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Chapter 23 – Tear Down the Garden? Over My Dead Body!

“At past events, we had multiple card art crashes. Players always demanded we change illustrators. The one they worship most—their so-called goddess—is Yuxin. Some even joked, ‘The only way you’ll ever hire Yuxin is if your ancestral tombs catch fire.’”

“Heh~ But if we announce Yuxin as our contracted illustrator, do you think those players will still harp on trivialities? No—they’ll be eagerly waiting for her new cards!”

As the man with glasses finished, applause broke out around the table. “Brilliant idea!”

Manager Fu Dai finally exhaled, brushing her shoulder-length hair back.

“Contact Yuxin immediately.”

---

Back at the Bamboo Pavilion.

Shuhui’s cup of health tea was already empty, yet she still hadn’t started working.

Her laptop was cluttered with unread messages.

Another pop-up appeared.

[Eternal Heart]: Our schedule is urgent. We also sent a friend request from our official work account—please approve.

Shuhui chuckled at that.

Setting down her cup, she typed a reply.

[Yuxin]: Not accepting.

[Eternal Heart]: ?

[Eternal Heart]: We’re a legitimate gaming company, backed by Rongfeng Group—not some small studio, you understand?

[Eternal Heart]: If you sign with us as a permanent illustrator, you’d work at our headquarters in Harbor City. Salary and benefits are excellent.

Shuhui ignored them.

And that was exactly why she disliked big corporations—their pushy urgency, their superiority complex.

Sigh… not for a wellness-minded person like me.

She leaned back to enjoy the view. Just when she thought of finally working on Shengyi’s commission—

Liu Ma burst into the sunroom, panting.

“Young madam, come quickly! The madam and the second madam are fighting in the main residence garden. The second madam says she’ll have it demolished—there’s already an excavator at the gate!”

Shuhui arched a brow, amusement sparkling in her eyes. So it’s finally happening.

Whenever Qin Ying visited to stay or see the elder Mr. Qin, she had to pass through the main garden.

Once she discovered her pollen allergy, she grew furious at the sight of flowers, demanding the entire garden be destroyed.

But Lian Minfang adored that garden. In fact, it had been her pet project in the beginning.

In Shuhui’s previous life, the two had a huge fight. By nightfall, Qin Ying had ordered the excavator in—flattening the garden into ruins.

The next morning, Minfang fainted at the sight.

Qin’s father had erupted in rare fury, banishing Qin Ying from the old estate.

It was the only time in five years of marriage Shuhui had ever seen him so angry.

In the end, the old patriarch intervened to protect his daughter.

The garden was razed. A fountain was built in its place.

But this life… who knew how it would play out?

Shuhui snapped her laptop shut. After a “morning of work,” she deserved to relax with some drama.

“Bring a fruit platter—we’re going to watch.”

---

Main residence garden.

Even before reaching the side path, the shouting was clear.

“Qin Ying! This garden has been with me for nearly twenty years. I’ve tolerated your arrogance, but if you dare touch my garden, my pavilion—I won’t forgive you!”

Qin Ying’s voice roared back: “Sister-in-law, I’ve said it countless times—I’m allergic! This garden is killing me. Look at the rashes all over my body!”

“I don’t care if you’re crazy or allergic. Absolutely not! Unless I die, this garden stays!”

Minfang’s fury spilled into her words, and the harsher she spoke, the angrier Qin Ying became.

“Unless you die? Fine! Tear it down and you’ll die. Keep it up and I’ll be poisoned to death!”

In the middle, Wan Qing was nearly in tears trying to mediate.

“Auntie, please calm down. Let’s talk this through—”

The summer sun was relentless. Unlike her shaded sunroom, Shuhui couldn’t bear it long. She found a patch of shade to snack in.

Liu Ma draped a soft cashmere cardigan over her shoulders.

“Should I fetch a chair?”

She glanced around. The nearest pavilion was right in the war zone—not an option.

“No need. I’ll stand. Consider it exercise.”

Cheerful, she tiptoed to peek at the bright yellow excavator. Ah, Aunt Qin must have the old master’s tacit approval—otherwise the machine wouldn’t have made it past the gate.

Nearby, He Wenluo flinched at their arrival, shrinking back.

The crunch of her shoe on dry leaves made Shuhui notice her.

A tightly bound bun, straight bangs hiding her eyes—after a moment, Shuhui recalled her.

The third sister-in-law, He Wenluo.

A gentle, nearly invisible woman. In her past life, Shuhui had only met her a handful of times.

She’d heard Wenluo’s later life wasn’t good. None of Shuhui’s people could even trace where she’d gone.

“Want some fruit?” Shuhui asked casually.

She speared a slice of Hami melon with a silver pick and offered it.

Wenluo recoiled instinctively, hands rising to shield her head. Realizing, she lowered them and smiled timidly.

“Thank you, sister-in-law… but no, I’m not hungry. Perhaps… mother-in-law needs help inside.”

But the quarrel raged on. Wan Qing mediated, while Yao Shanshan—heavily pregnant—stood behind Minfang, murmuring to her. Whether comforting or fanning the flames, who could say?

The two legitimate daughters-in-law were present. As the wife of an illegitimate son, Wenluo had no right to speak. She knew her place, living like a shadow.

Still, she wondered—why wasn’t the eldest sister-in-law stepping in? Tradition dictated the family matriarch should mediate.

“It’s fine. They won’t actually fight. Just shouting.” Shuhui bit into her melon, unconcerned.

Minfang and Qin Ying had been quarrelling for decades—never so much as scratched each other.

Arguing kept their minds sharp. Why interfere?

Wenluo gasped softly. This was only her second time seeing Shuhui. She remembered her as beautiful, poised, commanding. But now she glimpsed another side—dry humor.

“Want some now?”

This time, Shuhui offered another piece. Wenluo, blushing, accepted. “Thank you, sister-in-law… it’s very sweet.”

Watching her timid, careful manner, Shuhui felt a pang—like looking at her own past self: weak, repressed, voiceless.

Her mood soured. The drama lost its flavor.

Dusting off her hands, she turned to leave. “Bring Yaya to the Bamboo Pavilion sometime. She and Ningning are about the same age. They’ll enjoy playing together.”

And with that, she left—leaving Wenluo frozen, fingers gripping her hem, overwhelmed with shy delight.