After the ghost-hunting master descended the mountain, his fame spread throughout the capital.

Meng Xueyan paused, her soul light fluctuating slightly with her emotions: "It wasn't until I met Miss Jiang that I was able to come back and ask you this question."

She floated forward half a step, her gaze clear and fixed on Meng Qingxi's eyes:

"Father, can you answer me now? You insist on betrothing me to that man, refusing to listen to a single one of my pleas..."

"After learning that I had jumped off the cliff, when you saw my body, did you... feel even the slightest bit of regret?"

She asked the question "regret" with utmost calmness, yet it carried immense weight.

Meng Qingxi's body swayed violently, and the veins on the back of his hand, which was gripping the edge of the table, bulged.

His lips trembled, his gaze shifting from his daughter's face to his wife, who was sobbing uncontrollably, before returning to his daughter's face, which was waiting for an answer.

After a long while, he seemed to find his voice again, a dry and hoarse voice, devoid of all official authority, only a final struggle remaining:

"Yan'er, as your father... as your father, of course my heart aches! You are my daughter, how could I not be in pain?"

"But..." he changed the subject, his eyes regaining their stubbornness, though his voice remained unsteady, "Marriage has always been a matter of parental arrangement and matchmaker's word!"

"When your father chose your family background and considered your future prospects, it was all out of good intentions, for your future stability and for the honor of the Meng family!"

"You...you are still young and unaware of the hardships of the world. How can you be so willful, disregarding your parents' painstaking efforts, and doing such a reckless thing!"

The more he spoke, the more confident he seemed to regain, and his voice rose slightly, carrying a hint of reproach:

"How can I not be in pain? How can your mother face this? You...you are being unfilial!"

Finally, he almost blurted out the word "unfilial".

Hearing her father's familiar tone and unsurprising answer, Meng Xueyan curled her lips into a cold smile.

Zeng Yanran, standing to the side, suddenly raised her head, her eyes brimming with tears, and let out an unprecedented outburst of anger and despair. She hissed:

"Meng Qingxi! Even now, you're still blaming your daughter for being unfilial?! It was your pride and your rigid rules that killed her!"

Meng Qingxi's face turned ashen from Zeng Yanran's shrill questioning.

He abruptly flung his sleeve and shouted sternly, "A doting mother spoils her son! If you hadn't indulged her in the past, how could she have become so extreme and willful, committing such a heinous act!"

This chilling accusation finally ignited the long-suppressed grief and indignation within Meng Xueyan's soul.

She felt no fear whatsoever, only a desolate sense of having seen through everything.

She floated forward, closer to Meng Qingxi, her voice low but clear, like ice beads rolling onto a jade plate, or a dull knife scraping through rotten wood:

"Father, you always make me study 'Admonitions for Women' and memorize 'Inner Instructions'. You always talk about the Three Obediences and Four Virtues."

"At home, obey your father; after marriage, obey your husband; after your husband's death, obey your son." She softly repeated these dogmas that bound countless women throughout their lives, a sarcastic sneer curling at the corner of her lips.

"The ropes are so tight, one after another, binding people up so tightly they can't move or breathe. But no matter how many times I read it, I can't smell a trace of humanity, not a hint of family affection."

Meng Qingxi's pupils contracted slightly, wanting to rebuke him for his "insolence," but her throat felt as if it were being choked by that cold gaze.

Meng Xueyan gave him no chance to breathe, her gaze like a knife cutting through the hypocritical veil of "fatherly love":

"What is your daughter in your eyes? Is she something you might use to enhance your career?"

"Or is it a piece of calligraphy or painting that you can show off to your colleagues when you want to demonstrate your family's good management and strict discipline?"

"No! I..." Meng Qingxi instinctively tried to refute, but her voice was weak and feeble.

These sharp metaphors, like red-hot needles, pierced through the hard shell he had long woven with rules.

Meng Xueyan's soul trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the overwhelming emotions that made it difficult to control herself.

"Have you ever asked me what books I like to read? What kind of world do I yearn for? Have I ever secretly admired anyone?"

"No! You only check my needlework skills, test my memorization of 'Biographies of Exemplary Women,' and assess whether my future husband's family can bring honor to the Meng family!"

She glanced around the meticulously structured study, her gaze finally settling on Meng Qingxi's face, where a deep sorrow filled her eyes:

"Father, your study has thousands of books, which discuss the great principles of the world and the ultimate truths of humanity."

"But why...why can't you see the plea to be seen in your own daughter's eyes? Why can't you tolerate my little dream of freedom?"

"You used the wisdom of sages to build a magnificent tomb for your daughter. Wasn't that enough?"

"Finally... we must use the word 'mistake' to erase the name on the tombstone until it's blurred, lest it tarnish your lifelong reputation as Director Meng!"

As Meng Qingxi listened to the accusations, she felt as if struck by lightning. She staggered backward, her back slamming heavily against the bookshelf behind her, knocking several ancient books off the shelf.

His face drained of color, his lips trembled, but he could no longer utter a single righteous and stern rebuke.

Meng Xueyan's words were not unreasonable arguments, but rather a logically sound question.

For the first time, he was not looking at his own daughter from the perspective of a father or an official, but was forced to look at her from the perspective of a person. She was the one he had driven to the brink of despair by the rules, and who ultimately became the ghost before him.

Looking into Meng Xueyan's eyes, which were filled with sorrow, Meng Qingxi stammered, "I...I..."

He opened his mouth, but only a broken, breathy sound came out of his throat. For the first time, his once straight back showed signs of hunching.

Seeing this, Meng Xueyan gave a self-deprecating laugh, a laugh that appeared particularly desolate on her translucent face:

"Forget it... there's probably no point in saying anything more to you."

"The city in your heart, built with rules and etiquette, is too solid. You have lived inside it for too long, so long that you have forgotten that there is flesh and blood outside the city walls."

"You wouldn't understand, and perhaps... you never will."

She stopped looking at Meng Qingxi and turned to Zeng Yanran, who was weeping uncontrollably. Her spirit drifted closer, and her voice became soft and comforting:

"Mother, please don't cry, and please don't blame yourself anymore. Your daughter doesn't blame you, she really doesn't. I know how difficult it was for you to be caught in the middle... You've already done your best."

Upon hearing this, Zeng Yanran cried even more uncontrollably, shaking her head frantically.

Just then, Meng Qingxi, who had been standing frozen in place, swallowed hard a few times before finally uttering a hoarse, strained sound:

"Yan'er..."

He raised his head, his usually stern eyes now bloodshot, focusing with difficulty on Meng Xueyan's face:

"Do you really think that your father has not felt even a sliver of love for you?"

The question was abrupt, and even carried a sense of grievance from being forced into a corner.

Meng Xueyan's soul paused slightly, and she looked at him in surprise.

Meng Qingxi seemed to draw strength from her surprise to continue, and her voice was dry as she continued:

"Where do you think all those travelogues, geography books, and even... even those poems and vernacular stories mixed in with historical texts you've seen over the years came from?"

"Without my tacit approval, do you really think your mother could have repeatedly fooled me and secretly brought those things into your room?"