The wrought-iron gates swung open automatically as a Rolls-Royce Wraith glided smoothly through, coming to a stop outside the villa in the courtyard.
The driver opened the door: "Miss Xie, we've arrived."
The girl stepped out, dressed in a simple light-blue cotton dress and a pair of slightly yellowed white canvas shoes, her slender calves partially exposed. She frowned faintly, a hint of discomfort flickering across her face.
"Miss Xie is here, please come in quickly. The master and madam are already waiting," said a well-dressed middle-aged woman as she approached, her smile polite but her eyes subtly scrutinizing the girl from head to toe. At the sight of her cheap attire and uneasy demeanor, a trace of disdain crept into her expression.
Truly a country bumpkin—couldn’t even hide her lack of sophistication.
Xie Sangning’s gaze suddenly swept over her, and Aunt Chen hurriedly masked her contempt, plastering on another polite smile—though this one was visibly insincere, making it clear she held no respect for the girl.
Xie Sangning’s eyes turned icy. Quite the impressive servant.
Aunt Chen felt an inexplicable chill under the girl’s piercing gaze, an invisible pressure emanating from her like that of a highborn lady. Her smile stiffened, and her tone involuntarily grew more deferential. "Miss Xie?"
Xie Sangning’s eyes passed over her indifferently. Without responding, she stepped forward and walked inside.
Aunt Chen stood frozen in place, only snapping out of it after the girl had gone. Had she really just been intimidated by this country girl?
Xie Sangning walked slowly, her mind still sorting through unfamiliar memories.
Three days ago had been her eighteenth birthday. Born into the Xie family, the foremost of the century-old aristocratic clans, she was the eldest legitimate daughter, raised with the highest expectations. She had lived up to them—mastering the arts, cultivating grace and cunning alike.
Yet the next morning, she awoke to find herself in this strange era, inhabiting the body of a girl who shared her name but had grown up in the mountains—the long-lost true heiress of the Nan family.
Today was the day the Nans brought her home.
But if even the servants dared to treat her with such disrespect, the Nan household was likely no less treacherous than the Xie estate.
Steadying herself, she finally stepped into the living room.
"Miss Xie has arrived," Aunt Chen announced breathlessly as she scurried in after her, introducing her to the Nan family with exaggerated deference.
Xie Sangning glanced at her. So she did know proper manners.
The Nan family sat waiting in the living room, their eyes fixed on Xie Sangning, their expressions a mix of curiosity and judgment.
A well-preserved middle-aged woman was the first to react, her eyes reddening. "You’re Sangning?"
She rushed forward, clasping Xie Sangning’s hands, her voice trembling. "You’re finally home. I’m your mother."
Sangning’s fingers twitched slightly. This woman was a stranger to her, and her body instinctively recoiled—yet she didn’t pull away.
This was her mother, her most crucial support in the Nan household. She couldn’t afford to reject that.
Just as she hesitated, about to call out "Mother," a young woman behind Wen Meiling suddenly spoke up, her voice tearful and aggrieved. "Mom."
Wen Meiling immediately released Sangning’s hands and turned to embrace the girl, as if reassuring her. "Don’t be afraid, Siya. I’m here."
Nan Siya nestled into Wen Meiling’s arms, her eyes red—but when she looked at Sangning, they gleamed with scornful defiance.
Sangning arched a brow. Nan Siya—the impostor who had enjoyed her status for twenty years?
How eager she was to show her claws. Sangning adored such fools.
She withdrew her hands and lifted her gaze, spotting the elderly man seated at the center of the room, surrounded by the family. Nearly sixty, his weathered face exuded stern authority, his clouded eyes fixed on her with a dull, assessing stare.
He flipped through a file in his hands, his expression betraying unconcealed disappointment.
Raised in the mountains by an old woman, barely educated, twenty-two years old with a resume full of gaps—utterly useless.
For the Nan family to claim such a granddaughter would be a laughingstock.
But since she’d already been acknowledged, they couldn’t very well abandon her—lest outsiders accuse them of heartlessness.
The old man snorted, tossing the file onto the table. "Now that she’s back, Aunt Chen, prepare a room for her. Get her settled, then hire a tutor to teach her some manners. Until she’s properly educated, she’s not to step outside and embarrass us."
"Yes, sir," Aunt Chen replied hastily.
"Father, she’s only just returned. Don’t frighten her," interjected a woman standing nearby.
Dressed in a modernized embroidered qipao with a shawl draped over her shoulders, her hair curled elegantly, Nan Wenyue sighed. "Regardless, she’s Eldest Brother’s flesh and blood. They say daughters take after their fathers—why, Sangning is the very image of him!"
Nan Zhenxing, the second son, chimed in. "Exactly. The resemblance is uncanny. No doubt she’s Eldest Brother’s daughter."
Nan Siya’s expression darkened imperceptibly. How could this uncouth country girl possibly resemble Father?
