The Chen residence, once alive with noble laughter, was now a storm of confusion.
The courtyard lamps were still burning though the night had long passed; servants darted about like frightened sparrows.
Doors opened, slammed, and opened again.
Somewhere in the east wing, a vase shattered.
And at the center of it all, Madam Chen sat pale and trembling, clutching a silk handkerchief, her eyes red from weeping.
Beside her, Lord Chen Guiren, the patriarch of the house, paced the floor with barely controlled fury. His face was carved in thunder, and his hands trembled—not from age, but from the weight of anger he could not unleash.
His son, Chen Hao, stood nearby, fists clenched tight, jaw rigid.
Every one of them was waiting for the same thing.
The missing daughter's return.
---
The Return
The heavy gate creaked open.
A girl stepped in quietly — robes dusty, hair slightly disheveled, face pale from exhaustion but still as delicate as a painting.
Chen Mei.
