In Ding Zhanyun's eyes, Meng Zhao was her man, the father of her future children, and the one she would rely on in the years to come.
It could be said that he was her everything; she could not tolerate the slightest slander against him.
If she showed no reaction at all to what Ding Yuqin had said and tacitly accepted such remarks, then once word of today's events reached Meng Zhao's ears, how could there be any good outcome for her?
Setting feelings aside, she could not remain completely inactive even from the standpoint of self-interest.
If Meng Zhao had only her as a woman, that would have been one thing. But Meng Zhao had quite a few women, and she was not even the one he favored most. Naturally, she had to seize every opportunity to show her concern and affection for him.
Faced with Ding Zhanyun's forceful and blunt counterattack, Ding Yuqin's expression turned cold. Her blade-like gaze gouged into Ding Zhanyun, and only after a moment did the chill in her eyes fade as she said, "After not seeing you for these past days, Zhan Yun, you've become far more talkative than before. I remember you hardly liked to speak in the past. Did becoming someone's concubine force you to sharpen your tongue?"
Well then, Ding Yuqin was no harmless sort either. She had started provoking them the moment she entered, and now she had escalated to personal attacks.
Her meaning was simple: you, Ding Zhanyun, had always been a dull gourd at home, an insignificant little nobody who could not squeeze out a fart even with three blows of a stick. Now you were so eloquent and sharp-tongued only because you had become Meng Zhao's concubine.
A concubine—this form of marriage was not particularly secure.