When Ma Hongli and his wife finished their farmwork and finally returned home, they were met with a sight so unexpected it nearly made them drop what they were carrying.
In the modest room—plain walls, simple furniture, the quiet familiarity of rural life—sat a young woman who looked as though she had stepped out of a painting. She was delicate and luminous, an ethereal presence draped in graceful, old-style clothing, her long black hair falling like a waterfall over her shoulders. In the soft light of the house, she seemed almost unreal—like a little celestial maiden who had wandered down from the clouds and forgotten the way back.
For a split second, the couple simply stared.
Their hearts lurched with alarm, their expressions caught between shock and disbelief. They nearly didn't dare to recognize her. Only after they moved closer—after they searched the features they knew so well beneath this transformed appearance—did they finally confirm the impossible.
It was Mu Qingyue.
They let out a breath they hadn't realized they were holding, relief rushing in to replace the initial fright.
"Ayue," Ma Hongli said, still stunned, his voice thick with wonder, "how did you suddenly… become like a different person?"
Mu Qingyue smiled, the expression gentle and genuine. She reached out, slipped her arm through her foster mother's, and leaned in the way she used to when she was younger—when the world had been smaller and kinder.
"I used to be childish," she said softly. "I didn't understand what mattered. But I've decided now that I want to live properly. Don't worry. From now on, I won't make you suffer with worry and exhaustion anymore. I won't let you carry my burdens again."
The couple exchanged a glance, and something in their eyes softened.
They had worried for so long.
Ever since Mu Qingyue had been taken back to her biological family, Ma Hongli and his wife had lived with a constant, quiet unease. The Mu family was no ordinary household. It was a prominent, wealthy clan—one that everyone had heard of, whispered about, admired and feared. Such families, everyone said, were full of rules: proper manners, careful speech, rigid hierarchy. They demanded refinement, obedience, perfection.
They had feared their daughter, raised in the countryside, would be unable to endure it.
They had feared she would be bullied, or misunderstood, or quietly crushed beneath the cold weight of that world.
And now—seeing her composed, seeing her speak with calm maturity—they finally felt some of that anxiety loosen its grip.
Ma Hongli's wife studied her for a long moment, head tilting slightly as she examined the changes. The longer she looked, the more her expression melted into fond approval, like someone admiring a treasured blossom.
"Where did you get your hair dyed back like this?" she asked, half amazed, half delighted. "It's so pretty. So much nicer than that old bird's-nest hairstyle you used to have."
Mu Qingyue responded lightly, as if it were nothing of consequence. "I went to Master Wang at the village entrance," she said casually.
Then she guided them to sit down, poured tea for both of them with careful hands, and chatted with them as naturally as if she had never left. Her smile remained warm, her voice relaxed, her manner gentle—yet her mind moved with quiet precision.
When her foster parents weren't paying attention, she took out two small pills from her sleeve.
They were the Nourishing Qi pills—refined to strengthen the body, to reinforce vitality, to clear hidden weaknesses. She crushed them between her fingers into fine powder and, with the subtlety of someone seasoning soup, let the dust fall into the steaming tea.
The powder dissolved instantly, leaving no trace.
She continued talking, laughing lightly, keeping their attention engaged, and coaxed them to drink.
The existence of the Celestial Physician Space was not something she could easily explain. It was too unbelievable, too strange, too likely to cause fear rather than comfort. And more importantly, Mu Qingyue did not wish to burden them with secrets that might attract danger.
So she chose the simplest kind of gratitude:
To strengthen them quietly.
To repay their love without fanfare.
Ma Hongli took a sip of tea, sighed, and his brows drew together with familiar frustration. "I saw Zhao San again today," he muttered, shaking his head. "Went all the way to the county to buy another gold chain. He clearly has money. So why won't he repay what he owes us?"
Mu Qingyue paused mid-breath.
She looked up sharply. "Dad… Zhao San owes you money?"
Her foster mother's face tightened. She glanced away, hesitating as though she didn't want to add another worry to Mu Qingyue's shoulders. But in the end, she spoke, voice full of helplessness.
"Well… isn't it something everyone in the village knows?" she said quietly. "The Mu family gave us a compensation fee for raising you. Once people heard, some came to borrow money. We're all neighbors. It's hard to refuse when someone asks with a straight face…"
Mu Qingyue's eyes darkened. "How much did he borrow?"
"Fifty thousand."
Mu Qingyue's breath caught.
"What?" The word came out sharper than she intended. "That much?"
She stood up so abruptly the chair legs scraped the floor.
Back then, the Mu family had given the Ma household one million yuan as compensation. To city people, it might not have been enormous, but to rural villagers, it was a sum that could change a life. Ma Hongli and his wife had used most of it properly: their eldest son had recently married, and the money had gone into building a new house, paying bride price, settling family expenses. Whatever remained could not have been much—certainly not enough to be handed out like spare change.
And Zhao San—how shameless must he be, to open his mouth and demand fifty thousand?
Mu Qingyue's almond-shaped eyes sharpened with anger. A fierce, startling aura rose from her body, so cold and severe it made the room feel suddenly smaller. Her expression became icy, her gaze hard and commanding.
"I'll go get it back for you," she said.
She turned and strode out of the courtyard without another word.
"Ayue—wait!" Ma Hongli and his wife hurried after her. They had seen her expression; they could feel the dangerous edge in her composure. They were afraid she might cause trouble, afraid she might provoke a conflict too big to handle in a village where rumors spread faster than smoke.
But Mu Qingyue did not slow.
She walked with purpose, her steps steady, her posture straight, her presence no longer that of a helpless village girl. She moved like someone who had learned, through bitter experience, how to stand her ground.
Soon they reached the entrance of another household.
At the doorway, a middle-aged man lounged in the sun, humming to himself as if life were generous. A thick gold chain hung around his neck, bright and ostentatious. His stomach protruded slightly, his expression smug—like someone who believed the world existed for his convenience.
Zhao San.
Mu Qingyue crossed the threshold without hesitation and let her voice fall like ice.
"Uncle Zhao," she said, coolly polite, "it's been a long time."
Zhao San blinked, not recognizing her at first. He squinted, trying to place her face. Then his gaze slid past her and landed on Ma Hongli and his wife behind her. Recognition dawned, and his mouth twisted into a mocking grin.
"Well, well," he drawled, voice dripping with ridicule. "Isn't this the Mu family's precious young lady? Living the good life in the city—and now you're back? What, ran out of money? Or did the rich folks finally throw you out?"
Mu Qingyue's expression did not change. Her eyes remained steady, clear, and cold.
"The grace of raising a child is heavier than the sky," she replied evenly. "I came back to visit my parents. Do I need your permission for that?"
She walked forward until she stood directly in front of him. Then she lifted her chin slightly—not in arrogance for its own sake, but in a quiet assertion of dignity.
There was a poise to her now, a controlled elegance that could not be faked. Even if the Mu family had never truly liked her, she had lived among the wealthy for years. She had seen their etiquette, absorbed their cadence, learned the unspoken language of status and restraint. She was no longer the timid country girl he thought he could sneer at with impunity.
Standing there, she was physically smaller than Zhao San, almost delicate in comparison.
But her presence crushed him.
Her aura pressed down like a mountain. It made his smugness falter. It planted a seed of unease in his chest. For the first time, he looked at her not as someone easy to taunt, but as someone who might bite back hard enough to draw blood.
Mu Qingyue's gaze sharpened to a blade.
"I've heard," she said, voice flat and merciless, "that the loan you took from my parents is long past due. Return it now—principal and interest. Immediately."