He does not trust.

“Sister, why did you harm my child? Why?” Yun Xiyin’s sorrowful question was laced with quiet sobs.

He hurriedly lifted Yun Xiyin into his arms and placed her on the bed. “Fetch a physician!”

Feet rooted to the spot, Yun Xueyan stared dazedly at the chaotic mess on the floor. How could it possibly be almonds...

“Are you deaf? I told you to get a physician!” Duan Nanyu turned and roared at Yun Xueyan.

Glancing at the figure not far away, Yun Xueyan spun around and left in haste. Just now, she had seen worry, rage, and even...resentment on his face.

He was worried for Yun Xiyin, and that resentment was meant for her.

Perhaps, this was all she would ever have. Or perhaps, the wounds that fate had in store for her went far beyond this.

Now, she was always walking a razor’s edge, treading carefully, gingerly with every step, yet still she was left battered and bruised.

She brought the physician to Junyu Pavilion. Yun Xiyin’s low cries echoed from the room, tightening the knot of anxiety in Yun Xueyan’s heart, which now tumbled in panicked unrest.

His face, twisted with malice, darkened further in anger. He clenched his hands so tightly that only sheer willpower kept him from strangling her in a fit of rage.

“Why did you do it? Give me a reason—give me one reason to spare you!”

“It wasn’t me,” she said quietly. That was all she was able to say. A reason? If he truly believed her, why would he need her to explain herself?

“You—” His hands balled and relaxed in his sleeves, again and again, struggling to control his temper. “So you’re saying everything I saw was a lie? Then tell me, were these almond pastries made by you or not?”

“Yes!” She lifted her chin slightly, locking eyes with his cold, venomous gaze—there was neither guilt nor panic in her expression. “But I made peach kernel pastries, not almond pastries! I am not foolish enough to court death myself!”

She had no idea how the peach kernels had become almonds, but she would not admit to something that had nothing to do with her. If she confessed, she could not guarantee Duan Nanyu would not kill her.

She did not have the courage, nor the recklessness, to gamble her life.

In front of Duan Nanyu, she was always the loser—she had lost her body, her soul, and Yun Qixiao. She could not lose anything more...

“Heh, so you still think you’re in the right? The evidence is right here. What more do you have to say?” Seeing her stubborn expression, his chest swelled with unspent fury.

It suffocated him.

“If Your Highness insists on framing me, then I have nothing more to say, nor anything left to explain!” She stood her ground. Though she feared him, she would not betray her own heart.

A sharp slap landed across Yun Xueyan’s face, sending her sprawling. Her arm struck the chair, the pain so intense it became numb.

Her cheek burned, but her heart felt nothing—no pain, only the sting deep within, as if needles pierced her soul, all because of his mistrust. Perhaps this slap was enough to wake her, to remind her not to persist in her delusions, not to remain infatuated.

Yun Xueyan’s lips trembled. That crushing sense of helpless despair swept over her once more. He loved Yun Xiyin. To her, he gave only mockery and contempt, and she could bear it.

Because from the moment she married into the Prince Xiao’s manor, she knew nothing here belonged to her. She tried to see her life as that of an outsider, to remain detached.

But fate refused to let her. All her intentions had been shattered.

The way he treated Yun Xiyin differently was a bitter torment to her, reflected in his eyes, shattering every last trace of attachment and hope she’d ever held.