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Chapter Text

Ｎｏ．１→❄️🥼𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞

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₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

You sat quietly on the front porch, knees tucked to your chest, the wood creaking faintly beneath you. Today wasn’t a good day.

Firstly, it was your mother’s death anniversary—what made it worse was that you were the only one who remembered.
Or, at least, the only one who acknowledged it.

You were four when she passed away, an illness stealing her breath piece by piece until she was nothing more than a fading memory in the corners of your mind. You remembered the smell of medicine, the soft touch of her hand, and the way she smiled even when she was in pain. And then—she was gone.

Your father made a grand display of grief. To the neighbors, to distant relatives, to anyone who would listen, he wore sorrow like a cloak, speaking of her in heavy tones, eyes glassy with crocodile tears. But when the doors closed and no one lingered to watch, his expression lightened. He laughed with your uncle—his own brother—about finally being free, about marrying some western woman named Cassidy Mae or whatever her name was.

At first, you thought he was bluffing. A child’s imagination can run wild, and you were only four.
But people often underestimate children. They think they don’t understand, that they don’t notice the sharp edges of truth buried between lies. Parents pull the tired excuse: “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

No.
You understood even then.

Because not long after, she arrived. A woman with hair like spun gold, eyes the color of the summer sky, and skin pale as porcelain. Cassidy. You saw it instantly—in the way your father hovered near her, in how his voice softened when he spoke to her. She wasn’t just a stranger. She was your mother’s replacement.

By the time you turned five, your father had married her, and Cassidy was already pregnant. The household shifted around her like a flower bending toward the sun, and you—his daughter—were left in the shadows.

It didn’t happen all at once. It was slow, deliberate, like erosion. A missed meal here, a forgotten birthday there. Her laughter filling the halls where your mother’s lullabies used to linger. And with every passing day, you were pushed further away—piece by piece—until you wondered if you were ever wanted at all.

When Cassidy’s daughter—Cheyyenne—was born, it broke your heart even more.

Because that was the day you were erased.

No one said it aloud, but you felt it in every glance, every word left unsaid. The servants who once fussed over you now crowded around the crib. Your father, who had already begun to forget you, no longer even pretended. He held the baby with pride, kissed Cassidy’s forehead, and laughed as though the past had never existed.

And you stood in the doorway, watching. Invisible.

At five years old, you learned what it meant to be unwanted. The toys once gifted to you were passed on to her; the clothes you wore, replaced by silks and frills that belonged to Cheyyenne. At meals, your father’s eyes never strayed in your direction—only to the pale-haired infant bouncing in her mother’s lap. When guests arrived, he introduced Cassidy and her daughter with such devotion that it made your stomach turn.

But worst of all, it wasn’t just neglect. It was dismissal. You weren’t scolded, or corrected, or punished—you were simply… forgotten. As if your existence had been an accident that he no longer cared to acknowledge.

And the cruelest part?
You loved Cheyyenne.

You couldn’t help it. She was your little sister, a baby who would reach for your hand, giggle when you peeked around the cradle, tug at your sleeve when she wanted comfort. You gave her what you could, even as your own heart ached. But every smile she gave you felt like another knife, because while she was cherished, you were nothing more than a shadow in your own home.

That was when the quiet bitterness began to settle deep in your bones. Not loud, not raging—but quiet, like a chill you couldn’t shake.

Once Cassidy noticed you lingering around the baby, her smile slipped.

At first, she played the doting mother, but her eyes narrowed every time she caught you hovering near the crib, every time Cheyyenne’s tiny hands reached out for you instead of her. You weren’t supposed to be there—this wasn’t your place anymore.

“Don’t touch her,” Cassidy said one afternoon, her voice sickly sweet but her grip iron as she pulled Cheyyenne from your arms. “She doesn’t need… confusion. You’ll upset her.”

Confusion? You were her sister. But to Cassidy, you were an intruder.

From then on, she made it clear: you weren’t welcome near her daughter. If she caught you peeking into the nursery, she shut the door in your face. If she found you playing with Cheyyenne, she whisked the baby away, whispering poisonous words to your father about how you were “too clingy, too desperate for attention.”

And your father believed her.

He didn’t ask if it was true. He didn’t ask you at all. He simply stopped you with a raised hand and a sharp look whenever you tried to protest. “Leave Cassidy to handle her child,” he told you. Her child. Not your sister.

That was the moment you understood.

Cassidy wasn’t just replacing your mother.
She was erasing you, too.

Piece by piece, the space you had in that house—your place at the table, your father’s glance, even your right to comfort your sister—was taken from you until all that was left was silence.

You still remembered that night vividly.

You were seven years old. Cassidy was turning two, her birthday a grand affair at the dinner table, the servants bustling to and fro, your father beaming as though he’d been given a new life.

The dishes laid out were nothing like the food your mother once made. Western meals filled the table—roast meats, pale breads, and desserts decorated with fruits you barely recognized. The air smelled foreign, unfamiliar, and so far from the warmth you once knew.

You tried to swallow, but the food was bland to your tongue. Lifeless. Tasteless. You stared at the dessert set before you, the fruit glistening atop the cream. A fruit you knew would make you sick.

You opened your mouth to protest, timid at first: “I… I can’t eat this. I’m allergic.”

But your father waved you off, his smile still fixed on Cassidy and her child. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s just food.”

His dismissal burned more than the taste. You felt it—that invisible wall that kept pushing you further and further away. His gaze, once yours as a daughter, now belonged to Cassidy and her western life. His western wife. His western child.

And you? You were too Chinese for him. A reminder of a woman he’d buried and forgotten.

The tears came before you could stop them, hot and stinging. You sobbed, words tumbling out in broken cries as you clutched your chest, begging him to believe you.

That was when it happened.

Cassidy’s hand cracked across your face. Sharp. Shocking. The sting lit your skin like fire.

The entire table went silent. You froze, your small hand flying to your cheek, eyes wide with disbelief. It was the first time anyone had ever struck you.

And your father—he didn’t move. He didn’t scold her. He didn’t shield you. He just sat there, his expression unreadable, allowing Cassidy to lower her hand as if nothing had happened.

Your cries grew louder then, not just from the pain in your cheek, but from the hollow realization settling into your bones.

No one at that table would protect you.
Not even him.

You couldn’t stay at the table after that.

Your small legs carried you out of the dining hall, stumbling down the corridor as sobs tore from your throat. The sting of Cassidy’s hand still burned on your cheek, but worse than that was the hollow ache in your chest—the knowledge that your father had sat there, unmoving, as though you deserved it.

You ran until your lungs hurt, until your tears blurred the lanterns into smudges of gold against the night. Finally, you collapsed against the steps of the back courtyard, curling into yourself, shaking with every breath.

That was where Xiao Ling found you.

She had served your family since before you were born, her hair now streaked with silver, her hands calloused from decades of labor. She moved slowly but with purpose, and when she saw you, her eyes softened with the kind of warmth you thought you’d never feel again.

“Oh, my poor little miss…” she murmured, crouching down beside you.

You tried to speak but could only hiccup between sobs, your voice breaking as you stammered, “She—she hit me. F-father didn’t… he didn’t—”

Xiao Ling hushed you gently, drawing you into her arms, her embrace firm but tender. She rocked you slowly, the way a mother might. “I know, child. I know. You don’t deserve this.”

Her words undid you completely. You buried your face against her shoulder, clutching at her sleeve like you would drown without it.

That night, she cleaned your face, pressed a cool cloth to the redness on your cheek, and fed you warm congee she had kept aside, food that tasted of home.

And as you drifted into sleep on her lap, you thought that maybe—just maybe—someone in this world still remembered you.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Now, at the soft age of twenty-one, Xiao Ling no longer lived.

The years had not been kind to her. Her back bent further with each season, her steps slowed, and her voice grew faint. And yet, she had been steady, always there—until the day she simply wasn’t.

When she passed, you and the other servants did what your father would not: you buried her. Not in the family shrine, where she rightfully deserved a place after a lifetime of loyal service, but in the commoners’ cemetery beyond the city gates. A simple grave. A modest stone. No honor, no grand mourning.

But you went. You carried her with your own hands, stood with the handful of others who wept quietly, and lowered her into the earth with the reverence of a daughter.

And from that day on, every Saturday, you visited her.

You never brought wine—she hated the bitterness of it. Instead, you carried a steaming bowl of spicy congee, the very comfort she used to make for you when you were small and broken. You set it by her grave, the fragrance rising into the air as if to reach her, whispering into the silence: I remember you. I love you still.

It was the only place you felt peace. In front of her stone, you could cry without shame, speak without fear, and laugh without being silenced.

Here, you weren’t forgotten.
Here, you were someone’s child.

Cheyyenne—now nineteen years old—had become her mother’s mirror.

Pretty, yes. Blonde hair, pale skin, eyes that sparkled whenever she got what she wanted. To outsiders, she was the darling daughter, Cassidy’s pride, your father’s joy. But behind closed doors?

She was cruel. Just like her mother.

Rude words dripped from her tongue like venom, never caring who she stung. She struck you whenever the whim struck her—shoving past you in the hall, slapping your hand away from food, even pulling your hair once when you didn’t move quickly enough.

The worst part was the way she smiled when she did it. A sharp, gleeful little grin, as if hurting you was her favorite game.

And your father? He only laughed. “Sisters quarrel. Don’t take it so seriously.”

But it wasn’t quarreling. It was bullying. It was cruelty.

You’d learned long ago not to fight back—not because you were weak, but because no one would stand on your side. Every bruise, every insult, every little cut of her sharp tongue became something you swallowed quietly.

By twenty-one, you were used to it. The sting of her hand, the sting of her words. You bore it all in silence, because you had learned the truth long ago: in this house, there was no place for you.

Not as a daughter.
Not as a sister.
Not even as a human being.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

“You want us to marry off our daughter?” your father asked, brows arched as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

Mr. Li smiled faintly, sipping his tea with unhurried grace. “Of course. She’s a very sweet girl. I remember her as a child—she got along quite well with Shen-er.”

Your father blinked, clearly confused. “But Cheyyenne wasn’t even born then… wait, you’re not suggesting—”

Cassidy slammed her chopsticks down, her painted lips tightening into a scowl. “There is no way we’re handing off her to you,” she spat, her gaze sliding toward you with thinly veiled disgust. “Why not our youngest? She’s just as regal, just as disciplined. A perfect little sweetheart—”

“I’m afraid not.”

The interruption came sharp and cold from Mrs. Li. Her eyes—keen and merciless—cut across the table, silencing Cassidy at once. She tilted her head ever so slightly, her lips curving in something like a smile, though it never touched her eyes.

“Our son doesn’t like…” she paused deliberately, her gaze flicking to Cheyyenne with a hint of disdain, “blondes.”

Cassidy’s face twitched, but Mrs. Li wasn’t finished.

“And those blue eyes…” she leaned back in her chair, her voice dripping with contempt, “might frighten him. He might think she’s a beast.”

The words hung in the air, sharp enough to draw blood.

Cheyyenne’s mouth opened in protest, but your father silenced her with a raised hand. His jaw clenched, his eyes darting between the Lis and you, as though he were calculating what you were worth.

And you?

You sat frozen, hands in your lap, your heart pounding. For once, Cassidy’s outrage wasn’t directed at you, and Cheyyenne’s perfect mask had cracked. For once, someone had chosen you—not because they loved you, not because they cherished you, but because fate had twisted the game in your favor.

You felt a flicker of hope, small and fragile, but warm enough to make your chest ache.

Maybe—just maybe—you’d finally be free.

Free from Cassidy’s sharp tongue and cruel hands. Free from Cheyyenne’s constant torment. Free from a father who had long forgotten you, and a household that had spent your entire life erasing your existence.

The Lis’ calm authority, the way they spoke your name with respect, the thought of being somewhere new—somewhere that wasn’t filled with judgment and neglect—made your chest tighten in a strange mix of fear and longing.

For the first time in years, you allowed yourself a quiet smile, one that didn’t need to be hidden behind bowed eyes or trembling lips.

Freedom wasn’t guaranteed. The Lis were distant, their son—Li Shen—was cold, silent, and unyielding, from what you’d heard. But even if he was a wall of ice, even if your new life was uncertain and lonely, it was still a life your own.

And that alone was enough to spark hope.

Chapter Text

Ｎｏ．2→❄️🥼𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲?

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₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Cassidy and Cheyyenne’s glares pinned you to your seat, sharp and cruel, like knives pressing into your skin. You felt so small, so out of place at that table, your hands trembling in your lap.

You pushed back your chair, desperate to slip away unnoticed—only for Mrs. Li to suddenly catch your hand. Her grip was warm, steady.
“Stay by me,” she murmured, guiding you to sit at her side.

Your heart pounded. You didn’t belong here. You didn’t belong anywhere.

“What do you think of our boy, Shen-er?” Mrs. Li asked, her voice gentle, her gaze kind.

“I…” Your lips parted, but Cassidy’s icy stare froze the words in your throat. Terrified, you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to speak.

“I don’t think he is her type,” your father said flatly, as if you weren’t even in the room.

Cheyyenne snickered, her tone dripping with cruelty. “She’s too clumsy. She’d only ruin Medicine Master Li’s life.”

Your breath caught, and your chest tightened. The urge to cry pressed at your eyes, but you swallowed it down.

Mrs. Li’s hand tightened around yours. “No,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the tension like steel. “She’s exactly what our son needs.”

Silence fell over the table. You stared at your trembling hands, terrified to even breathe—while Li Shen, the man at the heart of it all, wasn’t even there.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

When the Lis finally departed, the air in the house shifted.

You barely had time to breathe before Cassidy’s heels clicked back into the dining room. Cheyyenne trailed behind her, smirking like a cat ready to watch a mouse suffer.

Cassidy’s hand went straight to the polished wooden spoon she always favored. Not for cooking. Not for tasting. For you.

The sight alone made your stomach twist. You’d learned long ago to dread that spoon more than any knife or harsh word—it stung, it bruised, and it lingered.

“You embarrassed us,” Cassidy hissed, twirling it between her fingers like it was a weapon. “Silent and stupid in front of the Lis. Do you want to ruin everything?”

Cheyyenne’s laugh was sharp and mocking. “Maybe Medicine Master Li will take care of her for us.” She leaned closer, her blue eyes gleaming with spite. “I heard he’s cold and mean. He won’t be able to stand her.”

The words pierced deeper than Cassidy’s weapon ever could. Cold and mean. You pictured it for just a second—his stern face, his silence, his hand pushing you away.

Maybe Cheyyenne was right. Maybe you weren’t escaping at all. Maybe you were just trading one cage for another.

Cassidy raised the spoon.

Cassidy raised the spoon, her lips curling into that familiar, cruel smile.

The first strike landed across your arm with a sharp crack. You bit your lip, choking back a cry. Showing weakness only made them more gleeful.

“Look at her face,” Cheyyenne sneered, watching you flinch. “She’s pathetic already. Medicine Master Li will hate her.”

The second blow fell, harder this time. The sting burned through your sleeve, your skin throbbing. You shut your eyes, trying to pretend you were somewhere else. Anywhere else.

“I heard he doesn’t speak much,” Cheyyenne went on, circling you like a vulture. “Cold. Strict. He won’t be able to stand her silly little crying.”

Another strike. This time you gasped, your voice cracking despite yourself.

Cassidy clicked her tongue, as if scolding a child. “Pathetic. If you shame us after the Lis take you in, don’t expect to crawl back here.”

You shivered, your mind racing.
Cold. Strict. Mean.
Would Li Shen’s silence cut deeper than Cassidy’s cruelty? Would his indifference be worse than her blows?

The spoon cracked down once more, and you stumbled to the floor. Tears blurred your vision.

“Maybe,” Cheyyenne said sweetly, crouching to meet your eyes, “he’ll send you back. Then you’ll really have nothing.”

Her words clung to you tighter than the pain.

For the first time, you weren’t sure if marriage to Li Shen was freedom at all… or just the beginning of a new kind of suffering.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

That night, as you gathered your thin cushions for bed, the floor creaked behind you.

Your father stepped into the room. You froze, clutching the stack of blankets to your chest. For so long, he had been a stranger—more a figure looming in your life than a parent. Since your mother’s death, he rarely looked at you, rarely spoke to you. His words, when he did, were curt. Empty.

But now, he stood there, silent, his eyes locked on your swollen cheek.

He crossed the room and sat down beside you, his presence heavy, almost unfamiliar. Without explanation, he lifted a damp cloth and pressed it gently to your face.

You flinched at the cool touch, startled, confused.

“Su MC,” he muttered softly.

The sound of your name in his voice—it unraveled something inside you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself not to cry. Because for one fragile moment, he felt like your father again.

FLASHBACK—

“Oof!” Your tiny body had hit the dirt with a thud, pain shooting through your cheek. At four years old, the world was already so big, and you were so small.

“Dadda!” you sobbed, scrambling as tears blurred your vision. “Th-the ground bit my cheek!”

Strong arms had scooped you up then, lifting you high against his chest. His embrace was warm, his voice firm but tender.
“Shh… Su MC, you’ll be alright,” he murmured, rocking you gently.

Through your tears, you saw him glance down at the dirt path with exaggerated anger.
“Why did you bite my precious baby?” he scolded the ground, and for a second, your sobbing hitched into a wet giggle.

He kissed the sore spot on your cheek, carrying you back inside. Setting you down on the wooden table, he ran a towel under cool water, humming as if this was a ritual he knew well.

“Now, now… let me see,” he said, smiling softly as he dabbed your flushed cheek. “Shh, MC. Daddy will fix it.”

Back then, you had believed him. You had trusted that he always would.

“Father…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“MC,” he said, and for the first time in years, he smiled at you. A tired, broken smile.
“I’m an asshole.”

You blinked at him, stunned. Yes, you agreed. He was. He had been. But hearing him say it out loud left you feeling… different. Strange. Your heart squeezed, uncertain whether to accept or recoil.

You waited, your breath caught in your throat.

“I’ve been neglecting you,” he admitted, his voice low, heavy with something you couldn’t name. “I’ve been a horrible father to you.”

The cloth in his hand stilled against your cheek. His eyes, once so distant, finally looked into yours. And for a flicker of a moment, you saw guilt there—real and raw, carved into the lines of his face.

Your chest tightened. All those years of silence, of being pushed aside for Cassidy and Cheyyenne, of watching him smile only for them. And now… this.

The words you had dreamed of hearing as a child were here at last. But they didn’t feel the way you had once imagined.

They felt too late.

He pressed the cloth to your cheek until it was barely damp, the motion almost frantic—like a man trying to stitch together something frayed beyond repair.

“Please,” he said, voice breaking in a way you’d never heard from him. “Please, please marry Li Shen. It’ll save you.”

The words landed like a hand on your chest. Save you. Not for himself, not for redemption—save you.

