The encounter had lasted only moments.
A greeting.
A question.
A dismissal.
But Wan Li felt it stretching inside her chest like something heavy and cold.
Kewen had looked at her —
and then looked away as though she was not worth remembering.
She wasn't angry.
She wasn't even sad.
She simply felt… small.
Smaller than she already was.
Like a shadow that could be swept away with a careless breeze.
Wan Li whispered softly, as though confessing a secret:
"Mother said… that my future is with the youngest son. That he is… important. That he will need me."
Su Yan gently folded the girl's trembling fingers closed.
"That has nothing to do with the second son."
"…but if I cannot even speak properly…" Wan Li murmured.
Su Yan's heart tightened.
She wrapped her arm around Wan Li's shoulders, guiding her back toward their small room.
"Miss, you survived the palace burning. You survived losing everything. Speaking will come in time."
Wan Li nodded once.
But she didn't believe it.
--
LATER THAT AFTERNOON — WHISPERED RIPPLES
Wan Li had only just finished arranging the few items on her cabinet when soft, fluttering laughter carried from outside the courtyard gate.
Qiuhe's whisper —
sharp, sweet, mocking —
slipped easily through the cold air.
"She bowed so fast her braid moved like a tail."
Qingling replied, her tone dripping with amusement.
"Second Brother's face — did you see? He nearly fell asleep standing."
Qiuhe giggled.
"She really is boring. Even mice have more presence."
Wan Li froze in place.
Su Yan stiffened beside her, jaw clenching.
The voices outside continued.
"I don't understand why Mother even keeps her," Qingling said. "That tiny little thing? She'd faint if someone sneezed at her."
"Maybe Mother pities her," Qiuhe suggested.
"No." Qingling's voice lowered. "Mother does nothing out of pity."
A pause.
Then:
"Mother is waiting to see whether she becomes useful."
Useful.
Wan Li felt her chest tighten painfully.
Not liked.
Not welcomed.
Not accepted.
Useful.
The laughter faded as the two girls walked away, but their words lingered, echoing in the cold walls of Wan Li's little room.
Su Yan moved immediately, closing the door with unnecessary force.
"They're just children," she muttered angrily. "Ignore them. They know nothing."
Wan Li didn't speak.
She just held her sleeves tightly against her chest.
--
THE CLOSET TASK
A few hours later, as the sun dipped into a gold-streaked dusk, a senior servant knocked sharply on their door.
"You," she barked. "The eldest daughter requires help sorting her gowns. She wants the side robes organized by color. Go now."
Wan Li looked up from her sewing thread.
The woman stared directly at her.
"You. Not your maid."
Wan Li rose immediately, nodding.
"Yes."
Su Yan stepped forward. "Miss Wan Li can—"
The servant cut her off with cold eyes.
"You are a maid. She is… whatever she is. Madam said she should learn to help."
Wan Li gently placed a hand on Su Yan's sleeve, signaling her silence.
"It's alright."
It wasn't.
But she said it anyway.
They followed the servant down a corridor filled with painted lanterns. Qiuhe and Qingling's quarters were larger, warmer, filled with embroidered cushions and racks of delicate clothing.
The concubine-born sisters were lounging on a raised dais, drinking winter pear tea.
"Ah, she came," Qiuhe said brightly. "Good."
Wan Li bowed.
"Miss Qiuhe. Miss Qingling."
"Sort the gowns," Qingling instructed lazily. "The peach-colored ones to the left, the jasmine ones to the right."
Wan Li stepped toward the wardrobe.
Qiuhe added, "Fold everything neatly. Don't wrinkle anything. If something tears, you fix it."
Wan Li nodded again, silently.
Qiuhe sipped her tea.
"And don't take too long. Second Brother dislikes seeing servants wandering around after dark."
Qingling smirked. "He might think you're trying to follow him."
Qiuhe burst out laughing.
Wan Li shook her head quickly.
"N-no. I would never—"
"We know," Qingling cut in. "That's what makes it funny."
Wan Li lowered her gaze, cheeks flushing with shame she could not name.
--
A SMALL ACCIDENT
As she reached for a sash, her sleeve brushed a small porcelain hairpin lying near the edge of the wardrobe—
it fell.
It clinked softly on the floor.
Not broken.
Not damaged.
Just moved.
But Qingling's eyes snapped open.
"Be careful," she said sharply. "That hairpin was expensive."
Wan Li bowed immediately, voice trembling.
"I'm sorry—"
"If you break anything," Qingling added, crossing her arms, "Mother will hear."
Wan Li nodded again, bowing deeper.
Behind her, Qiuhe whispered to her sister, "Look at her. You don't even need to scold her. She scolds herself."
Qingling's lips curled. "No wonder Mother said she's the easiest child she's ever seen."
Their laughter continued faintly as Wan Li resumed folding gowns, hands shaking uncontrollably.
--
NIGHTFALL
By the time she finished, her fingers were numb, the cold seeping through her sleeves as she walked back to the side courtyard. Su Yan hurried out to meet her, alarmed.
"Miss! You're freezing."
Wan Li managed a small, fragile smile.
"I'm fine."
She was not fine.
Su Yan wrapped her in a warm shawl. "Those sisters… how long must we endure—"
"Mother said to obey," Wan Li whispered.
Su Yan swallowed hard.
Wan Li leaned against the wall, staring into the winter sky.
She didn't know how long she stood there, letting the last traces of daylight fade. She didn't cry. She didn't complain. She didn't even sigh.
Because Wan Li had learned something in three weeks:
The world was bigger than the palace.
Harsher.
Colder.
Unforgiving.
And she had no mother left to shield her from it.
Su Yan stayed beside her until the stars appeared, silent but present.
Only then did Wan Li speak—softly, as if afraid the night would shatter:
"Will… the youngest son be like them?"
Su Yan touched her hand gently.
"I don't know, Miss."
Wan Li lowered her eyes.
But she remembered her mother's words:
Child, he is your future.
And Wan Li whispered into the dark:
"…Then I hope he is kind."
--
TBC