She crossed her arms.

"And anyway, if you’re so SURE I wrote it, we can easily check! We can just compare the handwriting! Are you crazy? Handwriting analysis is basic investigative technique!"

Hearing that practical suggestion, even the old Master nodded—that actually made sense.

Samuel, who’d been watching this entire exchange with growing amusement, spoke up: "Actually, Father, I have a letter that my wife wrote to me just yesterday—a list of groceries and household items we needed. We can compare the handwriting from that letter to the anonymous accusation letter."

With that, he reached into his robe and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

Heena just looked at him in complete disbelief. ’You were sleeping with a GROCERIES LIST in your robe pocket?!’

But she didn’t say anything out loud, because honestly, that was the least weird thing happening right now.

Samuel just shrugged his shoulders at her unspoken question, his eyes clearly communicating: ’Because I didn’t want to forget what groceries to buy. I’m practical like that.’

He unfolded both letters and held them up for comparison.

The old Master moved closer to examine them.

And honestly, even Samuel had to pause when he looked at the handwriting on the anonymous letter, his expression becoming complicated.

It was... terrible.

It looked like it had been written by a young child just learning to form characters.

The strokes were uneven, some characters were barely legible, and the overall composition was messy and crude.

Even Heena had to cover her mouth to hide her reaction.

’Okay, fine,’ she thought with internal embarrassment. ’I KNEW the System’s handwriting was bad when I watched him write it. And I even told him to practice and rewrite it properly. And I SAW the final version before he delivered it.’

’But somehow, seeing it now in full daylight, held up next to MY handwriting for comparison...’

’It looks SO much worse. It literally looks like a nursery class student wrote this letter. God, it’s embarrassing.’

The entire assembled crowd was now staring at the two letters.

Heena’s grocery list was written in clear, neat characters—not fancy calligraphy by any means, but competent and legible. The handwriting of someone educated and practiced.

The anonymous letter looked like... well, like a small lion with paws had struggled to grip a brush twice his size and laboriously formed each character through sheer determination and suffering.

The old Master frowned deeply, comparing them carefully.

"These are clearly written by completely different people," he finally announced. "My daughter-in-law’s handwriting is neat and educated. This anonymous letter is..."

He paused, searching for a polite way to describe it.

"...extremely crude and childish. Whoever wrote this has very poor penmanship, possibly limited education, or perhaps some physical impairment that makes writing difficult."

Samuel nodded in agreement. "There’s absolutely no similarity between these two writing styles. My wife clearly didn’t write the anonymous letter."

Maya’s face had gone pale, then red, then pale again as she realized her accusation had completely backfired.

"But—but she could have disguised her handwriting! Or had someone else write it for her!" she protested desperately.

Heena rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, sure. I supposedly orchestrated this entire complex scheme, hired or convinced someone to write an anonymous letter in terrible handwriting, arranged for it to be delivered secretly to Father-in-law’s study, all while knowing it could easily be traced back to me through handwriting analysis."

She looked at Maya with utter contempt.

"Does that sound like something a smart person would do? Because if I WERE going to frame you with an anonymous letter, I’d at least make sure the handwriting couldn’t be easily compared to mine. Use some basic logic, please."

The gathered servants were now openly whispering to each other:

"The young mistress is right... why would she be so stupid if she was really plotting something?"

"And the handwriting really is completely different..."

"The Mistress is just trying to blame someone else for her own behavior..."

"I heard she WAS seen talking to some handsome official in the market..."

Maya could feel public opinion turning against her, and her panic was increasing.

"Then WHO wrote it?!" she shrieked. "Someone is spreading lies about me! Someone is trying to destroy my reputation!"

The old Master, who had been watching this entire exchange, suddenly slammed his hand against a nearby pillar.

"ENOUGH!"

Everyone fell silent.

He looked at Maya with cold fury.

"Whether my daughter-in-law wrote this letter or not is actually IRRELEVANT to the real question: Is the information IN the letter TRUE?"

Maya froze.

"I don’t care WHO told me about your suspicious behavior," the old Master continued, his voice low and dangerous. "What I care about is whether you’ve actually BEEN having secret meetings with this Chen Yifan."

He stepped closer to Maya, looming over her.

"So I’ll ask you directly, wife. Have you met with a man named Chen Yifan? Have you spoken with him privately? Have you been developing a relationship with him behind my back?"

Maya’s face went through several expressions in rapid succession—panic, calculation, defiance, and finally, desperate innocence.

"I... I may have encountered someone by that name," she admitted carefully. "But it was completely innocent! He helped me when I stumbled in the market! We had a brief, polite conversation! Nothing inappropriate!"

"And at the temple?" the old Master pressed. "The letter mentions seeing you at the temple as well."

Maya bit her lip. "I... yes, I happened to see him at the temple. We spoke briefly about... about religious matters. About prayers for your health! It was all completely proper!"

The old Master’s eyes narrowed. "And you didn’t think to mention these encounters to me? Your own husband?"

"I didn’t think they were important enough to mention!" Maya protested. "They were just casual, meaningless conversations!"

"Meaningless?" the old Master roared. "You had multiple private conversations with a young, unmarried official, and you thought they were too meaningless to mention to your husband?!"

He began pacing, his anger building.

"Do you have ANY idea how this looks? How this damages our family’s reputation? People will talk! They’ll say my young wife is carrying on with officials while I’m too old and foolish to notice!"

Maya tried to approach him, reaching out pleadingly. "Husband, please, you’re overreacting—"

"Don’t TOUCH me!" the old Master snapped, yanking away from her reach.

He turned to the assembled servants.

"From this moment forward, my wife is CONFINED to her personal quarters. She is not to leave without my explicit permission. All her movements will be supervised. Any visitors she receives must be approved by me personally."

Maya’s eyes widened in horror. "You can’t—you can’t confine me like a prisoner!"

"I absolutely CAN," the old Master said coldly. "You are MY wife. I have every legal right to control your movements, especially when your behavior has brought shame on this household."

He gestured to two older female servants—trusted household staff who’d been with the family for years.

"You two will serve as my wife’s personal attendants from now on. You will accompany her everywhere. You will report her activities to me daily. If she attempts to leave the household without permission, you will inform me immediately."