You stared at him, dumb with the suddenness of it. Your mind scattered: Li Shen’s cold face you’d only ever heard of, the Lis’ calm insistence, Cassidy’s spoon—everything crashing back like a tide. You wanted to run; you wanted to cling to him and beg him not to send you away. Instead, your throat tightened and you found you couldn’t form a protest.

He laughed once, a short, broken sound, then looked at you as if seeing you for the first time in years. “I didn’t realize… I’ve forgotten that… you are my child too.” His fingers trembled against the cloth. “I— I buried myself in things I shouldn’t have. I let them—” He swallowed hard. “I let them take you.”

Your chest ached with the shape of those words. The confession had the bright, terrible honesty of a wound opened. You’d wanted him to be sorry; you’d wanted him to come back. You hadn’t expected this rawness, this urgent pleading to be the price of his remorse.

“Stay away from me,” he added suddenly, almost fiercely, and it sounded like the strangest kind of prayer. “So… I don’t hurt you anymore. So I don’t let them hurt you.”

The sentence confused you at first—then it stung. Stay away. As if distance could be the balm for everything he’d failed to protect you from. As if absence could undo years of neglect. There was protection in it, yes, but it felt like a hollow kind: protection through exile.

You looked at his face—lines you’d never noticed before carved around his mouth; guilt and fear pooled in his dark eyes. He seemed smaller than you remembered, not because his frame had shrunk, but because the man who had once scooped you up from a scraped knee had been replaced by someone who’d been too cowardly or blind to keep you. Now that he saw you, he wanted to fix it by pushing you away.

Something inside you broke and soothed at the same time. You should have been furious. You should have thrown the damp cloth at his face and demanded years of apologies. Instead, memory softened you: Xiao Ling’s warm hands, the congee at her grave, the little moments when kindness had been doled out in secret. You had longed—so often—for release from this house. For safety, for space to breathe.

“Will… they—will they be kind?” you asked at last, voice a whisper. It was a ridiculous question; you already knew the answer could be anything. Your father closed his eyes as if the act of thinking of the Lis caused him pain.

“They are… respectable,” he said slowly. “Their son is a medicine master. Cold, yes. Quiet. But respectable. They will provide for you. It’s better than remaining here—Cassidy, Cheyyenne… they will never change.” His words were plain, stripped of any attempt to dress them in comfort. He was offering you a lifeboat and admitting he had failed to build you a home.

Tears that you had tried so hard to hold back slipped free. You felt both abandoned and relieved, like someone had simultaneously pulled a splinter you’d borne for years and planted another, strange stone in its place. Freedom tasted complicated.

“Please,” he said again, softer this time. “I’ll make the arrangements in the morning. I’ll sign whatever is needed. Go. Be safe. Don’t look back.”

You imagined leaving that night—slipping away from the house that had felt like a cage for decades. You thought of Xiao Ling’s grave, of the congee steaming in the cool morning air, of the tiny, steady love the old woman had offered when the rest of the world failed you. You thought of Li Shen: a name spoken like frost, a man shaped by reputation and absence.

You nodded once, so small it could have been missed. “Okay,” you breathed. Your voice sounded like a leaf caught in an autumn wind.

He exhaled as if relieved, though you did not know if it was at your answer or at the act of finally saying the thing he had avoided for so long. He pressed his forehead to yours for a moment—as if to memorize the shape of your face—and then, in the same motion, rose and left the room.

You sat there a long time afterward, the damp cloth cooling on your cheek, the bruise already forming beneath it. The house outside was quiet; the servants’ footsteps faded. Your father’s footsteps faded too. You touched your face and tasted the strange mix of hope and dread on your tongue.

You were leaving.
But would you be going to safety—or merely a different kind of cage?

He breathes as if the confession has been lodged in his chest for years, and when it comes out it comes in ragged, stumbling pieces that make the room tilt.

“I never loved her,” he says, voice low enough that it feels like the words were meant only for the floorboards. “Not the way a man should love the woman he married.” He swallows. “You—” His hand hovers near your face, then drops. “You were the first thing in my life that… made me a father. You made me one. Before you—I didn’t know how. You changed me.”

You feel the world compress around that sentence. For a second you imagine the little boy you once were—small, clumsy, trusting—sliding into the memory of the man sitting across from you. The man who’d scooped you up from scraped knees; the man who now admits he had been blind.

“I didn’t love her like that,” he repeats, and there is a cracked honesty to it that makes your stomach twist. “I loved Cassidy in a different way. I thought she fixed the loneliness I had, the… emptiness. I thought marrying her would be simple happiness. I was wrong.” His laugh is bitter. “I let her make the house hers. I let them make you small.”

Heat rises in your throat—anger, humiliation, relief, grief; it’s all knotted together so tightly you can’t tell which strand will snap first. “So you let her hit me?” you hear yourself whisper and hate the tremor in your voice. “You let her—”

“I allowed it,” he says, flinching at the truth as if it hurts him in the moment. “Not because I didn’t care—because I was scared. Scared of losing the life I’d built with her. Scared of the scandal. Scared of being alone. I told myself I would bear it if that kept you safe from worse. I lied to myself until I could not tell the lie from the truth.”

He meets your eyes then and the confession turns to a plea. “You didn’t deserve it. None of it was your fault. You are my child. You were my first—” His voice breaks, and the plainness of the words makes them more terrible and more precious. “You were the one who taught me what it meant to be a father. I failed you by forgetting that.”

You want to shake him, to demand why he let love for another woman justify your erasure. Instead, you hear him go on, softer, ashamed. “I love Cassidy. I loved her for things I thought I wanted. I do not excuse what I did. But love made me cowardly. I thought if I kept the peace, if I kept smiling in public, then everything could be managed. I let her hurt you. I let Cheyyenne—my other child—be used as a mirror of what I wanted to see, rather than what was right.”

He rubs his face with a palm as if trying to wipe away years. “And yet—seeing you and Cheyyenne at odds… it broke me in ways I did not expect. I loved one and ignored the other and I resented you for being the reminder of something I could not fix. That resentment poisoned everything. I am sorry. I am so... sorry.”

The room is silent except for the quiet rasp of his breathing. You press a hand to the bruise and feel the faint pulse beneath. You listen to the tremor in his words and to the honesty that has been wrung out of him like water from a rag. It’s a confession, but it is not absolution. He does not ask you to forgive him; he merely offers the truth like an offering, small and tremulous.

You remember Xiao Ling’s hands, the congee, the small kindnesses that kept you breathing. You remember Cassidy’s spoon and Cheyyenne’s laugh. You feel the years—every neglect, every shove—stacked like stones inside your chest. The man before you unburdens himself and the burden is not suddenly lighter.

“I will make arrangements in the morning,” he says finally, voice steadier now from the act of speaking. “I will sign it. I will see you off if you want. Maybe—” He stops, as if afraid to promise more. “Maybe distance will keep you from being hurt more by them. I cannot take back what I have done, but I will not be the one to let them hurt you further.”

You look at him. You see the guilty lines in his face, the years of compromise wearing him thin. You see a man who loved the wrong thing and paid for it by losing his way. Your throat closes around both pity and loathing.

“Will you ever try to fix it?” you ask, voice quiet, more a test than a demand.

He closes his eyes. “I will try,” he says. “Not to take you back—perhaps you never could be—but to not be the coward who let this happen. I’ll write letters. I’ll send help if you need it. I’ll visit if they let me. It’s not enough, but it’s all I can give now.”

It’s imperfect, too late, and painfully human. You nod once—the motion small but decisive—and for the first time that night, something like an answer settles in your ribs. You will leave. You will go because there is no place for you here, and because somewhere in the ache, your father’s confession has loosened the last thing holding you—obligation born of silence.

You press the damp cloth to your cheek again, tasting salt. The bruise throbs, but beneath the pain is the strange, fragile thing that has been growing since his first unwilling words: not forgiveness, not yet—but a sliver of peace that perhaps, after all, you might survive this and build a life that is yours.

Your voice comes out small, trembling, almost like the child you once were instead of the person who has learned to build armor over wounds.

“C-Can I have a hug?” you sniffled, staring at him through wet lashes.

For a heartbeat, his face crumples—shock, regret, and something like fear all twisting together. His hands twitch at his sides before he finally moves, hesitant, as if afraid you’ll vanish if he reaches too quickly.

Then his arms are around you—warm, heavy, unfamiliar yet achingly needed. He smells faintly of tobacco and old cologne, of nights spent pacing halls instead of coming to your room. He holds you tight, one hand at the back of your head, the other pressed protectively to your back. His breath hitches against your hair.

“I don’t deserve this,” he whispers, voice cracking. “But I swear—” His chest shakes as if the words are too much. “I swear I’ll hold you as long as you’ll let me.”

You press your cheek against him, the bruise stinging against his shirt, and for a moment—just one fragile moment—you let yourself melt into the hug. You let yourself be small, be the child he should have cherished all along.

And in that embrace, broken and imperfect, there is both mourning for the years lost and a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you are not invisible to him anymore.

Would you like me to expand this moment into a full flashback scene—like blending it with the earlier childhood memory of him picking you up when you scraped your knee—so the hug carries even more weight?

Chapter Text

Ｎｏ．3→❄️🥼“𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞.”

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₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Mrs. Li’s visits became more and more frequent after the discussion of the marriage. She was everywhere—coming in with swatches of silk, bringing herbal soups, and fussing over every little thing as though she had already claimed you as her daughter.

Today, she arrived with a tailor in tow. But the moment the poor man set down his measuring tools, Mrs. Li snapped her fan shut with a sharp crack.

“No. Out.”

The man blinked, bewildered.

She turned to him with her sharpest smile, voice dripping with finality. “Only one man is allowed to touch her, and that is Shen-er. I’ll do this myself.”

And just like that, she shooed him away.

You stood there frozen, heart pounding as Mrs. Li herself came around you, gently tugging at the fabric of your sleeve, adjusting your posture, wrapping the measuring cord around your waist. She hummed under her breath, eyes narrowing as if every inch of you needed her personal approval.

From the side of the room, Cheyyenne glared with such venom it could curdle milk. Cassidy crossed her arms, lips pressed in a thin, displeased line. You could see her whisper something to Cheyyenne, who immediately started forward—probably ready with one of her usual sharp comments.

But your father’s hand shot out, firm on her shoulder, pulling her back.

“Stay put,” he ordered lowly. His face was unreadable, but his grip didn’t loosen when she squirmed.

You lowered your gaze, cheeks warming under Mrs. Li’s scrutiny, but for the first time, someone had drawn a line—and that line was firmly on your side.

Mrs. Li glanced over at Cassidy and Cheyyenne, her smile turning razor-edged. “Don’t worry yourselves,” she said sweetly. “From today onward, she’s under my care.”

Mrs. Li pulled the measuring cord taut around your waist, humming thoughtfully. “Mm, perfect. Shen-er will be pleased,” she said, her tone casual, as if the wedding was already written into the heavens.

Cheyyenne scowled. Cassidy’s lips thinned to a single line.

When Mrs. Li glanced at them with that sly, victorious smile, it felt like a battlefield where you were the prize. But then… your gaze flickered past her shoulder.

Your father.

He stood near the wall, one hand still gripping Cheyyenne’s shoulder to keep her from speaking out. But his other hand trembled faintly at his side, clenched too tightly into a fist. His jaw worked, as if words were caught in his throat.

And then you saw it.

The glimmer of wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes.

He turned his head quickly, pretending to study the fabric bolts spread across the table, but you knew. You knew.

Because this was the first time he’d seen someone—someone with real power—treat you like you mattered. The first time anyone had openly chosen you over Cassidy, over Cheyyenne.

His first baby. His first child. The one he had cast aside, now being carefully measured and spoken for as though precious.

You bit your lip, trying to steady yourself as Mrs. Li tucked her measuring cord back into her sleeve. She patted your shoulder warmly, whispering just for you:

“You’re not alone anymore, little bride.”

Your father’s shoulders shook once—just once—as he turned his face away from the room. 

Your father’s eyes lingered on you as Mrs. Li tightened the measuring cord around your wrist. He should’ve been thinking about fabric or propriety, but instead—unbidden, like a wound tearing open—he remembered.

The little pitter-patter of bare feet against the polished wood floors. So faint, so quick, always just before dawn.

He remembered how you used to waddle down the hall, clutching a tiny blanket, hair sticking in every direction from restless dreams. You were three, maybe four, so small your shadow barely reached the doorframe.

The night was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of crickets outside. He and your mother had been lying on opposite sides of the bed—your mother asleep, him staring at the ceiling—when he heard your little knock. Soft. Hesitant.

“Mamaa? Dadda?”

Your mother stirred first. “Yes, MC?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

“I’m scawed…” you whispered, voice quivering as you pushed the door open just wide enough for your tiny face to peek in.

Your father sat up immediately, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What’s wrong, little one?”

You shuffled in, dragging your blanket behind you, eyes wide with terror. “The shadows awe alive!” you cried. “They—they awe chasing meee!”

Your father gasped, dramatic and sharp, as though this were the most grievous news he’d ever heard. “The shadows? How dare they!” He slapped the mattress, climbing out of bed in a flurry. “That’s my baby they’re chasing. Unforgivable!”

Your lip wobbled, but you couldn’t help giggling when he puffed out his chest like a great general about to march to war.

“I’ll take care of this,” he declared, snatching up the candle from the nightstand. He held it high, the flame bobbing wildly, his expression fierce. “Stay here with Mama. I’ll chase the monsters away!”

“Okay, Dadda!” you cheered, scrambling into the bed and burrowing against your mother’s side.

Your father stormed dramatically down the hallway, candlelight spilling over every corner, shouting things like:

“Begone, foul shadows!”
“You dare to frighten my daughter?!”
“I’ll tear you apart, you cowards!”

From the safety of the blankets, you squealed in delight at his booming voice.

A few moments later, he returned, blowing out the candle with a victorious huff. “There. Gone. They won’t trouble you again tonight, my fierce little tiger.”

You clapped your hands, bouncing up on the mattress. “You scawed them away, Dadda!”

“Of course I did,” he said with a grin, scooping you up into his arms. “No shadow can stand against me.”

Then, lowering his voice, he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Sleep now. Nothing will hurt you as long as I’m here.”

You tucked yourself against his chest, eyelids fluttering shut, and for a moment—just a moment—he felt the kind of love that made him ache. That made him realize you weren’t just a child—you were his child.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The night was soft and still, the moon hanging low over the cemetery like a pale lantern. The cool air bit at your cheeks as you walked the familiar path, clutching a small bundle of flowers. Every Saturday, you came here. Every Saturday, you left a little piece of your heart with the woman who had loved you first and best—your mother.

Tonight was different. Tonight, your steps were lighter, but your chest felt heavier with a strange mix of excitement and fear.

You knelt at her grave, brushing your fingers over the smooth stone, tracing the letters of her name as if you could feel her spirit beneath your touch. “Mama,” you whispered softly. “I… I’m getting married.”

The words felt strange in your mouth, almost foreign. “It’s… scary, Mama. But… exciting too. I… I’m going to meet him, Li Shen… the one Father arranged for me. I… I hope he’s… kind.”

You laughed nervously, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Do you think he’ll like me, Mama? I mean… I’m clumsy. I… I cry too much sometimes. I get scared of shadows and… and things.”

You pressed your palms together, eyes closed. “I… I wish you were here. I wish you could see me in my wedding robes, Mama. I wish you could taste the sweets Mrs. Li keeps giving me.”

Her presence felt impossibly far, yet somehow close—like the faint echo of wind brushing through the trees. And then your thoughts wandered to Mrs. Li. You could remember her from childhood, visiting in quiet moments, her hands warm and gentle. Your mother had always spoken fondly of her—a friend, a mentor.

“She says she’ll take care of me, Mama,” you murmured, voice trembling. “She… she’s been helping me, making me strong. I think… maybe she’s like a guardian angel. Just like you were… just like she always wanted to be.”

You paused, letting the flowers rest gently on the grave. “I’m nervous, Mama. What if he… doesn’t like me? What if… I mess everything up?”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you pressed your forehead to the cool stone. “But I’m trying, Mama. I really am. I want to be brave. I want to make you proud… even if you can’t see me.”

You stayed there for a long time, whispering small worries, laughing at your own awkwardness, and confessing your excitement in equal measure. The night held you gently, carrying your words like soft petals over her grave.

Finally, you stood, brushing off your robes, taking a deep, shivering breath of the cool night air. “I’ll be okay, Mama,” you said, voice firmer now. “I’m ready to try. And… I promise to be brave. I promise I’ll try to make this… good. I’ll… I’ll tell Mrs. Li to keep me in line if I get too scared.”

You touched the stone one last time, feeling the solidity beneath your fingertips. “I love you, Mama. Always. And… I’ll make it through, I’ll make it… right.”

As you turned to leave, the faint rustle of leaves sounded like a sigh, like a soft approval, like a mother’s whisper carried through the wind. Your heart was still tight with worry, but somehow lighter, cradled in the memory of love that had never left you

After leaving her mother’s grave, you walked slowly toward the small, modest spot where Xiao Ling had been buried. The soft earth, worn down by years of footsteps and care, welcomed you like a familiar friend. You knelt, brushing away a few stray leaves and smoothing the ground with your hands.

“Xiao Ling,” you whispered, your voice shaking in the cool night air. “I… I’m getting married.” You paused, pressing your palm to the soft earth. “I’m scared. I don’t know what Li Shen will be like. I hope… I hope he’s kind, I hope he’ll let me visit you… visit Mama…”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “I promise, I’ll beg him. I’ll beg him to let me come often. You know I’ll be careful, right? I’ll be polite, I’ll follow all the rules… but I want to see you. I want to see both of you. I… I can’t forget either of you.”

You pressed your forehead to the dirt, imagining Xiao Ling’s gentle, encouraging smile and the warm congee she always made for you. “I’ll try to be brave, like you taught me. I’ll try to do everything right so… so I can come back and visit whenever I want. Please… watch over me. Please tell Mama that I’ll try, really try, to make it through this.”

You lingered there for a long while, whispering small, disjointed words of promise, of hope, of fear. Every time the wind rustled through the trees, it felt like an answer—a soft, comforting presence that reminded you that neither your mother nor Xiao Ling had truly left you.

Finally, you stood, brushing the dirt from your hands. You took a deep, steadying breath. “I’ll do my best,” you whispered one last time. “I promise.”

With that, you turned back toward the manor, the night wrapping around you like a cloak of determination. Somewhere deep in your chest, a fragile hope had taken root: that even in this new, uncertain life, you would always have a place to come back to, a connection that no cold walls, no cruel words, and no bitter family could ever take away.

.

Chapter Text

Ｎｏ．4→❄️🥼𝐋𝐢 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐧’𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞.

