustration on her. Now that they were older, Lu Wanrou’s methods were less crude. Her preferred tactic was far more insidious: to break the spirit, not just the body. “It’s a recessive gene,” Lu Wanrou said. “As long as you do regular check-ups, the chances of passing it on aren't that high.” Mrs. Lu pressed her fingers to her temples, a headache forming. “That’s enough. Why bring this up? I was only thinking of Jiang Lan’s own good. If there was something wrong with the baby, wouldn't she be the one to suffer most? Isn't that right, Jingchi?”