Xilin Chuan gazed at her coolly, like a falcon eyeing prey that could no longer escape. Hongyi stood frozen, feeling like a rabbit cornered by its natural predator.

The commotion clearly startled the children who had just been playing. Upon seeing Xilin Chuan in full military attire with a sword at his waist, they cowered back in fear.

“My lord…” Hongyi forced herself to calm down and curtsied. She felt a tug on her skirt and glanced back to see Zeng Miao clutching it tightly, his wide eyes filled with unease as he stared at Xilin Chuan.

“I didn’t expect you to be involved in human trafficking,” Xilin Chuan remarked with a trace of amusement in his voice. His eyes swept over Zeng Miao, then he snapped his fingers. “Men, take her to the authorities.”

“The authorities don’t care!” Hongyi blurted out before she could stop herself. Xilin Chuan paused in surprise, and even the guards stopped mid-step. She pulled Zeng Miao behind her and took half a step back. “If they cared, I wouldn’t have had to step in.”

She knew well enough that someone like Xilin Chuan could easily force the officials to take the orphans in. But deeper down, she feared they’d simply neglect them—or worse, collude with brothels to sell them off again.

He seemed momentarily puzzled. “What did you say?”

“I…” Hongyi hesitated, deliberately omitting Lvxiu’s name. “I heard from others that the officials turn a blind eye to these children. They have ties with brothel madams and are more than happy to help them with their trade…”

Xilin Chuan blinked.

Her words, scattered and unsure, hinted at a truth he hadn’t expected. After a brief cough, he straightened and looked at her again. “Who said I was sending them to the authorities? I was talking about you.”

Hongyi froze.

The guards moved again, and she immediately stepped back until her heels hit the threshold of the main hall—there was nowhere left to retreat. “On what grounds?!”

He merely looked at her.

She raised her voice. “On what grounds! I bought those children, yes—but I didn’t profit from them, nor did I mistreat them. If the authorities refuse to help, can’t a good deed still be done?!”

This time, it was Xilin Chuan who hesitated.

He had learned of her buying over twenty orphans on his return to Changyang. He had originally assigned someone to keep watch on her, worried she might secretly contact Heqi. But after several days, nothing suspicious happened. That should have been a relief—either she hadn’t yet become entangled with Heqi in this life, or she was truly focused on redeeming herself.

But this—buying orphans? That was unexpected. When he heard of it, he’d been shocked. And then, remembering her desperate need for two thousand taels to buy her freedom, he assumed she was trying to make money the shady way—buying children to sell for a profit.

In their past life, there had been no talk of freedom, no orphans. This time, with the addition of her redemption, the orphans followed, and he had naturally assumed one caused the other. He believed she was being ruthless. Concerned for the lives of twenty-odd children, he had come straight here after reporting to the Emperor.

And now she was saying… it wasn’t about profit, but conscience?

That she stepped in only because no one else would?

But if she truly had such a kind heart… how could she later sacrifice thousands of soldiers for her own gain?

Xilin Chuan steadied his mind and replied, “You violated the law.”

Hongyi blinked.

“According to the law, buying orphans of good family background without official permission warrants a punishment of one hundred floggings and three years of imprisonment.”

She was stunned.

He let out a quiet laugh and raised his brows. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

But she really didn’t…

In the modern world, yes, trafficking children was a serious crime—but there were also child welfare systems in place!

Here? The government ignored the children and forbade private aid?

That meant orphans could only starve on the streets?!

This was absurd!

There was no time to argue the philosophy of law. As someone who’d learned a bit about legal systems back in her world, she knew violating a written statute was enough to be punished. Whether or not the law made sense was a matter for future reform—not for the present courtroom.

A chill spread through her.

One hundred floggings and three years of hard labor—forget prison for a moment, one hundred floggings alone would likely kill her. Doing a good deed only to die miserably under a criminal charge… she felt more wronged than someone sued after helping an elderly person off the street.

Her arms, wrapped protectively around Zeng Miao, began to shake uncontrollably. She soon felt a small, warm hand gently clutch hers—and just like that, the trembling stopped.

“I want to see someone,” she said quietly.

Xilin Chuan’s face didn’t change. “Who?”

“Lvxiu,” she replied. “There are some things I need to entrust to her.”

He considered briefly. “Fine.”

Lvxiu arrived within half a quarter-hour. The moment she entered the courtyard, she knew something was wrong. Seeing both Hongyi and Xilin Chuan stone-faced, she lowered her head and offered a formal greeting. Before she could rise, Hongyi grabbed her and pulled her inside.

“What’s going on?” Lvxiu asked anxiously as Hongyi shut the door. Hongyi explained everything. Coldly, she sneered, “And this man is somehow admired throughout Changyang City. What a revelation.”

At this moment, in her eyes, Xilin Chuan was no more than a handsome shell. Hypocritical, cold-blooded, heartless—his reputation must’ve been the result of blind idol worship.

“What will you do now…” Lvxiu asked with pale lips. “Maybe… I can go plead with him? If I explain everything clearly—he’s biased against you, but he still listens to me sometimes…”

“No.” Hongyi shook her head immediately. “If he listens, fine. But if he doesn’t, and you get dragged in too… I’m really done for.”

Lvxiu fell silent.

“I need you to do three things,” Hongyi said. Lvxiu nodded nervously.

“My remaining savings are in my dowry chest. Use it to pay Aunt Qin ten years of wages—she’s kindhearted and will care for the children. Then calculate expenses for five years and leave that with them. After that…” Hongyi paused, catching a shadow outside the window. She dipped her fingers in a bowl of water and wrote six characters on the table.

When they came out, there was no time for more words. She was immediately taken into custody. Two guards followed her closely. She didn’t know what the rest were doing—probably “gathering evidence.”

After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, Xilin Chuan finally emerged with the others. Hongyi tried to glance back and say something to Lvxiu about the children, but she never got the chance.

Xilin Chuan mounted his carriage, and it rolled forward. She was forced to follow on foot, and felt the stares of countless onlookers—it was humiliating.

By the time they reached the magistrate’s office, that humiliation had reached its peak.

An official stepped forward and greeted Xilin Chuan respectfully, addressing him as “Marquis.” Only then did she realize—he had been granted a noble title.

Then he walked off with the officials. She was left alone in the main hall, facing a dozen stern-faced bailiffs. Fear clawed at her chest.

She’d never broken the law before, never imagined herself as a criminal. Now here she was—accused, helpless, with no one to defend her.

She knew no one would stand on her side. The officials had treated Xilin Chuan with too much reverence. She didn’t even know the laws here. Vaguely, she remembered from old history lessons that people of lower caste often received harsher sentences.

Her eyes landed on a rack of caning rods against the wall. A shiver ran down her spine.

She’d never suffered real punishment, but she’d watched enough historical dramas to know what these rods could do. She never imagined they’d be used on her one day.

And even if she survived the beating, there was still the three years of prison.

And who would treat her wounds properly in jail? No one. She’d either die or be permanently disabled.

If Lvxiu failed to pull the right strings, she was finished.

Resting her chin on her knees, Hongyi bit her lip hard. Still, tears streamed down her face uncontrollably.

It would’ve been easier to die in that taxi accident. Why did she have to be reborn in this damned dynasty, just to suffer for a few more months—only to “die a miserable death”?

In the silence, the bailiffs said nothing, keeping to their rules.

But after a while, they couldn’t help but exchange glances.

They’d seen plenty of people cry under questioning—but never had they seen someone break down in tears before the interrogation even began.