The rest of the school day unraveled beneath a storm of whispers.
Even though the incident with the bullies was settled discreetly behind closed doors—with the mothers reprimanded by the principal for twisting facts and protecting their entitled sons—the truth didn't matter.
Not in this school.
What the students chose to believe wove a louder tale.
"I heard Hao Ran stood up for Song Mei. Can you believe it?"
"Maybe he likes her now? She used to be invisible, now everyone talks about her."
"She beat up five guys and then had Hao Ran save her? That's practically out of a movie!"
"She must be faking it. Who knows what she's planning…"
"No way. Hao Ran's always been close to Song Ning. Why would he help Song Mei?"
"Who knows... maybe he's finally realized who the real beauty is."
"She's like a whole new person now. Kinda scary, honestly."
Song Mei walked through the hallways like a phantom—quiet, unapproachable, cold. Her back was straight, her steps unfaltering.
Every eye turned to her, but none received her gaze.
She had long since learned: attention was not the same as affection. It burned colder.
Better they whisper in fear than shout in mockery.
Even Chu Shaojia, her closest friend, seemed uneasy as they approached the school gates.
"Meimei… you heard, right?" she asked hesitantly. "Everyone's saying Hao Ran protected you on purpose."
"I don't care," Song Mei said flatly. "Let them talk. I don't owe anyone an explanation."
Shaojia looked down, fidgeting. "Also… the teachers were summoned to a meeting. Something about the summer trip. They're finalizing everything today. Tomorrow… we're going."
Song Mei froze for a fraction of a second. A dull throb flickered at the back of her head.
Tomorrow.
The summer trip.
That place.
The past surged back before she could stop it.
Ten years ago.
The summer sun had painted the mountains gold, and laughter echoed as the students of the elite class hiked toward the scenic cliffs. It was one of those rare days when the school sought "bonding" outside the classroom.
Song Mei, walking slightly apart from the others, had been wearing a pale yellow dress. Song Ning, in her white lace sundress, was surrounded by classmates, smiling sweetly as always.
"Song Mei, get out of the frame, will you?" one student called, waving her off. "We want a group photo with Song Ning in the middle."
"She doesn't match the aesthetic," another muttered.
Song Mei had clenched her fists but said nothing.
Until Song Ning had tried to bring her in.
"Meimei, come here! You should be in the photo too," she said innocently, tugging her hand.
And that was what broke her.
Innocence. That same soft, ignorant smile. The kind that never had to fight for approval. The kind that didn't know pain, because she'd always been shielded from it.
A subtle nudge. A slight push.
And Song Ning slipped.
She had pushed her.
Not with the intent to kill—but with enough force to make her fall.
For one horrible moment, time froze. Her arms flailed, her feet lost traction, and she went over the edge.
Screams.
Gasps.
But fate wasn't cruel enough to let Song Mei forget it easily.
Song Ning had been caught on a ledge—saved by a thick patch of thorn bushes and two teachers who climbed down quickly. No broken bones, just scratches and shock.
Yet Song Mei… was branded.
"She pushed Song Ning!"
"She tried to kill her own sister!"
"She's dangerous!"
Even when Song Ning mumbled through tears, "I-it could've been an accident…" the verdict had already been delivered.
At home, things were worse.
Mr. Song had slapped his palm against the table hard enough to make the porcelain tea set jump.
"Attempted murder? Do you know what kind of headline that would make?"
Her mother's slap had rung through the hallway.
"How dare you lay a hand on her? Do you know how precious she is?!"
Her father turned his back. Her brothers scowled. The servants whispered.
"She needs to be removed from our lives"
"She's unfit to stay here."
"She's jealous. Delusional."
Only Song Ning had looked at her, confused and sad. "Why… do you hate me so much, Meimei?"
She couldn't answer.
Because it wasn't hate. Not truly. It was the kind of pain that twisted into hatred when it was never seen, never validated, never soothed.
The pain of being forgotten.
Back in the present.
Song Mei blinked the memory away. Her jaw was tight.
"I don't want to go on this trip," she muttered.
"You don't have a choice," Shaojia said gently. "They already signed you up. They're taking attendance."
Song Mei scoffed. "Of course they are."
At the teacher's office, murmurs passed like smoke between lips.
"The Song girl… that one who beat up the bullies."
"She's dangerous. If anything happens on the trip—"
"We'll be liable. She's not stable."
"And now Hao Ran's involved? We can't let this escalate."
Later, as Song Mei walked out of the gates alone, she noticed luxury cars parked outside—lined up like a wall of judgment. Word had spread fast.
"The bullies' mothers were here today."
"They want Song Mei punished. Expelled, even."
"But the school backed off. Principal said she was defending herself."
"Still… she's in deep trouble. What if they go to the school board?"
The air buzzed with gossip.
But Song Mei didn't flinch.
If they wanted to destroy her, they'd have to try harder.
At the Song Family Mansion
Meanwhile, at the grand Song Family estate, the atmosphere was anything but calm.
The sun had barely begun to set when the heavy doors of the mansion swung open with a sharp bang. Mr. Song stormed in, his face dark as a thundercloud. The staff froze in their places as he threw his briefcase onto the nearest couch, the sound echoing like a shot across the marble floor.
Mrs. Song rose from her chair in the living room, startled. "What happened?"
"The Cheng family called me," Mr. Song snapped. "The father of one of those boys Song Mei beat up."
Mrs. Song blinked, surprised. "They dared to call you? They know who we are."
"They were polite—too polite. That's the problem." His voice turned colder. "When powerful people use polite words, it means they're sharpening the knife."
At that moment, Elder Mr. Song entered the room, leaning on his cane. His eyes were sharp, commanding. "What is this nonsense I'm hearing about Song Mei being violent at school?"
"It's already in circles," Mr. Song said tightly. "Everyone's whispering that our second daughter has gone rogue again. They're saying we raised a delinquent."
"She's going to drag the Song name through the mud," Mrs. Song muttered bitterly. "It's always her—trouble never leaves her shadow."
"I want the truth," the elder said sternly, settling into his seat.
"Feng'er, you were there. What really happened at the school?"
Song Feng, who had been quietly standing near the entrance, reluctantly stepped forward. His face was unreadable.
"She didn't start the fight," he began. "The boys cornered her.
They've been harassing her for a while now, and yesterday they surrounded her on the street."
"And she beat five of them?" Mr. Song asked sharply.
Song Feng nodded once. "Yes. Badly. But they laid hands on her first. The security footage backs her up."
Mr. Song exhaled through his nose. "Still… why does she have to be this way? Even if she's not at fault, it's always chaos where she goes.
Why can't she be more like Ningning?"
Mrs. Song folded her arms. "Because Ningning knows her place."
The elder remained silent for a long time, then finally said,
"Tomorrow is the school trip, isn't it?"
"Yes," Song Feng confirmed.
"Then let's see how she behaves there. If there's another mistake… we'll make a decision."
A heavy silence settled between them, thick with unspoken meaning.
Outside, the wind rustled the trees lining the estate walls, but inside the mansion, it felt like the calm before a storm.Meanwhile, Song Mei sat at her desk, her room lit only by the soft glow of her lamp. She had unpacked her suitcase three times already, unsure what to bring for the summer retreat.
No amount of packing could prepare her for going back to that place.
Not physically. Not emotionally.
She traced her finger along the edge of her desk and whispered to herself, "It's just another trip. Another test."
But her heart knew better.
It was a battlefield.
And she'd already bled on it once.