The Moon Pavilion hadn't changed much since Li Yun was a child, though everything felt smaller now.
He remembered chasing fireflies outside these doors, holding his mother's hand under lantern light. But now, his mother was gone. The light felt dimmer. The walls closer.
Lady Shen had summoned him here, claiming it was for tea.
But Yun knew better.
She didn't do anything without reason.
The lacquered doors opened with a quiet creak, revealing a small, elegant room warmed by soft candlelight. A silk curtain fluttered slightly in the breeze, giving the place a dreamlike stillness.
She sat at the low table already, pouring tea into two ceramic cups.
"This tea," she said without looking at him, "was your mother's favorite."
He stood at the doorway, unmoving. His eyes trailed to the delicate steam rising from the cups.
"What do you want?" he asked, his tone edged with suspicion.
She looked up, unbothered. "To talk."
Yun remained silent.
She gestured to the cushion across from her.
"Please."
He stepped inside but didn't sit. Instead, he circled the room slowly, his eyes scanning the familiar furniture, the scrolls still hanging on the walls, the dried plum blossoms pressed between panes of glass.
"You've kept it the same," he murmured. "All these years."
Lady Shen nodded. "I didn't have the heart to change it. This was her space. Her sanctuary."
"And you think drinking the same tea will make us… what? Bond?"
Her gaze met his. "No. But memory is a bridge. Even bitter ones."
After a beat, he sat.
She pushed one of the cups toward him. "Drink it. Then decide if you want to listen."
Yun stared at the tea.
The scent was faintly floral—jasmine, with something darker beneath it. Something like ash.
He picked it up, took a cautious sip.
It was warm. Familiar. Painfully so.
"Why now?" he asked. "Why are you telling me all this suddenly?"
"Because you're asking questions I can't ignore anymore," she said softly. "And because I see pieces of her in you. But also… things she never saw."
"Like what?"
Lady Shen hesitated.
"You see shadows where others don't. You don't flinch from silence. That's rare."
Yun narrowed his eyes. "You talk like I'm supposed to understand you."
"Not yet," she admitted. "But maybe one day."
He drank again. The taste no longer felt comforting. It scraped against old wounds.
"She trusted you," he said quietly. "My mother."
"Yes," Lady Shen replied. "And I failed her."
Silence stretched between them.
He leaned forward slightly. "How?"
The fire crackled in the hearth. A lantern popped. Outside, wind stirred the bamboo blinds.
"I knew she was being watched," Lady Shen said. "I saw the bruises she hid under her sleeves. The way her spiritual energy dimmed week by week. She was being poisoned—emotionally, maybe physically. I suspected. But I had no proof."
Yun's chest tightened.
"Why didn't you tell my father?"
She gave him a look that chilled his blood. Not with anger. With pity.
"Do you really think he didn't know?"
That stopped him cold.
She continued, "There are things in this house older than either of us. Vows made before we were born. Your mother was in the way. I was… the replacement."
He stood, heart racing.
"So you admit it."
"I was chosen. Not by your father. By someone higher."
Yun stepped back from the table. "You're lying."
"If I were, would I still keep her room untouched? Would I sit here and serve you her favorite tea, knowing it would make you hate me more?"
He said nothing.
Lady Shen stood, graceful even in guilt.
"You want to protect her memory," she said. "I understand that. But if you ever want to protect yourself—you'll need the truth, not sentiment."
She walked toward the door, pausing just before exiting.
"She used to hum when she thought no one was listening," she said. "It calmed her. It calmed me, too."
Yun stared at her back.
"I remember," he said.
Lady Shen didn't turn around.
"But you didn't know the melody was the same lullaby my mother used to sing to me. Did you?"
She stilled.
Just for a breath.
Then walked out.
Yun sat alone, the tea cooling beside him, memory and suspicion thick in the air.