Lauren spoke evenly, her tone as calm as a quiet ke. “It’s like this. I was bored in my room, drawing talismans to pass the time, when this girl suddenly barged in—said she wanted to catch up.”

  Her eyes flicked toward Indiana, then back to Herbert. “Herbert, you probably don’t know this yet, but she and I… have a bit of a family connection. She’s actually my half-sister.”

  A ripple ran through the crowd.

  Herbert’s brows furrowed slightly. He had heard rumors of something like that, but if Lauren wanted to bring it up herself, he’d py along. “Oh? Is there a story behind this?”

  Lauren gave a bitter smile. “There is. When my mother found out my father had a daughter with a prostitute—a daughter older than me, no less—she was furious. The family was humiliated. The elders decided to cut all ties with her. It wasn’t my call. I was a child. What could I do?”

  The audience froze.

  Wait. Weren’t the rumors that she was the child of a concubine?

  Since when did she become a prostitute’s daughter?

  And now that they thought about it—Indiana didn’t even share Lauren’s surname. That detail made Lauren’s version sound far more believable.

  Oh. Oh no.

  Born of a prostitute? No reputable family would ever dare acknowledge that. The shame alone would get them disowned or worse.

  Lauren continued mercilessly, “My father’s legs were broken by my grandfather because of her.”

  There was a collective murmur of agreement.

  Serves him right. Sleeping with a prostitute was one thing—but leaving behind a bastard child? That was asking to be crippled.

  Herbert’s expression darkened.

  Indiana, standing to the side, looked as though all the blood had drained from her face.

  Timothy tried to open his mouth to defend her—but the moment he did, a mouthful of blood spilled down his chin.

  Lauren sighed delicately. “I don’t know what story she’s been spreading, but apparently, Dante came to me saying that Junior Sister Indiana was crying and that half the sect was cursing my name.”

  Several disciples in the crowd who had, indeed, been bad-mouthing Lauren moments ago, quietly stepped back into the crowd, pretending to be invisible.

  “Dante,” Lauren said mildly, “come up here.”

  Dante froze. “…Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  He hesitated but eventually climbed up onto the stage, bowing to Herbert. “Immortal Herbert, Indiana didn’t actually say anything. It was Timothy who started specuting, and everyone else… might’ve misunderstood.”

  He quickly recounted what had happened—word for word.

  Indiana’s face turned red. She spun toward Timothy, eyes shining with tears.

  Timothy couldn’t deny it. He had been the one to make the assumption.

  Herbert’s face grew thunderous.

  “Enough!”

  Indiana flinched. “M-Master, I—she—”

  “Shut up,” Herbert barked. “How many times have I said this? Whatever grudges you have in your family, keep them out of the righteous sects! The sect is not your private battleground. If you want to settle blood feuds, do it at home. Here, you are disciples of the Moonlit Sect and Thunder Sect—nothing more, nothing less.”

  Indiana bit her lip, trembling, her eyes brimming with tears.

  Herbert’s anger only deepened. He had always valued her talent and potential, but tely she had become a constant source of trouble—always getting herself hurt, always crying.

  A genius that refused to grow a spine was just a wasted gift.

  Lauren took a step forward, bowing slightly. Her voice was polite, soft, but her words cut with surgical precision.

  “Herbert, this really was a misunderstanding. I’m just a weak girl who doesn’t take well to being bullied. Please don’t hold it against me. I promise I’ll learn to restrain myself—when I’m older, I won’t overreact to every little provocation.”

  Her tone was humble. Her meaning was not.

  Every elder there caught it instantly: She wasn’t talking about herself.

  She was calling Timothy out for exactly what he’d done—overreacting, picking a fight, and ending up half-dead because of it.

  Herbert’s jaw tightened. He’d been pnning to find some top-grade medicine for Timothy so the boy wouldn’t humiliate himself at tomorrow’s wedding, but now?

  Forget it. Let the brat lie there. Maybe some time bedridden would knock some sense into him.

  He shot Lauren one st cold look, snorted, and turned to leave.

  The crowd parted for him in silence.

  The Moonlit Sect had no shortage of powerhouses, and several had been ready to speak up—but the memory of Drake single-handedly suppressing their entire sect years ago still lingered.

  No one dared provoke the disciple of that man.

  The man who had harassed Drake's young disciple back then was completely destroyed.

  The previous Nascent Soul cultivator was also dead.

  The next morning, Dante showed up at Lauren’s door carrying a storage bag.

  “Ms. Lauren, here’s your winnings from st night.”

  Lauren peeked inside, and a grin spread across her face.

  All the talismans she’d blown through the night before had basically paid for themselves.

  “Did you bet too?” she asked, arching a brow.

  Dante froze. “I, uh… yeah, I pced a little wager.”

  She tilted her head. “Oh? Just curious.”

  He let out a quiet sigh of relief—only to tense again when she smiled like that.

  Was she going to take his winnings too?

  After a long pause, Dante surrendered a small pouch of his own. “Here. I, uh… won a bit as well.”

  Lauren just ughed. “Rex, I was asking, not robbing you.”

  He stared at her, skeptical.

  She changed the subject. “By the way, the wedding’s still happening today?”

  “Yeah,” Dante said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’ll be a simple one. Timothy will have to be helped up there.”

  He wasn’t exaggerating.

  The wedding was stripped down to the bare essentials. After the formal burning of the marriage contract, Timothy—propped up by two disciples—managed to bow three times: once to heaven and earth, once to his master, and once to the bride.

  That was it.

  Even in the cultivation world, some mortal customs couldn’t be escaped. And after the ceremony came the feast.

  Though most cultivators lived on spiritual energy and rarely ate, when they did decide to indulge, they were as picky as noblemen.

  The Moonlit Sect spared no expense: spirit beast meats fragrant enough to make mortals dizzy, delicacies imbued with elemental essence, and ptters of rare spirit fruits glittering like jewels.

  Lauren, who’d been fasting for weeks, found the rich aromas almost nauseating. She politely ate a few fruits and set her chopsticks down.

  Immortal Herbert sat at the head of the banquet with a face carved from stone.

  The bride and groom were visibly uncomfortable, their smiles as stiff as the atmosphere. Their attendants handled most of the proceedings while everyone else carefully avoided mentioning st night’s disaster.