Oops! The Black Lotus Can’t Be a Female Supporting Character

CHAPTER 47

If Luan’er wasn’t her daughter… then…

Just the thought of that possibility was like a sharp blade stabbing into Madam Yin’s chest. The pain left her breathless.

Fifteen years of raising her daughter flashed before her eyes like a lantern show. Countless memories surged in her mind, leaving her dizzy and disoriented.

Old Master Yin, seated in his wheelchair, closed his eyes wearily. His frailty was unmistakable.

Old Madam Yin gently held his trembling hand, but her eyes remained fixed on their daughter. Her tone was firm and serious: “Ah Wan, whether it’s true or not, you must think back carefully.”

Madam Yin steadied her breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions rising inside her.

Stay calm. That was what her father had always taught her—stay calm, no matter the situation.

She forced herself to recall the past, her voice trembling: “Fifteen years ago, the old Marquis died suddenly…”

At the time, the old Marquis had suffered a humiliating defeat in battle, nearly costing the family its noble title. His lingering injuries and a bitter winter cold finally claimed his life.

Madam Yin’s gaze grew unfocused as her thoughts drifted back to that time: “…The Old Marchioness took the entire household back to our ancestral home in Yanzhou for the funeral. I was already eight months pregnant, and I went along…”

“On the way, we were ambushed by a group of bandits. They surrounded us on both sides. The Old Marchioness tried to offer money to pacify them, but the bandits were ruthless. They weren’t just after wealth—they wanted to seize the women and children. At the slightest resistance, they turned to slaughter. Guards and servants were killed or wounded. I, along with the Old Marchioness, my sisters-in-law, Concubine Cui, and the remaining female members of the family, barely escaped with the help of a few surviving guards—but we were separated from Xiao Yan and the others.”

“We ran all day, exhausted, before finally finding a small village to take shelter in. Perhaps it was the shock and the rough journey, but I went into labor early.”

More and more memories surged forth, even those she had long thought forgotten.

“It was my first child, and the labor was extremely difficult. We were in unfamiliar territory. The midwife we’d prepared didn’t make it—she was killed by the bandits. I completely panicked. Thank heavens, Zhao Momo was with me the whole time…”

She glanced at Zhao Momo, who stood nearby with teary eyes, clearly still shaken by the events of that day.

Since her marriage, Madam Yin had never shared anything but good news with her parents. This was the first time Old Master and Old Madam Yin were hearing about what had truly happened, and their faces grew pale with dread.

“And then?” Old Madam Yin steadied herself and gently asked, “Who helped deliver the baby?”

Madam Yin closed her eyes briefly, trying to recall. Fifteen years had dulled the memories. She had been overwhelmed, terrified—far too distracted to remember the details clearly.

After a pause, she said, “Someone from the Marquis household found a local midwife from the village to help.”

“But even then, the delivery was grueling. I labored for over three hours and passed out from exhaustion…”

Before losing consciousness, she vaguely remembered hearing the loud cries of a newborn and the midwife saying it was a girl. Relieved, she finally let herself slip into sleep.

“When I woke up, the baby was already beside me, wrapped in a bright red swaddling cloth.”

The tiny bundle lay quietly next to her. The baby’s cheeks were rosy, her lashes long and thick like tiny fans, and she slept so peacefully.

Just the sight of her had filled Madam Yin’s heart with warmth.

That memory, though distant, remained crystal clear—especially the image of her daughter’s serene sleeping face.

Madam Yin’s face was pale. After a long silence, she rasped, “Later, I heard Concubine Cui also gave birth to a daughter, just an hour after Luan’er.”

Zhao Momo, her brow furrowed in distress, added urgently: “Madam was exhausted and struggling through labor. The baby just wouldn’t come. The midwife said things weren’t looking good and told me there was an old physician in a neighboring village. I was terribly worried, so I rushed off to get him.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have left her alone, but we’d lost so many people—some dead, some injured, others scattered—there was no one else I could send.”

“When I finally brought the physician back, the young lady had already been born…”

Many members of the household had died in that violent encounter. The mood had been heavy with grief. But the arrival of two newborn girls brought a small glimmer of hope, and soon, Xiao Yan and the others managed to find them.