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₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The first light of dawn crept softly through your window, brushing the edge of your curtains with pale gold. You were still half-dreaming, cocooned in blankets, when a firm but unusually gentle shake roused you.

“MC,” your father’s voice called, unusually bright, almost melodic. “Wake up, little one. Today is a big day.”

You blinked groggily, rubbing your eyes. Normally, his voice carried distance, stiffness, maybe even annoyance if you stirred too early. But today… today it carried something else. Something you hadn’t heard in years: pure, open happiness.

You sat up slowly, heart pounding. There he was, standing at the foot of your bed, a wide smile you almost didn’t recognize lighting his face. His eyes crinkled at the corners, soft and warm, and he held out a hand to you.

“Come on, come on,” he said, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Your wedding robes await. Today… today is the start of something wonderful. You’ll see.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond to this sudden, almost playful energy. Your father, noticing your hesitation, crouched beside the bed and gently lifted your chin with his hand. “Look at me, MC. This isn’t a dream. I… I am proud of you. And happy. Truly happy. And… I’m lucky to have you as my daughter.”

The words were simple, but the weight behind them made your chest ache. For so long, he had been distant, cold, and unreachable. And now he was here, leaning close, present, and laughing softly when you tried to protest or cry from the sudden surge of emotion.

He reached out, tugging your blankets aside and helping you to your feet. “Eat something quickly,” he said, grinning like a mischievous boy. “You need energy for all the fussing, the robes, and… meeting Li Shen. You’ll need to impress him!”

You laughed, a small, shaky sound, letting yourself be caught up in the rare warmth of your father’s presence. He wrapped a protective arm around your shoulders as you made your way to breakfast, humming a tune under his breath.

It was the first morning in a long time that the house didn’t feel like a prison, that you didn’t feel invisible. For once, you were the center of his attention, and he was joyful, not distracted, not dismissive, not absent.

And as he guided you gently, still holding your hand, you felt a surge of hope bloom inside you: maybe today, at last, things could be different. Maybe today, you could step into a new life without leaving the memory of this love behind.

He led you gently to the small breakfast nook, hands lingering at your elbows just long enough to steady you. The morning sun fell in soft beams across the table, but it was the sight before you that stole your breath.

A small bowl of congee sat steaming in front of you. Simple. Plain. Familiar. Your stomach lurched with emotion.

Ever since he had married Cassidy, breakfasts had been mostly European-style fare: soft pastries, cold milk, sweetened fruit, bland bread that felt foreign to your tongue. You had long ago stopped hoping for the warm, comforting dishes you remembered from childhood, the ones that tasted like care itself.

But here it was—your father had made it himself.

“Sit,” he said softly, guiding you to the chair with a gentle hand on your shoulder. His voice lacked the usual stiffness, the usual reserve that had made you afraid to reach out. “I made it myself. Just for you.”

You blinked, unsure whether to smile or cry. “You… you made this?”

He nodded, stooping slightly so his gaze met yours. “I… I thought you should start your day with something familiar. Something… comforting.”

The steam rose in lazy curls, carrying the faint scent of ginger and a whisper of spice that reminded you of mornings long past. You picked up your spoon hesitantly, tasting it, and warmth bloomed in your chest.

“Good?” he asked, a small, hopeful crease forming in the corner of his eyes.

You nodded, almost too choked with feeling to speak. “It’s… perfect,” you whispered.

He allowed himself a small, rare smile. “You deserve more than perfect. You deserve… care. Even if I’ve failed to show it in the past, even if… I’ve been blind to what you needed.”

You could feel the years of distance, the years of being overlooked, collapsing in that one moment. He hadn’t just made the congee. He had made a bridge to the little girl who had always wanted her father’s warmth.

You spooned another bite into your mouth, tasting the love that had gone into it, the quiet apology folded into every grain. And as he watched you eat, quietly humming an old tune you remembered from childhood, you realized something that had been buried under years of neglect: for the first time in a long time, your father was truly present.

You ate slowly, savoring each spoonful, and each time you lifted the bowl, your father’s eyes softened just a little more. It was as if, for the first time in years, he was allowing himself to look at you—really look. Not as Cassidy’s rival, not as Cheyyenne’s competitor, but as his first baby.

“Eat more,” he urged, nudging the bowl closer when you paused. His voice carried a quiet excitement, an almost boyish giddiness. “You’ll need strength today. My daughter cannot look tired on her wedding day.”

You flushed, lowering your gaze. “D-don’t tease me, Father…”

“Tease?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I am proud. Do you know how long I have waited to see this? To see you grown, and walking into a new life?” His hand brushed over the top of your hair with rare gentleness. “Today, the world will see what I always knew… you are remarkable.”

A throat cleared sharply.

Cassidy stood in the doorway, her arms folded, her lips pressed so tightly they were almost white. The scent of the congee hung in the air, and her nose wrinkled as though the dish itself offended her.

“Really?” she drawled, her tone brittle. “You’re making a mess of the kitchen with… that? On today, of all days?”

Your father didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look at her at first—his hand stayed on your shoulder, firm and protective. Only after a pause did he lift his gaze, his expression sharpening.

“I made it for my daughter,” he said simply, the final two words weighted like stones.

Cassidy’s smile flickered, brittle and cold. “Your daughter will be served a feast today. Why bother with—”

“Because this is what she wanted. What she deserves,” he interrupted, his voice steady but hard enough to silence her. He turned back to you, his hand giving your shoulder the slightest squeeze. “Finish it. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

You swallowed, the spoon trembling in your hand. Cassidy’s stare burned into your side, sharp as knives. But your father’s warmth steadied you, his presence for once like a shield you had longed for all your life.

And in that small kitchen, over one bowl of steaming congee, you realized this day would not only mark your marriage—it would mark the day your father finally chose you.

You lowered your spoon, your hands trembling as the warmth of your father’s affection lingered. It felt too good, too strange, too new. And because it was new, you knew it couldn’t last.

Cassidy’s heels clicked against the floor as she came closer, her perfume sharp, suffocating. She set her hands on her hips, glaring down at your father.

“So this is what it takes?” she hissed, her voice cutting through the fragile peace. “It takes her leaving for you to suddenly care? For you to play doting father at the last hour?”

Your father straightened, his jaw tightening. He didn’t flinch, didn’t back away. “I should have done better long ago.”

“Long ago?” Cassidy’s laugh was bitter, scornful. “Don’t pretend regret now. Don’t put on this mask as if you’ve ever loved her before. She’s always been a burden, and you know it. You never looked at her until today.”

Your stomach knotted, shame coiling through you. But your father’s voice rose, louder than you had ever heard it when it came to you.

“She is my daughter!”

The room stilled. Cassidy blinked, startled by the force of his words. He pressed on, his face set, his hand resting firmly on the back of your chair.

“She is my firstborn. The one who made me a father for the very first time. And I was blind, letting your cruelty—your bitterness—make me forget that.” His voice cracked, a raw edge in it. “I will not let her leave this house thinking she was unloved.”

Cassidy’s lips trembled, her anger flaring into fury. “You dare—after all I’ve given you—”

“Oh, please.” Cheyyenne scoffed from the corner, arms folded, her smirk dripping with disdain. She leaned against the doorway, her head tilted mockingly. “Why fight about her? She’s gone after today anyway. Married off. Then it’ll just be the three of us. Like it should have always been.”

Your heart lurched. Her words stabbed sharper than Cassidy’s.

“Cheyyenne.” Your father’s tone was low, dangerous. “Enough.”

But she only shrugged, flipping her hair back. “What? It’s true. She’s not family anymore after tonight. She’ll be his problem. Why bother pretending otherwise?”

Cassidy reached for Cheyyenne’s hand, pulling her close, like mother and daughter facing an enemy. Together, they glared at you as though you had ruined their home simply by being loved, even for one morning.

The tension in the dining room was suffocating. Cassidy’s glare burned into your skin, Cheyyenne’s mocking laughter still echoing in your ears, and your father’s protective hand lingered heavy on your shoulder.

Then—
The front door burst open.

“MC!”

Mrs. Li’s voice rang bright and commanding, a welcome interruption that shattered the poisonous air. She swept into the house like a gust of wind, the hem of her robes whispering against the floor. Behind her trailed two maids carrying silk bundles, ribbons spilling out, and boxes tied neatly with red cords.

Without hesitation, Mrs. Li strode to your side, her sharp eyes flashing over Cassidy and Cheyyenne before softening when they landed on you.

“There you are, my little bride,” she said warmly. She took your hands, then suddenly twirled you around as though you were a girl again, laughing brightly. “So small, so delicate—just as I remember.”

You barely had a chance to breathe before she looped her arm through yours, tugging you to your feet.

“Come, come—no time to waste! We have a bride to prepare!”

Cassidy’s face twisted. “Wait just a moment—”

But Mrs. Li didn’t even glance her way. With all the authority of a queen, she swept you out of the dining room, her grip firm and protective, almost daring anyone to stop her.

Cheyyenne made a sharp sound, like she was about to protest, but Mrs. Li’s head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing. “And you—don’t pout. You’ll only give yourself wrinkles before your time.”

Cheyyenne’s mouth fell open in outrage, but Mrs. Li had already turned back, dragging you down the hallway.

Your father trailed behind for a moment, relief softening his stern features, before Cassidy’s hiss pulled his attention back into another fight.

Mrs. Li pulled you into your room, shutting the door with a decisive thud.

“Now,” she said with a sigh of triumph, cupping your cheeks gently. “Let us get my sweet little bride ready. Today, you are mine.”

She began unwrapping silks and jewels, her hands sure and tender, the laughter still on her lips like bells in the wind.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

She held up the first layer of fabric—bright, gleaming red, heavy with good fortune—and gently slipped it over your shoulders. The silk was cool against your skin, whispering as it fell into place.

“Sit, sit,” Mrs. Li chirped, pressing you down onto the stool before her. Her fingers moved deftly as she tied the first knot at your waist, then tugged at the sashes with quick precision.

“Is it too tight?” she asked, leaning close.

You shook your head. “No.”

“Too loose?” She tugged again, testing.

You shook your head once more. “No.”

“Perfect then!” she declared, clapping her hands together with a wide grin. “My darling looks like a jewel already!”

You couldn’t help but smile faintly at her energy. It was strange—being fussed over like this, dressed carefully, as though you mattered. The last time someone had tied your clothing with such tenderness was… Xiao Ling, when you were small.

Mrs. Li cupped your chin gently, tilting your face so she could study you in the light. “Ah, you’ll make Shen-er faint just looking at you. You’re so lovely, even without all this.” She gestured at the silks and ribbons, her tone affectionate, conspiratorial.

Your throat tightened. “Thank you… Madam Li.”

“Oh, none of that,” she cut you off with a playful scold. “From now on, it’s ‘Mother,’ hmm?” She winked, returning to fuss with the knots, tying them as though she were wrapping a gift meant for someone very precious.

When she finished the last tie, she stepped back, hands on her hips, admiring her work. “Yes… perfect. Fit for the wife of my Shen-er. No—fit for the wife of the Medicine Master himself!”

The moment the maids opened the final lacquered chest, a hush seemed to fall over the room. The crimson silk within glowed as though it carried fire in its threads, embroidered with dragons and phoenixes, their wings tipped with gold that shimmered in the lamplight. Beneath it lay the skirt, a pale silvery green that shimmered like carved jade, its pleats catching the light as if they had been folded straight from moonbeams.

Mrs. Li’s lips curved into a proud smile. She reached out with careful hands and lifted the outer robes, shaking them free until they billowed like a royal banner. “Ah,” she sighed, her voice hushed with reverence, “this is the one I wanted for you.”

She turned to you, eyes warm but commanding. “Stand, darling. A bride does not wait for her robes—her robes wait for her.”

You rose hesitantly, your heart pounding as she slid the heavy garment over your shoulders. The weight of it was immediate, pressing you down, making you feel as though the world itself was settling against your back. But then Mrs. Li’s hands smoothed the fabric over your arms, drawing it tight against your frame, and the heaviness transformed into something else: dignity.

“Good, good,” she murmured, adjusting the robe so that the golden phoenixes unfurled across your chest, their wings spanning proudly from one side to the other. “You must shine so brightly that no shadow ever dares touch you again.”

She stepped behind you, tugging gently on the wide crimson sash. It was thickly woven, patterned with auspicious knots stitched in faint gold thread, and as she looped it around your waist, she pulled it snug. “Too tight?” she asked, glancing at your reflection.

You shook your head. “No.”

“Too loose?”

Again, you whispered, “No.”

“Perfect,” she said with satisfaction, her nimble fingers tying the knot firm and symmetrical. She patted it twice as though sealing a promise. “This will hold you steady, no matter where life takes you.”

From the smaller bundle, she drew out a narrower sash, trailing with strings of pearls and tassels that glistened faintly. She tied it over the larger belt, letting the ends fall in long, elegant lines down your front. Each strand swayed with your movements, as though dancing with every breath you took.

“Hm.” She stepped back, tapping her chin as she studied you critically. Then, with a sniff, she muttered, “No, still too plain. My daughter cannot look plain, not when she will stand at Shen-er’s side.”

The word daughter struck your chest with a warmth so sharp it hurt.

Mrs. Li didn’t seem to notice your tears threatening to fall. She snapped her fingers at the maids, who quickly brought out the final piece: the structured golden shoulders, layered with beaded tassels that draped like shimmering waterfalls. She carefully placed them over your robe, her hands smoothing each ridge until they sat perfectly balanced.

“There,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Now you look untouchable. Strong. Even the heavens would bow to you.”

She tugged at your wide sleeves, flicking them so the embroidered dragons curled properly, their golden coils alive with fire. The beads that hung from your shoulders chimed faintly as they shifted, a sound so delicate it felt almost like music.

Then Mrs. Li suddenly huffed, placing her hands on her hips. “If that blonde girl—what was her name? Cheyyenne?—dares pout when she sees you like this, I’ll wrap her up in leftover cloth and hang her from the rafters like a mothball.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, soft and breathless.

Mrs. Li’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Ah, there it is. That’s the smile I want Shen-er to see first. Let him look upon you and forget the coldness he’s carried all these years.”

Gently, she guided you toward the bronze mirror propped in the corner. The reflection staring back almost startled you—it wasn’t the neglected girl who had lived in shadows, but a bride cloaked in splendor, every layer carefully chosen to protect and honor her.

Mrs. Li’s hands rested warmly on your shoulders, squeezing lightly. “Look,” she whispered. “This is who you were always meant to be. Not the forgotten child, not the shadow. But a woman worthy of the world’s respect… and of my Shen-er’s devotion.”

Her voice thickened at the edges, but she quickly covered it with a bright laugh, clapping her hands together. “Now, sit, my jewel. The robes are done, but we still have your hair and crown to set. And heavens, do not move, because this thing is heavier than it looks.”

The maids bustled forward with trays, and the gleam of polished gold and jade caught your eye. The ornate hair crown sat at the center like a treasure hoarded by dragons, its frame set with pearls as round as dewdrops and golden phoenix wings rising proudly from its sides. Strings of gems and delicate chains spilled down like waterfalls, waiting to be anchored into your hair.

Mrs. Li clapped her hands once. “Sit, sit—quickly now. Do you think the heavens will wait on a bride? Hah!” She pressed you down onto the cushioned stool before the mirror.

Your heart thundered as one of the maids began brushing out your hair. Each stroke felt like it smoothed away another piece of your old self, until all that was left was sleek, shining strands cascading down your back. Mrs. Li hovered close, tapping the maid’s wrist when she pulled too roughly.

“Gentle! This isn’t a horse’s mane, this is my daughter’s crown!”

The maid bowed quickly, hands trembling as she slowed her strokes.

Satisfied, Mrs. Li took a carved jade comb from the tray, its teeth etched with tiny lotuses. “This one belonged to me when I was a bride,” she murmured, her voice uncharacteristically soft. She combed your hair herself, her touch careful, reverent, as though every strand held a blessing.

“There,” she whispered, setting the comb down as if it were sacred. “Now you are ready.”

The first layer was simple: a woven silk ribbon, crimson and gold, tied firmly at the base of your hair. Mrs. Li oversaw each turn of the ribbon, tugging it taut with practiced hands. “This binds your fortune together,” she said matter-of-factly.

Next came the pins. One by one, the maids slid in golden hairpins tipped with pearls and jade flowers. Each time a pin clicked into place, Mrs. Li commented:

“Too low—higher, so the phoenix can fly.”
“No, no, angle it! You want it to look as if it belongs there, not like a dagger sticking out.”
“Perfect. See? Now she looks like the Empress herself.”

The weight built slowly, the ornaments gathering until your head felt heavy, your neck aching slightly beneath the grandeur. But Mrs. Li noticed at once. She bent down and slipped a sugared chestnut into your hand.

“Here. Chew, don’t faint. I’ll not have my Shen-er’s bride toppling before the ceremony!”

You bit into it, the sweetness melting across your tongue, grounding you in the moment.

Finally, the crown itself was lifted. Two maids struggled under its weight, carrying it as if it were a relic of the gods. The phoenix wings gleamed in the lamplight, their feathered tips edged in tiny rubies.

Mrs. Li stood behind you, steadying your shoulders. “Breathe, child. Once this settles, you will no longer be a girl, but a bride. Do you understand?”

You nodded, though your throat tightened.

“Good.”

The crown was lowered onto your head. The cool metal kissed your scalp, and the chains slid down your temples, brushing your cheeks with soft chimes of pearls and jade. The phoenix wings rose tall and proud, as though declaring your strength to the world.

Mrs. Li adjusted it carefully, her fingers lingering to make sure it sat straight. Then she stepped back. For the first time, she said nothing.

The room was utterly silent. The maids held their breath, and Mrs. Li pressed a trembling hand to her lips. At last, she let out a shaky laugh, tears glistening in her eyes.

“My jewel,” she whispered. “You are radiant.”

She reached down, taking your hand and squeezing it firmly. “When Shen-er sees you, he will not simply see his bride. He will see the sun, the moon, and the stars that have been missing from his sky.”

Then, quickly, she dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve and straightened. “Enough of this softness! Someone fetch her veil. And if anyone dares smudge her powder before she walks out, I’ll have their ears.”

The maids scrambled, but Mrs. Li’s hand never left yours, her thumb brushing over your knuckles with quiet warmth.

Mrs. Li’s hands never left yours as the last maid produced the veil — a translucent cascade of silk embroidered with tiny phoenixes and clouds, edged in pearls that caught the lamplight and turned it into a soft halo. She lifted it delicately, as if handling a fluttering bird, and began to lay it over your shoulders and crown.

“Close your eyes,” she murmured, voice low and intimate. “Breathe.”

You obeyed, feeling the cool whisper of silk cross your brow. The chains of the crown chimed faintly as the veil nestled against them, softening the hard gleam into something holy. Mrs. Li smoothed the veil down your front, tucking the edges so your hands were gently wrapped like offerings. When she finished, she leaned close and brushed a fingertip along your cheek.

