Stepping carefully down from the carriage, Zhang Lin's eyes fell upon the ancestral stronghold of the Green family, the Green Castle, rising solemnly amid the shelter of the woods.
Yet to her gaze, it seemed less a fortress than a vast estate encircled by high walls. The castle itself rose but five stories tall—far from the towering grandeur of the castles she had once glimpsed in films of her former life. Still, its breadth was far greater than anything she had imagined—more akin to a sprawling, self-contained district.
The walls encircling it were so broad that one might even run upon them, and at their center stood a massive gate of wood plated with iron, its weight suspended by thick chains. Without hands within to draw it open, no one outside could ever hope to enter.
Upon the ramparts, two guards stood watch. At the sight of Zhang Lin alighting from the carriage, their voices rang out, sharp and urgent:"Lady Freya, the third daughter, has returned! Open the gates! Quickly!"
A grating creak followed—iron scraping against stone—as the colossal door slowly swung ajar. From within emerged an elderly woman, hair streaked with silver, her frame gaunt and clad in a long black robe. Behind her trailed a small retinue of maids in neat livery.
"Aunt Mary," Zhang Lin greeted warmly, a smile softening her lips.
Mary was the steward of Green Castle, entrusted with all its affairs. It was said she had served the family since her youth, even raising the baron himself. Loyal beyond question, she was counted among the household's most trusted confidantes.
"Welcome home, Lady Freya," the old woman replied, stooping to embrace her.
For all her frailty, Mary's arms were iron-strong; the pressure of her embrace was almost painful. Yet she released her quickly, as though merely to make her affection known.
"I told the Baron long ago that a young lady should not wander beyond the castle walls," Mary chided, her voice both tender and reproachful. "Girls should comport themselves as girls—yet the Baron never listens. Hunting, riding… such dangerous pursuits have no place for you. Look at that wound upon your head—what needless risk…"
Her words flowed in a steady stream of reproachful affection, but Zhang Lin only answered with her customary smile, listening in silence.
As they walked together into the castle, surrounded by attendants, Zhang Lin's brows knit faintly. She interrupted Mary's speech with a quiet question."By the way, Aunt Mary, where is Eric?"
Eric Green, the Baron's fourth son—born not of Freya's mother, but of the daughter of a viscount, whom the Baron had wed for the sake of alliance after his first wife's passing. Yet that viscount's daughter had soon abandoned both husband and child, fleeing with a common farmer. It was a scandal the Baron never forgave, and though Eric bore the name of his house, he was left unloved. Sickly as a child, he grew up arrogant and cruel, bullying the weak without consequence. The Baron despised him, as if his very existence embodied betrayal.
Ordinarily, Eric would appear with the rest of the household to greet Freya upon her return. Yet today, he was nowhere to be seen.
"Yesterday young master Eric set his sights on a blacksmith's daughter," Mary said with thinly veiled disdain. "No doubt he lingers in his chambers now. If you wish, I can have him summoned."
Though she gave him his formal title, her eyes betrayed her contempt. Of all within the Green household, Mary perhaps most openly regarded him as a stain upon the family's name.
"There is no need," Zhang Lin answered lightly. She had no desire to see such a brother and asked no further.
So they passed into the great hall.
From without, the castle might appear plain, but within it gleamed with noble opulence—every stone, every ornament a testament to wealth and lineage.
After exchanging a few more words, Mary dismissed most of the attendants with a wave, leaving only two quiet maids."Should you require anything, my lady, command them. I have matters yet to attend," she said with a bow.
"Very well, Aunt Mary, go on with your work. Do not trouble yourself over me," Zhang Lin replied with gentle courtesy.
With Mary's departure, only the two unfamiliar maids remained. Zhang Lin glanced about the hall that was both strange and familiar to her, then said calmly,"Prepare hot water in my chambers. I wish to bathe."
"Yes, my lady," the maids answered with a bow, hastening away.
At last, she was alone.
Following her memory, Zhang Lin walked to her private chamber. A long breath escaped her lips. Though she carried Freya's memories, she herself was not the girl who had died. Every gesture, every word, had to be carefully molded in imitation. It was an effort she found wearisome—only in solitude could she relax her facade.
Her chamber was modest in size: a wardrobe, a bed, a writing desk, and a single chair. Clean, orderly—more like a boy's quarters than a young lady's.
Upon the wall near the bed hung a cross-hilted sword, its design ornate and striking. Memory told her it had been a gift from the Baron for her fourteenth birthday. Thinking of his earlier severity toward her, Zhang Lin could not help but shake her head faintly.
On the desk lay several heavy, black-bound tomes. Between them rested a pale parchment scroll, a white quill poised in an ink bottle beside it. She pulled the chair close, tracing her fingers lightly over the parchment. Its lines were crowded with unfamiliar letters—scribblings of Freya's own hand, unfinished. Had she not inherited the girl's memory, she would scarcely have understood them.
It was a diary, a collection of scattered thoughts. Zhang Lin read only a fragment before setting it aside, instead picking up one of the black volumes. Her pale fingers brushed its cover as she murmured its title softly:A Comprehensive History of Byron, compiled by the Aelgrin Library… A history, then?
She opened to the first page. A slip of paper fell loose, bearing the words: Return before November the Fifth.
So, this book was not hers, but borrowed.
She had turned but a few pages when a knock came at the door.Thud. Thud. Thud.