Chapter 38: Send Her to Repent

"Someone! Break the door down!" Qiao Guodong’s voice, thick with a performative fury, made the candles in the hallway flicker. Two guards immediately stepped forward and delivered a heavy kick to the side chamber's wooden door. With a loud crash, the door swung open.

Qiao Guodong rushed in first, pointing toward the interior, ready to unleash his wrath: "Wen Yan! You shameless woman, how dare you in the Qiao household—" He stopped mid-sentence, his voice catching in his throat.

The two people inside did not stop their movements at the sound of the door. The woman’s pale, bare back was exposed, her disheveled hair clinging to her neck as the man pinned her to the daybed, her mouth emitting wanton cries. The air was thick with the suffocating stench of cheap perfume mixed with a nauseating odor—that figure, that voice—it was not Wen Yan at all!

Behind him, Old Master Qiao’s already ashen face flushed a deep, liver-like purple as he recognized the woman on the bed. He violently flung his cane to the floor; the thud against the gold-inlaid tiles made everyone present flinch.

Only then did Liu Yanyan react. She looked up toward the doorway, her pupils contracting sharply as she saw the faces of the Old Master and Qiao Guodong. She shrieked, scrambling to pull the quilt over herself, but in her panic, she only exposed herself further. The beggar, too, was terrified, scrambling to flee, only to be pinned down by the servants charging into the room.

"You shameless wretch!" Qiao Guodong lunged forward. Before Liu Yanyan could react, he raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face.

The sharp crack of the slap echoed through the hall. Liu Yanyan’s head snapped to the side, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, her eyes filled with terror and disbelief.

Old Master Qiao watched the chaos, his chest heaving with rage, his cane thumping against the floor. "Drag her to the basement! Let her learn the Qiao family precepts properly and understand what propriety, justice, and shame truly mean!"

"Yes, Father!" Qiao Guodong bowed obsequiously, his eyes devoid of any pity for Liu Yanyan, filled only with the irritation of a plan gone awry. He shot a glance at the servants. "What are you standing there for? Take her away!"

Two burly servants immediately stepped forward, roughly grabbing the quilt to wrap around Liu Yanyan, and dragged her toward the basement.

Liu Yanyan struggled and wailed, "Guodong! I was framed! It was Wen Yan who set me up! Save me!"

But Qiao Guodong did not even blink. He had originally planned to send Wen Yan to the basement, intending for the harsh, centuries-old family precepts and brutal punishments to cause her to lose her unborn child and leave her unable to conceive for years, effectively severing Li Jinyuan’s hopes. He never imagined that it would be this foolish woman, Liu Yanyan, being dragged away instead, ruining all his plans. He felt nothing but intense annoyance.

The Qiao family basement was hidden in the deepest part of the old mansion, perpetually devoid of sunlight. It housed portraits of ancestors and held instruments of punishment such as iron chains and rulers. Though the Qiao family was of scholarly lineage, their precepts remained stuck in the Tang Dynasty, emphasizing that "filial piety is born of the rod." Whoever erred and entered the basement endured inhuman torment—starvation was common, as was kneeling day and night before the ancestors' portraits. Any slight disobedience was met with iron chains, and talking back invited the lash. Those who emerged were always half-dead.

In the past, Wen Yan had often been sent here on trumped-up charges. She had fainted from hunger and been lashed until her body was covered in wounds, forced to kneel on the cold ground and repeat "I am guilty" until her consciousness faded. Now, it was Liu Yanyan's turn.

Qiao Guodong followed her into the basement, his eyes cold and sinister as he looked at Liu Yanyan, who was chained to a pillar. He picked up a heavy iron chain and swung it down. The metal bit into flesh with a harsh sound, and Liu Yanyan screamed in agony: "Ah! Qiao Guodong! How dare you hit me! My father won't let you get away with this!"

"Your father?" Qiao Guodong sneered and struck her with the chain again. "You can barely save yourself, and you dare mention your father? If you weren't so stupid, would you have been framed? You’ve ruined every plan I had!"

The chain fell again and again upon Liu Yanyan. Her screams echoed through the basement, muffled by the thick walls, unheard by anyone outside. Curled on the floor, her blood soaking through the thin quilt, she finally understood that in Qiao Guodong’s eyes, she was nothing more than a disposable pawn.

The torture in the basement had only just begun.

For the next few days, the wailing in the Qiao basement never ceased, yet remained trapped within the heavy walls. Chained before the ancestors' portraits, Liu Yanyan was forced to kneel and repent from dawn. It took only seven days for her cries to shift from "I was framed! Wen Yan set me up!" to a hoarse, broken "I am guilty... I have brought shame upon the Qiao family... I am guilty."

Every morning, a servant would arrive with a bucket of icy water, dousing her head-to-toe. The freezing water, mixed with the dust on the floor, left her shivering violently. After the dousing, she would be dragged before the portraits, where the ruler and the chain took turns on her body. Old wounds layered over new, and her skin had long since begun to fester. The once-exquisite and haughty mistress of the Qiao family was now a withered husk, her hair a matted, filthy mess, her eyes as hollow as a puppet’s. There was no trace of her former arrogance.

At that moment, by a window on the second floor of the main residence, Qiao Chenye leaned against the railing, swirling a glass of champagne. His gaze pierced through a gap in the window, taking in the scene in the basement. He turned his head toward Wen Yan, his tone tinged with amusement: "You don't seem afraid at all, witnessing such a gruesome scene. I thought you’d be trembling."

Wen Yan held a glass of champagne as well, though she did not drink. She frowned, her gaze fixed on the distant treetops, as if lost in thought. Upon hearing Qiao Chenye, she slowly withdrew her focus, her voice calm and ripple-free.

"Would fear be of any use? If you hadn't tipped me off that day, leading me to change the side chamber and turning the tables by swapping the drugs for someone around Liu Yanyan, it would be me suffering in that basement today."

"Feeling sorry for her? She deserves it!"

Qiao Chenye raised an eyebrow. His plan had gone smoothly. He had said that justice might be delayed, but it would never be absent; this was her retribution.

"So, do you intend to give birth?" Qiao Chenye probed softly.

"The system has registered a reward for retaliating against Liu Yanyan: Retaliation progress 8%."

"Quite a generous reward, isn't it?" Wen Yan teased.

"Host, the important thing now is whether you will keep the child. If you give birth, you won't be able to take it with you and you'll suffer; if you don't, you might have conflicts with Qiao Chenye."

"It's a secret." Wen Yan said nothing. Since the kidnapping, she hadn't smiled as much. Perhaps it was the burden of motherhood that had made her resolve harden.

Wen Yan gently swirled the champagne in her glass. The bubbles shattered against the sides, much like the rules of the Qiao household—seemingly glamorous on the surface, but cruel at their core.

"The world of this story is just like this," she said, her voice light yet undeniably firm. "The rules here have never been about 'taking a step back for peace.' It’s about holding your ground, or being trampled into the mud and destroyed by others. If I hadn't struck back, I would be the one being whipped and drenched in cold water right now, and the child in my womb would not be safe."

She paused, looking toward the basement, her eyes devoid of pity. "When Liu Yanyan plotted against me, she didn't leave any room for mercy. The end she has met is simply of her own making."

Qiao Chenye watched her calm profile and suddenly smiled, downing his champagne in one gulp.

Wen Yan did not respond, turning her gaze back to the distance. She knew that Liu Yanyan’s downfall was only the beginning. The waters of the Qiao family were too deep; Qiao Guodong, the Old Master, and those lurking in the shadows would not let her go easily.