“A blessing,” she said in barely more than a breath. “May your life be steady as the mountains, and as bright as the phoenix rising. Remember who you are, my child.”

At that moment the door opened and your father stepped in. He’d been watching from the threshold, having lingered after the morning bustle, and now the sight of you — robed, crowned, veiled — stopped him entirely. For a heartbeat he only stared, as if trying to press the image into his memory.

Then something broke in him. He swallowed once, hard, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes and rolled down unashamed. He took a breath, trying to steady himself, then crossed the small space between you and laid a shaking hand on your shoulder.

“You look…beautiful,” he said, voice raw. “My girl.”

Mrs. Li’s chest swelled; she gave him a sharp, approving look, as if to say he had finally done the right thing by feeling this openly. He had never called you that with any tenderness in years — the words fell out like a blessing, urgent and clumsy and perfect.

You felt your heart lift and squeeze all at once. The world narrowed to that hand on your shoulder, to the warmth of his palm against the layered silk, to the steady, grounding pressure like an anchor. For a second you were that small child again — the one who crawled into his bed at night — and for a second the years of hollow silence softened into something bearable.

He stepped closer and, before he could check himself, bowed his head and pressed a kiss to the top of your crown, over the crown that now sat upon your head. The gesture was private, ridiculous, and utterly paternal. Mrs. Li let out a soft, pleased sound and dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.

The maids, who had been bustling like living ornaments, all stopped and tilted their heads toward you. One of them—young, hardly more than a girl—gave a small, involuntary gasp. Another clasped her hands in delight. The room felt full of breath held and then released.

“Come now,” Mrs. Li said briskly, smoothing the lines of your outer robe with practiced fingers. “There’s no time to linger. The carriage will be waiting, and I’ll not have our bride delayed by dramatic fainting or petty quarrels.” She wagged a finger toward the door, but her eyes were laughing.

Your father folded and re-folded his hands as if unsure whether to stay or to give you your space. Finally he exhaled. “I will come as far as the gate,” he said. “I will stand there and watch.” His voice cracked on the last word; he forced a small, crooked smile. “And I will—” he paused, swallowing, “—I will wave the proudest wave you ever saw.”

You laughed, wet and surprised, and felt the silliness of the promise chase away some of the fear coiling in your stomach. Mrs. Li squeezed your hand again and leaned in to whisper something only you could hear — a small instruction and a fiercer reminder, both motherly and tactical. “If he is cold, you will not melt. If he is distant, you will not beg. Hold your spine straight, speak soft, and carry the warmth  in your heart.”

“Warmth?” you mouthed, and she grinned. “Always. Remember your strength.”

Outside, distant footsteps and the murmur of preparations at the gate filtered through the walls. For the first time that morning, the noise sounded like ceremony rather than chaos. Cassidy’s voice could be heard for a moment in the corridor — clipped, furious — but it was a small storm at the edge of the world you were standing in; it did not touch you now.

Mrs. Li stepped back and fastened a last pin at the nape of your neck, then straightened with a final, satisfied nod. “Rise, my jewel.”

You rose slowly, feeling the full weight of the robes around you, the crown balanced on your head like a promise that you would carry yourself differently now. Your reflection in the bronze mirror was almost unreal — a woman wrapped in red and gold, steady and silent, the tiny pearls of the veil catching the light like little stars.

Your father cleared his throat softly. “Will you—” He faltered, searching for the simplest thing, “—be careful?”

You turned, looking right at him, and found you had a small, fierce answer ready. “I will,” you said, and it was true. There was fear, yes. There was still the ache of all you’d been through. But there was also a tiny, stubborn flame that Mrs. Li had stoked, and your father’s presence had watered it.

Mrs. Li wrapped her arms around you in a quick, decisive hug that smelled faintly of camphor and perfume. “Go on, then,” she said in your ear. “Show them how a true wife walks.”

You took a breath that felt like stepping off a cliff and, with your father standing just behind you and Mrs. Li’s steadying presence at your side, you let the maids lead you toward the door and the carriage waiting beyond.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

It took nearly half an hour before your carriage finally stopped before the grand Li family manor. The air was filled with the distant echo of drums and pipes, a festive yet ancient rhythm that sent your heart pounding against your ribs.

You were helped down carefully, the heavy red-and-gold robes dragging like a river of fire behind you. Your steps were small, graceful, but weighted—not only by the ornate layers of silk, but by the gravity of what awaited you. Mrs. Li’s steady hand on your elbow grounded you, her warmth reminding you not to stumble under the weight of so many watching eyes.

Together, you entered the ancestral temple.

The moment the wooden doors creaked open, a wave of incense greeted you. The air was thick with sandalwood and faintly bitter smoke, curling up toward the rafters where painted dragons and phoenixes danced. Rows of spirit tablets lined the altar, each glowing faintly in the candlelight, as though the ancestors themselves were present to witness the union.

And there, kneeling already before the altar, was him.

A young man with long, glossy black hair, neatly combed and bound in a traditional crown, knelt straight-backed in silence. His robes shimmered with deep crimson embroidery, subtle dragons coiling across the fabric. He didn’t look at you—his gaze remained fixed upon the ground, as though the weight of heaven itself pressed on his shoulders.

Yet… you saw the faintest dusting of pink at his ears, a betrayed softness that even his iron composure couldn’t mask.

Your cheeks warmed in answer.

Mrs. Li guided you gently forward until you knelt at his side. For a heartbeat, your sleeve brushed his, and though he did not move, you could feel the heat radiating from his body—so close, yet unyielding.

The master of ceremonies raised his voice, steady and resounding:

“First bow—To Heaven and Earth!”

You and Li Shen rose together, bowing deeply to the altar, to the sky and ground that bore witness. The incense smoke seemed to thicken, curling higher as if carrying your vow to the heavens.

“Second bow—To the ancestors and parents!”

Your father and Cassidy stood nearby, faces shadowed by flickering light. You lowered yourself, your forehead nearly touching the ground. For the first time in years, your father’s eyes shone with tears. Cassidy’s lips thinned into a line, but you felt Mrs. Li’s proud gaze like a shield at your back.

“Third bow—Husband and wife, to each other.”

Your breath caught. Slowly, you turned to face him.

Li Shen lifted his head at last. His hazel-green eyes met yours—quiet, unreadable, yet impossibly piercing. For that moment, the temple, the drums, the smoke—everything vanished. It was only the two of you. You bent low together, your hands steady even as your heart trembled.

When you rose, the final rite was brought forth: a small jade cup, carved delicately with phoenixes and dragons entwined. The Héjǐn Jiǔ—the wedding wine.

A servant poured, the crimson liquid shimmering like molten rubies beneath the temple light.

One cup was filled and split into two smaller goblets, bound together by a length of red silk cord. You each took one, the fabric binding your hands in an unbreakable tie.

“Drink,” the officiant commanded.

You raised the cup to your lips, your hand shaking just slightly. Across from you, Li Shen tipped his goblet in perfect silence, his throat moving as he swallowed. And for the first time, his eyes flickered—not with indifference, but with something unreadable, something that reached across the fragile space between you.

The silk cord tugged gently between you both as you drank in unison.

It was done.

The bows had been made. The ancestors had borne witness. The wine was shared.

From this day forth, you were no longer simply your father’s neglected daughter. You were now Li Shen’s wife.

Chapter Text

Ｎｏ．5→❄️🥼“𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭… 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.”

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₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The last echo of the officiant’s words faded, and the murmurs of the gathered families softened into silence. One by one, attendants, relatives, and guests filed out of the ancestral hall. Robes swished, sandals clacked against the wooden floors, the rustle of whispers lingering briefly before the doors were pulled shut.

The heavy silence that followed was absolute.

It was custom—after the bows, after the sharing of wine—that husband and wife remain together, alone, for the burning of one stick of incense. A sacred pause between ritual and celebration, a moment meant for two lives newly bound to truly meet.

You sat still, the bright red veil draped over your head dimming the golden light of the temple. Through the gauzy threads, you let your eyes wander to him.

Li Shen.

He knelt across from you, posture impeccable, every line of him rigid yet fluid—like a blade forged perfectly for its purpose. His crimson robes pooled around him, embroidered dragons catching faint gleams of candlelight. The shadows from the incense smoke danced across his face, softening the sharp lines of his jaw, the proud slope of his nose, the steady calm of his lips.

And his eyes—gods, those eyes. Hazel green, but deeper than you had imagined, flecked with a color you could not name. They did not look at you, not yet, but even in their distance you saw the weight they carried.

Your heart thudded painfully against your chest.

You tried to sit still, tried to be composed, but behind the veil your lips parted softly as you breathed him in. He was handsome—more than handsome. Beautiful in a way that both soothed and unsettled you. His silence wasn’t cold; it was consuming, a quiet that demanded attention.

Every breath of incense smoke made the world blur faintly, and all you could see, all you could think of, was him.

The man who, in the span of a bow, had become your husband.

And though not a single word passed between you, though he remained utterly still, you felt it—an invisible thread pulling tighter, binding you closer than silk cords or ritual vows ever could.

One incense stick’s time.

That was all.

But for you, that silence already felt like forever.

The incense burned low, its smoke curling lazily toward the rafters. You shifted faintly, heart hammering, wondering if the silence would last until the last ash fell.

And then—

He moved.

Not much, only the smallest tilt of his chin. But it was enough.

Li Shen turned his head, and for the first time that day—perhaps for the first time in your life—his eyes met yours.

Through the veil, the world seemed hazy, softened, but his gaze pierced through as though the fabric wasn’t even there. Hazel-green, sharp yet warm, steady as a lantern flame in the dark. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Because in that look—quiet, unblinking—you felt something you hadn’t expected.

Not rejection. Not disdain. Not the icy contempt whispered by your father, Cassidy, Cheyyenne.

Calm.

Reassurance.

It was as though his gaze said: You are safe here. You may breathe here.

Your shoulders loosened, tension you hadn’t realized you were carrying slipping away as if released by invisible hands. The pounding of your heart softened into something gentler, steadier, and you let your lips part, breath trembling behind the veil.

For one fragile moment, you forgot about the pain of your childhood, about Cassidy’s glares, about Cheyyenne’s cruel hands, about your father’s neglect. None of it mattered.

Because Li Shen was looking at you.

And for the first time in years, you didn’t feel invisible.

The incense stick had burned to a thin thread of ash, its smoke curling soft and steady in the golden lamplight. Neither of you had moved, not really. But his gaze—fixed and unshaking—still held yours through the veil.

You tried to look away. You couldn’t.

And then, without a word, he shifted.

Li Shen’s hand rose slowly, deliberate in its movement, fingers pale and long. For a heartbeat, you thought he would stop, but instead, his hand reached forward, halting just before the edge of your veil. His sleeve fell like flowing water as his fingers brushed against the embroidered silk.

He hesitated.

Your breath caught.

The fabric lifted.

The veil rose in one fluid motion, weightless and delicate, like morning mist peeling away from a mountain peak. Candlelight flooded in, and suddenly there was no barrier between the two of you—no silk, no shadow, nothing but you and him.

The hall was utterly silent.

His eyes… they changed. Where before they had been steady, unreadable, now they flickered with something new. His gaze traced your features—slowly, carefully—as though memorizing them. Your hair, dark as midnight, framed your face; your lips, pressed together nervously; your skin, faintly glowing beneath the red robes.

But he didn’t look at you with judgment. He didn’t look through you, or past you, as so many others had.

He simply looked at you.

For a long moment, you felt exposed—like every insecurity, every scar, every hurt was written across your skin for him to see. But his eyes softened, not cruel, not cold. They lingered on your face as if to say: Yes. You. This is fine.

Your chest tightened, and before you could stop yourself, your own lips parted in the faintest, trembling smile.

That was when you saw it—barely there, fleeting, but undeniable.

A warmth touched the edges of his cheeks.

The faintest wash of color, so slight it could have been dismissed as a trick of the candlelight, but you knew better.

Li Shen—Medicine Master Li, the cold man everyone whispered about, your new husband—was blushing.

The silence did not feel heavy anymore. It felt fragile, tender, precious.

You lowered your gaze, breath caught in your throat, heart fluttering wildly as if it might take flight. And yet, even in your shyness, you felt his eyes still on you, steady and unwavering.

Not cold. Not cruel.

But something else.

Something you couldn’t yet name.

Your veil now folded neatly to the side, you lowered your gaze, unable to bear the weight of his eyes much longer. Your hands twisted nervously in your lap, fingers tugging at the silk of your sleeves.

The silence stretched on—gentle, unbroken except for the faint crackle of incense burning down to its end. You could feel your pulse in your throat.

At last, you swallowed and spoke, your voice soft and quivering.

“Zhangfu…” The word slipped from your lips with trembling reverence. Husband. It felt strange, almost foreign, yet warm as it passed your tongue.

Li Shen didn’t flinch at the word, but his eyes sharpened slightly, watching you.

You pressed on, words tumbling in a rush.

“I promise to be good. I’ll be the best wife you could ever hope for. I’ll cook for you every day, I’ll clean the manor until it shines, I’ll wash your robes and polish your shoes. I’ll fetch your medicines, I’ll—” Your voice caught, cracking softly as your hands tightened in your lap. “I’ll do everything. Everything I can, so that you… so that you’ll never regret marrying me.”

The silence returned for a moment, heavier this time.

You dared a glance up, half-afraid to see indifference—or worse, disdain—in his expression.

But his gaze was steady. Quiet.

And then, his lips parted.

“Don’t.”

One word. Quiet, firm.

Your heart stilled, panic flaring. Had you already displeased him?

But before you could stammer an apology, he continued, his voice low, calm, like the steady drip of water from a bamboo spout.

“Do what you can.” His eyes softened faintly, a flicker like dawn light touching the edge of night. “Don’t… overexert yourself.”

You froze, lips parted, staring at him.

He shifted his gaze slightly, down to the floor, as if embarrassed by the words he had spoken. As if they were more intimate than he had intended.

But the meaning clung to you, warmer than any embrace. He didn’t demand. He didn’t expect you to bleed yourself dry. He wanted only… what you could give.

Tears prickled at your eyes before you could stop them. You lowered your head quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice, whispering again, “Yes, Zhangfu. I’ll… I’ll remember.”

The incense finally burned down to its stub, the air carrying the faintest trace of sandalwood.

You sat together in the lingering silence—not heavy anymore, not sharp, but soft.

Like the first thread of a bond being spun.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The last of the incense flickered, its glowing tip crumbling into pale gray ash. The faint curl of smoke drifted upward, dissolving into the rafters, until there was nothing left but the thin stick, extinguished and spent.

Custom said the moment was over.

You glanced up, hesitant, still clutching the folds of your sleeves. The warmth of his words—don’t overexert yourself—still echoed in your chest, fluttering against your ribs like a caged bird. You wanted to thank him. You wanted to tell him again how hard you would try, how much you wanted to be worthy.

But Li Shen moved first.

He rose smoothly to his feet, red robes settling against the floor with a whisper. He didn’t linger. Didn’t give you a second look. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the great wooden doors of the ancestral temple.

Your lips parted, a faint breath escaping. “Zhangfu—”

The word faded into silence as the doors groaned open, letting in a wash of cooler air and distant voices. He stepped through, his back straight, his presence as commanding and unreachable as ever.

And then he was gone.

The doors closed with a muted thud.

You sat there, veil folded at your side, hands trembling faintly in your lap. The silence returned—but it was not the same silence as before. Now, it was full of questions, heavy with his absence.

Yet even so, you pressed your palms together and whispered softly to yourself, as though sealing a vow, “I’ll do what I can, Zhangfu. I promise.”

The incense was gone. The moment had passed. And already, the weight of your new life pressed against your chest like a second skin.

Chapter Text

Ｎｏ．6→❄️🥼𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧

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₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The ancestral hall faded behind you, and the next part of the wedding day unfurled in full color.

The banquet was alive.

Lanterns glowed warm and golden, strung from the beams. The scent of braised meats, steaming buns, and fragrant teas mingled with the faint tang of wine. Guests filled the grand hall, their silks rustling, their laughter echoing, their voices rising in a symphony of noise. At the far side of the room, long tables groaned beneath platters of food and lacquered chests stacked with gifts.

And at the heart of it—Li Shen.

He stood near the dais, robes pristine in their crimson folds, posture flawless, expression composed. A line of guests had already formed before him, each one bowing or offering polite words. They pressed ornate boxes into the hands of attendants—fine teas, bolts of silk, lacquer combs, carved jade. And with each one, Li Shen inclined his head faintly, the barest flicker of acknowledgment, voice low as he murmured a word or two in reply.

He was not warm. But he was not rude. His presence commanded attention all the same.

And then it was time.

As per tradition, the groom was to receive his bride formally into the banquet hall.

Mrs. Li fussed over you at the entrance, adjusting the fold of your robe, patting your shoulders. She whispered, “Head high, darling. Don’t let them see fear.”

The doors opened, and all eyes turned.

You stepped inside, the red of your robes trailing like fire across the polished floor. Your pulse thundered in your ears, every step slow, measured, as though you walked through water.

Across the hall, Li Shen turned.

The moment his gaze landed on you, the murmurs of the crowd seemed to hush. His expression did not change—still calm, still unreadable—but he moved.

With the same quiet authority as always, he crossed the hall, parting the guests as he went, until he stood before you. For the first time in the day, his steps had brought him to you.

The ritual words were unnecessary; everyone knew the meaning.

He extended his hand.

Not rushed. Not forceful. Simply there, waiting.

Your throat tightened. Slowly, you placed your trembling fingers into his palm. His hand was cool, steady, enclosing yours with care but without flourish.

And then, as though this was the most natural thing in the world, Li Shen guided you toward the dais. Together. Husband and wife.

The guests erupted in cheers and polite congratulations, but all you could hear was the faint sound of your heart and the measured rhythm of his steps beside yours.

He did not smile. He did not look at you. Yet somehow, his hand in yours made you feel… steady.

Steadier than you had in years.

The hall roared with chatter, laughter, the clinking of porcelain cups and bronze goblets. Musicians plucked at strings in the corner, their melodies weaving lightly between the voices of the guests.

You sat at the head table now, the crimson-robed bride beside the crimson-robed groom, beneath the watchful gaze of both families and countless relatives.

Li Shen moved first.

Calmly, without hesitation, he lifted the teapot and poured into the delicate porcelain cup before you. Steam rose, carrying the fragrant scent of jasmine. His movements were measured, precise, almost ritualistic—his sleeve falling like water, his hand steady as stone.

It was then your turn.

You reached for the teapot, your hands trembling before they even touched the handle. The weight of so many eyes bore down on you—guests whispering, Cassidy and Cheyyenne glaring, Mrs. Li watching with quiet expectation.

