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The silence in Osmanthus Courtyard was dense, like the pause before a thunderclap. A single plum blossom petal drifted down from the tree by the window, landing on the rim of Shen Yuhan's untouched tea.
"You dare speak to me this way?" Su Wanning finally said, her voice trembling—not with fear, but with fury carefully reined in. "You ungrateful little wretch. You think a few rumors and some cowardly servants jumping at shadows will protect you from what's coming?"
Shen Yuhan's gaze didn't waver. "I think perception shapes reality, Mother. And lately, the perception is that something sinister clings to Orchid Courtyard. Something unclean." She stepped slowly to the table and poured herself a cup of tea, her fingers calm and unhurried. "And as you've said before—image is everything."
Su Wanning narrowed her eyes. "So this is your strategy? Ghost stories? Parlor tricks and servant whispers?"
"No," Shen Yuhan said quietly. "This is me learning to fight without lifting a blade. You taught me that, didn't you? When you stole my mother's dowry, erased her name from the accounts, and smiled like it meant nothing?"
Su Wanning flinched.
"I was a child," Shen Yuhan continued, her voice smooth as silk but lined with steel. "I cried. I screamed. No one listened. Now I whisper—and the whole household trembles."
"You filthy little snake," Su Wanning spat, stepping forward again. "You think you've won something just because your sister's been rattled for a few days? I raised this family from ruin. I managed your father's household when he was always at the border. And you—what have you done? Played ghost games with kitchen maids?"
Shen Yuhan's lips curved into a cold smile. "Funny. It's always the ones who scream loudest about order who are most afraid of chaos."
"You want to challenge me?" Su Wanning's voice was rising now, trembling with a rage that could no longer be masked. "You think you're some strategist now, hiding behind ghost tales and servant gossip? One word from me and your father will break your legs before he ever questions me."
"Will he?" Shen Yuhan set down her teacup and walked past Su Wanning, toward the lacquered screen at the edge of the courtyard. "Then why haven't you told him already? Why come here in secret, without even your maids at your back?"
Su Wanning froze.
Shen Yuhan turned slightly, enough to look at her from over her shoulder. "Because you're afraid."
"Don't be ridiculous—"
"You're afraid of what he'll see," Shen Yuhan interrupted gently, "if he starts looking too closely. Into the accounts. Into the management of the household. Into the details surrounding my mother's will. Into Shen Yulan's education, her embroidery tuition—paid out of the main estate, wasn't it? When she's not a legitimate daughter?"
"You dare accuse me—!"
"I haven't said a word." Shen Yuhan's voice turned soft, almost sympathetic. "That's the beauty of rumors, Mother. You don't have to speak. You just have to... let people notice."
Su Wanning clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms.
But Shen Yuhan wasn't done.
"I will not bow. I will not cry in the snow or beg at your feet anymore. Those days are over." She stepped forward, voice calm but cutting. "And if you insist on dragging me to Orchid Courtyard to confess and bow in front of that trembling brat—do try. We'll see if your reputation survives the servants whispering about how the noble Madam Su is forcing a possessed girl to kneel and admit she haunts her sister."
"You little—"
"Or shall we test the tale further?" Shen Yuhan's eyes narrowed. "What if the ghost begins to visit your dreams next, Mother?"
A chill ran down Su Wanning's spine despite the warm spring air.
Shen Yuhan tilted her head again, that faintly amused smile never leaving her lips. "Go ahead. Tell Father."
For the first time in years, Su Wanning couldn't move. Couldn't speak.
The girl before her was no longer the naïve, temperamental child she'd once dismissed with a flick of her hand. She had become something else entirely—something Su Wanning couldn't yet define. And that terrified her more than any ghost bride ever could.
At last, Su Wanning straightened her sleeves with trembling hands.
"This isn't over," she hissed.
"It never is," Shen Yuhan replied gently. "That's what makes it fun."
Without another word, Su Wanning turned on her heel and left the Osmanthus Courtyard, her footsteps heavier than they'd ever been. Behind her, Shen Yuhan stood by the open window, eyes fixed on the soft petals falling from the plum trees.
Ah Zhu stepped forward quietly. "Miss… should we tighten the watch around the courtyard?"
Shen Yuhan shook her head. "No need. Let her stew. The longer she waits, the more the fear will rot her from within."
And outside, the first roll of thunder echoed faintly in the distance.
The storm broke that evening, quiet and slow at first—a whisper of wind brushing through the old pines, a few tentative droplets tapping the roof tiles of Osmanthus Courtyard like a cautious knock at the door.
Inside, Shen Yuhan sat cross-legged on the warm brick bed, a worn copy of The Ghost Bride open in her lap. The pages rustled with every breeze that slipped in through the slightly ajar window, and the candlelight made the inked characters flicker like dancing shadows.
Ah Zhu returned from the outer room, her face tight with concern. "Miss, the rain's just started. And… word's already spreading."
Shen Yuhan looked up, her gaze sharp. "Which word?"
"Mama Zhang from the west wing said one of the Orchid Courtyard maids ran out screaming about blood on the well bucket. The night maid swears she didn't put it there. They say it looked fresh. Red and thick, like something bleeding underground."
Ming'er, sitting nearby with embroidery in hand, shuddered. "I didn't even do that one."
Shen Yuhan gave her a quiet smile. "No. I think someone else is taking initiative now."
Ah Zhu hesitated. "You think… Shen Yulan's own people are starting to believe it?"
"She's been waking them up with her screams for nights now," Shen Yuhan replied. "When people are frightened and exhausted, their minds connect dots even where there are none. All I did was plant the seed. The story is growing on its own."
She closed the book gently and stood, moving to the window. Outside, a fork of lightning briefly illuminated the night. In the flash, Shen Yuhan thought she saw Orchid Courtyard beyond the eastern wall, its windows shut tight against the wind. But no shutters could shut out paranoia.
A knock came then, hesitant and wet with rain.