Seeing Bai-Xue speak in such a manner, the maid let out a cold scoff.
Instead of kneeling or lowering her head, she folded her arms across her chest, lifting her chin with deliberate arrogance. There was no trace of humility left in her posture—only bold defiance.
"Oh?" she said mockingly. "And if I spoke in that tone, then what of it? I did not insult you. I did not curse you. Where, exactly, is the disrespect?"
Her lips curved into a faint, disdainful smile.
"Perhaps, Lady Bai-Xue... you have begun to forget your place."
A sharp silence fell over the courtyard.
The words were not shouted, yet they struck harder than any whip.
Around them, the gathered servants stiffened. A few sucked in quiet breaths. No one dared to intervene. Even the rustling willow branches seemed to still.
Because what the maid implied—
Was not entirely without foundation.
In the eyes of many within the Ning household, Bai-Xue was nothing more than a "timed girl"—a daughter born under unfortunate circumstances, whose existence was tolerated rather than celebrated. Her position, though bearing the title of Lady, was fragile. Temporary. Conditional.
And everyone knew it.
Or at least—
They believed they did.
The maid continued, emboldened by the murmurs in her own mind.
"You hold a title, yes," she went on, her tone dripping with false politeness. "But titles do not change blood. Nor do they change destiny."
Her gaze swept over Bai-Xue's pale robes.
"You would do well to remember that."
The insult was veiled, but vicious.
For a brief moment, the air seemed to tighten.
Bai-Xue did not immediately respond.
She stood there, slender and still, her sleeves swaying gently in the breeze. Her face remained composed—almost eerily so. But those who were perceptive would notice it.
The slight drop in temperature.
The way her eyes, once merely cold, now resembled frozen depths beneath winter ice.
She took one slow step forward.
Not hurried. Not angry.
Measured.
"You are correct," Bai-Xue said softly.
Her voice was calm—too calm.
"I do hold only a title."
Another step.
"And titles can be fragile things."
The maid's confidence flickered—but only slightly.
Then Bai-Xue's gaze sharpened.
"But even a fragile title," she continued quietly, "is enough to decide whether a servant stands... or kneels."
The courtyard fell utterly silent.
There was no need for raised voices.
No need for threats.
The weight of her words pressed down like an unseen mountain.
"And as for forgetting my place..." Bai-Xue added, her lips curving into the faintest, almost chilling smile, "I never forget."
Her eyes lowered briefly—to the maid's folded arms.
"Do you?"
Bai-Xue merely lifted her eyes and looked at Hai-Rang's maid.
It was just a glance.
Yet in the next breath, the maid's legs trembled violently. An invisible force descended like a mountain crashing from the heavens. With a muffled cry, she fell heavily onto her knees.
A sharp cracking sound echoed against the stone floor.
Everyone froze.
No one understood what had just happened.
There was no visible movement. No raised hand. No spiritual weapon. And yet, Hai-Rang's maid was now kneeling, her forehead almost touching the ground, her entire body pressed down as though bound by unseen chains.
A suffocating pressure filled the courtyard.
It was Bai-Xue's aura.
Pure. Cold. Overwhelming.
The servants exchanged frightened glances. In their eyes, Bai-Xue had always been the "useless princess" of the Ning Family — the one who could not cultivate, the one born without a spiritual root, the one destined to live quietly in the shadows.
So how could this be happening?
Even Hai-Rang, standing at a distance, felt her heart skip a beat.
Bai-Xue's white robes fluttered slightly though there was no wind. A faint ripple of spiritual energy shimmered around her — subtle, but ancient... like a dormant dragon stirring beneath calm waters.
She stepped forward slowly.
Each step felt as if it pressed down on the maid's spine.
"Hm," Bai-Xue's voice was soft, yet it carried a chilling authority. "Now you are in your proper place."
Her gaze was indifferent — almost bored.
"A servant who does not know her own standing... who lacks even the basic courtesy in speech... has no place in the Ning Family."
The kneeling maid struggled, her face pale, veins bulging as she tried to lift herself — but the pressure only intensified.
"I— I did nothing wrong!" she gasped.
Bai-Xue did not look at her.
"From this day forward," she declared calmly, "you and your entire family are forbidden from working for the Ning Family. You are forbidden from stepping into Ning territory."
A collective gasp rose.
Expelling an entire family line from service was no small matter. In cultivation clans, such a decree was equivalent to cutting off survival itself.
"And if any household dares to employ you," Bai-Xue continued, her voice turning glacial, "they will be counted among those who offend the Ning Family."
Silence fell.
Absolute silence.
Even the birds in the courtyard had stopped chirping.
Hai-Rang's maid felt as if thunder had exploded in her mind.
This... this was impossible.
She lifted her head with difficulty, eyes wide with disbelief.
"This is a lie!" she shouted hoarsely. "You cannot make such a decision! You don't have that authority!"
But the confidence in her voice had already cracked.
Not far away, Hai-Rang stood rooted in place.
Shock drained the color from her face.
She had heard every word.
Never — not even in her wildest dreams — had she imagined Bai-Xue could display such courage... such dominance.
