It had been so long since I last felt happiness. So long, in fact, that I had almost forgotten what it meant. Ever since my father had sent me away to China, all I had known was hunger, fear, and loneliness.
Those endless weeks where my stomach twisted with nothing but emptiness had carved the joy right out of me.
To tell you what truly happened back in that mansion, I must first return to the moment I met her. The woman who changed everything.
She was no ordinary woman.
I still remember it clearly: she stood in sunlight, clothed in a delicate fabric of pale yellow that shimmered as she moved.
It was thin and airy, like muslin, yet far finer than anything I had ever seen. Her presence was like the first breath of spring after a long winter, warm, golden, and impossibly gentle. She was unlike the weary commoners I had seen in the streets, their garments dull and heavy.
At first, I feared her. Why wouldn't I? By then, cruelty had become a familiar companion. But instead of striking me or casting me out, she did something that left me speechless—she smiled and gently guided me toward the towering gates of the mansion.
That was the first day I met Lianyu.
From then on, she became the one who cared for me. She fed me food that soothed the ache of starvation and bathed me when I could barely lift my arms. Under her care, my mind began to clear, the fog of constant suffering slowly lifting.
Lianyu, I learned, was the wife of the nobleman who owned this mansion. And Yichen… Yichen was her servant, though I still could not tell if he had been the one to bring me here to help me or for some hidden reason.
Even now, I cannot say.
The nobleman himself despised me. I often caught the heated arguments between him and Lianyu, his finger jabbing in my direction, his voice raised in fury.
I could not understand the words, but his anger needed no translation. I was an intruder in his home.
And yet Lianyu shielded me. She was either a woman of boundless kindness—or someone with her own quiet agenda. I could not tell. Perhaps both.
Three months passed. I still resided in the mansion of ruby walls and crimson tiles, its beauty almost suffocating. I had no way to communicate beyond gestures, as I still did not speak their language. But even without words, I began to understand them.
Every day, the three of us, Lianyu, Yichen, and I, sat together for meals. It angered the nobleman, but Lianyu never cared. She often slipped me extra food, sometimes tender cuts of meat.
At first, I refused. How could I not suspect poison? But as days became weeks, and weeks became months, I tasted no harm in the meals. Slowly, my suspicions dulled, though never fully vanished.
One evening, Lianyu summoned me to her chambers. It was the first time I had been allowed into that sacred place. The room was drowned in scarlet, curtains of deep red swayed like restless flames, carpets soaked in crimson, the bed vast and layered with silks. It was overwhelming, yet strangely familiar.
For the first time in months, I felt as though I had stepped into a place that echoed home.
Still, fear tugged at me. As Lianyu approached, I instinctively stepped back, bracing for pain. But she stopped, her expression softening into that radiant smile of hers. It was enough to break through my wall of caution, just slightly.
She reached forward, fingers brushing a loose strand of my hair. Before I could react, she tucked it gently behind my ear and slid something into place. A delicate, gleaming silver hairpin, its jade tip catching the light like the waters of Bharat's lotus ponds.
I froze.
In my heart, a storm of thoughts raged. Was this kindness, or was this a trap? But her hands were careful, tender even, as she fixed it into place. And in that moment, it felt less like a weapon and more like a gift.
A gift I had never expected.
For a fleeting instant, I felt like a child again. Like a daughter being dressed by her mother. The hairpin was not loud or gaudy, it was elegant, simple, but dazzling in its quiet way.
It reminded me of my mother.
When I stepped out of the chamber, Yichen was waiting. His gaze flicked to the hairpin, then to Lianyu, and finally back to me. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes. A sparkle. A glow. And just like that—it was gone.
But I saw it.
Even now, I try to convince myself it was just a hairpin. A piece of silver, jade-tipped, with no meaning beyond its craft. Yet in my heart, I knew it was something more. It carried a weight I did not yet understand.
Weeks passed. The silver pin remained with me, as precious as breath itself.
Then, as the seventh month of my stay drew near, Yichen suddenly came for me. His grip was firm as he pulled me through the halls, ignoring my protests. My heart thudded wildly.
Where was he taking me?
We stopped before the grand hall. The one meant for nobles, dignitaries, and wealthy guests. A place far above my station. I was not meant to even look at its doors, let alone walk inside.
"This isn't right," I whispered, though he could not understand me.
Yichen ignored my words. He threw open the towering doors. Light spilled out, gilded and harsh, casting me in its glow. And then, without hesitation, he shoved me inside.
The doors slammed shut behind me.
My chest tightened. My feet froze against the polished floor.
Was this it?
Was this the end of my fate?