The Qin residence had grown strangely quiet.
Xi Jiayi noticed it first in the absence of one figure—her father. He had not appeared at the dining table for days. Since the day she arrived at the Qin Estate, she didn't even see a glimpse of her father.
Once or twice, she caught herself glancing toward the head seat, expecting him to stride in, stern and imposing. But the chair remained empty, its polished wood cold in the morning light.
And it wasn't just him. Madam Song, her stepmother, too, was often gone. Days would pass without her figure appearing in the halls, her perfume fading from the corridors. The household staff said nothing of her absence. No explanations were given.
Xi Jiayi did not ask. In her heart, she assumed she was the reason. Perhaps her presence made them unwilling to return. The thought should have stung, but it slid over her like water.
She moved through the mansion like a ghost—watched but never welcomed.
Everyone else seemed to know something she did not. Servants moved briskly through the halls, their voices lowered when she passed. Once, she caught two maids whispering in the courtyard.
"Master hasn't been home in a week…"
"Shh, don't let her hear! She'll only pretend she doesn't know."
The moment they saw her, the conversation snapped shut. Their eyes slid away as though her presence was an unwelcome shadow.
She said nothing, her face calm as ever. Yet, each day the fragments returned in different forms.
"She should be trying to repent, not sit there like nothing's wrong."
"I don't understand why Madam Song tolerates her. She must be after money, isn't that obvious?"
"She doesn't even curry favor… so arrogant. Just wait, she'll fall soon."
The words never came all at once, but Xi Jiayi heard them all the same, little pieces that clung to the corners of her mind. She never confronted them, never defended herself. She simply turned her gaze away and let silence swallow her again.
Still, it was through those scattered whispers that she pieced together the outlines of this household she had entered.
Her elder sister, Qin Yuxi, had long been married into another powerful family. The servants gossiped about her often, their tones tinged with awe. "She married her childhood sweetheart, you know… a perfect match." From their voices, Xi Jiayi understood that her sister lived a life far removed from this house, guarded and adored.
Her eldest brother, Qin Haoyu, had taken over the company, a name that surfaced constantly in hushed discussions between stewards. "Young Master Haoyu hasn't rested in days… carrying the whole Qin Group on his shoulders."
The second brother, Qin Yichen, was spoken of with mixed tones—admiration and regret. "Such talent on the racetrack… but he gave it all up to join the company." No one said why, but Xi Jiayi read between the lines. Something had forced him back, though the exact truth never reached her ears.
And then there was Qin Jaohui—the youngest. His name was most often carried back by the driver or the maids who handled his uniforms. "Young Master Jaohui caused trouble again at school… fights every other day."
Through these fragments, the picture came together.
A married sister. Two brothers chained to the family business. A younger one still shackled in the turmoil of adolescence. A father who never came home. A stepmother who vanished just as often.
And herself—always on the outside.
Xi Jiayi, alone at the table, lowered her gaze to the untouched dishes before her.
Not home again.
She told herself it was his choice. That perhaps it was because of her. But even if it was, she did not care.
Her days fell into a quiet rhythm.
In the early mornings, she sat on her balcony cross-legged, the rising sun bathing her in gold. Her breathing was slow, her posture unmoving. To the casual eye, it looked like simple meditation.
But once, when Butler Wen passed through the garden below, he looked up. For an instant, he thought he saw a faint glow curling around her silhouette, like sunlight caught in a halo. His heart skipped.
When he blinked again, it was gone.
"…must be my imagination," he muttered, shaking his head before continuing on.
By midday, she often found herself alone in the cavernous dining hall. The long table stretched endlessly, her solitary plate an island in a sea of polished wood. Each bite was taken in silence, precise and measured, as though she were performing a ritual only she understood.
This time, the silence did not last.
The sharp click of the front door echoed through the hall.
Qin Jaohui stormed inside, his schoolbag slung carelessly across one shoulder. His fifteen-year-old face was flushed, his eyes sharp with hostility.
The moment he saw her, his expression soured.
"You're here," he said coldly, almost like an accusation.
Xi Jiayi lifted her gaze to him briefly, then lowered it back to her bowl without a word.
Qin Jaohui's lips pressed into a thin line. He strode into the dining hall, where Butler Wen hurried forward with a tray.
"Lunch is ready, young master."
"I'm not eating with her," Qin Jaohui snapped, pushing the tray aside. "Send it to my room."
The butler hesitated, his brows knitting faintly. The young master's words hung heavily in the air, but Xi Jiayi remained composed, sipping her soup as though untouched.
With a sharp turn, Qin Jaohui left the hall. His footsteps echoed up the stairs—uneven, faintly dragging.
Xi Jiayi's chopsticks paused.
Her gaze followed him, sharp and steady. His right leg was stiff, his stride unbalanced.
He was limping.
Slowly, she lowered her eyes again, finishing her meal in silence.