The days after Yuan Kewen's arrival were unexpectedly peaceful.
Not for the household — the entire estate grew livelier, louder, more chaotic with servants running errands, preparing meals, and tending to Madam Li's bustling social schedule. Kewen's presence filled the halls with noise and motion.
But for Wan Li?
It was a strange kind of breather.
The sisters, Qingling and Qiuhe, now fully absorbed in following their older brother everywhere, paid little attention to her. They fluttered around him like two bright, noisy sparrows, chattering, bickering, and begging for his attention.
When they remembered Wan Li existed, they tossed her a few petty tasks or pointed comments.
A snide remark here.
A mocking whisper there.
A chore that belonged to someone else.
But compared to before, compared to the first days when everything was sharp and overwhelming—
This was bearable.
And so Wan Li kept her head low, kept to her tasks, and walked the corridors with the quiet steady steps of someone who had learned to be invisible.
--
WINTER BREAK'S END
Two weeks passed quickly, and then—
"Second Young Master has left—his carriage just exited the gates!"
The servants' voices echoed across the courtyard.
Just like that, the noise drained from the Yuan residence.
The house grew somber again, returning to its carefully maintained stillness. Qingling sulked for days, complaining of boredom. Qiuhe picked fights with the maids. Madam Li resumed her distant routine, offering no praise, no scolding—only instructions.
And Wan Li?
She simply flowed back into silence.
Days moved quietly again.
Like snow melting on rooftops.
Like frost fading from stone.
--
THE FIRST YEAR
Spring arrived.
Wan Li's hair grew longer, her face softened, the childish roundness beginning to fade, though she never noticed the change.
Summer was hot, suffocating.
Wan Li fainted once from the heat, but nobody except Su Yan cared.
Kewen returned for summer break — handsome, charming, utterly uninterested in her existence. The sisters clung to him like honeybees to a flower. Then, he left again.
Autumn turned the garden gold.
Winter came again.
As the seasons shifted,
Wan Li learned to sweep the stone paths without missing a corner.
She learned the sounds of each servant's footsteps.
She learned when to hide and when to appear useful.
She learned how to fold clothes the exact way Qingling preferred.
She learned how to disappear whenever Qiuhe was in a mood.
The bullying never stopped entirely.
But it no longer came daily.
No longer felt like something meant to break her.
More like something the girls did out of habit — the idle cruelty of children who had grown accustomed to having a target.
And Wan Li… endured.
Then, Wan Li turned thirteen.
No celebration.
No greeting from Madam Li.
Only a bun and warm tea Su Yan managed to sneak to her room.
Wan Li never complained.
--
THE SECOND YEAR
The next spring came with sandstorms and a new wave of household activity.
Wan Li learned the creaking sound of each corridor.
She learned which maids were kind, which avoided her, and which sneered.
She learned that being invisible was the safest way to survive.
Kewen returned briefly that summer — taller, more refined — and left within days.
He never looked her way.
He adored lively girls, clever girls, talkative girls.
Not quiet ones.
Not trembling ones.
Not girls who lowered their head every time someone spoke.
So Wan Li swept the courtyard, folded linens, carried water, and remained part of the scenery he never bothered to examine.
He left again as summer ended.
The youngest son, however…
Yuan Kezhen, the one her mother betrothed her to—
Had not returned home once.
He lived entirely through whispers:
"The youngest son scored highest in his examinations again."
"He won an academic prize for mathematics!"
"His looks put half the city's young masters to shame."
"They say he will become a minister one day."
"Madam Li visits him every term!"
Wan Li absorbed every rumor quietly.
She built an image of him the way lonely girls often do:
Dutiful.
Brilliant.
Handsome.
Kind.
Someone worthy of all her mother's hopes.
Someone she could lean on if he ever came back.
Someone she believed—
would treat her gently.
She waited.
Silently.
Faithfully.
--
THE THIRD YEAR
Wan Li turned fourteen, then fifteen.
She blossomed without realizing it.
Her face—delicate as jade.
Her eyes—soft, gentle, long-lashed.
Her manners—pure obedience, shaped by palace upbringing.
Her movements—quiet and graceful, the kind taught only to daughters of emperors.
Even the sisters noticed.
Qingling began watching her with something like unease.
Qiuhe's eyes narrowed whenever Wan Li passed.
Not because they saw her as competition—
but because they sensed something changing.
Wan Li did not notice any of it.
She had learned to shrink herself so deeply that she didn't recognize her own beauty forming.
She only knew how to wait.
--
MADAM LI'S CONTINUED DISTANCE
Madam Li had not spoken to her in months.
Not to scold.
Not to praise.
Not even to acknowledge.
But she left the residence several times a year — each time to visit the youngest son.
Only him.
This fact carved itself quietly into Wan Li's heart.
If Madam Li cherished her youngest son so dearly, surely he must be… good.
Surely he must be gentle.
Surely he would not let her suffer once he knew she existed.
Perhaps—
he would save her.
The way heroes did in stories she used to read as a child.
--
THE RETURN OF A NAME
On a mild spring morning, when frost still clung to window edges but sunlight warmed the stones, Wan Li was sweeping the courtyard when two servants rushed past, barely containing their excitement.
"Third Young Master is returning! For real this time!"
"After three years! He finished high school and he's first in the entire province!"
"He's even been accepted to Shanghai University!"
Wan Li froze.
Her broom slipped from her fingers.
Her heart stopped—
then pounded wildly against her ribs.
Su Yan looked up sharply.
"Miss… are you alright?"
Wan Li's lips parted.
Her heart, usually so quiet, suddenly thudded hard enough to hurt.
Her voice trembled so softly Su Yan almost didn't hear it:
"…He's coming home."
For the first time in three years—
something bright and trembling bloomed in her chest.
A fragile hope.
A desperate longing.
A tiny spark of something she had never dared to wish for.
The boy she had been promised.
The boy she built her world around.
The boy described as brilliant, gentle, and destined for greatness.
He was finally coming home.
And Wan Li was fifteen—no longer a child, not yet a woman, but standing on the edge of something terrifying and new.
--
TBC