The confinement room had no heating, and there was only a thin blanket on the single bed. The meager amount of food she received each day left Liyan quickly growing weak. She caught a severe cold, coughing uncontrollably, with a throat that felt like it was on fire. She didn’t even have the strength to talk to John.

　　Seeing how sick Liyan had become, John begged his mother to let her receive treatment.

　　“She’s faking it. Her goal is to gain your sympathy and make you let her go,” his mother said coldly.

　　John had hoped that Liyan might regain her freedom. He thought his mother was just angry and that once she calmed down, they might both compromise and reach a resolution. But with his wife seriously ill and even his ability to bring her medicine or comfort her being denied, his mother’s relentless stance shattered his hopes.

　　“How long are you planning to keep Liyan locked up?” he demanded.

　　“Has she not given in yet?”

　　“You've already destroyed the evidence. You could just kick her out of Huntington Auction House, making sure she can’t access those artifacts anymore.”

　　“You're too naive. What if she has backups? I can’t take that risk.”

　　“Keeping her locked up won't solve anything. It will only make things worse.”

　　“If Liyan reveals who she’s working for, writes a statement promising not to disclose anything about the auction house, and agrees to leave the UK forever, I’ll let her go.”

　　“What right do you have to force her out of the UK? She’s my wife.”

　　“Your wife will destroy our family.”

　　“Liyan is not our enemy. She just wants the auction house to stop selling stolen artifacts. If you agree to only handle legal business, she won’t do anything to harm the family.”

　　“She’s brainwashed you, hasn’t she? You’re speaking on her behalf?”

　　“No matter what, you’re wrong to keep her locked up.”

　　“I’m wrong? Look at everything you have. It’s because of my secret dealings that you and your sister can live lavishly in the sunlight. Without me, could Katherine run her boutique on Bond Street, attracting no customers? Would you receive a big gift package every Christmas, buying your designs that no one wears? Without me, could you afford to live in a mansion and attend prestigious schools? Would Oxford’s high society even bother to shake hands and make small talk with an unknown like you?”

　　Katherine’s face flushed bright red with embarrassment as she scolded John, “Stop making Mom angry.”

　　“Maintaining this estate alone costs a million pounds a year. With only the commission from legitimate auction items, the auction house nets just 500,000 pounds annually. Without smuggling artifacts, how are you going to keep this place? Are you going to let the Huntington family's century-old legacy slip through your fingers? Can you bear to see us end up like the Saeed, driven out of our home?” Mrs. Huntington manipulated John’s weakness, using moral blackmail.

　　John recalled the look in Saeed’s eyes, the deep, unfathomable despair from being powerless to change his fate. When he felt sympathy for Liyan, he had briefly considered giving everything up and starting over with her. But everything he had was built on being the heir to Huntington Auction House. His struggle with his mother was essentially a battle over economic control and personal freedom, with the former always prevailing and the latter entirely dependent on his mother’s generosity. He stood on the brink of losing it all, with a single misstep leading to total disaster.

　　Mrs. Huntington interrogated John, “Do you want Huntington Manor to end up like other estates in Britain? Hosting thousands of tourists in peak seasons, with strangers pointing at and taking photos of your rooms, while you’re stuck in a rented house in town, only able to return home during the off-season? Are you still the owner of Huntington Manor, or are you just another common gatekeeper?”

　　John was left speechless by his mother’s rebuke, and that night he did not visit Liyan. To John, the wealth within reach was like tepid water to a frog, eroding his will to resist long ago. The Huntington family’s status guaranteed him a privileged life, and while he felt suffocated, he feared losing it even more.

　　John’s youthful rebellion had been his bargaining chip with his mother. Marrying Liyan seemed like his only successful act of defiance, but in reality, she was merely a reward from his mother for his service at the auction house. Liyan had overestimated her influence on John. She had once firmly believed she was his destined one, that John would change for her. Now, she was nothing more than a placebo for when John couldn’t live as he wished. But a placebo has no healing power. Facing significant moral choices, expecting John to betray his family and side with her was far too ambitious.

　　The estate felt like a barge, laden with sins and unable to offload its burdens, its problems too entrenched to resolve. Liyan felt like an insect encased in resin, with the resin hardening, soon she would lose her ability to move and be forever trapped in a delicate “coffin.”

　　If she were to die, how would Mrs. Huntington announce it to the world? Sudden death from severe flu? Suicide due to overwhelming stress? Regardless of the cause Mrs. Huntington chose, Liyan wouldn’t be able to clear her name, as the dead cannot protest.

　　The Huntington family would never allow her cause of death to become a topic of gossip among Oxford citizens. They would certainly use their connections to keep the news tightly under wraps. Even if the news of her death leaked, it wouldn’t be long before it was forgotten, as she had no relatives or real friends in Britain. To them, she was insignificant.

