(Yuan Kezhen's POV)
The walk to Madam Li's chambers was quiet.
His aide followed two steps behind.
The butler walked ahead, almost stumbling over his own feet.
"Young Master, Madam is in her study—she was preparing letters—she believes you will return tomorrow—"
Kezhen only gave a calm hum.
He had always been this way — quiet, steady, difficult to rattle.
But today, the butler kept glancing nervously over his shoulder.
It was the furrow of his brows.
Just that slight expression earlier had sent the entire courtyard into panic.
The Yuan household was built on strict hierarchies, unspoken rules, and one consistent truth:
When the Third Young Master frowned, someone suffered.
--
ARRIVING AT MADAM LI'S STUDY
The doors opened silently.
Madam Li sat behind her desk, brush in hand, ready to write a letter she now wouldn't need to send. Her head snapped up—
"Kezhen?"
He bowed. "Mother."
Her eyes softned—but only for her youngest son.
She rose, smoothing her sleeves, and approached him with genuine maternal warmth.
"You came early. Why didn't you send another note?"
"I wished to return quietly."
Madam Li smiled faintly. "I missed you."
"I missed you as well," he replied.
She gestured for him to sit, but before they could begin their usual exchange, the tension in the butler's posture caught her attention.
Her eyes narrowed.
"What happened?"
The butler bowed so quickly his forehead nearly hit the floor.
"Madam… Young Master witnessed an… incident… upon arrival."
Madam Li's expression sharpened like a blade unsheathed.
"What incident?"
Kezhen answered for him, voice steady, emotionless.
"Someone was being mistreated."
"Mistreated?" Madam Li repeated slowly.
"Wan Li," Kezhen said plainly.
Madam Li froze.
--
MADAM LI'S REACTION
She exhaled sharply. "Explain."
Kezhen kept his tone neutral.
"Two maids overturned buckets of dirty water onto her. The concubine-born sisters were present."
A pause.
"A third maid was laughing."
Madam Li's face hardened.
It wasn't guilt.
It wasn't pity.
It wasn't even motherly fear.
It was pure, cold fury that the Yuan household had behaved without dignity—
in front of him.
"How disgraceful," she murmured.
"How utterly disappointing."
The butler trembled.
"Madam, rest assured—Young Master ordered immediate punishment."
She looked at Kezhen.
"You intervened?"
"Yes."
Madam Li's eyes narrowed with sharp interest.
"How… dutiful of you."
He didn't reply.
The butler trembled harder.
The aide stared fixedly at the floor.
Even the autumn sunlight felt tense.
Madam Li raised her hand in motion to dismiss the butler and the aide. When the two left, it was only her and Kezhen in the room.
She circled her desk slowly until she stood directly before her son.
"You saw her today."
Ke Zhen didn't feign ignorance.
He nodded once. "I did."
Madam Li's gaze sharpened. "And?"
A beat of silence.
"She is… as you described," he answered evenly. "Quiet. Fearful. Obedient to the bone."
Madam Li set her cup down gently.
"She has matured… more than I expected."
Ke Zhen said nothing.
His silence invited her to continue — which she did.
"Three years is a long time. Children change quickly at that age. Sometimes for the better. She has survived, at least." It was neither praise nor sympathy. Simply an assessment.
"People endure differently." Ke Zhen replied, voice neutral.
Madam Li's gaze sharpened with interest at that comment, but she did not seize it.
Instead, she offered a mild, elegant observation:
"A girl with no family must rely on what she has."
Ke Zhen understood what she meant.
Obedience, humility, beauty — Wan Li had nothing else left.
Madam Li folded her hands.
"I visited you every term," she said. "I asked each time how you wished to handle the matter your father left behind."
He remembered.
And he remembered giving the same answer each time:
'I will decide when I see her myself.'
Madam Li's eyes softened faintly.
"Now you have seen her."
He remained silent.
She did not push.
She never did — not with this son.
Instead, she shifted the conversation with flawless subtlety:
"You are eighteen now. A man. Your future in Shanghai must be unmarred. Your marriage prospects will become… delicate. Many eyes will be watching."
Ke Zhen nodded once.
"Some women," she continued lightly, "are more suitable for public life than others."
A gentle breeze stirred the bamboo screen beside them.
"Others," she added, tone almost too calm, "are better kept close. Privately. Quietly. Where they can be useful without being seen."
She had not said the word concubine.
She didn't need to.
Her meaning lay beneath her voice like a second script.
Ke Zhen lowered his gaze to his untouched tea.
He didn't answer immediately.
Madam Li observed him for a moment — her brilliant child, already thinking ten steps ahead, already weighing consequences and opportunities with the precision of a young minister.
Then she asked softly:
"And what do you think of her?"
At last, he spoke.
"She is not suitable for marriage."
Madam Li's expression did not change, but relief flickered in her eyes.
"But," Kezhen continued, choosing his words with care, "she shouldn't be left adrift here."
Madam Li waited.
"She would be better… under someone's guidance."
Someone's protection.
Someone's control.
He did not say whose.
He didn't need to.
Madam Li allowed herself the faintest exhale.
"A girl like her is easily influenced," she murmured. "She will follow whoever claims responsibility for her. If no one does… she may become someone else's tool."
It was a warning more than a suggestion.
Ke Zhen's lashes lowered.
He stood.
"I will consider what is best."
Madam Li inclined her head approvingly.
"When you have reached your conclusion," she said, "tell me. Before you leave for Shanghai."
He bowed and left her chamber.
--
KEZHEN'S ROOM
The servants had already lit the lanterns.
Warm light filled the neat, spartan room — his room, unchanged in three years.
He dismissed everyone with a quiet:
"That will be all."
When the last footstep faded, he loosened his collar and sat on the edge of the bed.
Only in solitude did he allow the memory to return:
The girl trembling beneath the spilled water.
Her hair clinging to her cheeks.
Her eyes lowered in instinctive submission.
The curve of her jaw, the pale flush on her skin.
Beautiful.
Far more than he expected.
He had not reacted outwardly.
He never did.
But the impression had settled deep.
He leaned back slightly, fingers steepled, mind turning.
She was his father's leftover promise.
A fragile, obedient, unclaimed piece.
A girl the world would swallow whole if left alone.
And he —
he was eighteen, of an age where most men already had women in their courtyard, sometimes children.
Taking responsibility for her was natural.
Expected.
Efficient.
And before he left for Shanghai, it would be wise to ensure that she—
belonged to him, not to chance.
Not yet publicly.
Not officially.
But unmistakably.
He exhaled slowly.
A decision had settled inside him like a stone.
"She should be under my hand," he thought quietly.
Not spoken.
Not confessed.
A private conclusion.
A quiet claim.
A future already forming.
And in the small courtyard on the other side of the estate, Wan Li lay awake, brushing her tear-damp hair, her fragile heart beating too fast with the memory of a boy she mistakenly believed the heavens had sent to save her.
--
TBC