"Miss, Miss—finally you've returned!" The carriage had just touched the ground when the nanny rushed out. "How is it, Nanny?" Cold-Wavy supported her daughter as she stepped down from the carriage, while beside them, a young man stood quietly, being observed by others. "The ladies of the Hidden Charm Pavilion have been complaining all over." The nanny glanced at the array of wives and concubines—each with her own demands—and sighed deeply. "Oh," Cold-Wavy nodded. She had expected this resistance from them. "Where is Father, the General?" She couldn't help but think how hard it would be to find a suitable match among such a group of wives and consorts. "An urgent report arrived from the military camp earlier. The General has already left with his chief advisor and deputy commander." "So quickly," Cold-Wavy shook her head, as if surprised. "Did they perhaps get frightened by me?" She glanced at the crowd. "Then let’s go—let’s see these ladies for ourselves." "Understood," said the nanny. Now more than ever, she found herself listening closely to Cold-Wavy’s instructions. Even the General had entrusted all household affairs to her young daughter—proof of how remarkable she truly was. "Miss, who is this young man here?" The glassy-eyed young man caught the nanny's attention. He looked strikingly handsome, especially with those deep purple eyes that drew one in. Yet his clothes seemed worn and simple—not quite fitting a noble upbringing. "I hired him," Cold-Wavy said, noting the slight look of hurt on the young man’s face. "What is your name?" "Ye Chen," he answered coldly. Though indeed hired by her, his sense of dignity remained unshaken—perhaps even more deeply wounded than expected. "Nanny, you go ahead and take Ye Chen to bathe and comb him. I’ll attend the Hidden Charm Pavilion myself." "Very well," said the nanny. "Miss, you must be strong—you’ve got to hold on to your ground. These ladies can be quite passionate when they’re truly determined." "Yes," Cold-Wavy nodded, turning with her companion Yin Qin toward the Hidden Charm Pavilion. The morning sun peeked through the trees; a gentle breeze brushed against their faces. Amidst the lush gardens stood an elegant pavilion, its entrance adorned with three golden characters—“Hidden Charm Pavilion”—etched in red above a soaring scroll of dragons and phoenixes. Sunlight streamed in, making the gold shimmer brilliantly. In the main hall, several women sat on either side, each dressed in colorful robes or graceful silks, some radiant and elegant, others refined yet somewhat fragile. At the head of the room sat Lady Mu Zhaoyun, the General’s wife, holding a cup of tea with grace and poise. "Madam," said the leading woman from the left—dressed in a white bodice revealing smooth skin beneath, her red silk robe flowing like a sunset, her expression full of charm and allure, "you must step in now to defend us. Miss Cold-Wavy has announced she intends to dismantle our entire Hidden Charm Pavilion—we don’t know where we would go!" "Yes," the woman on the right added, rising with a delicate voice. She wore a white gown, draped with flowing ribbons that hung down to her hands. Her frame was slender and fragile; tears glistened in her eyes—so clearly vulnerable. "We’ve served the General for years. If we were to leave, how would we survive?" "Oh," Lady Mu Zhaoyun placed her cup gently on the table, her brows furrowed. She sighed deeply. "I don’t mean to neglect you—I simply can’t act. You know now that all matters at the household are managed by Miss Cold-Wavy. Even I have been challenged. What could I do with the rest of my ladies?" Her tone conveyed both concern and helplessness. Though she welcomed the thought of removing these women, it was not a sustainable path—only one woman remained, and she would surely be outmatched by the young girl. So instead, she resolved to keep them—not merely for now, but as useful allies in her own defense. "Indeed too harsh," said the graceful woman, raising her eyebrow. "You are the General’s wife—the rightful head of the household. How can a child of just three years command such authority?" That girl is quite ruthless—she not only reduced our monthly stipend by half but also plans to move all of us out completely. What a shame! Her gaze softened, then sharpened