Wan Li had been in the Yuan residence for nearly three weeks.
Three quiet, trembling, suffocating weeks.
Enough time for the servants to stop pretending that she was someone special.
Enough time for the concubine-born sisters to tire of whispering and begin speaking openly.
Enough time for the entire household to settle back into its rhythm — except that rhythm now contained her.
A foreign note.
A hidden threat.
A political ghost wrapped in soft cotton dresses and silence.
The palace felt like a dream now — a faded, hazy thing that Wan Li could barely hold onto in her memory. Sometimes she wondered if she had imagined it all.
The carved red walls.
The incense.
Her mother's warm hands smoothing her hair.
The lessons.
The silence.
The safety.
But nightmares reminded her it had been real.
Smoke.
Screams.
Her mother's body shielding the doorway.
Young Marshal Zhang's voice telling her, "Get up."
Wan Li woke gasping most nights.
And during the day, she obeyed.
She obeyed because she did not know how to do anything else.
The Day of the Return
The third week began with unusual commotion.
Maids swept the courtyard twice before breakfast. The gardeners clipped every hedge in sight. The kitchen sent out trays of pastries Wan Li had never seen before.
The household was preparing for someone.
Su Yan overheard it first.
"Miss," she whispered while rolling Wan Li's sleeves, "the second young master is returning today. Madam Li called for all hands."
Wan Li blinked up at her.
"The… second young master…?"
She tried to recall what she had learned so far.
She knew:
Madam Li was the matriarchThere were three sonsAnd the youngest one, Yuan Kezhen, was the one she was meant to marry one dayBut she had never heard much about the second sonOnly gossip from servants:
handsome, spoiled, gets away with anything, every girl in the district wants him
Wan Li tried to imagine him.
Nothing came to mind.
Just a vague, frightening blur labelled: the family who owns my life now.
Su Yan squeezed her arm.
"Don't worry, Miss. If we stay quiet, no one will look at us."
Wan Li nodded quickly.
"Yes… we must not trouble anyone."
The Arrival
By the time the sun reached midday, half the household was already at the gates.
Wan Li stayed as far back as she could — behind a cluster of potted camellias, holding a small hand-broom for sweeping fallen leaves.
Her heart fluttered too fast.
She did not like crowds.
She did not like noise.
She did not like people looking at her.
A shout went up.
"He's here! Young Master Kewen has arrived!"
The courtyard rippled with excitement.
Wan Li ducked her head, staring intently at a single leaf on the ground.
She didn't want to see.
But the moment the motorcar rolled in — a sleek, polished vehicle unlike anything she'd seen in her sheltered palace life — every servant gasped.
The door swung open.
A boot descended.
Then—
A young man stepped out.
Yuan Kewen
He was… dazzling.
Not in a way Wan Li understood — but Su Yan stiffened beside her, breath hitching softly.
Wan Li only saw fragments:
The gleam of polished leather shoes.
A long coat in Western fashion.
A scarf knotted casually but stylishly at the neck.
Black hair slicked back with effortless confidence.
A smile — bright, careless, almost glowing.
She had never seen someone smile like that before.
Unrestrained.
Fearless.
Alive.
Kewen stretched lazily and laughed, a warm, rich sound that made three maids flush instantly.
"I leave for a few weeks," he drawled, "and you greet me like a hero returning from war. Did you miss me that much?"
The maids giggled.
Wan Li tensed as if the laughter were sharp objects thrown at her.
Kewen took off his gloves slowly, elegantly, like performing a practiced routine. He handed them to a maid who nearly dropped them in flustered panic.
"Mother still in the main wing?" he asked.
"Yes, Young Master!" the servants chorused.
He began walking toward the inner courtyard — confident, long strides, the world bending around him as if he were a flame and everyone else the moths.
Wan Li lowered her head instantly.
Her hands trembled around the broom.
She hoped — desperately — that he would not look her way.
She couldn't handle another stranger's eyes.
Not another gaze she didn't understand.
Not another person who might judge or question or demand something she couldn't give.
But—
As he passed her corner—
He paused.
Just a fraction of a second.
Su Yan noticed immediately.
Wan Li did not.
All Wan Li felt was a cold shiver, like a breeze brushing her cheek.
Kewen's eyes had flicked toward her — not lingering, not greedy, not inappropriate — just sharp, curious.
He saw a small girl standing too straight for a servant.
Shoulders tense.
Fingers pale around a broom handle.
Hair braided neatly with quiet, practiced elegance.