The Old Marchioness, convinced that Xiao Luanfei was a lucky star, had doted on her ever since.

As Madam Yin recounted the events, Old Madam Yin’s heart sank. She clutched her husband’s hand tightly and noticed how cold his fingers had become.

So that meant…

Despite her dread, she forced herself to ask the question: “After you gave birth… the baby wasn’t kept by your side the whole time, was she?”

The words pierced straight to the heart.

The air in the side hall suddenly felt like it had shifted from early summer to the dead of winter.

“…”

Madam Yin gave the slightest nod, her expression one of unbearable pain.

She couldn’t make a sound. Her vision blurred, and her hands trembled ever so slightly.

It took a long moment before a hoarse, gravelly voice finally escaped her lips: “The birthmark.”

“When I gave birth… just before I lost consciousness, I vaguely remember the midwife saying the baby had a birthmark on the sole of her foot. After I woke up, I held the child and checked—there really was a birthmark.”

Back then, everything was chaos. There weren’t many familiar faces around her, and Madam Yin had feared something might go wrong. But when she saw the birthmark on her daughter’s foot, only then did she truly feel at ease.

Tears welled in Madam Yin’s eyes as she looked helplessly at her parents, as though pleading for them to believe her—for someone to believe her.

But in this moment, it was clear to everyone: even she was starting to waver. Her conviction was crumbling.

She held her breath tightly, her face growing increasingly pale, drained of all color. Her limbs were cold, her entire being teetering on the edge of collapse.

She wanted to believe she wasn’t wrong.

But what if she was?

A sharp pain pierced through her chest, and she struggled to breathe.

Madam Yin’s mother looked at her daughter’s distressed state, heart aching beyond words. She could tell—if this went on, the girl might never recover.

Panicked, she gently patted Madam Yin’s back and turned hurriedly to her husband.

“Ah—!” Old Master Yin let out a long, heavy sigh, pushing down the rising emotions in his chest. The wrinkles on his brow deepened.

“You… you still don’t have that girl’s composure.”

Madam Yin froze, slowly lifting her head to look at him.

Though still weakened by illness, Old Master Yin spoke clearly, though with some effort: “When Nanny Liao visited the marquis’s residence last time… did she see Yanfei?”

She had. Madam Yin nodded slowly, recalling the moment in a daze.

At the time, her mind had been consumed with worry over her father’s illness. She hadn’t paid much attention to anything else… Wait!

“She mistook Yanfei for Luan’er. Called her ‘Miss Eldest Daughter’.” The moment the words left her mouth, Madam Yin’s eyes widened, as if something had suddenly clicked into place.

Could it be that… from just a fleeting misstep and a single slip of the tongue, that girl—Yanfei—had sensed she bore a resemblance to the Yin family?

Meeting her daughter’s stunned and conflicted gaze, Old Master Yin said gravely,

“She’s probably had to ‘ruin her face’ just to protect herself while in the marquis’s household.”

That’s how she’d managed to escape the traps laid by those with hidden agendas.

“Ah Wan… that child, still so young, yet able to face everything with such calm—while you…” Old Master Yin’s voice was full of quiet sorrow.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was Madam Yin’s heavy breathing. From outside, the loud chatter of magpies rang out, jarring and shrill.

Madam Yin looked at her parents with reddened eyes, sorrow etched deep within her gaze. But gradually, her breathing steadied. The tight knot in her chest finally began to ease.

“That child… she must’ve already realized her origins were in doubt,” Old Master Yin murmured. He then raised a trembling hand and beckoned Madam Yin to come closer.

“Ah Wan,” he said gently, patting her hand with affection, his voice low and sincere, “there are some things in life you just can’t run from.”

Madam Yin clenched her fists tightly. Images of Xiao Yanfei flooded her mind—

Her sweet smile…

Her soft voice saying, “I’ll listen to Mother”…

The way she and Xiao Ye leaned their heads together, close as siblings…

Until today, Madam Yin had never once questioned Luan’er’s identity.

