Jealousy crept in quietly.

  Liu Mengmeng didn’t notice it at first—not when she stepped into the banquet hall with confidence, not when people nodded politely, not even when Jason squeezed her hand as if to reassure her that she was the one standing beside him.

  It surfaced the moment she saw Zhuqing.

  Zhuqing wasn’t doing anything special.

  She wasn’t clinging to anyone. She wasn’t trying to draw attention. She simply walked beside Asmodeus, calm and composed, exchanging a few words with the Shaw elders as if this kind of occasion were routine.

  And that was precisely what made Mengmeng’s chest tighten.

  She looks… comfortable.

  The Shaw family didn’t correct her.Didn’t distance themselves.If anything, they looked pleased.

  Too pleased.

  Mengmeng’s smile stayed in place, but her fingers curled slowly at her side.

  Why do you get to look like that? Why do you get to be happy?

  She turned away before the resentment showed on her face—but the thought had already rooted itself.

  She can’t leave like this.

  An idea formed, ugly and sharp, but intoxicating.

  Embarrass her.

  Make her lose face in front of everyone—Shaw family included.

  Mengmeng’s eyes flicked around the hall. Servers moved efficiently between tables. Drinks were being poured. Laughter rose and fell in waves.

  A public place. A public humiliation.

  Perfect.

  She slipped out her phone and sent a message.

  Then another.

  And another.

  By the time she found her mother near the side lounge, the plan had already begun to take shape in her mind.

  Yun Wantang looked up when Mengmeng entered, immediately noticing the tightness in her daughter’s expression.

  Her smile didn’t fade—but her eyes sharpened.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked calmly.

  Mengmeng didn’t bother sitting down.

  “I want to teach Zhuqing a lesson,” she said. “Tonight.”

  Yun Wantang paused.

  Not in shock—but in assessment.

  A flicker crossed her eyes, something closer to caution than surprise.

  “At this kind of banquet?” she asked. “That’s not a small stage.”

  Mengmeng’s fingers clenched. “I can’t stand seeing her like that. Acting calm. Acting superior. Acting like she’s already won.”

  Yun Wantang studied her daughter in silence, weighing consequences, routes, cleanup.

  Then she asked, evenly, “What are you thinking of doing?”

  Relief slipped through Mengmeng’s irritation. She leaned in and lowered her voice, speaking quickly.

  “A drink,” she said. "A mild laxative. Fast-acting. ”Nothing dangerous—but enough that she won’t be able to hold herself together.”

  She hesitated for only a second before adding, “I already contacted people.”

  Yun Wantang’s brow lifted slightly. “Who?”

  “A paparazzi studio,” Mengmeng replied. “The kind that follows high-end banquets and scandals. I used a burner number. Told them a ‘big family embarrassment’ might happen tonight. They’ll be nearby.”

  She swallowed, then continued, more eagerly now that she’d started.

  “And I messaged a small gossip account—one that reposts anonymously submitted content. If photos surface, they’ll spread it fast.”

  Yun Wantang didn’t react immediately.

  She listened.

  When Mengmeng finished, Yun Wantang finally spoke.

  “That’s sloppy,” she said mildly.

  Mengmeng stiffened. “Mom—”

  “I didn’t say it won’t work,” Yun Wantang continued. “I said it leaves traces.”

  She set her teacup down with a soft click.

  “People like Zhuqing don’t matter,” she said flatly. “What matters is that nothing points back to you.”

  Mengmeng’s shoulders loosened.

  Yun Wantang wasn’t shocked. She wasn’t morally conflicted. She simply hadn’t been impressed with the execution.

  After a moment, Yun Wantang said, “The host family tonight is the Lawson family.”

  Mengmeng blinked. “You know them?”

  “I know the wife,” Yun Wantang replied. “Old social ties. And more importantly—I know who handles their banquet staffing.”

  She leaned back slightly, already rearranging the plan in her mind.

  “If something is introduced through the servers,” she continued, “it won’t come from you. Or Jason. Or the Liu family.”

  Mengmeng’s breath caught. “You mean—”

  “We’ll source it through a third party,” Yun Wantang said calmly. "A supplier who rotates staff weekly. ”A waiter who won’t even know what he carried.”

  She looked directly at Mengmeng.

  “No phone messages. No direct payments. No names.”

  Mengmeng’s eyes lit up.

  “So… we can really do this?”

  “Yes,” Yun Wantang said without hesitation. “But we do it cleanly.”

  She began laying it out—precise and methodical.

  Which server tray to use. Which moment drinks would be switched. How to arrange people to keep Zhuqing and Asmodeus occupied separately.

  “You’ll need distractions,” Yun Wantang said. “Polite ones. Conversations. People who have reasons to stop them from leaving.”

  Mengmeng felt a rush of excitement spread through her chest.

  She reached out and grabbed her mother’s hand.

  “Mom… you’re amazing.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Yun Wantang smiled faintly and brushed Mengmeng’s hair back, her touch affectionate and proprietary.