In her heart, Hai-Rang had always believed Bai-Xue would remain pitiful forever. A powerless ornament within the Ning Family. Someone who would one day quietly disappear — crushed like an ant beneath someone's foot.
Yet the aura she felt now...
It was not weak.
It was not empty.
Bai-Xue slowly withdrew her aura.
The crushing pressure that had filled the courtyard dissipated like morning mist beneath sunlight.
Air returned to the lungs of those present. The oppressive heaviness vanished — yet the fear remained.
Hai-Rang's maid collapsed forward, coughing violently. Her entire body trembled as though she had narrowly escaped death itself. The stone floor beneath her knees was cracked from the force that had pinned her down.
The moment the spiritual suppression lifted, she scrambled desperately toward Hai-Rang.
Dragging her aching body across the courtyard, she threw herself at Hai-Rang's feet and clutched tightly onto the hem of her robes.
"Second Lady, please!" she cried, her voice breaking. "How can you allow this to happen to me? I am your personal maid, my lady! You cannot let her cast me out like this!"
Tears streamed down her face, soaking into Hai-Rang's silk shoes.
Hai-Rang stood frozen.
For a brief moment, it truly felt as though she had just awakened from a dream.
Everything that had unfolded seemed unreal.
That pressure...
That gaze...
That authority...
Her fingers tightened at her sides as she forcefully gathered her scattered thoughts. Her pride — the pride she had cultivated all these years within the Ning Family — would not allow her to appear shaken.
She lifted her chin.
"Bai-Xu—"
The name slipped out instinctively.
But just as quickly, a memory flashed in her mind.
The sharp sting on her cheek.
The humiliation.
The slap Bai-Xue had delivered when Hai-Rang failed to address her by her proper title.
A cold shiver ran down Hai-Rang's spine.
Her jaw tightened.
She corrected herself stiffly.
"Ahem... Princess Bai-Xue."
The title felt bitter in her mouth.
"You cannot do this," Hai-Rang continued, her voice steady but edged with restrained anger. "You have no right to make decisions regarding my maid."
Her spiritual energy stirred faintly beneath her sleeves — not enough to challenge, but enough to display presence.
"If she has offended you," Hai-Rang said proudly, "then I will be the one to punish her. It is not your place to interfere."
Her tone carried confidence — almost defiance.
Behind her, the kneeling maid felt a surge of hope.
Second Lady had spoken.
Second Lady had stepped forward.
Surely nothing would happen now.
Bai-Xue's lips curved slightly — not into a smile, but into something colder.
"Sister Hai-Rang," she said softly, her voice calm as still water, "you are mistaken."
The courtyard fell silent once more.
"I can give such an order."
Her gaze lifted, steady and unyielding.
"Because I am the princess of this country."
The words were not loud.
Yet they struck like thunder.
A faint tremor ran through the air as her spiritual aura subtly expanded again — not crushing this time, but vast... boundless... like an emperor surveying his domain.
"I have the authority to issue commands. I have the authority to make decisions." Her tone remained composed, almost gentle. "Perhaps... you have forgotten."
Hai-Rang's nails dug into her palms.
Bai-Xue took a slow step forward.
"I am the one and only daughter of Princess Huang-Ling."
At the mention of that name, even the older servants visibly stiffened.
Princess Huang-Ling.
The woman who had once shaken the imperial court with her brilliance. The cultivator whose dowry had been spoken of for decades.
Bai-Xue's eyes gleamed faintly, reflecting something proud and untouchable.
"The ground you stand on," she continued, "if one were to speak technically... belongs to me."
Hai-Rang's breathing faltered.
"It is no secret," Bai-Xue said calmly, "that the Ning Family's current status, its wealth, its lands, its jewelry, its influence — all of it rose during the marriage between Huang-Ling and Chang-Pu."
The name of Ning Chang-Pu hung heavy in the air.
"When my mother married into the Ning Family, she did not arrive empty-handed."
Her voice softened — not with weakness, but with dignity.
"The Ning Mansion. The surrounding properties. The fertile lands. The spiritual mines. The treasury vaults. Even the noble title the Ning Family now flaunts..."
Her gaze sharpened.
"...were brought as part of her dowry."
A ripple of shock passed through the servants.
These were facts everyone knew — yet no one dared to say aloud.
"Everything you see here," Bai-Xue said quietly, "was carried into this household by Princess Huang-Ling."
A faint golden shimmer flickered briefly around her — a bloodline resonance, ancient and imperial. Though subtle, it carried a pressure far more refined than brute cultivation.
"And I," she finished, her eyes locking onto Hai-Rang's, "am her only daughter."
Each word fell with finality.
"So tell me, Sister Hai-Rang... what right do you claim to question my authority within my own domain?"
Hai-Rang felt as though the ground beneath her feet had shifted.
All these years, she had grown accustomed to the luxury of the Ning Mansion — the silk robes, the spirit herbs, the cultivation resources.
But she had never once considered their origin.
Or perhaps...
She had chosen not to.
The maid at her feet trembled again, the earlier relief draining from her face.
Bai-Xue's expression remained composed, but her eyes held something unshakable — the confidence of legitimate inheritance.