“Hmm…”

Octavial stood nearly 1.9 meters tall, while Siralili was petite—just a hair over 1.6 meters.

Though more than a head taller, Octavial was as docile as a house cat before Siralili.

“I did warn Liang Di. That child knows her limits.”

Exactly.

“I’m very restrained, Sister Liang Lin,” Liang Di said.

She fetched clean clothes for Liang Lin, then had Belica swap the bedsheets for fresh ones.

“I’ll go find Donathew right away. Since you’re on your period, just rest here properly.”

Liang Lin couldn’t wait for her to leave and nodded instantly.

The moment Liang Di stepped out, Liang Lin sprang up with a swift motion, darted from the bed, and vanished down the hall. *No place to linger!*

“Liang Di, I heard what happened in Orlando City. Well done.”

Old Master Donathew stood by the window, twirling a quill. He spared no praise for his granddaughter. “The commoner tailor shop you manage now rivals the highest-earning noble tailor shop in the Sotran Empire. Truly, a Langwendi heir—your business acumen remains formidable.”

Liang Di gave a polite nod. “Grandfather, as an heir of House Langwendi, this is my duty. But my expectations go further. It’s still not enough. Far too little.”

“Oh?”

Donathew stilled the quill. His sharp gaze locked onto her. “What are your expectations?”

“My expectations…”

Unwavering ambition and a fierce thirst for power glimmered in Liang Di’s sapphire-blue eyes. “To restore the Langwendi Family to its glory of a century ago.”

Back then, the Langwendi Family was unimaginably wealthy—so entwined with the royal line that any prince marrying a Langwendi daughter was all but crowned heir.

Such brilliance… now faded. The family no longer shone; even upstart houses dared snide remarks.

Donathew admired her drive, yet worry coiled deep within. Restoring glory sounded stirring—but execution? Daunting. Generations had squandered the legacy. Could one heir truly reverse the tide?

He said nothing. A gentle pat on her shoulder. “Grandfather believes in you. But… while lifting the family, don’t forget to care for yourself.”

He had always been a tender elder.

*Knock, knock, knock.*

“Enter.”

Miranda stepped in, hand-in-hand with Edwin.

Edwin launched himself into Donathew’s arms, chirping sweetly about missing Grandfather. Liang Di’s face stayed perfectly neutral.

“Father, Edwin’s been clamoring to see you,” Miranda said, fondly watching her son. “We’ve been tied up with shop matters… but the moment we finished, I brought him straight here. Right, Edwin? You missed Grandfather?”

“Yes~!” Edwin hugged Donathew’s waist tight.

Donathew’s eyes softened. Blood called to blood—this child deserved his love.

Edwin pulled out a ledger. “Grandfather! I handled things—the dessert shop’s revenue rose!”

Liang Di had heard from Belica.

Discounts drew crowds briefly, not loyalty. Persistent low pricing would anger rivals. Soon, nobles would teach them a lesson.

*Fools. Never fix the root—just petty tricks.* She’d never seen Edwin or Miranda as threats. Pawns of Queen Doris. But you don’t strike the dog without weighing the master.

Donathew knew the stakes too. Yet he stayed silent.

This was a fair contest. As referee, he favored none. Though the outcome was certain: Liang Di’s victory, absolute.

Hard work meant little before raw genius. Against a prodigy like Liang Di—whose very presence felt like a curse to rivals—Edwin was born to be a foil.

“Very impressive,” Donathew murmured, ruffling Edwin’s fluffy hair. He turned to Miranda. “How is Auston?”

Miranda’s smile faltered. Grief shadowed her face. “Auston… bedridden. Fully conscious, but unable to speak or move.”

“I see…”

Donathew’s voice softened with fatigue. “Take Edwin to my study. Wait for me. I’ll speak with Liang Di first.”

“Of course. Come, my sweet boy.”

Edwin waved. “Grandfather! Hurry~ I learned backgammon!”

*How desperately she schemes,* Liang Di scoffed inwardly. *Forcing him to learn games… Waste effort on shopcraft instead.*

After they left, Donathew turned away, silent for long moments.

Liang Di waited. She knew. Auston’s condition meant the next words would be about *him*—that good-for-nothing, unfortunate son.

At last, Donathew faced her. Weariness carved deep into his wrinkled face.

“Liang Di… I’ve settled that matter for you.” His voice carried quiet exhaustion.

“Mm. I know. Thank you… Grandfather.”

“But promise me one thing, alright?”