The mansion was like a tomb. She had once been Shen Mojun's most beloved canary.
As the joy of having a son in middle age swept through the Shen household, only Liu Yinqu knew the truth: the child in her womb was the bastard she had conceived with an actor.
Her plan to elope fell apart in an opium den. Her lover clutched the gold hairpin he had pawned and sneered, “That old man from the Shen family can still sire a child? That bastard should have been aborted long ago!”
The moment the family-law cane came crashing down on her pregnant belly, the cry of her premature baby in the pool of blood saved her life and forged her living hell.
The master's sinister breath brushed her ear. “Want the child to live? Then be a good little mute corpse.”
From then on, a beautiful living corpse haunted the abandoned courtyard in the northwest wing. She heard the baby in the main house laughing and calling for its parents, and watched the new concubine wear her pomegranate-red gown.
Outside the window, year after year, the snow slowly buried the sob she could never let out.