Your fingers slipped against the lacquered clay, the pot wobbling slightly. You swallowed hard, desperate not to spill.

And then—his hand moved.

Li Shen’s long, pale fingers slid over yours, steadying them with effortless grace. His palm rested lightly atop the back of your hand, anchoring you. The murmurs in the hall hushed, as though the gesture had frozen time itself.

Your breath caught.

Together, his hand guiding yours, you lifted the pot. The tea poured in a smooth, perfect stream into his cup, not a single drop spilled. His hand lingered for a breath longer than necessary, warm and firm against yours, before he finally withdrew.

He did not look at you. He did not smile.

But that single gesture—so simple, so quiet—felt louder than the roar of the entire hall.

You blinked rapidly, cheeks warming beneath the weight of his presence. Around you, the guests nodded approvingly, whispering about harmony, about balance between husband and wife.

Cassidy’s face tightened like stone. Cheyyenne’s hands balled into fists against her lap.

But none of that mattered. Not right now.

All that mattered was the lingering phantom of his touch, and the way, just for that moment, you hadn’t been alone.

You turned slightly toward him, your voice soft enough that perhaps only he could hear.

“...Thank you, Zhangfu.”

At last, his gaze shifted to you, those green-hazel eyes deep and unreadable. Only then did you notice—his hand was still atop yours, as though the act of steadying you had lingered into something else entirely.

The warmth of his touch spread up your arm, settling into your chest like a secret.

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. He held your hand there in front of everyone, his silence both steadying and terrifying, as if he had forgotten himself. Forgotten the weight of eyes on him. Forgotten the tradition, the formality, the distance that should have been between husband and wife at their first banquet.

Your pulse quickened beneath his palm.

And then—he blinked, as if waking from a trance. The faintest flicker of awareness passed over his face.

Immediately, his hand drew back.

He rose smoothly, almost too quickly, as if the very act of holding you had burned him. His sleeve swept back into place as he turned, striding toward a group of elders who were waiting to speak with him, their arms laden with red silk and gifts.

You sat frozen, your hand resting where his warmth had been, the ghost of it still pressed against your skin.

Around you, the hall came alive again—voices, laughter, movement—but none of it pierced the strange, hushed silence that had settled in your chest.

He hadn’t looked back.
He hadn’t said a word

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Li Shen walked across the banquet hall with composed steps, his posture steady, his expression unreadable. When he reached your father, the man was already smiling warmly, pride softening the sharp lines of his face.

Your father bowed low, “Medicine Master.”

Li Shen’s hand lifted ever so slightly, his voice quiet but firm. “No. Don’t.”

Your father straightened, blinking, then chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Then… Li Shen?”

“Shen is fine, Sir.” He returned the bow with precision, a gesture of respect.

Your father’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling. “No, no—Shen, it’s… you can call me anything but ‘Sir.’” The man’s throat seemed to tighten, his voice turning softer, heavier. “We are family now.”

Before the moment could linger, Cassidy swept in, her dress trailing, her lips stretched into that sharp, practiced smile.

“Ohhh, Medicine Master Li,” she sang, her voice honeyed with feigned admiration. She dipped into a curtsy—a gesture out of place, mockingly foreign in the Li family’s ancestral manor.

Li Shen did not so much as blink. His gaze shifted to her briefly, cool and unreadable. His bow was minimal, a mere inclination of his head. “Madam.”

Cassidy tilted her head, her grin sharpening as though she had scored a victory simply by being acknowledged. “Have you met my daughter?” she asked, her tone dripping with false sweetness.

“I have.” His voice cut through the air like a blade. “She is my wife.”

The words landed heavy. Simple. Absolute.

Cassidy faltered—only slightly—before she waved a hand and laughed, trying to brush past the moment. “Nooo! I mean Cheyenne, my dearest.” She reached out, tugging Cheyenne closer with a too-tight grip, presenting her as though Li Shen hadn’t already dismissed the subject.

But Li Shen did not shift, nor did his expression flicker. He stood there, calm and immovable, as though Cassidy’s words meant nothing more than wind in passing. His eyes, unreadable and sharp, slid past Cheyenne without interest, returning to your father as though the woman and her antics were no more than background noise.

Cheyenne was tugged forward, her silken skirts swishing as Cassidy pushed her proudly into the circle. She straightened her spine, her lips curling into what she believed was her most dazzling smile.

“Medicine Master Li,” she purred, eyes gleaming with mischief. “It is an honor to finally meet you properly.”

Li Shen’s eyes flickered to her, a single, measured glance that lingered no longer than courtesy required. “Mm.”

The non-committal sound drew a faint flush of irritation to Cheyenne’s cheeks. She tilted her head coyly, pressing on. “I must say, you are… different than I imagined. So serious. Do you ever smile?”

For the first time, Li Shen’s lips curved faintly. It was not a smile—it was sharper, like the faint edge of a knife. “I smile when it is worth smiling at.”

Cassidy laughed too loudly, clapping her hands together, pretending it was all in good fun. “Oh, he’s so witty, isn’t he, Cheyenne?”

Cheyenne leaned closer, lowering her lashes. “I hear you are very skilled with your hands, Medicine Master. Perhaps, one day, you will show me?”

Li Shen’s gaze slid to her again, calm, unflinching. His voice was quiet, his words deliberate. “I do not waste my skills on those who are well enough to stand here gossiping.”

Your father coughed into his fist, trying—and failing—to mask his amusement.

Cheyenne’s lips parted, her composure cracking for a moment, but she forced her laugh. “You wound me, sir.”

Li Shen’s head tilted ever so slightly. “If words alone wound you, then you are far too fragile for anything of substance.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Cassidy’s smile wavered, her fingers tightening on Cheyenne’s arm, nails digging in as if to warn her.

But Li Shen had already turned back toward your father, his posture unbothered, his voice steady. “Sir, I hope your journey here was not too tiring. My household will ensure you are comfortable during your stay.”

The dismissal was clean, final. Cheyenne and Cassidy stood there, flushed and humiliated, as though they had never been part of the conversation at all.

You gathered your skirts and walked carefully across the banquet hall, the golden embroidery on your red wedding robes shimmering in the lamplight. Every step felt heavy, every pair of eyes watching you, but the moment your father’s face came into view, some of the weight eased.

He stood beside Cassidy and Cheyenne, his shoulders stiff, but when his gaze landed on you—his eldest daughter—his eyes softened. They grew misty, and he exhaled shakily, smiling the kind of smile you hadn’t seen in years.

“My girl,” he whispered, voice breaking just slightly. His chest lifted, pride and sorrow tangled together. “So grown… so radiant.”

You bit your lip, bowing your head. “F-Father.”

He reached out, trembling fingers brushing against your sleeve before he pulled them back, remembering where you were, who was watching. Still, his eyes stayed on you, shimmering, as though he could hardly believe you were standing there.

Cassidy, standing a step behind him, noticed immediately. Her lips pressed into a thin, white line, and her hand tightened on her goblet. Cheyenne, by her side, tilted her head and leaned in close to her mother.

“She looks so stiff with him,” Cheyenne whispered, her voice dripping with false sweetness, but sharp enough for you to sense.

Cassidy gave the faintest of smirks. “Mm. There’s no tenderness in his eyes. No warmth.”

“Exactly,” Cheyenne breathed, her tone growing bolder. “If there is no romance… perhaps she isn’t suited to him after all.” Her gaze flicked toward Li Shen, who was calmly conversing with one of the guests just a few paces away, his expression unreadable. “A man like that… he needs a woman who can awaken his heart. Someone… less clumsy.”

Cassidy chuckled low in her throat, leaning in to whisper back. “And who better than you, my darling? Why shouldn’t you be the one to do what she cannot?”

Your stomach twisted as you overheard, the venom in their words settling over you like ice. But before you could shrink back, your father cleared his throat and lifted his chin, his expression firm. He stepped between you and them, as though shielding you with his presence.

And just then—Li Shen turned slightly, his gaze sweeping past the crowd, finding you with steady precision. For a moment, his hazel-green eyes lingered on yours, quiet and unreadable, before he turned back to the guest at his side.

Your father wiped at his eyes quickly, trying to hide the tears, but you had already seen. Your chest ached at the sight—at the tenderness he rarely showed you, especially in front of others.

Before you could even find words, a shadow stretched across you. Li Shen had returned. His steps were soundless, his presence steady, but when he stopped beside you, his hazel-green eyes softened in the faintest, almost imperceptible way.

He inclined his head toward your father politely, then looked at you. The hall was full of people, laughter, and chatter—but in that moment, it felt like the two of you were standing in silence.

“You haven’t eaten much,” he said quietly, his tone low but carrying enough for only you—and perhaps your father—to hear. “Are you hungry?”

Your heart skipped. He rarely spoke, yet he was… asking after you? You nodded quickly, almost clumsily. “A-A little…”

Without another word, Li Shen gently guided you toward a seat at the banquet table, his hand briefly steadying your elbow before withdrawing. He settled you down with such care it startled you—and left Cassidy and Cheyenne staring, speechless.

“I’ll bring something,” he said simply.

You blinked. “You…?”

He looked at you, calm and certain. “Mn.” Then he turned, robes whispering against the polished floor as he walked across the hall. He spoke briefly to a servant, then disappeared for a moment behind a screen where delicacies and tea were kept.

Your father let out a tiny breath beside you, almost in disbelief. “MC…” he whispered hoarsely, “…he sees you.”

Cassidy’s jaw clenched, and Cheyenne’s nails dug into her palm, both of them left fuming as you sat—your cheeks warm, your eyes glued to the sight of your new husband reappearing.

In his hands, he carried a tray with two porcelain cups of steaming tea, and a small lacquered plate of candied lotus seeds and sesame cakes. Instead of handing it to a servant, he himself placed the tray on the table before you.

“Try this,” Li Shen said, setting a piece gently onto your dish. His voice was as calm as ever, but there was the faintest note of insistence. “Sweetness will settle the heart.”

Chapter Text

Ｎｏ．7→❄️🥼𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭.

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₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

You sat carefully beside him, trying to steady your hands as you lifted your cup of tea. The warm steam drifted up, fogging the edge of your veil. The chatter of the hall buzzed around you like bees, but it all dimmed when you glanced at the tray of sweets between you and Li Shen.

Something seemed… off.

Your brows knit slightly. The candied lotus seeds, sesame cakes, and little sugared plums that had been stacked so neatly before… were fewer. Noticeably fewer. You blinked, then tilted your head just a little, confused.

Had a servant already taken some away? No—that couldn’t be. No one dared touch the Medicine Master’s offering.

You shifted your gaze to him. His profile was unreadable, his expression as calm and cold as the jade cup in his hand. But when you looked back at the plate, another sweet seemed to be gone.

Your lips parted in surprise.

Your eyes darted to him again—just in time to catch the faintest, faintest movement of his jaw.

He was… eating them.

The realization bubbled up in your chest unexpectedly, and before you could stop yourself, a tiny laugh slipped past your lips. It wasn’t loud—just a soft little giggle—but it was enough to draw his attention.

Li Shen’s head turned slowly, his hazel-green eyes meeting yours. His face remained composed, but there was something in the depths of his gaze, something that softened in response to your laughter.

And then, it happened—barely there, but undeniable. The corner of his lips curved upward. Not a full smile, but the ghost of one. Enough to make your breath hitch.

“Zh-Zhangfu,” you stammered, lowering your gaze to the plate, embarrassed. “D-Didn’t you… didn’t you choose those for me?”

His eyes lingered on you a moment longer before sliding down to the tray. When he spoke, his voice was even, low, carrying no judgment—just a calm fact.

“You haven’t eaten them.”

You froze, caught. “I…” You faltered, fumbling for an excuse. “I was just… I was going to…”

His gaze returned to you, steady, unshaken. He lifted his teacup, sipping slowly, as though perfectly content to wait until you confessed. Finally, he set it down, fingers tapping the rim once, softly.

“So eat,” he said, the faintest thread of humor threading into his tone—so quiet, you almost thought you imagined it. His head tilted the smallest fraction toward you. “…before I do.”

Your cheeks burned. The words were simple, delivered with that same icy calmness he always carried, yet they struck you with the weight of something far warmer.

You picked up your chopsticks with shaking fingers and reached for one of the sugared plums, your heart thudding in your chest. But when you brought it toward your lips, you hesitated. His gaze was fixed on you now, unreadable, unwavering, as if waiting to see if you would obey.

You bit down, the sweetness bursting across your tongue. You chewed nervously, cheeks puffing, unable to look away from him.

He blinked once. Slowly. Then—just as you thought he would look away—he plucked another sweet from the tray, placed it delicately on your dish, and nudged it closer.

“Good,” he said quietly, almost like an afterthought, but the words settled over you like warmth spreading from the inside out.

Your hands tightened around your chopsticks, and you nodded, whispering softly, “Thank you… Zhangfu.”

The smallest pause—and then, as though he couldn’t help himself, he reached for another sweet for himself.

This time, you laughed again, and he did not hide the faint curve of his lips.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

By the time the last wave of laughter dwindled and the clinking of wine cups faded into silence, the grand hall felt quieter, heavier. Lanterns still glowed warmly, but the air had shifted—fewer eyes were watching now. Most of the guests had departed, leaving only the Li family and the closest of kin.

Mrs. Li approached with her usual brisk grace, her robes trailing like flowing silk clouds behind her. Her eyes softened as she looked at you, then at her son, who stood ever-straight, ever-silent at your side.

Taking your hand first, then his, she placed them together and enclosed them with her own. The warmth of her palms startled you—gentle, motherly, but filled with meaning.

“I hope you both can be happy together,” she said, her voice low but rich, carrying weight. Then her lips curved into a mischievous little smile, the kind only a mother could dare to give on such an occasion. “And make me a grandmother soon.”

Your entire body went rigid. Your cheeks heated instantly, blood rushing to your ears. Your lips parted in protest, but no words emerged—only a breathless squeak that had you covering your mouth with your free hand.

Mrs. Li laughed softly, clearly enjoying your reaction.

You dared a glance toward Li Shen, expecting indifference, perhaps the same cool blankness he always wore. But instead—

His lashes lowered, his head dipped just slightly, and his ears, stark against the black of his hair, were tinted red.

He was bashful.

The sight made your heart thump painfully in your chest.

“Mother,” Li Shen said at last, his voice steady, though quieter than before. “…That is premature.”

Mrs. Li chuckled knowingly, patting both your hands as though she hadn’t just sent both bride and groom into silent mortification. “All things in time. But remember, happiness begins with kindness toward each other. Remember that, both of you.”

She finally released your hands, though you could still feel the phantom warmth of Li Shen’s calloused fingers against your palm.

“Now go,” she said, her tone soft but commanding, “Li Shen will guide you to his room. You’ll share it until you move.”

Your throat tightened. The weight of her words—share his room—settled heavily on your chest, making your hands clammy and your steps falter.

You dared one last glance at your father across the hall. His eyes were glassy, his lips pressed into a small, proud smile. For a fleeting second, you were a child again, running into his arms for safety. But now—he was entrusting you into someone else’s hands.

Li Shen’s hand slipped beneath your elbow, steady, guiding. “Come,” he said simply.

Your legs felt unsteady, but his presence was grounding, the silent strength in his hold enough to move you forward. Together, you walked through the lantern-lit corridors of the Li manor, every step echoing the enormity of what awaited behind the doors of his room.

The halls of the Li manor stretched long and quiet, shadows spilling over polished wood. Only a few candles flickered faintly along the walls, their flames dancing gently as you walked. The silence was thick—not oppressive, but heavy enough to make your own breathing sound louder than you wished.

Li Shen walked just ahead of you, his posture upright, his steps deliberate. He did not hurry, but each movement carried a strange certainty, as though he had walked these halls in his sleep countless times. His presence filled the space without words.

Finally, you spoke, your voice soft, trying to cut through the quiet.
“Your… manor is big.”

He did not stop, but you saw his head tilt slightly.
“Hm.”

That was all. A hum of acknowledgment—neither encouraging nor dismissive.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe as you followed him, unsure if you should say more. But before you could gather another thought, he stopped. His hand pushed open a door with practiced ease, the wood sliding aside to reveal his quarters.

You stepped in timidly.

The room was simple, orderly, neat in a way that felt undeniably him. A low desk sat near the window, stacks of scrolls and brushes arranged precisely. A single incense holder rested on the table, still faintly fragrant. And against the far wall stood the bed.

At your father’s house, you had always slept on a futon rolled onto the floor. The sight of a bed was not surprising—but here, in the quiet intimacy of a husband’s room, it struck you differently. It felt like crossing a threshold.

Behind you, his voice stirred, quiet but firm.
“Shall I bring a futon?”

You blinked, startled. “I… If it makes you comfortable—yes.”

He turned his head slightly, his eyes settling on you with that piercing steadiness that always made your breath falter.
“I’m asking you.”

Your throat tightened. You looked away, fumbling with your sleeves. “Oh, the futon’s fine then.”

There was a pause. You could feel his gaze linger a moment longer. Then—

“You’re sleeping on the bed.”

Your head snapped up. “No—it’s your house, your room, your bed. I can’t—”

“It is also yours now,” he interrupted, his tone even. Not sharp, not raised—but final.

Your lips parted, no words coming out. His eyes held yours a fraction longer, unreadable yet unwavering, before he turned and set a folded blanket neatly on the bed.

“Rest,” he said simply. “The day has been long.”

By the time the maid left, the room felt too quiet again. The heavy robes had been shed, your hair released from its ornate prison, and yet… the weight of the day clung to you.

Near the low table, a porcelain bowl of warm water waited, steam curling gently from its surface. A cloth rested neatly beside it, clearly prepared in advance. You lowered yourself onto your knees and dipped the cloth into the water. The warmth spread through your fingers as you wrung it out, then pressed it gently to your cheek.

Bit by bit, the layers of powder, rouge, and paint Mrs. Li and the tailors had brushed onto you melted away. It felt almost symbolic—each pass of the cloth stripping away the bride they had adorned you to be, until only you remained.

When the last traces of red were gone from your lips, you caught sight of your reflection in the bronze mirror. Bare. Exposed.

You froze.

Because without the makeup, the faint bruise on your cheek—Cassidy’s latest strike with her wooden spoon—was impossible to hide. A pale bloom of purple against your skin, glaring at you like an ugly truth you hadn’t wanted revealed tonight of all nights.

Your stomach twisted. Shame, fear, and the strange awareness that he was here.

You lowered your head quickly, as though if you just moved fast enough, maybe he wouldn’t notice. But his eyes… Li Shen’s eyes missed nothing.

He had been seated by the low desk, sorting through a few rolled scrolls with calm, deliberate motions. But when his gaze lifted and landed on you, it lingered. Too long. Too sharp.

You felt it before he spoke—the weight of his attention pressing down on you.

“Where did that come from?”

The words were quiet, but there was steel threaded through them.