After all, Xiao Luanfei looked exactly like someone from the Xiao family—tall and graceful, with arched brows and bright starry eyes. Her features were dignified and refined, and even shared some resemblance to Xiao Ye.

Madam Yin’s eyes stung with dryness. She wanted to cry, but no tears came. Her teeth clenched tightly, and her heart felt as if it were being crushed under an unbearable weight.

No one spoke for a long time. The silence was suffocating.

Eventually, Madam Yin slowly nodded, her gaze growing darker and deeper with resolve.

She didn’t want to believe such a cruel possibility. But her father was right—this wasn’t something she could run from.

If all of this was true, then the one who suffered most wasn’t her.

The one most wronged wasn’t her either.

It was… Yanfei.

Old Master Yin saw the grief and clarity in his daughter’s eyes and felt his heart grow even heavier. He gently patted her hand again and said, “Have someone bring all three children to stay. Just say we’d like them to remain a few more days.”

He exchanged a knowing glance with Madam Yin’s mother.

Even without solid proof, both elders were now almost certain.

Madam Yin’s mother promptly summoned Nanny Liao and gave her a quiet instruction.

Nanny Liao cast a complicated glance at Madam Yin, who looked utterly exhausted, before turning to leave. As she stepped out, she heard Madam Yin’s mother softly consoling her daughter:

“Don’t be afraid…”

“Your father and I—we’ll go with you.”

Nanny Liao let the curtain fall behind her and quickened her pace toward the main hall.

There, silence hung in the air like a thick mist. Not a single sound could be heard.

She spotted Xiao Yanfei and Xiao Luanfei seated separately in two chairs—Yanfei reading a book, Luanfei sipping tea. Neither spoke.

In the stillness, even the tiniest sound felt amplified.

Xiao Luanfei was sipping tea when she heard footsteps. Thinking it was Madam Yin and the others returning, she instinctively set down her teacup and stood—only to see the plump figure of Nanny Liao approaching.

“Nanny Liao,” she greeted with a slight smile. Glancing out at the sun, now mostly hidden beyond the horizon, she spoke with forced calm, “The sun is nearly set, curfew is approaching. Where’s Mother? We should be heading back to the residence.”

Nanny Liao had already composed herself. With a cheerful tone, she said, “The Old Master and Madam haven’t seen you in ten years, Miss. They’ve missed you dearly. They hope you, along with the two young ladies and young master, can stay the night and catch up properly.”

Xiao Luanfei’s smile faltered, her brows gently furrowed. She hesitated. “But…Grandmother is waiting for us back home. She’ll be worried…”

“Miss,” Nanny Liao interjected smoothly, “The Old Master said he’s sure the Old Marchioness will understand. It’s been years since he and Madam have seen their grandchildren.”

“The Old Master has suffered a stroke, and his health has been failing. He simply wishes to enjoy a few days of family reunion.”

She invoked the language of filial piety, leaving Luanfei with no grounds for refusal making her lips pressed tightly together.

But she truly didn’t want to stay.

The uncertainty weighed on her like a guillotine suspended overhead—its chilling edge close enough to feel, yet impossible to know when it might fall.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

Still smiling, Nanny Liao called over a household maid. “Sister Wang” she instructed, “go fetch a few maids and prepare the courtyard for the young ladies and master. The Master and Madam have waited long enough for this day.”

“Yes!” the old maid replied eagerly and bustled off.

“But…” Xiao Luanfei glanced toward the side hall, though from where she stood, she couldn’t see the trio inside. “Mother hasn’t returned for over ten days. Grandmother is already upset. She said—”

“Pfft!”

A soft, tinkling laugh—like a yellow oriole’s trill—suddenly cut her off, breaking the tension in the room.

Xiao Yanfei’s smile bloomed like a flower. “Sister, you’re being a little dramatic.”

Xiao Luanfei: “…”

“We’re at our maternal grandparents’ home. Why would Grandmother be displeased?” Xiao Yanfei gently corrected her, her dimples deepening adorably. “She’s always been wise and kind to her juniors.”

