Chapter 19: What Is the Price of Becoming Stronger? Do Not Speak… Just Keep Eating
9:00 a.m.
Eve could be said to have exerted her utmost effort to finally escape the Head Maid’s breakfast feeding assault. Could you imagine a blonde, elegant lady chasing you halfway across the manor with bread and milk in hand?
It was terrifying. The mont she slowed down, Sister Head Maid would stuff large pieces of bread and warm milk straight into her stomach.
She did not need breakfast—indeed, she could forgo all three als. Ordinary food gave her no sense of [satisfaction]; at most it relieved cravings.
The taste was like chewing wax. Since it did not affect her bodily functions, she might as well not eat at all. So during her escape, she casually took a bright red tomato from a slowly moving woven basket she passed by.
The young maid carrying the basket noticed nothing. She only felt a gust of wind rush past and rely thought the weather was growing colder.
A beautiful day. Not having to do chores felt wonderful.
Taking advantage of an empty corridor, Eve abandoned her maid’s formal posture, leaned against the wall with folded arms, and calmly ate the tomato in her hand.
Among countless ordinary foods, only tomatoes truly pleased her.
And conveniently, according to the notebook… this was Vivian’s daily piano lesson period. It would take a full two hours of practice before she left the music room.
…
Morninglight Manor, private piano room.
Continuous piano music rang out like heavenly sound, echoing through the spacious chamber and occasionally drifting out the window, drawing birds into dance.
The red-haired girl sat upright, slender fingers crossing over the keys—introduction, transition, then climax.
Three minutes later, the sound ceased.
Vivian took a deep breath, her tense posture gradually relaxing. She glanced coldly at the private instructor standing nearby.
“How was it?”
“Young Miss, compared to most students I have taught… you perford excellently. However… your state today seems sowhat subtle.”
The piano tutor appeared to praise her, yet carefully avoided calling it poor, choosing the word subtle instead.
She was experienced—navigating the rules of great families and reading the intentions of those in power was second nature. Without such tact, one would quickly lose employnt.
With advanced certification and years of full-ti teaching behind her, she had seen countless students and many prodigies.
Naturally, she could tell Vivian’s mind had wandered during the performance. She had even forgotten her own rule: if you play a wrong note, stop and begin again.
Her focus was unsettled; good music could not be produced this way—but she could not say so directly.
Vivian was no fool. She understood the implication, rubbing her brow tiredly. “Tch… we will stop here today. You may leave early.”
She sensed her own abnormal condition imdiately. She was simply exhausted, pressure with no outlet.
“Then Young Miss, I will co again tomorrow…”
“You need not co tomorrow either.”
“Eh?!”
The tutor froze. Not co tomorrow ant…
Dismissal?!
Had she spoken incorrectly and offended the young lady?
She imdiately straightened and bowed deeply. “Young Miss, please give
another chance! I truly need this job!”
She had elders above and children below to support, and her husband had been arrested after touching contraband. Several mouths depended entirely on her.
Seeing the Hatherin Family offer triple the market price, she had slandered competitors and relied on ability to secure this position. Such an opportunity was rare.
“What are you talking about?” Vivian glanced at her helplessly. “Why are you so sensitive? I an you have a week of paid leave.”
“Oh… ah? Cough… th-thank you, Young Miss!” Realizing her impropriety, she laughed awkwardly, then hesitated. “But the Family Head…”
“Do not worry about him. Take your leave. If he objects, let him co to . Now go.”
“Understood!”
The tutor wasted no ti, fearing a change of mind. Facing that cold expression daily was already stressful—and she was paid daily, twenty thousand federal coins each day.
Better to run while she could. She closed the door and departed, leaving the grand piano room unusually quiet.
The glossy black antique piano and the beautiful red-haired girl complented one another, as if part of a painting.
A strand of hair brushed her lips in the breeze. Vivian gently exhaled and pulled the stray strand from her mouth.
“…Sigh.”
Her long sigh held none of her usual sharpness, only fragility.
Being born into the Hatherin Family was itself unfortunate.
The poor had their way of living, and the rich had theirs. Without a protagonist’s fortune, the children of wealthy families were not so different from slaves in a slum.
Daily exhaustion, relentless study—fail and you were replaced. The difference was rely that one could collapse into diocrity, while the other must begin life anew.
As the direct daughter of the Hatherin Family Head, the pressure since birth weighed upon her like a mountain.
Like an alarm bell—whenever she slackened even slightly, it rang in her heart.
She must improve. Improve again. Improve endlessly.
If she did not strive, she would not advance; if she did not advance, others would surpass her and look down upon her. Vivian would never tolerate that.
So she achieved it.
She devoted all ti and energy to cultivating her abilities and refinent, frequently attending banquets and social gatherings with other noble children.
She successfully established the na of the Hatherin Family’s daughter in high society.
No one dared belittle the young red-haired lady, not yet twenty yet extraordinary in bearing—and no one understood how exhausting her path to strength had been.
Yet everyone knew one thing:
To obtain Vivian—or marry into the Hatherin Family—ant family revival, a leap across the dragon gate.
Thus so individuals changed strategy. They competed to show favor and establish connections, so Morninglight Manor frequently cleared away flowers and gifts.
Publicly, Vivian never expressed affection for anyone—not even a trace of goodwill.
Like the most difficult route in a romance ga, her favorability barely increased and might even decrease upon eting.
And yet people still pursued it.
And anwhile—what was Eve doing?
She was idling, standing leisurely beneath the elegant pavilion, her bare shoulders visible from behind—seen perfectly by Vivian standing at the window.
“Tch! I am exhausted up here while you idle below?!”
She could not endure it. Her expression darkened. In two swift strides she beca one, not even closing the door before heading downstairs.
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