Eyes lowered to the floor.
Not beautiful.
Not yet.
But…
She will be.
Kewen's brow lifted a fraction.
Then he strode on, boots clicking against stone.
Wan Li only let out a tiny breath when she heard his footsteps fade.
Su Yan whispered, "He looked at you."
Wan Li startled. "Did I… do something wrong?"
"No," Su Yan murmured. "You did nothing. He's just—curious."
Wan Li lowered her gaze again, her voice small.
"I don't want… anyone to look."
Su Yan felt her heart twist.
Of course she didn't.
Wan Li had spent her whole life learning how not to be seen.
--
Inside the Main Residence
Kewen slipped into Madam Li's sitting room with the ease of someone who had grown up barging into places without knocking.
"Mother, winter recess has freed me from academic torture. Aren't you going to welcome your most handsome son home?"
Madam Li did not even raise an eyebrow.
"Close the door."
Kewen obeyed, though his expression turned mildly curious.
"You sound ominous. What happened while I was earning perfect grades?"
Madam Li ignored the embellishment.
"You saw her just now."
Kewen blinked. "Who?"
"Mother," he greeted lightly, "your most charming son has returned."
Madam Li did not smile.
"Close the door."
He arched a brow but obeyed, shrugging off his coat and dropping into a chair with relaxed indifference.
"Mother, classes ended early for the winter recess. I didn't expect the house to be this lively when I came home."
Madam Li studied him for a moment. "Your return is well-timed. There is something you must be made aware of."
"You saw her."
Kewen tilted his head. "Who?"
"That little girl sweeping near the camellias."
He snorted. "I noticed her. Not exactly memorable."
Madam Li's voice sharpened.
"She is Princess Wan Li."
Silence snapped between them.
Kewen blinked once.
Twice.
"Princess," he repeated slowly. "As in—the princess?"
"The last legitimate daughter of Emperor Gongxu."
Kewen let out a low whistle, not of amusement, but disbelief.
"She survived?"
"She is here."
Kewen leaned back, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
"So the rumors were true. Her mother sent her here before the palace fell."
"Yes."
He absorbed the information without melodrama.
Kewen had seen death before.
He had attended his father's funeral in stiff ceremonial robes, bowed where required, listened to speeches spoken by officials who feared or hated the man more than they respected him.
Emotionally, however—he had long accepted the outcome.
President Yuan had always walked a path lined with enemies.
His ambition made death a predictable ending.
Kewen's voice was quiet now.
"So he died chasing his empire."
Madam Li looked at him sharply.
Kewen gave a loose shrug.
"He aimed too high. He knew the risks."
Not resentful.
Not grieving.
Not mocking.
Just matter-of-fact.
A son who had long stopped expecting love from a father consumed by legacy.
--
THE TRUTH EVERYONE KNEW
He tapped his fingers against the armrest.
"How did she end up here?"
"The night the palace fell," Madam Li said, "her maid brought her to our gates begging for protection."
"Ah," Kewen murmured. "So the servants weren't wrong when they whispered."
Madam Li's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
He gave her a half-smile.
"Mother, by the time I arrived, three maids, one gardener, and a footman had already mentioned a 'mysterious girl' you took in. You know how this house is."
Madam Li exhaled sharply.
"Servants talk too much."
"And you expected they wouldn't? A girl arrives in the dead of night claiming imperial blood? Even the stones would gossip."
He wasn't mocking—just stating fact.
Madam Li pressed on.
"Regardless, it is now your responsibility to ensure no word spreads outside these walls."
Kewen nodded once, lazily yet sincerely.
"I won't say a thing."
--
THE INHERITED SECRET
Kewen leaned forward slightly.
"So. The princess. Twelve years old? Frightened? Half-starved from grief?"
"Yes."
"And I'm to pretend she's a distant cousin?"
"Correct."
"And avoid scaring her."
"Yes."
He lifted his brow.
"Mother, please. I'm charming, not terrifying."
Madam Li gave him a look that implied disagreement.
"And," he added, "I'm not in the habit of teasing children."
Madam Li nodded, relieved.
"But," he murmured, eyes glinting with curiosity he didn't bother to hide, "I might take a second look out of interest. Not in her—in what she represents."
Madam Li didn't scold him for that.
Symbols were powerful.
Dangerous.
Useful.
Kewen stood, flashed his mother a quick, easy smile, then adjusted his cuffs.
"I suppose I should settle in. Winter recess won't last forever."
--
TBC