The Shen estate stretched wide under the late morning sun — an old manor of white stone walls and a courtyard big enough to lose one's footsteps in. On either side of the drive, tall iron lamps stood at polite intervals, their glass panes still cool from the night.
The car rolled through the main gates, tires crunching over the gravel path. Just past the round fountain, a cluster of maids stood waiting, all in crisp uniforms, hands folded neatly at their waists. The head butler, an older man named Mr. Lao, waited at the front steps, his silver hair combed back with precise care.
When Wen Yanyi stepped out, the hush of the estate seemed to soften even further — her pale cardigan brushing against the hem of her skirt, long hair falling down her back like a sheet of dark silk. She moved like a petal caught in a breeze — each gesture gentle, careful, touched with the same unassuming grace as her voice.
"Miss Yanyi," Mr. Lao greeted, bowing slightly. "Old Madam Shen has been asking after you all morning."
Yanyi's smile was soft enough to warm the old man's lined face. "I hope I didn't keep Grandma waiting too long, Lao Bo."
"Not at all, Miss." He stepped aside as two maids lifted her small overnight bag. Behind her, the entrance hall opened wide, the old wood floors polished to a warm sheen. The main hall beyond stretched into a maze of connecting wings — high ceilings, antique vases standing guard in carved niches, sunlight slipping in through tall windows to dance across pale marble.
Voices spilled from deeper inside — warm laughter, the low clink of fine porcelain. When Yanyi stepped into the hall, the warmth wrapped around her at once.
On a wide sofa sat Old Madam Shen, posture regal despite the years weighing down her shoulders. Beside her, Lu Wanning — Shen Jiyan's mother — leaned over to pour tea into delicate cups.
"Yanyi!" Wanning's soft call lifted over the hush. She rose at once, moving to take Yanyi's hands in her own. "You've grown thinner again, haven't you? Did you sleep properly? Did you eat enough? Come — sit with us."
Before she could even answer, Grandma Shen's cane tapped lightly against the floor. "Come closer, girl. Let me look at you."
Yanyi knelt gracefully beside the old woman's chair, careful not to let her cardigan slip from her shoulders. The faint scent of camphor and old cedar clung to the air around the old matriarch.
"You should come more often," Grandma Shen scolded, but her tone held no real bite. She reached out with a hand thin as parchment, tracing a gentle line over Yanyi's cheek as if confirming she was truly there.
"I missed you too, Grandma." Yanyi's voice was a whisper of a thing, light as a falling petal — enough to draw a fond smile to the old woman's face.
A maid appeared behind them with a tray of fruit, quietly setting plates down on the low table. Another smoothed the throw over the armrest, eyes lowered so as not to intrude.
Yanyi sat on the edge of the sofa when Wanning tugged her close. "Your uncle mentioned the Wen business has been busy — your father must keep you running about all week."
Yanyi only laughed softly, dipping her head so that her hair fell like a screen between her eyes and the world. "It's not so tiring. I like it."
At that moment, a quiet shuffle of slippers on the far side of the hall announced another arrival. The air shifted, just slightly — and in the doorway stood Shen Moli. The adopted daughter.
She carried herself with calculated elegance — her dress neat, hair pinned up in a way that softened the sharp line of her chin. To an untrained eye, she was all gentle smiles and polite warmth.
"Yanyi's here?" Her tone lifted, sweet but just a hair too sharp underneath. "I thought you'd be too busy to visit Grandma these days."
Yanyi lifted her eyes, lips curving politely. "How could I stay away too long? Grandma would scold me endlessly."
"Indeed," Grandma Shen huffed, missing the faint arch to Moli's brow. "Unlike some people who keep making excuses to travel abroad, Yanyi still remembers who raised her."
Moli's smile didn't falter — she only bent forward to pour herself tea, her gaze flicking to Yanyi's hand resting so trustingly on Grandma's knee.
Behind the polite hush of porcelain and small talk, a sharper chill clung to her words. Years ago, Yanyi had felt it too late — the little barbs slipped into passing comments, the sly whispers when no one was watching.
She held Moli's eyes for a heartbeat, then looked away — her soft smile unwavering. She didn't need to argue where everyone could see.
---
They lingered in the hall through the early afternoon — tea poured again and again, gentle chatter drifting under the heavy beams overhead. Maids drifted in and out, bringing fresh pastries, tending to the fire in the marble hearth.
Occasionally, Lu Wanning asked after her son — a brief mention of Jiyan's name that brushed the edge of the conversation like a cool draft. Yanyi never paused, never asked for more. She only folded her hands neatly over her knees and offered the same delicate smile she'd always given — the one no one thought twice about.
When the shadows lengthened beyond the tall windows, Yanyi rose, pressing a careful kiss to Grandma Shen's temple. Wanning clasped her hands tight, fussing about her thin wrists, promising to pack her food to take home.
Moli watched from the side, her teacup balanced just so — that polite, painted smile still frozen in place.
---
As she stepped back into the bright corridor, Yanyi let the soft warmth slip off her shoulders like a silk scarf folded away for the season. The lamps along the garden path flickered on one by one, throwing shadows on the old stone path.
A maid hurried to open the door for her, bowing slightly. Mr. Lao waited by the steps, his voice a steady murmur over the courtyard hush.
Yanyi paused by the threshold, fingers brushing the edge of her sleeve. Her reflection in the glass door flickered — so gentle, so beloved, so impossibly breakable.
Inside that softness, she tucked away a memory of sharp words and turned smiles. None of them had stood by her once. And if they missed her warmth now — that was their blessing, not hers.
When she stepped outside, her voice was soft as ever when she thanked the butler — a single petal drifting in the wake of old stones and secrets too well hidden for anyone to see.