“Nanny Liao, go ahead and prepare things. My sister must be a little tired from the journey. She didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No trouble at all,” Nanny Liao replied with a gracious laugh. “Preparations are already underway. It’ll only take a short while. The Old Master is looking forward to having supper with the whole family.”

As she spoke, Nanny Liao couldn’t help but glance at Xiao Yanfei a few more times.

During their last visit to the capital, she’d merely noted how much Xiao Yanfei resembled the late Old Madam Yin. But plenty of people shared similar features—she hadn’t thought much of it.

Today, however, she sensed something different from her masters’ reactions. A heavy suspicion weighed in her heart.

Steadying herself, Nanny Liao subtly glanced toward the northwest corner of the hall—where a screen stood—and then quietly withdrew.

Once again, only the three siblings remained in the main hall. Silence settled over them.

Xiao Luanfei absentmindedly picked up her teacup, her thoughts drifting to whether she should send a message back to the marquis’s residence.

Just as the cup brushed her lips, Xiao Yanfei’s soft voice interrupted her.

“Don’t be so impatient, Sister.”

“If you act this way, it’ll only make Grandfather and Grandmother feel disappointed. They’ll think—whether born of blood or not, there’s still a difference.” Her tone was gentle, but the words carried a hidden sting.

“…” Xiao Luanfei’s head snapped toward her.

Xiao Yanfei took her time lifting her own teacup. She delicately skimmed away the foam with the lid, utterly at ease.

Xiao Luanfei’s already restless heart twisted tighter, like a hive of hornets buzzing within her chest.

That sentence hit a nerve.

In her past life, when the truth of her birth was revealed, Grandmother and Father were kind—they didn’t want her to suffer. Only her mother insisted on setting things right…

Her mother had never shown her a shred of compassion.

Just because she wasn’t born of her mother’s womb, more than a decade of mother-daughter affection suddenly seemed false.

Xiao Luanfei’s dark eyes grew colder. She stood and walked to the window for some air.

By now, the sun had fully sunk, the last rays of red staining the clouds like blood. The sky was dim and shadowy—just like her mood.

“Sister.”

Xiao Luanfei turned at the sound of Xiao Yanfei’s voice. A few paces away, Xiao Yanfei’s eyes curved like a crescent moon, her smile serene.

“Don’t you want to know when I found out?” she asked softly.

“…?” Luanfei’s pupils contracted.

Could it have been… Nanny Liao?

Xiao Yanfei smoothed her sleeve, her gaze briefly flicking toward the screen in the northwest corner of the hall—beneath which a pair of embroidered slippers peeked out.

She curved her lips slightly and took a step closer to block Luanfei’s line of sight.

“It wasn’t Nanny Liao,” she said calmly, as though reading her thoughts. “I knew even before the Qianfang Banquet.”

Before the Qianfang Banquet? Xiao Luanfei stiffened, staring at her.

“That day,” Xiao Yanfei said, “you deliberately dropped your bracelet outside Qinghui Garden so I’d pick it up.”

“All my life, I’ve been told to yield to you—never to compete, never to outshine. But you’re the illegitimate one., and you still expect me to bow my head?”

“How could I?” Xiao Yanfei took another step forward, her shadow now falling over Xiao Luanfei. “Don’t you agree, Sister?”

Xiao Yanfei was smiling—softly, sweetly, like a spring breeze brushing over a willow branch. Yet once again, Xiao Luanfei felt that same suffocating sense of oppression.

It was just like in her past life.

Xiao Yanfei had been a shadow she could never outrun, looming constantly above her, pressing down until she could never lift her head again.

“I just stepped on it,” Xiao Yanfei tilted her delicate face slightly, a flicker of cold disdain gleaming in her dark eyes.

In that instant, Xiao Luanfei seemed to hear the sound of a bracelet shattering in her ears.

Without thinking, her hand reached for the red-gold filigree bracelet on her left wrist—the one with butterflies and flowers inlaid with rubies. Her heart churned, her emotions completely entangled by Yanfei’s words.

No wonder Xiao Yanfei had broken character so suddenly that day, refusing to bow her head again.

No wonder she’d dared to step on her bracelet.

No wonder she’d acted so boldly, so fearlessly.

