The Zhao estate was large, hollow, and precise, like a bone picked clean and polished for display. The white walls gleamed. The lacquered gates creaked open like the teeth of something long dead.
Not one corner stirred a memory. Not the ornate archway, not the fishpond layered with pale blossoms, not the guard with the lopsided helmet. If this had once been my home, it had never belonged to me.
Then again, I really didn't expect to remember anything. The only thing I could get out of this body was a single name. Maybe she wanted to forget everything about this place as much as I did.
We arrived with ceremony, but not opulence. Zhu Mingyu, ever mindful of his image, brought only a modest entourage. Just enough to remind them who I belonged to now.
But it was wasted on them, given the fact that no one bothered to meet us at the gate.