Nan Zhenming’s face also soured. Lately, his performance in several company projects had been lackluster, and the old man was already displeased. Now, to be constantly linked with this unsophisticated daughter only made him seem more incompetent.
His voice turned stern. "Father is right. Sangning has been away too long, lacking proper upbringing. She must be taught etiquette—we can’t have her disgracing the Nan name."
Beside him stood a boy of fifteen or sixteen, dressed in designer labels, his gaze dripping with disdain. "She’s never even been to university. What could she possibly learn?"
Nan Siya, still teary-eyed, lifted her chin slightly. Exactly. This Xie Sangning had grown up in the sticks—no education, no refinement. How could she compare?
She was the one who had graduated from elite schools, raised among high society. She was the true Nan heiress who brought pride to the family!
Even if her parents pitied Sangning now, sooner or later, they’d grow disgusted by her vulgar, embarrassing ways.
"A-Chen, don’t say that. You’ll upset Mom and Dad," Nan Siya murmured meekly.
Wen Meiling, who had initially ached for Sangning’s hardships, now softened at Siya’s thoughtfulness, stroking her hair affectionately. After all these years of doting, the girl hadn’t disappointed her.
The old man studied Xie Sangning again, only to find her standing there calmly, her face devoid of shame or discomfort.
He narrowed his eyes. "Why aren’t you speaking?"
Was she mute?
The room’s occupants, each lost in their own calculations, turned their attention back to Sangning.
Only then did they realize—since stepping inside, she hadn’t uttered a single word.
Nan Siya’s eyes gleamed with scorn. Of course a country bumpkin would be struck dumb at the sight of such luxury.
It turned out she had been worrying all these days that Xie Sangning's return might threaten her position—what a needless fear.
Sangning thought to herself, watching this family's open and covert battles unfold—what was there left for her to say?
She lowered her eyes slightly, adopting a demure tone. "As the elders speak, Sangning wouldn't dare interrupt."
The old master was momentarily taken aback. He hadn’t expected this young girl to understand propriety.
Nan Siya and Nan Muchen, who had just interrupted, stiffened. Who was she subtly mocking?!
Sangning continued, her tone cool and measured. "Without rules, there can be no order. Grandfather’s considerations are wise. A family with true heritage must uphold strict discipline."
The room fell into stunned silence, the guests momentarily at a loss for words.
Her words struck a chord with the old master. He had once been a shoeshine boy, only to strike gold overnight when his family’s barren land was seized for demolition. Though fortune had smiled upon him—allowing the Nan family to climb into Jing City’s elite circles—he still envied those old-money dynasties passed down through generations.
After all, society was rigidly stratified, and nouveaux riches were undeniably the most unwelcome at high tables.
Eager to win favor with the established aristocracy and avoid disdain, the old master obsessed over decorum and reputation.
This was the first time he’d seen a junior show such tact—unlike the ungrateful lot in his own household, who cursed him behind his back as a fossil and paid him only lip service!
His gaze softened with approval. "Well said. A teachable child indeed."
Sangning inclined her head humbly. "After all, Sangning bears the Nan name. I am your granddaughter, flowing with your blood. Even if I wasn’t raised under your guidance, I could never forget what’s etched into my bones."
Nan Zhenming’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. What was "etched into her bones"?
Since when? Was this some kind of generational inheritance?
But the old master was moved. He slapped the armrest of his leather sofa. "Good! Truly my Nan family’s granddaughter!"
Sangning turned to Aunt Chen. "Bring me a cup of tea."
Caught off guard by the command, Aunt Chen instinctively nodded. "Yes, right away."
She turned to fetch the tea but froze mid-step—who had just ordered her around?!
Aunt Chen glanced back at the old master.
He frowned at Sangning. "What do you need tea for?"
Sangning answered earnestly. "Having just returned home to acknowledge my roots, it’s only proper for me to offer Grandfather a ceremonial cup of tea."
The old master paused. He hadn’t even thought of that.
He snapped at Aunt Chen, "What are you waiting for? Hurry up!"
Startled, Aunt Chen scurried off to prepare the tea.
Soon, the cup was brought over. Sangning took it, approached the old master, and bent forward to present it with both hands.
"Sangning has been unfilial, failing to serve at Grandfather’s side for twenty years. Please accept this tea and forgive my shortcomings."
Never mind that she had been the one lost for two decades, enduring hardship outside—yet here she was, blaming herself for failing in her duties. The old master’s heart swelled with warmth at her words.
He accepted the cup and took a sip, a rare smile creasing his weathered face. "Such a sensible child."
Sangning retreated a step, hands clasped gracefully before her, every movement poised and dignified.
The old master’s gaze flicked between her and Nan Siya, who was sniveling in Wen Meiling’s arms. His brows knitted in displeasure. "Stand straight! What’s with this slouching and sniffling?"
Nan Siya stiffened, too afraid of his temper to disobey, and hastily straightened up.
The old master scoffed, disappointment flashing in his eyes. Indeed, an adopted child was different—so lacking in grace, nothing like a true granddaughter.