with growing indignation. "Exactly," said the white-gowned woman in a gentle tone. "Miss Cold-Wavy is the eldest daughter by birth. Yet she herself was born to a lower-ranking concubine—how can she compare with you and the senior daughters?" Though her voice remained soft, her eyes carried a quiet strength beneath—the depth of strategy hidden behind that calmness. "Does she really intend to avenge her late mother’s death?" asked the blue-dressed woman suddenly. Clang! Lady Mu Zhaoyun's teacup fell to the floor—splashing tea everywhere, leaving an unerasable stain. "Oh, Madam!" another young woman in green rushed over. "Are you all right?" "I—I'm fine," Lady Mu Zhaoyun said, shaking her head with a forced smile. Inside, waves of emotion surged through her. Of course—this girl has been targeting them every step of the way. Surely she seeks to settle scores with her late mother’s memory. No—she mustn’t get this chance. Cold-Wavy narrowed her eyes, her gaze firm and resolute. "What now, Madam?" the white-gowned woman asked gently, watching Lady Mu Zhaoyun carefully. "Don’t worry," she said. "I will see that this pavilion is dismantled—every stitch of fabric, every piece of furniture. I’ll personally watch it happen." "Madam!" "Madam!" The women gasped as they heard Cold-Wavy’s words—their voices rising in panic, turning to Lady Mu Zhaoyun for reassurance and hope. "Do you truly intend to see this entire pavilion torn down?" Cold-Wavy asked with a raised eyebrow—deliberately. "Hmph," said Lady Mu Zhaoyun, watching her closely. She turned away without offering one more word of appeal. "I don’t wish to leave," the women murmured. They had grown used to their comfortable status—the idea of surviving outside the household seemed impossible now. "I… I don’t either," said the woman in green, finally sitting down firmly on her heels. "If you want to remove me, then I shall hang myself," cried the white-gowned woman, tears welling up—her voice trembling with finality. "We can't survive outside; let us just die here instead," said the blue-dressed woman, eyes wide and fixed upon Cold-Wavy. "Such a small figure yet so fiercely determined—you will surely pay for this," said the red-gowned woman—the most elegant of all—her words delivered with grace and poise. "...Ah," said Cold-Wavy, raising her eyebrows. "So they come to cry, then argue, then threaten to hang themselves? I wonder if I would be truly startled?" Her answer was certain—no, not at all. "Master Butler," Cold-Wavy waved lightly toward the door. "He is waiting outside." The steward and servants had already gathered just beyond the hall, silently observing the women's growing panic. They admired their resilience—but knew well that Miss Cold-Wavy was no one to be intimidated by emotional appeals. "You’ve heard," said Cold-Wavy, pointing at the group of women in colorful makeup—"someone will hang herself, someone will fall against a wall. Go and fetch a rope for her so she doesn’t have to search for it; also, move the one who wants to collide with the wall—don’t let her break her form, or stain the view of everyone." "Understood," said the steward, smiling softly at his young mistress's sharpness. "You—you—" The women now stood stunned, their voices rising in frustration as they realized that all their efforts were falling short. They would have to pack up and leave—yet even so, they wouldn’t be able to bring much with them. "Hold on!" Cold-Wavy observed the women’s eyes flickering with intent—clearly seeing what they planned. "Steward, send someone to watch over them. Everything belonging to the General's household—including every thread of fabric and needlework—shall remain here. Nothing shall be carried away." "You—you—" The women now felt both angry and afraid—their plans exposed, their confidence shaken. “You’ll have a worse fate than any of us,” said Cold-Wavy calmly, her expression cool and composed. “You’re not going to make it easy for me.” “Even so," she added with a smile that carried an air of quiet amusement, "I’d like to see how you manage your beauty now—how thickly layered in silk and powder you can remain." ———《The Nine-Year-Old Heavens’ Princess》——— At 2 a.m., 3,350 words: Please give your flowers, cast your votes, place your books on the shelf, and leave your paw prints.