You flinched, clutching the damp cloth in your hands. “I-It’s nothing…”

“Answer me.”

It wasn’t a shout. He didn’t raise his voice. Yet the firmness in his tone struck deeper than any cry could have. It was the voice of someone who expected the truth—and who would not tolerate evasion.

Your lips parted, trembled, then pressed shut again. A thousand thoughts tangled in your mind—fear of what he would think, fear of dragging your family’s cruelty into this new home, fear of looking pathetic before him.

“I…” You swallowed hard, staring at the bowl of water as though it could rescue you. “It was my fault.”

Silence.

Then, his footsteps.

You stiffened as he moved across the room, his presence a quiet storm, controlled but impossible to ignore. He crouched in front of you, close enough that you could see the fine lines of discipline etched into his face. His hazel-green eyes bore into you, steady and unrelenting.

He didn’t touch you. He didn’t reach for the bruise. But his gaze pinned you there all the same.

“Your fault?” His voice was low. “Did you strike yourself?”

The words lodged in your chest. Heat rushed to your eyes, blurring your vision. “…No.”

“Then it is not your fault.”

Your breath caught. You looked at him, startled—not at the sternness in his voice, but at the quiet certainty. The way he said it, like a statement of fact, not up for argument.

“I…” you tried again, fumbling, but the words died on your tongue.

For a moment longer, he watched you, searching, weighing. Then he straightened, his movements precise, and reached for the cloth in your trembling hands.

Your fingers froze, but he took it without force, dipping it back into the warm water. When he wrung it out and lifted it, you thought for sure he meant to press it to your bruise. But instead, he wiped a faint streak of rouge you had missed along your jawline—one small, careful motion, almost clinical.

“Do not let shame make you small,” he said quietly, almost as if speaking to the water itself. “You are my wife now.”

The cloth was placed back in the bowl with a soft splash. He rose, turning from you as if the matter were closed, retreating once more to his desk.

But the words lingered, burning into your chest, louder than anything else that had been said all night.

When the cloth settled back into the bowl, the quiet in the room deepened. You sat there for a long moment, unmoving, your fingers curled into the fabric of your inner robe. His words—Do not let shame make you small. You are my wife now.—echoed in your head, thrumming louder than your pulse.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed kneeling there, until finally, Li Shen’s voice broke the silence again.

“It is late.”

You looked up. He was standing by the desk, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his posture composed as always. But there was something in his tone—gentle, if still clipped—that left no room for argument.

Reluctantly, you rose to your feet, wiping the dampness from your cheeks before he could see. The bed loomed large in the corner, its wide surface and heavy blankets far more inviting than any futon. Still, your steps were hesitant, your heart pounding with every inch you drew closer.

You climbed onto the edge of the mattress, settling against the farthest corner as though you could disappear into it. The silk sheets were smooth under your fingers, but the unfamiliarity of it all made your stomach twist.

When you dared a glance back at him, Li Shen had not moved to join you. Instead, he sat at his desk, sliding a scroll open under the warm glow of a single lantern. His long fingers traced the inked characters with practiced ease, as though this was how he spent every night: quiet, studious, unbothered.

You pulled the blanket over your legs, clutching it tightly to your chest. He wasn’t coming. Relief and disappointment tangled strangely inside you.

You lay back, eyes wide against the ceiling, the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. But sleep did not come easily. Every creak of the house, every brush of fabric, every sound reminded you he was still there.

Your thoughts replayed in circles—your father’s words that morning, Mrs. Li’s smile at the banquet, Cassidy’s glares, Cheyyenne’s whispers… and then, his voice. Not your fault. You are my wife now.

You turned onto your side, pulling the blanket to your chin, biting your lip hard to keep the heat from rushing back to your eyes.

From the desk, the faintest sound of paper shifting reached your ears. You risked a glance.

Li Shen was still seated, his face calm, lit by the lantern. But his eyes… they were not on the scroll.

They were on you.

Not unkind, not cold—merely steady, watchful, as though ensuring you did not dissolve into the shadows of the bed. The moment your eyes met, however, he returned to the text before him, as if nothing had happened.

You squeezed your eyes shut, rolling onto your other side, your heart thudding painfully against your ribs.

The room stretched into silence again, the only sound the faint crackle of the candle. Slowly, your breath evened out, the exhaustion of the day finally dragging you under.

But on the other side of the room, Li Shen did not unroll another scroll. His brush hovered over the page, unmoving. His gaze flicked to the bed again—at your small form curled tightly beneath the blankets—before he exhaled softly, almost inaudibly, and dipped his brush into ink.

Only then did he resume writing, long into the night.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊

The quiet of the night had only just begun to settle. The candle had burned lower, throwing faint golden light across the room. You shifted beneath the blankets, your back still turned toward Li Shen, trying to convince yourself that the steady scratching of his brush against parchment was enough to lull you to sleep.

Then—

The door burst open.

Both of you froze.

“Li Shen!” The sharp call cracked through the silence. Mrs. Li’s figure appeared in the doorway, lantern in hand, her eyes blazing.

You bolted upright, clutching the blanket to your chest. “M-Mother?”

Her stern gaze swept the room—at you sitting stiffly on the bed, hair still damp from the wash, cheeks flushed with embarrassment—and then cut like a blade to Li Shen, who had risen halfway from his desk in surprise.

“So this is what you do on your wedding night?” she demanded. “Your bride is left alone in bed while you sit there with scrolls?!”

You opened your mouth to speak, to defend him—but her voice was relentless.

“Do you know how foolish this looks? Everyone in this household will be whispering tomorrow that my son is cold as frost to his wife!”

“Mother—” Li Shen began, but her glare silenced him.

“Don’t you ‘Mother’ me!” she snapped, storming further inside. The air seemed to tremble with her fury, her lantern’s flame dancing wildly. “She is your wife now, yet you treat her as if she were some stranger left to freeze! Do you think marriage is ink on scrolls, or duty alone? She is flesh and blood, Li Shen, not a patient or a soldier!”

You could feel the weight of her anger like fire against your skin. Your throat tightened, unsure whether to shrink into the bed or rise to calm her.

Li Shen’s face, however, remained composed. Too composed. The lantern’s light caught the glint of frost at the edge of his sleeve, delicate crystals forming along the wood of the desk beneath his hand. The room’s air thinned, cooled, as if responding to his silence.

Mrs. Li’s eyes widened when she saw it. “Do not you dare freeze me out with your evol!” she snapped, slamming the lantern down on the table so hard the flame hissed. “I carried you for ten months, I raised you with these hands—I will not stand by and watch you ruin this girl’s first night in your house!”

For the first time, Li Shen’s jaw tightened, his calm cracking slightly. His eyes flickered toward you, softened almost imperceptibly, before he inclined his head.

“You misunderstand, Mother.” His voice was low, even, carrying that faint edge of cold steel. “I am not neglecting her.”

“Then what do you call this?!”

“I am giving her peace.”

The words hung heavy between them, his breath visible now in the sudden chill.

Mrs. Li glared, her anger warring with something else—confusion, perhaps, or a begrudging recognition of his intent. Still, she turned back to you, her expression softening.

“Sweetie,” she said firmly, “tell me the truth. Are you unhappy? Has he been cruel?”

Your lips parted, caught between the weight of her expectation and the quiet figure across the room. Li Shen’s eyes, steady and unreadable, rested on you, but beneath the frost you swore you could see the smallest flicker of… fear?

Li Shen didn’t speak again.

Instead, he set his brush down with deliberate care, rolled the scroll tight, and slid it aside. The frost gathering on the desk shimmered faintly, then dissipated as his hand lifted away.

Mrs. Li folded her arms, watching.

He rose, the folds of his robe whispering against the wooden floor, and crossed the room in measured steps. When he sat down on the edge of the bed beside you, the mattress dipped slightly, the closeness startling after so much distance.

Your breath caught.

His sleeve brushed yours, faintly cool from his evol. His presence filled the space in a way that left your heart stuttering—quiet, heavy, and grounding.

Mrs. Li raised a brow. “At last, my son remembers what night this is.”

You flushed, lowering your gaze. The warmth in your cheeks spread all the way to your ears.

Li Shen didn’t look at his mother. He didn’t look at you either, not at first. He simply sat there, one hand resting lightly on the quilt between you both. For a long moment, silence stretched, the sound of your pulse far louder than anything else in the room.

Then, as if he felt your nervousness, his hand shifted—just enough that his fingers brushed against yours. Not a bold touch. Barely more than a graze. But it was enough to make your breath catch again.

Your heart screamed.

Mrs. Li exhaled loudly through her nose, satisfied at last. “Good. That’s better.” She gave you both a sharp look, then wagged a finger at Li Shen. “Don’t you dare let me find her crying alone tomorrow, do you understand?”

Li Shen inclined his head once, composed as ever. “I understand.”

“Hmph. I’ll leave you both to rest, then.” She turned and swept toward the door, muttering under her breath about stubborn sons.

The moment the door shut behind her, the room fell into silence again.

You risked a glance at him. His profile was calm, carved like ice in candlelight. And yet—his fingers hadn’t moved from where they brushed yours.

Not quite holding.
Not quite letting go.

The room was so still you could hear the faint crackle of the candle wick.

Li Shen’s hand remained where it was, brushing yours. He hadn’t shifted away, hadn’t drawn back into the cold silence that had defined him all evening. It was strange—how even such a small contact made your chest ache.

You swallowed, eyes fixed on your lap, afraid that if you moved the moment would vanish.

Then, at last, his voice broke the silence. Low, steady, a tone that was almost too careful.
“Are you comfortable?”

Your head turned just enough to meet his gaze. Hazel-green eyes, sharp and steady as ever, were fixed on you now. There was no teasing, no command—only something softer hidden behind the usual frost.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I… y-yes, Zhangfu.”

His brow furrowed, slightly. He didn’t look away. “If anything is lacking… you tell me.”

The words were simple, but they made your throat tighten. He had spoken them so calmly, as if comfort was a duty he couldn’t neglect.

“I will,” you whispered, though your voice trembled.

His gaze lingered, searching your face for a long moment before he gave a single nod, as though satisfied. His hand finally shifted—not to pull away, but to rest properly, covering yours with quiet certainty.

The warmth of his palm contrasted the faint chill in his fingers. It wasn’t passionate. It wasn’t bold. But it was steady. Reassuring.

“Rest,” he said simply. “It’s been a long day.”

Your lips curved faintly, shyly. You nodded, unable to stop the heat blooming in your chest.

As you lay down, you swore you still felt the weight of his hand even after he pulled away.

Li Shen walked ahead of you, untying his outer robe with practiced, graceful precision. He set it neatly aside, then adjusted the thin inner robe he wore, as if everything had to be orderly before he could even think of resting.

You swallowed hard. He was composed, while you felt as though every step closer to the bed was a step into some deep, uncharted pool.

When you finally climbed onto the mattress, the softness nearly swallowed you whole. It was nothing like your thin futon at home. For a moment, you froze, unsure whether you should lie on the farthest edge or somewhere less awkward.

Li Shen glanced at you once, silent, before extinguishing the tall candle with a flick of his fingers. A soft, cool wisp of air swept through the room—his snow-like energy, quick and effortless.

Darkness fell, save for the faint glow of a smaller lamp in the corner.

He moved to his side of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He lay back with the same poise he carried while standing—straight-backed, composed, as though even in rest he refused to fully relax.

You turned onto your side, hands clutched together against your chest.

Silence stretched, so thick you could hear your own heart pounding in your ears.

Finally, your voice slipped out, small and nervous: “Zhangfu… d-do you want me to sleep farther away?”

There was a pause. You swore you felt him shift slightly, though it was subtle.

“No,” he said at last, his tone quiet but steady. “Here is fine.”

You bit your lip, nodding even though he couldn’t see it in the dim light.

A moment later, his voice returned, softer still. “You don’t need to be tense. Rest… nothing will happen.”

The words were meant to reassure, and they did—but part of you couldn’t help feeling the warmth in them, hidden beneath his usual calm.

You let out a tiny breath, shoulders loosening. Slowly, you allowed your body to sink into the mattress.

And though he didn’t move closer, the knowledge that he was right there—close enough to feel the faint rise and fall of his breathing—was strangely comforting.

It wasn’t passion. It wasn’t closeness in the way stories often described. But it was something. A quiet beginning.

And before long, lulled by the steady rhythm of his breath, your eyes drifted shut.

Chapter Text

Ｎｏ．8→❄️🥼𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

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₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The soft golden light slipped through the silk curtains, warming your cheeks and coaxing you awake. With a sleepy hum, you stretched your arms over your head, the silk sheets rustling around you. For one blissful second, you forgot where you were.

Then the memory hit—wedding robes, vows, the banquet, his hand covering yours as you poured tea, and… the bed.

Your eyes widened.

You froze, your heart leaping. Slowly, you turned your head, half-anxious, half-curious.

But the other side of the bed was empty.

Instead, his night robes had been folded neatly, resting at the edge as though placed with deliberate care. The pillow bore no lingering warmth; he had been gone for some time.

You sat up, clutching the quilt for a moment, your brows knitting together. What time was it? Too early? Too late?

The manor was still unfamiliar, its endless halls and wings a maze you weren’t yet brave enough to explore alone. Still, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, slipped your feet into the provided slippers, and took a tentative step toward the door.

The hall outside was hushed, the faint scent of incense lingering from the night before. You hesitated, then began walking, the wooden floors creaking softly beneath your steps.

You turned one corner, then another—everywhere looked the same, grand yet silent. You were too preoccupied with trying to decide whether you were lost when—

“Oof!”

You bumped into a firm figure.

Startled, you stumbled back, only to be steadied by warm, familiar hands.

“My dear!”

Mrs. Li’s radiant face appeared before you, her eyes sparkling as she leaned forward to kiss your cheeks affectionately. “Good morning, my precious daughter-in-law!”

Heat rushed to your face as you bowed your head slightly. “G-good morning…”

She held your hands, beaming. “And where are you going so early, wandering these halls?”

You fumbled with your sleeve. “I… I need to change. And wash.”

“Oh?” Her brows arched in amusement. “And where is Shen-er? He didn’t escort you?”

You shook your head timidly, lips pressing together. “I… I don’t know.”

Mrs. Li clicked her tongue, shaking her head in mock-disapproval. “That son of mine—vanishing on the morning after his wedding, leaving his new bride to wander like a lost lamb! Hmph, I ought to scold him.”

You lowered your gaze, unsure whether to smile or apologize for him.

But she squeezed your hands reassuringly, her smile softening. “Don’t worry, my dear. Come with me. I’ll have the maids prepare hot water for you. And after, we’ll get you dressed properly so all the servants see you as their mistress.”

She paused, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “And then, we’ll hunt down my elusive son together, shall we?”

Mrs. Li linked her arm through yours before you could even respond, her warm, lilac-scented presence pulling you gently along the corridor.

“Come, come. First morning as a bride should never begin with wandering about half-dressed and confused.” She gave your hand a squeeze, her voice half-amused, half-indulgent.

You ducked your head, embarrassed. “I… I didn’t know where to go.”

“That is because Shen-er failed you,” she declared with mock severity. “He should have been here when you woke, guiding you, seeing to your comfort. Instead, he’s nowhere to be found.” Her lips pressed together, clearly restraining the urge to fume. Then she sighed, shaking her head with an affectionate smile. “Men. Even brilliant ones can be so thoughtless.”

She guided you into a warm chamber, where two young maids immediately bowed. A large basin of steaming water had been set up, fragrant with rose petals and herbs. Towels were folded neatly at the side, and fresh inner robes—light pink silk embroidered with delicate plum blossoms—had been prepared for you.

“My lady,” the maids greeted you softly.

Mrs. Li clapped her hands. “Go on, attend to her. This is her first morning as mistress of the house. Make her glow.”

Your cheeks heated as the maids carefully slipped away the outer layers of your night robe, leaving you in lighter undergarments as they prepared the water. You tried to protest, fumbling with your sleeves, but Mrs. Li only laughed lightly and patted your shoulder.

“No need to be shy, child. You are family now. A bride deserves to be tended to properly.”

You let them wash your face gently with a soft towel dipped in the scented water, the warmth chasing away the last haze of sleep. Your makeup from the day before melted away completely, leaving your skin bare and fresh. As they combed through your long hair, undoing the last remnants of the wedding crown’s grip, you felt almost… exposed. Vulnerable.

Mrs. Li, sitting close by, studied you with warm, searching eyes.

“My dear…” she said softly, “you are lovely without all that powder and rouge. I hope Shen-er saw you like this before running off. Hmph. If not, then he is even more foolish than I thought.”

You flushed, lowering your gaze. “He… he saw.”

She smiled knowingly, then nodded in approval. “Good.”

When the maids dressed you in the fresh inner robe, the silk cool against your skin, Mrs. Li rose to her feet. She herself adjusted the collar, smoothing it gently over your shoulders, her fingers lingering as though she couldn’t quite let go.

“There,” she whispered, her voice carrying both pride and tenderness. “You look every bit the part. The house is yours now. The servants, the kitchens, the gardens… all will look to you as their lady. And I will make sure they see it, too.”

You bit your lip, uncertain. “It feels strange. Yesterday, I was just… me.”

Mrs. Li cupped your cheek. “And today, you are still you. But also someone greater. Shen-er is not the easiest man, but I know… with time, he will come to show you his heart. Until then, I am here.”

Her eyes twinkled, though her smile curved with mischief. “Now. Let us go eat together. I’ll have the kitchen bring us sweet congee and breakfast. If Shen-er wishes to vanish like smoke at dawn, then he can eat alone.”

She looped her arm around yours again, pulling you along with motherly cheer.  

As you walked with Mrs. Li, her hand firmly hooked through yours, she spoke with her usual brightness, though her words carried the authority of a matriarch.

“It is already the hour of Wu,” she announced, her tone gently scolding as if you had overslept by half a lifetime. “A new bride should not be wandering the halls at this time. Shen-er—hmph!—he should have been waiting here at your side, instead of slipping away without a word.”

Your steps faltered, your eyes widening slightly. The hour of Wu? That was midday. You must have slept much longer than you realized.

Mrs. Li squeezed your arm and shook her head with mock exasperation. “Perhaps he couldn’t wait any longer. My son has the patience of a mountain when it comes to his studies, his medicines, his scrolls… but when it comes to daily life, he moves like the wind. I imagine he woke early, went to his duties, and left you alone without a second thought. Foolish boy.”

Her voice was sharp, but the warmth in her eyes betrayed her affection. Still, your heart gave a little stir.

Could it be… that Li Shen truly couldn’t wait?

The thought lodged itself in your chest, soft and dangerous. You remembered the neat fold of his night robe on the bed. How early must he have risen to have everything in order before you stirred? Had he stood there for a while, watching you sleep? Or had he slipped out immediately, as if sharing a bed was something foreign and difficult to him?