　　No one would probe into the sudden death of an irrelevant person, nor could anyone imagine the suffering she endured before she died. John might grieve for a while, but eventually, he would move on. After all, he was her son. If she died, Liyan realized, the only ones to suffer would be her mother back in China.

　　She couldn’t just sit and wait to die; she had to find a way to save herself!

　　Liyan scanned the room. On the table were three used pencils and a notebook with only half its pages left, suggesting that John had written many apology letters as a child. If she could use a pencil lead to prop the door hatch open while Nanny was bringing in sandwiches, she might be able to control the hatch’s movement. If she could speak to Viara when she came to clean the neighboring room, she might be able to make contact with the outside through her.

　　Liyan waited anxiously for a long time before Nanny finally arrived with the sandwiches. The moment Nanny opened the hatch, Liyan quickly wedged a pencil lead into the bottom of the door. Nanny swiftly shoved a sandwich through the hatch and slammed it shut with a rough, dismissive motion, and Liyan could feel her disdain even through the door. Thankfully, the pencil lead was sturdy and didn’t break. Liyan carefully lifted the pencil lead and gently nudged the hatch open, then used a thicker broken pencil to prop it, creating a small gap. She listened intently, waiting for Viara to pass by.

　　When Viara came to clean the bedroom, Liyan could glimpse her shadow through the gap.

　　“Viara,” Liyan called softly.

　　Viara paused in front of Liyan and John’s bedroom, having heard someone call her name.

　　“Viara,” Liyan called again.

　　Liyan saw the shadow turn around, and Viara was searching for the source of the sound, unable to pinpoint its exact location.

　　“Viara, I’m here!” Liyan whispered urgently, wanting Viara to hear her but afraid of alerting Nanny.

　　Just as Liyan was about to despair, Viara reached the door of the confinement room and asked, “Who’s there?”

　　“It’s me. Viara, crouch down.”

　　Liyan tapped the door hatch with the broken pencil to get Viara’s attention. “There’s a small hatch here. You need to pry it open.”

　　Viara complied. When she opened the hatch, she saw a pair of deep, dark eyes staring back at her. Viara initially thought she had encountered a ghost. After she composed herself and looked closer, she recognized the eyes' owner. “Miss Liyan, what are you doing here? I heard you were ill and hospitalized. I was planning to visit you!”

　　“I’m not ill. I’m being held here under house arrest.”

　　“Why would she do that?”

　　“There’s no time to explain now. Viara, listen carefully: find an excuse to leave the estate and go to Oxford University’s Merton College to see Professor David Lee. Give him this note and ask him to come and rescue me.” Liyan said in one breath, then pushed the note through the hatch. The note read in Chinese: “I am being held under house arrest in the confinement room on the second floor of Huntington Manor. Please come and rescue me, Shen Liyan.” To emphasize the seriousness of the situation, Liyan pricked her finger and pressed a blood fingerprint onto the note.

　　Viara took the note and clenched it tightly. At first, she was a bit startled but soon calmed down. She nodded to Liyan and promised, “I’ll make sure Professor Lee gets it.”

　　Viara hid the note in her wallet and left, claiming she needed to visit a fellow townsman in Oxford. Liyan's only option now was to wait.

　　“Professor David Lee,” Viara said nervously to a student.

　　“The professor is in a meeting right now. Please wait a moment,” the graduate student replied, turning to relay the message to the professor.

　　After a while, Professor Lee emerged from the meeting room and, seeing the anxious Viara, asked, “Are you looking for me?”

　　“Professor, I’ve come from Huntington Manor. Please, you have to help Miss Liyan,” Viara said, tugging at the professor’s sleeve, eager to get him out of the school as quickly as possible.

　　“Calm down and explain. Who are you?” Professor Lee asked, clearly confused.

　　“I’m a maid from Huntington Manor. Miss Liyan said only you could save her.”

　　“What’s happened to Shen Liyan?”

　　“She’s been placed under house arrest by Mrs. Huntington. Here’s a note from her.”

　　Professor Lee took the note. Still skeptical of the unfamiliar Viara, he asked with suspicion, “What does the note say?”

　　“I don’t know. It’s written in Chinese.”

　　Chinese? Professor Lee’s heart sank. He opened the note and recognized Liyan’s handwriting: “Is she still at Huntington Manor?”

　　“Yes.”

　　“Why would Mrs. Huntington place Liyan under house arrest?” The blood fingerprint on the note made him uneasy. Liyan was not someone with a fiery temper; she wouldn’t have left a blood fingerprint unless it was serious.

　　“I don’t know the reason. Miss Liyan has been confined for ten days.”

　　“Mrs. Huntington is a principled person; she wouldn’t just arbitrarily confine Shen Liyan.” Professor Lee was reluctant.

　　“Miss Liyan has always been careful with her words and actions. Professor, please just get her out of there,” Viara pleaded.

　　“I want to help, but this is a matter of the Huntington family’s private affairs,” Professor Lee said, visibly conflicted. “We shouldn’t interfere in other people’s private matters.”

