The Bai residence had too many names.
Too many titles, too many wives, too many rules. Subject 413, now wearing the body of Bai Ningwei, had only been awake for three days, and already she had begun a mental list of things she would burn first if given the chance.
The east hall's ancestral records.
Second Wife's embroidery.
That smug peach tree outside her window.
And this- this idiotic ritual of family greetings.
She heard it before she saw it. Two passing maids, sweeping dust that wasn't there, whispering with pointed glances toward her door.
"…Does she even remember how to bow?"
"She should be grateful she can stand upright."
"If it were up to Old Madam—"
"Shhh!"
The rest was muffled.
From her bed, Ningwei stared at the ceiling beam above her. One of the knots in the wood looked vaguely like a skull.
[Daily Attendance: Optional.
Social Compliance Rating: Low.]
The System's voice floated through her head like mist - dry, flat, and entirely unhelpful.
She rubbed her thumb along the fading bruise at her throat. Still tender. Whatever they'd given Bai Ningwei before Subject 413 took over, it hadn't been fast-acting. A gentle death, designed to be polite.
The kind that made it easier to blame fate.
She rolled to her feet with a sigh. "Fine. Let's go say good morning to the people who wanted me dead."
The ancestral hall was colder than it had any right to be. Shadows clung to the high corners. The tiled floor had been swept to mirror shine, and yet it still smelled faintly of mildew and pride.
She arrived late, which wasn't exactly planned but not entirely an accident either.
The family was mid-bow, arranged in two lines of color-coded hypocrisy.
She slipped to the end of the last row, careful not to look directly at anyone. Not out of fear, she just didn't want to commit their faces to memory yet. It was too early in the morning for that.
Still, she caught enough.
The Second Madam stood in muted blues, with a soft mouth and sharper eyes. The Third Concubine, younger and overdressed, clung to her preening daughter like she might fall off the earth without constant contact. The younger children snuck glances between their fingers, whispering behind embroidered sleeves.
At the front stood Bai Ruolan. First daughter, first jewel.
Her posture was perfect. Her robe, flawless. She smiled like someone who knew how and when to stab you, and with which hand.
And at the center, on the highest seat beneath the ancestral portraits, sat Old Madam Bai.
Unmoving. Unblinking.
Her face was carved from age and bone, mouth hidden behind the rim of a porcelain teacup. Her silence was louder than the room.
Then her voice cut through.
"So. The Third Miss walks again."
A ripple moved through the ranks. Some tilted their heads to listen. Others straightened nervously.
Ningwei bowed. "I offer morning greetings to Grandmother."
Old Madam's gaze did not soften.
"Did the heavens spare you out of pity?" she asked. "Or did they simply forget you existed?"
Silence.
Then: a few stiff laughs. The kind that wilted in the air before reaching the floor.
Ningwei smiled thinly. "Perhaps both."
Old Madam Bai said nothing more. A flick of her fingers signaled the end.
The wives bowed. The children followed. Everyone turned to leave, as if fleeing a fire only they could smell.
Ningwei made it two steps before-
"Third Miss. Stay."
Her stomach didn't drop. But something colder settled into her chest, like a coin falling into water.
She bowed again. "Yes, Grandmother."
The hall emptied with unnatural speed. Servants cleared the dishes like their lives depended on it. One rolled the heavy doors shut, and for a moment, Ningwei could have sworn the wind stopped breathing.
She remained kneeling on the cold floor. The tiles pressed into her knees through the thin silk.
Old Madam Bai sipped her tea.
Then she spoke. "You should have died."
Ningwei didn't flinch.
"But since you didn't, you may as well have this."
She gestured, and a lacquered box was placed between them.
Ningwei reached for it carefully. The lid opened with a soft click.
Inside lay a pendant, pale jade, no larger than a thumbprint, shaped like a teardrop. A faint vein of cinnabar ran through it, curling in the light like a trapped flame.
It pulsed. Just once.
[Soul Fragment Detected.
Status: Inactive until Completion.]
"My son gave it to that woman," Old Madam said. "The day before they pulled her out of the pond."
Ningwei closed her fingers around the pendant.
"She left behind nothing else worth bothering with," the matriarch added.
Not "your mother." Not even "the concubine." Just that woman.
The pendant was cool, even in her palm. It didn't glow again.
"Thank you," Ningwei said.
Old Madam Bai watched her for a moment longer. "You've changed."
"Near-death experiences tend to have that effect."
A pause. Then the old woman clapped once.
A quiet girl entered from the side door - small, neat, expressionless. She bowed low without lifting her eyes.
"This is Yuling," said Old Madam. "She'll serve you from now on."
Ningwei gave the girl a quick once-over.
No obvious weapons. Quiet shoes. Hair braided too tightly.
"This isn't generosity," the matriarch continued. "It's containment. Keep your strangeness indoors."
Yuling bowed again.
[Companion Assigned.
Designation: Watcher-Class Suspected.]
Ningwei smiled, just barely. "I appreciate the honesty."
Old Madam Bai waved her hand. "Don't. You'll find there's little enough of it here."
The walk back to her courtyard felt longer than usual.
Yuling trailed behind her like a shadow with good posture. Not too close, not too far. Perfectly trained.
"You don't talk much, do you?" Ningwei asked over her shoulder.
"No, Third Miss," came the reply.
Ningwei grinned without looking back. "Good."
Her courtyard had been cleaned recently, but not well. Someone had swept the leaves into little piles and then forgotten to remove them. The teapot on her table was cold. A bird had nested in the roof corner.
She stepped inside and set the pendant on her low desk.
It didn't hum. It didn't glow.
It just… stayed still.
She stared at it for a while. Then closed the lid.
Yuling placed a cup of tea beside her and retreated.
Ningwei didn't touch it.
"They want me to smile," she said aloud. "To bow. Be grateful."
Outside, the wind pressed against the paper screens.
She sat cross-legged and let her thoughts settle.
"I'll do it," she whispered. "For now."
[Mission Stability: Holding.]
[Soul Token Progress: 4%]
She was no longer just a ghost. Not yet a girl.
Just a shadow between names.
But she was watching now.
And learning.