So she had known… even back then?!

All this time, she’d treated Xiao Luanfei like a puppet, toying with her as she pleased, watching her every misstep from above like a deity enjoying a performance.

“Sister,” Xiao Yanfei said softly, her smile bright and graceful, “you’ve sat in my place for long enough. It’s time to give it back.”

With a flick of her sleeve, a silver bell no larger than a longan fruit slipped from her cuff and hit the polished marble floor with a dull thud. It rolled and clinked, spinning straight to Xiao Luanfei’s feet.

Ding ding… clink clink…

The delicate silver bell bumped into Xiao Luanfei’s embroidered shoe, then spun around lazily, as if teasing her—mocking her.

“If you pick it up for me,” Xiao Yanfei said with a dazzling smile, her star-like eyes glowing, “I’ll speak on your behalf.”

“I’ll ask Mother not to drive out a concubine’s daughter like you.”

“Sister,” she added sweetly, “does that sound good?”

As she spoke, the dimples at the corners of her lips deepened, and the word “concubine’s daughter” rang especially loud and clear.

Her smile.

Her arrogance.

They stabbed at Xiao Luanfei’s heart like a thousand needles, blinding her with their brilliance. They dragged her mind back to that bitter previous life—where she had been reduced to nothing but a lowly illegitimate daughter.

From that moment on, anyone could trample her.

From then on, no one cared about her joys, her sorrows, her pain.

Her eyes burned red.

Rage surged up like wildfire, searing through her chest and shooting straight to her head. Reason evaporated in the heat of the moment, and before she could think, her hand flew up toward Xiao Yanfei—

“Stop!”

A woman’s voice rang out from behind—gentle, but sharp as a whip.

A figure in pea-green rushed out from behind the screen and threw her arms around Xiao Yanfei’s slender frame, shielding her tightly in her embrace.

Father was right.

You can’t run from the truth. You have to face it head-on.

Only then will you know what’s real and what’s false.

“Yanfei…” Madam Yin called her daughter’s name, her voice trembling, choking with emotion. Her breathing grew rapid as tears spilled uncontrollably from the corners of her eyes.

“…” Xiao Luanfei stood frozen, her face as white as paper.

It was only now that she realized the gravity of what she’d done.

She had let Xiao Yanfei lead her by the nose the entire time—never once denying the words “concubine’s daughter.”

And in silence…

She had accepted it.

A terrifying thought.

Like falling into a bottomless abyss, Xiao Luanfei could feel herself sinking—down and down, endlessly falling into darkness.

She took an instinctive step back.

Her embroidered shoe bumped into the little silver bell still lying on the ground. With a crisp ding-dong, the sound drew everyone’s attention at once.

Her gaze met Madam Yin’s.

And in that moment, everything froze.

She couldn’t help but cry out, “Mother!”

“…” Madam Yin’s lips parted slightly. In the span of a single incense stick, her heart had been dragged through fire and ice—burned, then frozen.

Now, her entire body felt chilled to the bone, a biting cold spreading through her chest.

She stared at Xiao Luanfei, her lips curving into a slow, bitter smile. Her eyes darkened with sorrow and suspicion.

So this is how it is.

No wonder Xiao Luanfei had changed so much lately—becoming secretive, calculating in her words and actions.

No wonder she’d once said, almost casually, that Concubine Cui had arranged a marriage for Xiao Yanfei, and advised her not to meddle.

No wonder, despite all her heartfelt advice, all her earnest warnings—that Xiao Luanfei and the Crown Prince were not a good match, that their statuses were worlds apart—there had never been the slightest flicker of regret in the girl’s eyes.

So she had known all along—

She wasn’t my daughter!

She had been planning her escape from the very beginning!

Madam Yin’s heart, already riddled with wounds, felt as if it had been stabbed once more—this time, straight through. The cold smile at the corner of her lips slowly twisted into something deeper… something aching with unspeakable sorrow.

Fifteen years.

For fifteen years, she had lived like a fool—

A walking, breathing joke!

Madam Yin drew in a long, trembling breath and said, slowly and coldly.

“Don’t call me Mother.”

***