---
The air in Orchid Pavilion thickened, the distant sound of the knock reverberating through the room like an omen. Shen Yulan's gaze flicked to the door, her eyes wide, but the knock was gone as quickly as it had come. Only the stillness remained, broken only by the soft hiss of the incense and the faint rustling of the leaves outside.
Su Wanning, however, remained motionless, her sharp eyes fixed on the door as if she could will the sound to vanish. Her lips thinned into a tight line. "This nonsense has gone too far," she muttered under her breath, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. "Shen Yuhan will pay for this. For daring to play with the fabric of our reality."
Her words were laced with venom, but her mind was already working furiously. Even if she knew that the "ghost bride" was a mere trick, the effect it had on Shen Yulan was undeniable. The girl was rattled, fragile, and desperate for answers. Su Wanning would need to act quickly to regain control of the situation.
She leaned forward, her gaze narrowing. "Prepare yourself, Yulan. If this ghost truly lingers here—if this is some game orchestrated by Shen Yuhan—then we must meet her challenge with strategy, not fear."
Shen Yulan's pale face slowly began to regain its color, but the tremble in her hands remained. "Mother," she said, her voice unsteady but gaining strength, "what if this is not just Shen Yuhan? What if there's something more? What if… what if it's Madam Lu?"
The name, uttered so softly, seemed to hang in the air like a heavy mist. Madam Lu.
Su Wanning remembered that once strong woman, lying miserably in the pool of her own blood. That night- that dark, stormy night. Just remembering that night, made Su Wanning's heart shudder and tremble with fear.
Su Wanning rose abruptly from the table, her movements sharp and decisive. "Do not entertain such foolish thoughts, Yulan," she snapped. "The past is dead, and ghosts are just figments of weak minds. You will not succumb to this nonsense. Do you hear me?"
Shen Yulan bit her lip, her fear momentarily stifled by her mother's fierce resolve. She nodded, though her eyes flickered uneasily toward the door again.
Su Wanning stepped toward the window, her fingers tightening around the frame as she peered into the night. The wind stirred the branches of the white magnolias, their petals swirling like faint, fleeting memories.
"No," Su Wanning murmured, her voice cold. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that when a game is played in the dark, the players must be careful not to become pawns in someone else's hand." She turned to face her daughter, her eyes gleaming with the same dangerous intensity that had made her a force to be reckoned with.
"Tomorrow, we will bring in the monk. And we will take control of this situation before Shen Yuhan can make a move. You must be strong, Yulan. Stronger than ever before."
Shen Yulan nodded, a flicker of the once-resentful fire rekindling in her eyes. "Yes, Mother. I will be strong."
Outside, the wind had died down, and the sounds of the night seemed to hush. The knock, if it had ever truly existed, had faded into the ether.
But the silence that followed was worse—so thick it rang in their ears. Shen Yulan clutched at her sleeve, nails digging into silk, drawing crescent-shaped dents into the fabric. Su Wanning's lips pressed into a bloodless line, her breath shallow, controlled, as if any sound might draw the thing closer.
Neither moved for a long while.
It was Shen Yulan who broke first.
"Mother, I—I can't stay here tonight." Her voice was raw, the composure she'd briefly reclaimed now stripped bare. "Not after that. Please. Just for tonight, let me stay with you."
Su Wanning hesitated. She was no stranger to fear, but she had built a life on managing appearances. Weakness, even within the privacy of her chambers, was not something she tolerated easily.
But when her gaze fell on her daughter—still knelt, still trembling, eyes darting to every corner of the room—her expression softened, just barely.
"Fine," she murmured. "come with me tonight."
Shen Yulan exhaled shakily, bowing her head in relief. "Thank you, Mother."
Su Wanning stood, smoothing her robes, and called out, "Xiao Yue, Xiao Tong. Prepare bedding in my chamber."
The maids obeyed quickly, their faces pale and eyes flickering to the corners of the room as if expecting something to emerge from the shadows. When they passed the doorway, one of them paused—Xiao Tong, sharp-eyed and usually smug—her gaze lingering on the threshold.
"What is it?" Su Wanning snapped.
Xiao Tong blinked, then lowered her eyes. "Nothing, madam. Just… the incense—it burned out faster than usual."
Su Wanning's expression twisted, and she waved her off with a sharp flick of her sleeve. "Enough."
As they retreated, the room grew cold again. Shen Yulan rose unsteadily, following her mother with the air of someone expecting to be followed. The sound of their silk shoes against the stone floor was light—yet each step echoed louder than the last.
When the doors of Orchid Pavilion shut behind them, not a single candle remained lit within.
Only the faint scent of withered sandalwood lingered in the air.
---
Across the estate, in Osmanthus Courtyard, the candlelight was steady.
Ah Zhu and Ming'er had both retired early. Ming'er, for once, had gone without a word of protest—perhaps sensing the mood in the air. It was the kind of quiet that came before a storm. Shen Yuhan hadn't said much during dinner, nor afterward. But the way she had looked toward the east—toward Orchid Pavilion—had said everything.
She tapped her fingers once, then again, before finally rising. From the drawer of her desk, she retrieved a small lacquered box. Inside, nestled among black silk, was a slender porcelain vial. She held it up to the candlelight, watching the pale liquid within shimmer faintly.
The vial had no label, no markings. Just a single scratch etched across the base—an assassin's code for "truth in silence."
Something she had brewed herself. Not poison. Not quite. But something far more insidious: a slow-acting serum that heightened fear, loosened restraint, and—when paired with subtle suggestion—made illusions seem terrifyingly real.
No one knew about it. Not even Ming'er and Ah Zhu.
It was this serum which broke all defences, both mother and daughter duo had cultivated in their life time.
She didn't had to do much just introduce this magical thing into the incense burners inside the Orchid Pavilion. Just a trace. Enough to make shadows seem deeper, mirrors more deceptive. Enough to make Shen Yulan question what was real.
Because the most dangerous ghost was never one that wailed in the night—it was the one that whispered in your own voice, in your own thoughts, until you couldn't tell where you ended and it began.
Shen Yuhan's eyes narrowed, her lips curving slightly—not in triumph, but in cold calculation.
You wanted to turn me into a specter, Su Wanning. A shadow without name, face, or honor.
Then let me show you what that truly looks like.
Outside, the wind stirred again—this time carrying the faintest scent of osmanthus and smoke.