You lowered your gaze quickly, not wanting Mrs. Li to notice the faint heat climbing your cheeks.

Mrs. Li, oblivious to your wandering thoughts, pulled you along with her determined stride. “Come, child. Eat first. Shen-er will return soon enough, and I will give him an earful for neglecting you. For now, you must gather your strength. A bride cannot face her new household on an empty stomach.”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

After breakfast, Mrs. Li patted your hand warmly, her eyes sparkling as though she already had a secret plan in mind. “Shen-er should be in the east study. Mixing things to whatever he does,” she teased lightly, though the fondness in her voice was evident. “If not, then open the door in that room—it leads straight to the herbary. He practically lives in there.”

You nodded, smoothing the front of your blue robe, and made your way down the quiet corridors. The halls of the Li manor felt different now—no longer the festive chaos of the wedding, but hushed, with the faint scent of herbs lingering in the air.

When you slid the door open, you found him immediately.

Li Shen sat at a low table, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the pale skin of his forearms catching the light. His long black hair, usually so neat, was tied into a loose, messy bun high on his head, stray strands slipping down to frame his sharp jawline. He was focused, grinding herbs into a smooth paste within a mortar, the rhythmic motion steady and precise. A few parchment scrolls and open books surrounded him, notes written in his disciplined, calligraphic hand.

You hesitated at the threshold, then bowed softly. “Good morning, Zhàngfū.”

He didn’t immediately look up. His hazel-green eyes remained on the herbs as he finished one last slow grind. Only then did he raise his gaze, sharp and assessing. “It’s nearly noon,” he corrected, his tone flat but not unkind. A blink followed, as though the reminder didn’t matter much to him after all. “No bother. Have a seat.”

Before you could move, he reached behind him and pulled out a small cushion, sliding it across the tatami mat to you without breaking eye contact. The simple gesture made your chest warm.

You settled onto the cushion, folding your hands in your lap. Silence stretched between you, only the faint scrape of the pestle against the mortar filling the room. Finally, he set the tool aside and spoke, his voice calm, measured—yet edged with something you hadn’t expected.

“I didn’t know your step-mother and sister hurt you.”

Your breath caught, your fingers curling slightly in the fabric of your robe. “W-what? No—”

His eyes narrowed, unreadable. “Your father informed me,” he said bluntly. “Some father he is… to ignore it all this time.”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to deny it, to smooth it over, to laugh it away—but the way his gaze fixed on you made excuses shrivel on your tongue.

“I…” You couldn’t finish.

He rose to his knees, moving closer. His presence loomed, not harsh, but steady—like the weight of snow pressing silently on a branch. He extended his hand, palm open. “Your arm. Show it to me.”

Your lips parted in a small protest. “It’s… nothing—”

“Your arm,” he repeated, softer this time, but no less firm. His hazel eyes held yours, and in them, you saw not cruelty, not coldness, but a quiet insistence. A doctor’s demand, yes—but also a husband’s.

Your heart beat faster. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you extended your arm, the wide sleeve of your robe sliding back to reveal the faint bruise that still lingered. The skin was discolored, a small but undeniable mark.

His jaw tightened ever so slightly. He did not speak right away, but his fingers brushed the bruise lightly, testing, examining, as though he were studying an ailment he intended to cure. His touch was cool, careful—not lingering, not improper.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, even. “I will prepare something for it.”

Your breath quickened as his fingers brushed the bruise, light as falling snow, then retreated. He didn’t linger. He didn’t even look at you when he rose smoothly to his feet.

Instead, Li Shen returned to his low table, sleeves still rolled, hair loose against his cheek as he reached for several small jars lined neatly on the shelf. He uncorked them one by one, his movements precise, almost ritualistic. A faint, bitter aroma of dried herbs filled the air—sharp ginseng, cool angelica root, a hint of crushed mint.

Without a word, he measured a pinch of each ingredient, dropping them into the mortar. The pestle ground against the mixture in steady circles, a muted scrape-scrape-scrape echoing in the quiet room. His expression remained unreadable, but there was something in the careful way he worked—the way his fingers hovered just a fraction longer over the herbs, the way he pressed the mixture into a smoother paste than necessary—that made you realize.

He wasn’t preparing a remedy for his notes. He was preparing it for you.

You sat very still, your sleeve draped over your knees, your arm tucked close as if hiding it would make the bruise vanish. Yet your eyes remained locked on him, on the slow and deliberate way his strong hands moved.

Finally, he lifted the pestle, setting it aside with a quiet clink. He drew in a breath, then turned back to you, holding the mortar carefully in one hand as though it were something fragile.

“For bruising,” he said simply. His voice was calm, professional, but his eyes… when they met yours, they softened in a way that stole your breath.

He knelt in front of you, dipping two fingers into the salve. His touch was cool, the paste faintly tingling as he spread it over the discoloration on your arm. His movements were slow, exact—no wasted motions, no unnecessary pressure.

“You should not have endured this,” he said at last, quietly, without accusation in his tone. Just… fact.

Your throat tightened. “It’s… not that bad.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, steady and unyielding. “Pain is pain. Do not lessen it.”

The way he said it—it wasn’t a command, but it wasn’t a request either. It was truth.

When he finished, he wiped his fingers on a small cloth, then carefully tied a strip of clean linen around your arm to hold the salve in place. Only then did he lean back slightly, studying his work, then studying you.

“You will apply this twice a day until it fades.” A pause, quiet but firm. “And you will tell me. If anyone lays a hand on you again.”

His words were not loud. But in the stillness, they felt like an oath. 

You looked down at your bandaged arm, at the way he tied the knot just right—not too tight, not too loose. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The silence between you was heavy but not uncomfortable, filled with the faint scent of crushed herbs and candle smoke.

Your lips parted. “Zhangfu…”

He glanced up, his hazel eyes catching the light in a way that made them look like melting amber.

“Would you… like some tea?” you asked softly. “You’ve been working since morning. You must be tired.”

For a heartbeat, he said nothing. You thought maybe he’d decline, the way he always seemed to distance himself with that quiet, unreadable face.

But then—just a small nod. “Mn. Tea would be fine.”

That single word filled you with a little flutter of pride. You stood up quickly, maybe too quickly, brushing your robes smooth and heading for the kettle by the brazier. You’d noticed the clay teapot earlier, sitting forgotten beside his scrolls.

You poured water into the kettle, setting it over the heat. It hissed gently as it warmed. You took the small wooden box near it—inside were different teas, each labeled in neat handwriting: chrysanthemum, lotus leaf, ginger, oolong.

You hesitated, then smiled faintly. You picked chrysanthemum—its scent always reminded you of quiet afternoons with Xiao Ling, when she told you the flowers could chase away sadness.

As the tea steeped, you glanced back over your shoulder. He was watching you. Not in judgment, not with coldness—but simply watching. His head tilted slightly, as if this small act—your hands measuring the leaves, the care you took to pour evenly—interested him more than the herbs on his desk ever could.

You swallowed, cheeks warming. “I hope it’s not too bitter,” you said, placing the cup in front of him with both hands.

He looked down at it, then at you. “You brewed it well.”

“Ah—y-you haven’t even tried it yet!”

His lips twitched—just barely. “I can tell.”

You blinked, then giggled before you could stop yourself. The sound seemed to startle him slightly, but he didn’t look away. He took a slow sip, exhaled softly, and nodded.

“It’s good.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Then I’ll make it again tomorrow.”

Another pause, long and thoughtful. “Alright.”

The word was quiet, but in it, there was something warm—something almost tender.

You sat with your hands folded neatly in your lap, the faint steam from his teacup curling between you both. You weren’t sure why the words left your lips—it just felt too quiet not to say something.

“I… I seem like I don’t know much about you,” you murmured, eyes flickering toward him. “Not truly.”

He didn’t reply immediately. His gaze lingered on the table, on the fading ripples of the tea’s surface, before shifting to you—measured, calm, unreadable. Then, without a word, he rose to his feet.

You watched, startled, as he reached up and pulled the pin from his hair. The glossy black strands fell loose, cascading down his back in a smooth, silken wave. For a man so reserved, the gesture was strangely intimate—almost vulnerable. He ran his fingers through his hair once, absently, before turning toward the door.

“Come,” he said simply.

You blinked, standing so quickly your robes brushed the edge of the low table. “O-oh, yes, Zhangfu.”

He didn’t look back as he walked, but his stride was slow enough for you to follow easily. The quiet rhythm of his steps echoed down the wooden hallway, mingling with the faint chirp of sparrows outside. The manor was so large—every turn revealed new corridors, new screens painted with serene mountain scenes.

Finally, he slid open a heavy oak door and stepped inside.

Your breath caught.

The room beyond was vast—endless, it seemed. Rows upon rows of shelves stretched up to the ceiling, each one packed with neatly arranged books, scrolls, bottles, and small wooden boxes sealed with delicate ribbons. The air smelled of sandalwood and paper, with a faint trace of herbs. Dust motes floated through the golden light streaming from the tall windows.

You had never seen so many books in your life.

Li Shen stopped near the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back. “One can find many things about a person,” he said quietly, “by looking through their bookshelf.”

You turned toward him, your fingers brushing the spines of a few worn volumes—texts on medicine, on botany, on history and philosophy. Some were old and faded, others clearly written by his own hand.

“Feel free to check whenever you like,” he continued, his tone even, though his words felt unexpectedly personal. He looked at you then—directly, steadily—and for the first time, his eyes didn’t seem cold.

He paused, his voice lowering just a little.

“Whatever is mine,” he said, “is yours.”

The silence that followed made your heart stutter in your chest. It wasn’t just the words—it was the quiet certainty behind them.

You smiled faintly, fingers tracing the gold lettering on one of the spines. “Then… I’ll start learning about you from here.”

Li Shen inclined his head, a shadow of a smile ghosting across his lips. “That would be wise.”

And just like that, he turned and began pulling a few scrolls from a higher shelf, his movements calm and precise—while you, still standing amidst the rows of his thoughts and secrets, couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this cold man had begun to let you in.

You sat with your hands folded neatly in your lap, the faint steam from his teacup curling between you both. You weren’t sure why the words left your lips—it just felt too quiet not to say something.

“I… I seem like I don’t know much about you,” you murmured, eyes flickering toward him. “Not truly.”

He didn’t reply immediately. His gaze lingered on the table, on the fading ripples of the tea’s surface, before shifting to you—measured, calm, unreadable. Then, without a word, he rose to his feet.

You watched, startled, as he reached up and pulled the pin from his hair. The glossy black strands fell loose, cascading down his back in a smooth, silken wave. For a man so reserved, the gesture was strangely intimate—almost vulnerable. He ran his fingers through his hair once, absently, before turning toward the door.

“Come,” he said simply.

You blinked, standing so quickly your robes brushed the edge of the low table. “O-oh, yes, Zhangfu.”

He didn’t look back as he walked, but his stride was slow enough for you to follow easily. The quiet rhythm of his steps echoed down the wooden hallway, mingling with the faint chirp of sparrows outside. The manor was so large—every turn revealed new corridors, new screens painted with serene mountain scenes.

Finally, he slid open a heavy oak door and stepped inside.

Your breath caught.

The room beyond was vast—endless, it seemed. Rows upon rows of shelves stretched up to the ceiling, each one packed with neatly arranged books, scrolls, bottles, and small wooden boxes sealed with delicate ribbons. The air smelled of sandalwood and paper, with a faint trace of herbs. Dust motes floated through the golden light streaming from the tall windows.

You had never seen so many books in your life.

Li Shen stopped near the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back. “One can find many things about a person,” he said quietly, “by looking through their bookshelf.”

You turned toward him, your fingers brushing the spines of a few worn volumes—texts on medicine, on botany, on history and philosophy. Some were old and faded, others clearly written by his own hand.

“Feel free to check whenever you like,” he continued, his tone even, though his words felt unexpectedly personal. He looked at you then—directly, steadily—and for the first time, his eyes didn’t seem cold.

He paused, his voice lowering just a little.

“Whatever is mine,” he said, “is yours.”

The silence that followed made your heart stutter in your chest. It wasn’t just the words—it was the quiet certainty behind them.

You smiled faintly, fingers tracing the gold lettering on one of the spines. “Then… I’ll start learning about you from here.”

Li Shen inclined his head, a shadow of a smile ghosting across his lips. “That would be wise.”

And just like that, he turned and began pulling a few scrolls from a higher shelf, his movements calm and precise—while you, still standing amidst the rows of his thoughts and secrets, couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this cold man had begun to let you in.

Your heart was still racing from his words—you have one now.
You weren’t sure what you expected from him after that—maybe distance again, the familiar calm he wore like a second robe. But when you glanced up, your gaze snagged on him.

Li Shen stood before the window now, sunlight spilling through, catching the side of his face. His long hair fell over one shoulder, dark silk against pale robes.

But it wasn’t his hair, or his eyes, that held you.

It was his mouth.

His lips—soft, perfectly shaped, with a faint pinkness that made your breath stutter. You had read about lips like that, in the old tales of romance—the kind whispered by candlelight, where maidens were kissed under the blossoms and forgot how to breathe.

You never thought you’d understand what they meant.

But now—watching the faint twitch at the corner of his lips as he focused on a page, the way they parted slightly when he exhaled—your chest tightened, your stomach flipping in ways you couldn’t explain.

Your fingers curled against your robes.

You could almost feel what those stories meant.

How a first kiss wasn’t always stolen—it was given, quiet, trembling, sweet.

And yet—just as quickly—you caught yourself, heat crawling up your neck.

He was your husband, yes, but this was not the kind of love you had ever learned how to feel. It scared you, how much you wanted to know.

You turned away, pretending to study the nearest shelf.

Still, the thought clung to you—his lips, his voice, the warmth in his words—
and for the first time in a long while, you wanted to believe the stories might be real.

Chapter Text

Ｎｏ．9→❄️🥼𝐀 𝐓𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞

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₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

You had never found a man attractive like this—ever in your life.

Not the scholars your father had once tried to introduce you to, not the noble sons you’d been paraded before in the capital, not even the faces that filled the romance scrolls hidden beneath your pillow as a girl.

None of them had ever made your breath hitch the way he did now.

It wasn’t anything he was doing either.
He was simply there—laying beside you, half-buried beneath the sheets, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm so slow, so steady, that you could almost match your breathing to his.

The morning light that slipped through the curtains softened every edge of him.
His hazel-green eyes were closed, fringed by lashes that brushed faintly against his cheeks. His long black hair was loose and combed through, pooling like ink on the pillow. Even the strands that had escaped fell neatly across his collarbone, as if they belonged there.

Your gaze drifted lower—his hands resting over his abdomen. His fingers were long, his nails clean and neatly trimmed. The veins that ran faintly beneath his pale skin looked almost artistic—lines of quiet strength rather than vanity.

And his skin... smooth, faintly luminescent beneath the light.

Then—
Your eyes stopped on his mouth.

Those lips.

They looked soft. Too soft for someone who spoke so little and lived with such restraint. You could almost imagine how they’d move if he smiled, or how they’d feel if he—

Your throat tightened.
No. Absolutely not.

You turned your gaze away, willing the heat in your face to fade. You were not about to daydream beside your husband like some fluttering maiden from a romance play.

But the longer you sat there, the louder the silence felt. You could hear his breathing—slow, calm, real. And before you could stop yourself, your eyes betrayed you again, sliding back to him.

The curve of his lips twitched—just slightly.
And then—he spoke.

“...Yes?”

You froze.

His eyes were open now—bright, alert, a hint of amusement glimmering beneath them. The corners of his mouth lifted, just a little, as if he’d known exactly what you’d been thinking.

“W–what?” you stammered, trying to hide your face, fumbling for the edge of your blanket.

He tilted his head on the pillow, watching you with quiet curiosity. “You’ve been staring for quite some time,” he murmured, voice low and smooth, still touched by sleep. “Was something on my face?”

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “N–no! Nothing, I just—”

His brows arched faintly. “Hm.”

He shut his eyes again, lips tugging in the faintest smirk. “Then perhaps it was the wall behind me that held your attention so dearly.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. He didn’t laugh, didn’t tease further. But the knowing curve at his lips said enough.

Your pulse refused to settle.

Because suddenly—
you realized something.

Even when he wasn’t speaking, Li Shen had a way of commanding your attention.
And now, even with his eyes closed again…
you couldn’t look away.

His voice was quiet—too quiet.
So quiet it almost didn’t sound like Li Shen.

“Did…” he began, his tone careful, his words deliberate, “…did they beat you often?”

You blinked, startled out of the haze of morning calm. “What?”

He didn’t look at you immediately. His eyes were trained on the teacup in his hand, fingers steady against the porcelain rim. The sunlight caught in the pale strands of his hair that had escaped their tie. His lashes flickered once—before he looked at you again.

“Your… those people,” he said slowly, as if the word family was one he refused to give them. “You must have bruises. And scars. Everywhere.”

You swallowed. The air between you grew heavy, thicker with every heartbeat. You hadn’t expected him to ask. You hadn’t expected him to care.

“I…” You tried to laugh, but it came out too small, too brittle. “I guess so.”

His brows knit. “Why did they hurt you?”

That question—so simple—felt like a blade being pressed to your ribs.

You wanted to look away, to pretend it didn’t sting, but he was looking straight at you now. And Li Shen didn’t ask questions lightly. When he wanted an answer, it was because he was already searching for the truth.

“I don’t know,” you said at last. Your voice cracked on the last syllable. “Because I was born wrong, I suppose. Because I wasn’t what they wanted. Because I was… there.”

He didn’t interrupt. He just listened.
His fingers, usually folded neatly behind his back or occupied with brushes and scrolls, curled faintly on his knee. The candlelight trembled over his face, softening the hard lines that usually kept everyone at a distance.

He exhaled slowly, as though steadying something inside himself.
“That is not a reason,” he said finally.

You blinked.

“People do not deserve pain simply because they exist,” he continued. His voice was still calm—gentle even—but it carried that quiet conviction that made you realize he meant every word.

You looked down, trying to keep your trembling hands out of sight. “…It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It does.”

You looked up, startled again by the firmness in his tone.

“It matters because they made you think it doesn’t,” he said softly. “That’s what people like that do. They convince you that you deserved it, so they don’t have to carry the shame.”

Your lips parted slightly. You didn’t know what to say.

He leaned back a little, as if realizing how intense he’d sounded. His gaze softened.
“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he murmured. “But don’t tell me it doesn’t matter.”

A small silence followed.

The faint sound of wind chimes outside. The aroma of crushed herbs still lingering from the mortar on the table. The light shifting across the wooden floor.

You swallowed hard, finally managing, “You’re… very strange, Zhangfu.”

He tilted his head, a faint trace of irony tugging at his lips. “You only realize that now?”

