Clear blue skies, bright white clouds, and radiant sunlight. In a small flower bed in the courtyard, a rose stands out in splendor. Its blooms are soft pink, like a shy, modest maiden; its bud clusters resemble children resting their hands over their faces, asleep. The fragrance is rich and pervasive, with butterflies dancing gracefully among the blossoms. Cold Wanyuan twirls her hands, gently shaking the silver bells at her waist—jingling softly—and watches the courtyard spread out before her. With a sense of stillness, she finds herself bored. Her lively eyes dart around, ever so slightly, as if she's eager to explore further. It’s time to visit the general's mansion and get oriented. Arched bridges over lotus ponds, rocky hills with pavilions, lush trees shading paths, and fragrant flowers—winding through curving corridors, one sees red tile roofs and green columns, glazed eaves shimmering in sunlight. The scene is truly magnificent—the General’s Mansion lives up to its reputation. Cold Wanyuan walks slowly, nodding thoughtfully as she admires the sights. The silver bells at her waist chime with a pleasant sound. Hmph! Such elegance must come with a generous fortune. But how much has been squeezed out of her in terms of clothing and food? As she gazes around this opulent setting, her anger grows steadily. How dare they withhold such wealth from her? With a gentle wave of her soft hands, the water in the lotus pond bursts upward—crisp, transparent jets soar like dragons roaring into the heavens before spreading gently back into the pond. "Ah-hah-hah!" A pleased smile curls at Cold Wanyuan’s lips. She lightly taps her right finger, and a fiery blaze spreads through the trees lining the path. The flames grow stronger, dancing with grace—like fairy dancers competing for glory against the brilliant sunlight. "Oh! A fire!" One of the young maids in a green dress passes by, spotting the flames and gasping in alarm. "Where? Where?" "...?" A moment later, a group of servants and attendants rushes over, some carrying buckets, others with wooden bowls full of water—all in a hurry. "What on earth happened here?" Without pausing to ask questions, they begin dousing the flames. Cold Wanyuan stands aside, watching these hurried figures with a quiet smile. The firelight gives her cheeks a rosy glow—like a perfectly ripe apple. Her bright eyes gleam with lively sparks, and her expression is oddly composed. When the flames are finally extinguished, everyone looks disheveled—buckets and bowls tossed aside, panting heavily. "What is going on?" Her voice, fresh and spirited, reaches them. Looking up, she sees a girl of about ten years old approaching, escorted by several maids. She too has a double braid and a gold flower pinned at her hairdo; a delicate pearl-shaped birthmark adorns her forehead. Wearing a pale pink dress with floral embroidery on the hem, her feet are dressed in elegant butterfly shoes. Her posture is proud, her demeanor refined and high-maintenance. "Miss," the servants bow low, seeing this commanding presence—the Miss being just as stubborn and assertive as her mother, General Lady Feng. To anger her means to suffer personally. "Miss?" Cold Wanyuan gives a quiet, half-smiling glance—her brows slightly curved. Ah! This girl is indeed her elder sister. Indeed, not unlike the saying "different fates for different people." The way she holds herself—so stiff and self-important—is truly irksome. "Please rise," says Miss Lingyue, holding her head high with a gracious air. "What are you all doing here?" "Report to your grace," replies a young servant in a green robe, "We came to put out the fire." "Put out the fire?" Lingyue looks at the once-green trees now blackened and scorched. Her heart leaps—these were exactly her father’s favorite trees. Now they are ruined! Thinking of his stern gaze, she feels both startled and anxious. "Who caused this? Who had the nerve to do such a thing? Didn’t you know these were the general's cherished trees?" "Are you?" She points at the green-robed servant. "Pardon me, Miss," he bows deeply, "I wasn’t even aware of the fire—only came when I heard someone shouting." "Then who?" She turns to another servant in a black robe. "Miss, forgive us," says the black-robed man, also bowing repeatedly. "We too only arrived upon hearing the alarm. The general’s temper is said to be fiercer than that of Yama himself!" "Neither of you! Then whose fault is it?" Lingyue grows angry, her eyes wide and round. "Pardon me—forgive us!" All the servants now kneel in unison, their heads bowed low with fear. "Hmph," says Lingyue, raising her head again. "Who actually discovered the fire?" "It's me," stammers a green-dress maid, her eyes glistening with tears as she looks down. "Then it must be you who started the blaze!" Lingyue points at her, her expression impatient. The way that girl looks—so timid and small—is truly frustrating. "Not me! Truly not!" The green-dress maid shakes her head, trembling with panic. "Pfft—" Cold Wanyuan can’t help but laugh—how very comical this young Miss Lingyue is! So beautiful in appearance, yet utterly lacking in intelligence. "Who am I?" Cold Wanyuan lifts a small finger to her chest, her dark eyes playful, blinking slowly. "Hmph. Did I not stand right here the whole time? From start to finish?" "I asked you who you were—not when you arrived," says Lingyue, annoyed. Her gaze lingers on the girl’s expressive eyes—so vivid, so persuasive—that she feels as if they could speak to her. If this little one grows up, she’ll surely challenge for her younger brother. "Then I am simply… me," Cold Wanyuan replies, crossing arms with a firm tone. What a bold move! How can such pride be so utterly unyielding? Surely her mother is even more demanding—perhaps even one of the reasons behind the tragic fate of Xiao Lian. "You—" Lingyue stammers, startled. In all her life, had anyone ever dared to speak to her with this kind of quiet defiance? "Daring!" A maid in a pink-toned robe steps forward beside Lingyue and points at Cold Wanyuan, scolding her. "Who is this wild little girl? What business does she have addressing the Lady so directly?" "What do you have to say? Do you think I need your permission to speak?" Cold Wanyuan calmly glances at her with a cold, steady gaze—so sharp it seems to freeze the air. The pink-robed maid steps back in surprise. How could this be? A mere three- or four-year-old child possesses such commanding eyes—like frost, so clear and cool. Lingyue is momentarily stunned—how does this young girl’s gaze resemble her father so much? So full of authority and resolve. She feels a deep chill—and forgets entirely to rebuke the little one. "Such a group," Cold Wanyuan observes, watching all the others as if they are frozen in place. "All with IQ levels at zero. Truly uninspiring. They don’t even show any desire to fight back—does ancient society simply lack resilience? She twirls her head gently and waves her silver bells again, then turns and walks away. Jingling… jingling… As the sound fades into the distance, Lingyue watches the retreating figure, her expression one of determination. She stamps her feet and calls out: "Little girl! You’re going to wait for me! I will not let you off!" "Wait for me?" Cold Wanyuan pauses, then smiles gently. "Well… welcome." From Chapter Five onward, the story begins to unfold into its most exciting parts. Ah! As for Cold Wanyuan’s playful and cheerful spirit—currently only directed at her nursemaid. Perhaps because she has always lacked a mother from childhood, when she first arrives in this ancient world, she finds the devoted nursemaid a bit overwhelming at first. But as their interactions grow, she begins to feel a deep sense of maternal warmth.