  “You’re my daughter,” she said. "If I don’t help you—who will?”

  Her tone was gentle.

  Her eyes were cold.

  And in her mind, Zhuqing had always been her daughter's plaything , amounting to nothing more than acceptable collateral.

  The plan did not unfold all at once.

  It couldn’t.

  Mengmeng and Yun Wantang had made the decision on impulse, but execution required time—time to source the laxative discreetly, time to pressure the right people, time to arrange the smallest details without drawing attention.

  And time, unfortunately for them, was something Zhuqing had plenty of.

  She had heard it all.

  Not intentionally.

  Not because she was spying.

  But because when Yun Wantang lowered her voice, she hadn’t lowered it enough.

  Zhuqing had been standing near the side corridor, half-hidden by a decorative screen, listening to a server explain the wine selection to Asmodeus. She had already turned to leave when familiar names drifted across the air.

  Her name.

  Her fiancé’s.

  Her steps slowed.

  She didn’t move again until the conversation ended.

  Laxatives.......Waiters.........Timing.......Keeping her occupied.

  So this is how you plan to play it, she thought calmly.

  She didn’t feel anger.

  Only a faint, weary disappointment.

  She filed every detail away—who was involved, which table was being targeted, which waiter was likely compromised. Then she returned to the hall as if nothing had happened.

  Time passed.

  The banquet flowed naturally, disguising the slow preparation beneath its polished surface.

  First, an acquaintance approached Asmodeus with a business-related question—too specific to be casual, too poorly timed to be coincidence.

  Asmodeus hesitated, glancing at Zhuqing.

  “Don't worry what can happen to me. just watch the play,” she said lightly.

  Moments later, someone else intercepted her—an overly polite woman eager to reminisce about past academic conferences Zhuqing had never attended.

  Tedious......Sticky........Impossible to leave without seeming rude.

  From across the room, Mengmeng watched, fingers tightening around her clutch.

  Any minute now.

  She imagined it vividly—Zhuqing’s calm shattering, her composure dissolving in front of the Shaw family, whispers spreading like wildfire.

  She almost smiled.

  Then—

  Zhuqing looked up.

  Their eyes met.

  Just for a second.

  Mengmeng felt her breath hitch.

  There was no confusion in Zhuqing’s gaze.No irritation.No alarm.

  Only quiet clarity.

  As if she had been waiting.

  Zhuqing didn’t react immediately.

  She waited.

  Waited until the waiter finally approached with the refreshed drinks. Waited until the tray dipped slightly as he adjusted his grip. Waited until Jason reached out distractedly, already half-turned toward Mengmeng.

  Then—

  A gentle collision.

  Barely a touch.

  “Oh—sorry,” Zhuqing said lightly, steadying the tray with two fingers.

  Two glasses shifted places.

  No sound. No spill. No reason for suspicion.

  The waiter didn’t notice. Jason didn’t notice. Mengmeng, watching intently, didn’t notice either.

  Zhuqing withdrew her hand and took a step back, her expression as composed as ever.

  I didn’t start this, she thought, a cool certainty settling in her chest. But since you insisted on dragging me in… you can carry the consequences yourselves.

  She lifted her own glass—now harmless—and took a small sip.

  Across the room, Mengmeng exhaled slowly, relief and anticipation mixing in her veins.

  It’s done, she thought.

  And then—

  Zhuqing smiled at her.

  Not wide.Not mocking.

  Just enough.

  A quiet, knowing curve of the lips that sent an inexplicable chill down Mengmeng’s spine.

  For reasons she couldn’t name, unease replaced triumph.

  But it was already too late.

  The first sign was Jason.

  He frowned suddenly, one hand pressing to his stomach as if someone had punched him from the inside.

  “Did you eat something bad?” Mengmeng whispered, half-distracted as she adjusted her bracelet.

  Jason opened his mouth to answer—

  Prrrt.

  The sound cut clean through the surrounding chatter.

  Jason froze.

  His eyes widened in disbelief.

  Mengmeng slowly turned to look at him.

  Then her own stomach twisted violently, like it had been wrung out by an invisible hand.

  No.No—this isn’t right—

  Her face drained of color.

  Before she could react—

  Brrrp—pffft!

  A second sound erupted, louder, wetter, impossible to ignore.

  Heads snapped in their direction.

  Mengmeng gasped and clutched her skirt just as a horrible warmth spread downward, completely beyond her control.

  “Oh my god—!” she choked.

  Jason lurched to his feet in panic, face turning beet red.

  “I—I—”

  PFFFT.

  This time there was no mistaking it.

  A dark stain spread rapidly across the back of his pants. The smell hit the air a heartbeat later—sharp, sour, and devastating.

  The hall went silent.

  Then—

  “What is that smell—”“Oh my—”“Did he just—?!”

  Guests recoiled instinctively. Someone gagged audibly. A woman slapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with horror.

  Mengmeng tried to stand—

  Only for another uncontrollable sound to rip out of her.