You smiled weakly, eyes dropping to your lap.
But deep down—
for the first time in a long while—
you felt something that wasn’t fear.

You felt seen. 

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Li Shen’s voice carried from the doorway—calm and deep, yet there was something faintly amused beneath it.
“Su MC.”

You looked up from the vanity, halfway through arranging a row of hairpins and small trinkets Mrs. Li had gifted earlier. The mirror reflected your own wide eyes, the delicate blue of your morning robes, the faint blush still lingering on your cheeks from the earlier conversation.

“Hm?”

He stood just beyond the threshold, one hand behind his back, the other resting lightly on the doorframe. His expression was, as always, unreadable—save for the faint lift of his brow.

“Someone is here to see you.”

You blinked. “To… see me?”

He gave the smallest nod. “A very enthusiastic young woman—with… strange short hair.”

You gasped softly, your mind instantly placing the description. “Oh! Táo Tao!”

Li Shen stepped aside as you rushed past him, your sleeves brushing lightly against his arm. His gaze followed for a brief moment—perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps to ensure you didn’t trip on the way down the corridor—but he said nothing as you hurried toward the front entrance.

The manor’s hallways glowed with warm morning light, filtered through the lattice windows. You could already hear the sound of light chatter and laughter even before reaching the main doors.

And there she was.

Táo Tao stood at the entrance, her smile as bright as the sun outside. She wore her usual gray Taoist robes, though she had cinched them haphazardly at the waist, her sleeves rolled up like she was ready for a spar instead of a social call. Her short, light brown hair framed her face in uneven waves—soft and rebellious at once—and her cheeks flushed with delight when she spotted you.

“MC!” she exclaimed, the sound of your name breaking through the calm air like a bird’s call.

You barely had time to open your arms before she charged forward, squeezing you tightly. The scent of pine and travel dust clung faintly to her robes.

“Táo Tao!” you laughed, stumbling slightly as she hugged you with all her strength. “You nearly knocked me over!”

“Ugh!” she groaned dramatically, pulling back just enough to grin up at you. “Madam Li! Can you believe it? I leave for one month and suddenly you’re a married woman!”

Your face heated instantly. “Táo Tao!” you hissed softly, glancing toward the corridor as though Li Shen might appear any second.

“Oh don’t give me that,” she teased, elbowing you lightly. “Look at you—glowing like a phoenix. You even smell different. Perfumed! Refined! Like a proper lady of the Li manor!”

You tried to hide your embarrassment behind your sleeves. “You’re exaggerating again.”

“Am I?” she said, eyes glinting mischievously. “You even talk softer now! What did that cold-faced husband of yours do, enchant you into a docile little bride?”

“Táo Tao!” you whispered harshly, though you couldn’t stop the shy laugh that escaped. “He’s kind! Don’t speak like that.”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by your tone—and then smiled, softer this time. “So you do like him.”

You turned away, pretending to fuss with the edge of your robe. “That’s not—he’s just… gentle in his own way.”

Táo Tao’s grin widened. “Gentle, huh? I’ll have to see this for myself. I didn’t think men who look like frozen statues could be gentle.”

Just as she said that, Li Shen appeared again at the end of the hallway.

He was carrying a small tray with a teapot and two porcelain cups—most likely for the guest you’d forgotten to serve in your excitement. His dark robes trailed softly behind him, his hair once again tied neatly back, a few loose strands falling by his jaw.

Táo Tao froze mid-sentence, blinking rapidly before straightening and whispering, “Oh no. He’s actually hot.”

You turned red from the neck up. “Táo Tao!”

Li Shen, seemingly oblivious—or politely pretending to be—approached and set the tray down on a side table with practiced grace. “Tea,” he said simply. Then, with a faint nod toward Táo Tao, “You must be the bestie…?”

Táo Tao grinned, hands clasped behind her back. “That’s me. I take it you’re the cold-faced husband?”

You nearly choked. “Táo Tao!”

Li Shen’s brow lifted the slightest degree—but to your shock, his lips curved in the faintest ghost of amusement. “Cold-faced?” he repeated quietly. “Perhaps.”

Táo Tao looked between you both, smirking. “I like him already.”

You groaned softly, but inside, you couldn’t help the warmth blooming in your chest.

For the first time, your two worlds—the quiet, composed life you were trying to build, and the wild, familiar comfort of your past—stood side by side in one room.

And somehow… they fit.

Táo Tao leaned across the low table, eyes glimmering with mischief as she popped her chin into her palms.
“Tell me, Master Li,” she began, voice full of that familiar teasing lilt, “do you happen to have a younger brother? Or perhaps an older one—but I think I’d prefer younger men, heheheh.”

Her words hung in the air, playful and audacious.

You nearly choked on your tea. “Táo Tao!”

Li Shen, unfazed, merely looked at her—expression flat, unbothered, his hazel-green eyes cool and still as winter glass. He blinked once, slowly, as if weighing whether the question was worth acknowledging at all.

Finally, he replied in that low, even tone of his,
“No.”

The single syllable fell like a small stone into a quiet pond—decisive, calm, and yet somehow final.

You hid your face behind your sleeve, mortified. Táo Tao’s grin only widened. “Tch—what a shame. I was hoping there was another one of you lying around somewhere.”

Without so much as a sigh, Li Shen reached for the small porcelain plate between you. He picked up a delicate almond pastry, its top brushed with honey, and placed it gently into your hand.

“Eat,” he said simply, his voice neither stern nor warm—just that steady, gentle command you’d started to recognize as care hidden beneath formality. Then, after a short pause, he added, “And serve your guest.”

His tone softened slightly at the end, and your heart gave a small, unsteady flutter.

“O-Oh! Right.” You quickly reached for the teapot, hands trembling a bit as you poured Táo Tao a cup.

Táo Tao raised a brow, her grin sly. “He feeds you and makes you pour tea? I see how it is—spoiled already, Madam Li.”

Your face flushed deeper. “That’s not—!”

But Li Shen only turned away, calmly unrolling a parchment scroll he’d brought with him, his posture utterly composed as if none of this chaos had ever happened.

Táo Tao leaned closer to you, whispering dramatically behind her cup, “He’s so serious it’s hot. I don’t know how you stand it.”

“I—Táo Tao!”

From across the table, Li Shen’s voice came again, dry and quiet, as if he had indeed heard every word.

“I can still hear you.”

Táo Tao froze mid-sip, then laughed, embarrassed but unrepentant. “Ah—caught.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to giggle.

Li Shen’s eyes flickered briefly toward you then—softly, briefly—and for just a heartbeat, there was something like amusement there. It vanished as quickly as it came, replaced once more by that calm, unreadable serenity that always made you want to stare a little longer.

And there, in the soft midmorning light—your dearest friend and your distant husband sitting across from each other, both so different yet both strangely part of your world now—you felt something tender and light bloom quietly in your chest.

Li Shen gently rolled up the scroll he’d been reading, his long fingers moving with quiet precision. Then, without another word, he turned to you.
“I’ll be in the apothecary,” he said, tone even, almost formal.
You nodded, bowing your head slightly. “Yes, Zhangfu.”

He paused at the doorway for half a breath—just enough to glance back at you once. His eyes softened a little, just enough that you almost thought you imagined it. Then, with a quiet rustle of his robes, he stepped out, leaving you and Táo Tao alone in the quiet sitting room.

You exhaled.
The moment he was gone, Táo Tao leaned forward instantly, her face breaking into a wild grin.

“Well, well, well!” she whispered, wiggling her eyebrows in the most dramatic fashion possible.
You blinked, confused. “…What?”

“Oh, don’t you what me, Madam Li,” she hissed, clutching her teacup and leaning closer until her nose nearly touched yours. “It’s been, what—two days? Three?”

You blinked again. “Four, actually—”

“Four days! And you haven’t told me anything!” She smacked her hand on the table. “So—” she made a vague gesture with both hands, face lighting up with mischief—“have you two… AHEM?”

Your eyes went wide. “Táo Tao!” you squeaked, nearly spilling your tea.

She snorted, covering her mouth to hide her laugh. “Oh, come on! Don’t play innocent! The man looks like he could melt glaciers with that face—don’t tell me you haven’t even tried to—”

“Táo Tao!” You shoved her shoulder, mortified, your face burning so hot you thought you might catch fire.

She laughed harder. “Aha! You’re blushing! You’re totally blushing!”

You pressed your hands to your cheeks, turning away. “It’s not—it’s not like that! He’s… he’s not that kind of man.”

“Not that kind of man? All men are that kind of man given the right moment!” Táo Tao leaned back dramatically, sipping her tea as if she were a noblewoman watching a play. “What, did he not even touch your hand last night?”

You froze.
“...He… he did,” you admitted softly.

“Ohhh?” Táo Tao’s eyes sparkled with wicked delight. “And then?”

“He—uh—helped me pour tea.”

Táo Tao blinked. “That’s it?”

“Y-yes!”

She groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “You’re killing me, MC! Absolutely killing me! You’re married to a man like that—and the most he’s done is help you pour tea?!”

You laughed nervously, clutching your cup. “He’s gentle. Kind of. I think.”

“Gentle? He looks like he recites poetry in his sleep and freezes anyone who interrupts.”

“Táo Tao!” you gasped through a giggle.

She only leaned in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Alright, fine. If he’s that serious, you’ll have to make the first move.”

Your head snapped up. “What—no, I—what move?!”

“Something! Anything! Maybe trip and fall into his arms—works in all the dramas!”

You buried your face in your hands as Táo Tao burst out laughing, nearly spilling her tea from how hard she was shaking with mirth.

You leaned in a little, voice barely above a whisper, as if the walls themselves might eavesdrop.
“Táo Tao… should I really—pursue him?”

Her eyes widened with theatrical disbelief, and she almost choked on her tea.
“Should you—? SHOULD YOU?!” she slammed her hand on the table, nearly knocking over the teapot. “YES! YES, YOU SHOULD!”

You blinked, startled by her intensity. “But—he’s so quiet… and cold… what if he doesn’t—”

“Cold?” she scoffed, tossing her short hair with exaggerated flair. “That’s just because you haven’t warmed him up yet!”

Your face burned so hot you thought you might faint. “T-Táo Tao!”

She pointed at you dramatically. “Listen here, Madam Li! You’ve got a man carved by the heavens themselves—long hair, sharp jaw, eyes that could melt glaciers—and he’s YOUR husband. YOURS. Do you know how many women would kill for that?!”

You covered your face, laughing helplessly. “You’re insane…”

“I’m a realist,” she corrected, wagging a finger. “And as your dearest friend, it’s my duty to make sure you don’t let him just… sit there, brewing potions all day!”

You hesitated, then murmured, “But what if I scare him off?”

She leaned forward, eyes glittering. “Then chase him faster.”

You blinked again, speechless.

“MC,” she said, gripping your hands dramatically across the table. “You’re sweet, smart, loyal, adorable. If he can’t fall for you, he’s not human. You just need to show him the real you.”

You bit your lip, heart fluttering. “You really think so?”

Táo Tao grinned like a devil. “Absolutely. You pursue him, seduce him, and then—” she raised her voice with ridiculous pride—“you birth me a niece!”

“WHAT?!” you nearly screamed, your face exploding in red as you slapped her arm. “Táo Tao!”

She fell over laughing, clutching her stomach. “Ahahaha! I’m serious! A cute little niece with his hair and your eyes! I’ll babysit her and spoil her rotten!”

You buried your face in your sleeves, groaning, “You’re impossible…”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she smirked, sipping her tea smugly. “You’ll thank me later—once he starts calling you dear wife and looking at you like you hung the moon.”

Behind you, the faint creak of the door.
Neither of you noticed—
That Li Shen stood at the threshold, eyes unreadable.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

“Medicine Master Li, being a physician and a medicine master and all… I don’t suppose you can protect your dearest wife against evil?” Táo Tao grinned mischievously, her eyes sparkling with a challenge that made the air feel suddenly heavier, like a storm about to break.

Li Shen, who was sitting beside you on the wooden dining bench, spooning up a bite of white rice topped with the crispy, golden sesame chicken you had painstakingly prepared, glanced at her with that calm, unreadable expression that always seemed to make your stomach do little flips. There was a smug curve to his lips, subtle, but it carried the weight of absolute confidence.

“After all,” Táo Tao continued, leaning slightly forward, elbows on the table, “always in your office, buried in scrolls, reading or writing… You really do need to touch some grass, Sir.” Her voice carried a teasing lilt, but there was a playful edge, as though daring him to prove her wrong.

You shifted uncomfortably beside him, your hands tightening slightly in your lap. The room, filled with the scent of freshly cooked food, seemed suddenly charged with tension. You cast a quick glance at Li Shen, wondering how he would respond.

He set down his spoon, wiping his fingers on a napkin, and looked at her with calm, unflinching eyes. “I wouldn’t assume you know how to fight,” he said, his tone smooth, measured, carrying an unmistakable undertone of amusement.

“Oh, I do!” Táo Tao exclaimed, springing to her feet with a flourish. Her movements were surprisingly graceful, almost feline, as she squared her shoulders and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “C’mon! TRY ME!”

“Táo Tao! Please, calm down…” You reached out, a little panicked, trying to ease the sudden flare of energy in the room.

Li Shen’s eyes softened slightly as they flicked to you, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Eat,” he said calmly, returning his gaze to you. The command was simple, but carried a weight that left no room for argument.

You exhaled slowly, feeling a mix of relief and exasperation, and looked back at your plate. The crispy sesame chicken, still steaming, seemed to mock the sudden chaos, each bite a small comfort in the midst of playful provocation.

Táo Tao, meanwhile, remained standing, hands on her hips, her grin widening. “You’re hiding behind your food, Sir! Pathetic!”

Li Shen merely picked up his spoon again, eating deliberately slowly, eyes still on her, unshaken, as though the very idea of fear was alien to him. And somehow, in that serene confidence, you felt both reassured and a little dizzy with admiration.

Li Shen didn’t rise to her bait. He simply continued eating—quietly, steadily—like Táo Tao’s words were nothing but background noise. The rhythmic clink of his porcelain spoon against the bowl was the only sound filling the room now.

You could feel the tension simmering between them—his calm, her mischief—and you, caught helplessly in the middle, didn’t know whether to laugh or apologize again.

Táo Tao leaned closer, resting her chin on her palm, eyes glinting. “So, Medicine Master Li truly has no temper? Not even a little spark of manly pride? You sure he’s not a monk in disguise?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Li Shen set his chopsticks down with a soft click.

He stood, graceful as ever, his long sleeves brushing past your arm. Without saying a word, he straightened his collar and reached for his outer robe hanging by the door. The faint smell of his herbal ointments and clean linen followed as he moved.

“Zhangfu?” you murmured softly, half-rising. But he didn’t turn. He simply tied his sash, adjusted his sleeves, and stepped out into the courtyard, the sound of his departing footsteps fading into the quiet evening air.

The door slid shut.

There was a beat of silence before Táo Tao’s teasing voice broke it. “...So that’s it? He just leaves? No dramatic defense? No heroic words?” She laughed, leaning back in her chair. “What a weak husband you’ve got there, jie-jie. If it were mine, he’d have already tried to wrestle me into the ground by now.”

You glared half-heartedly, trying to suppress your frown. “Li Shen doesn’t need to prove anything.”

Táo Tao smirked. “Calm or cowardly? Hard to tell sometimes.”

You sighed, your shoulders drooping. “He’s not like that, Táo Tao. He’s a healer, not a brawler.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, unconvinced, nibbling on a sesame crisp. “Maybe you should test him sometime—pretend you’re being attacked. See if he saves you or just prescribes an herbal remedy for courage afterward.”

You shot her a look, torn between laughter and irritation. “Táo Tao—!”

She raised her hands in mock surrender, giggling. “Alright, alright! Don’t glare, sister. I’m only saying—you’ve got yourself a man who can brew miracles, but maybe not throw a punch.”

You tried to return to your food, but your appetite had vanished. Instead, you found your gaze drifting toward the door Li Shen had gone through, wondering where he’d disappeared to—and if he’d heard any of it.

Because even though he hadn’t said a word, there’d been a quiet weight in his silence—something unreadable in the way he’d left that made your heart twist uneasily.

The house had fallen quiet after he left.
Only the sound of Táo Tao’s satisfied munching and your faint sighs filled the space, the lamplight flickering softly against the wood.

You were about to rise and clear the dishes when—

Click.

The door slid open again.

Li Shen stepped back inside.

But this time, his hands weren’t empty. In his left, he held a long, slender jian—silver gleaming beneath the warm lantern light. In his right, another sword, its scabbard darker, the hilt wrapped in faded indigo silk.

Your breath caught.

He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look flustered. Just quiet—eyes steady, expression unreadable, as always—but there was something different this time. A stillness too sharp to be peace.

Without a word, he tossed the darker sword toward Táo Tao.

She yelped, barely catching it—her eyes widening in disbelief and pure excitement. “Wha—wait—ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”

Li Shen didn’t answer. He turned, robes whispering softly as he walked out toward the courtyard, moonlight glinting off the blade at his side.

He paused at the threshold, looking back at you.
“Come.”

You froze, unsure whether to be worried or amazed. “Li Shen—what—?”

“Outside.” His tone was calm. Controlled. But that calm carried weight—something almost dangerous beneath it.

Táo Tao was already on her feet, her earlier grin stretching wide. “Oh, now we’re talking! Medicine Master Li’s finally going to show his fangs, huh?!”

She followed him eagerly, practically bouncing, sword in hand.

You hesitated before stepping out into the night air. The courtyard was cool, fragrant with night jasmine, the full moon casting everything in pale silver. The stones were damp from the evening dew.

Li Shen stood at the center, his robe sleeves tied back neatly, his expression still maddeningly composed. He drew his sword with a smooth, unhurried motion—the blade singing softly as it left the scabbard.

Táo Tao’s excitement faltered for just a second. “You’re… really serious, aren’t you?”

He looked at her evenly. “You wished to try me, did you not?”

Táo Tao blinked, caught between shock and awe—and then laughed, low and thrilled. “Oh, I like this side of you, Sir.” She spun her borrowed sword once, getting a feel for it, and settled into a stance.

Li Shen didn’t move. Didn’t posture. He simply stood there—watching, waiting, like a scholar dissecting a problem, not a fighter anticipating a duel.

You could feel it though—the air tightening around him. His presence shifted, quiet but immense, like a blade so sharp it didn’t need to cut to be felt.

“Zhangfu—” you started softly.

He didn’t glance at you, but his tone was calm, almost gentle. “Do not worry. She won’t die.”

Táo Tao’s grin only widened. “Hah! You think you’ll be the one to worry about that?”

Li Shen finally moved.
Just a step.
But it was enough to make her eyes widen—because the way he held his sword, low, one hand behind his back, was not random. It was precise. Disciplined. Deadly quiet.

He was no brawler. He was a tactician with a blade.