"Really?" Song Ning lay weakly on the soft couch, in the sweltering heat of summer, still wrapped in a layer of quilt which was a far cry from the state of aggression and pride she exhibited when she bullied Shen Shuyun that day.
At this moment, she listened to a woman kneeling on the ground, reporting back to her, and her eyes suddenly sparkled with a bright light.
"Yan Wanqing is really dead?" she asked skeptically, repeating her question.
That woman, with her ragged clothes and weary from travel, was none other than the captured cook.
Now she was drenched in sweat, reeking faintly of body odor after several days of relentless effort.
"Yes, miss," the cook stuttered, her gaze drifting constantly towards the maid who was serving Song Ning, her own daughter.
Watching her daughter kneel on the ground, massaging Song Ning's wrist, a tear gleamed in her eye.