　　“Even if Miss Liyan made a mistake, Mrs. Huntington has no right to confine her,” Viara said, her voice tinged with desperation. “Please, Professor, I beg you.”

　　Students in the meeting room watched in astonishment as the scene unfolded at the door, murmuring among themselves.

　　Feeling embarrassed, Professor Lee finally agreed, “Stop crying. Once the meeting is over, I’ll go with you to Huntington Manor.”

　　Viara smiled through her tears, “Let’s go now, okay?”

　　Professor Lee drove in silence, his face grave. An hour later, they arrived at Huntington Manor.

　　Old Tom, learning of Professor Lee’s purpose, reluctantly opened the door. After driving another mile, they stopped in front of the Huntington villa, where Nanny was waiting at the entrance.

　　“Viara, is this the friend you went to Oxford to see?” Nanny sneered.

　　“Mr. Bryant, I need to see Mrs. Huntington,” Professor Lee said to the butler.

　　“Professor Lee, without an appointment, you’re unlikely to see Mrs. Huntington.”

　　“I need to see my student, Shen Liyan.”

　　“Miss Shen is not at the manor. She’s now Mrs. Huntington’s daughter-in-law. To arrive unannounced and specifically request to see her is rather inappropriate.” Nanny’s insistence put more pressure on Professor Lee.

　　Professor Lee began to regret his abrupt visit to Huntington Manor to meddle in other people’s affairs.

　　“Miss Liyan is in the manor,” Viara suddenly said, sensing his hesitation. “I swear!”

　　“This is not your place to speak,” Nanny’s face momentarily stiffened.

　　“Professor Lee, I know where Miss Liyan is being held,” Viara said fearlessly. “I’ll take you there.”

　　Nanny clenched her fists in frustration, clearly wishing she could tear Viara apart right then and there.

　　Professor Lee stepped between them, blocking Viara. “If Miss Shen is indeed at the manor, then you shouldn’t mind letting Viara lead the way.”

　　“Mrs. Huntington hasn’t given you permission to enter the manor. This is trespassing,” Nanny said firmly.

　　“Then please inform Mrs. Huntington that if Miss Shen is not in the manor, I will personally apologize to her on another day.”

　　Nanny had no choice but to step aside.

　　Professor Lee followed Viara up to the second-floor confinement room.

　　“Miss Liyan!” Viara called out at the door of the confinement room.

　　“Viara, is that you?” Liyan’s voice came through the door.

　　“Yes, and Professor Lee is here too.”

　　From behind the door, Liyan heard Professor Lee instruct Nanny, “Unlock the door and let her out.”

　　Nanny shook her head, “The key is with Mrs. Huntington; I don’t have it.”

　　Professor Lee stood his ground. “You’re holding her illegally. Let her go, unless you want to escalate this matter.”

　　Reluctantly, Nanny retrieved the key and unlocked the door. As it swung open, a rush of fresh air filled the space—freedom was palpable. Viara guided the weak and disheveled Liyan out of the confinement room. Nanny glared at them with contempt. “Don’t think you’ve won anything.”

　　Fuming, Nanny snapped at Viara, “You’re fired. Pack your things and leave the manor.”

　　Viara showed no regret. “I’ve been wanting to leave for a long time,” she said calmly, heading to her room to pack. Once her belongings were gathered, she joined Professor Lee in the car heading back to Oxford.

　　During the drive, Professor Lee remained silent. He brought Liyan to his home, gave a brief explanation to his wife, and then went back to Morton College.

　　Liyan felt a pang of guilt for causing Viara to lose her job. “I’m so sorry for getting you fired.”

　　“Miss Liyan, I’m on my way to London,” Viara said.

　　“You’re leaving Oxford?”

　　“I’ve been planning to leave Huntington Manor for some time,” Viara explained. “Even without today’s events, I would have resigned. I don’t want to spend my life as a maid here. I don’t want to become like Nanny. I’m heading to London—it’s a city full of opportunities.”

　　Liyan looked at the petite yet brave young woman with renewed admiration.

　　Viara smiled. “You’ll wish me well, won’t you?”

　　Seeing the determination in Viara’s eyes, Liyan nodded, fighting back tears. “What are you planning to do in London?”

　　“I’ll start by washing dishes and helping out in the kitchen. In my spare time, I’ll enroll in a cooking class; I want to learn how to make desserts,” Viara said. “Initially, I’ll be staying in a basement apartment in London with some friends from Bulgaria.”

　　At Huntington Manor, Viara had her own room, and the estate covered her living expenses. Though her job was demanding, it wasn’t overly strenuous, and her pay was better than what other Eastern European workers received. Viara knew she’d face challenges in London, but her eyes sparkled with hope, making Liyan feel that she wasn’t just heading to London to struggle but to chase her “British dream.”

　　Viara added, “I’m leaving tomorrow. Even though I don’t know what’s gone on between you and Mrs. Huntington, I’m on your side.”