  Prrt—splch.

  Her legs trembled as something visibly dripped along the hem of her skirt.

  “No—no—don’t look!” she screamed, hands scrambling uselessly as humiliation burned through her veins.

  Jason stood stiff as a corpse, completely shut down, another faint pffft betraying him as if his body had declared open rebellion.

  Flash.

  Flash.

  Flash.

  Phones were already up. Cameras clicked mercilessly.

  People whispered. People stared. People recorded.

  Mengmeng’s vision blurred as her face burned hot enough to scorch.

  From across the room, Zhuqing watched quietly.

  You wanted me to fall. You never thought about what would happen if you slipped instead.

  The Lawson family’s host went rigid.

  For a heartbeat, he simply stared at the scene before him—the chaos, the stench spreading through his meticulously prepared hall, the guests recoiling in open disgust.

  Then his face flushed a deep, furious red.

  “Security,” he said sharply. “Remove them. Now.”

  The order rang through the hall.

  The security staff moved instinctively—then stopped.

  They hesitated.

  Not out of doubt over authority—this was the Lawson residence—but because the two people in question were… untouchable in the worst possible way.

  Jason stood stiffly, his face ashen, the front of his trousers visibly stained. Liu Mengmeng clutched her skirt, shaking, the mess impossible to conceal no matter how she turned. The smell hit in waves.

  One guard covered his nose.

  Another took an involuntary step back.

  The host’s expression darkened further.

  “What are you waiting for?” he snapped. “Do you want them standing here any longer?”

  The guards swallowed and approached, clearly restraining their revulsion.

  “Sir, Miss, please—please leave the premises,” one said stiffly, not daring to get too close.

  “Immediately,” another added, voice tight.

  Jason tried to speak, but someone in the crowd laughed first.

  A sharp, mocking sound.

  “Oh my, is this some kind of… performance art?” a woman said loudly, waving her hand in front of her face. “At a Lawson banquet, no less.”

  Another guest snorted. “The Liu family really has lowered their standards. Bringing this in?”

  “I was just thinking about tomorrow’s headlines,” someone muttered behind a wine glass.

  “‘Rising Star Crashes Banquet—Literally.’”

  A man beside him chuckled. “Make sure you mention the smell. That’s the real highlight.”

  Phones remained raised.

  No one bothered hiding it anymore.

  Mengmeng’s face burned as she tried to shield herself, her voice cracking. “Please… stop filming…”

  A guest tilted their phone deliberately.

  “Why?” they replied lightly. “This is history in the making.”

  Mr. Liu’s expression twisted violently—rage, shame, and disbelief crashing together.

  “What have you done?!” he hissed, stopping several steps away from Mengmeng, his voice shaking with fury. “Do you have any idea how much face you’ve made us lose?!”

  He didn’t dare get closer.

  The smell alone made his stomach churn.

  He pointed at her instead, hand trembling. “Look at you! Look at this mess! This is the Lawson family’s house—do you think we’ll ever be invited again?!”

  Mengmeng stood frozen, tears blurring her vision, fingers clenched desperately in her skirt.

  She couldn’t answer.

  She couldn’t even lift her head.

  The guards closed in impatiently, clearly eager to end the humiliation as fast as possible.

  “Please move along,” one of them said curtly. “Now.”

  Jason couldn’t even meet anyone’s eyes. The future he had imagined—connections, opportunities, cooperation—collapsed all at once.

  They were herded toward the exit—not gently, not respectfully, but with the unmistakable impatience reserved for people who had already overstayed their welcome.

  As soon as the doors closed behind them, the host exhaled sharply and turned back to the hall.

  “The banquet ends here,” he announced coldly. “We apologize for the unpleasant disruption.”

  Guests began to leave in clusters, voices buzzing with excitement rather than disappointment.

  “I need to post this before midnight,” one woman said eagerly.

  “Imagine their popularity and traffic i can cash out after this.”

  "will they Liu family want to silence us?" one person asks worriedly.

  A man laughed. “Trouble others? They’ll be lucky if they can show their faces in public again.”

  The scent lingered stubbornly, even as staff rushed to ventilate the hall.

  By the time the lights dimmed, the story had already escaped the room.

  Near the exit, Zhuqing adjusted her pace slightly.

  Asmodeus naturally slowed with her.

  They walked out together, arms linked, calm and composed—an image so different from the chaos behind them that it felt almost unreal.

  As they stepped into the night air, Asmodeus glanced at her sideways.

  “How did you plan to deal with it?” he asked quietly. “And… do you want the Shaw family to ask the Liu family for an explanation tomorrow?”

  Zhuqing paused.

  Then she smiled—soft, exaggerated, almost amused.

  “Of course,” she said lightly. “I am the future wife of the Shaw family’s next head.”

  Her tone turned mock-serious.

  “They’ll need to give me an explanation.”

  Asmodeus’s lips curved.

  Not sharply.

  Not arrogantly.

  Just a soft, knowing smile.

  And together, they walked away.