"Some love comes too late. Some loyalty, too quiet."
⸻
"Mr. Yuwen..."
Her voice was frail, the hospital's oxygen hum merging with her heartbeat.
The butler looked up from his silent reading.
"Did I... do okay?" she asked, eyes glassy. "Being a Xue daughter?"
He didn't answer.
She smiled faintly. "I didn't cry much, did I? Even when I wanted to go home..."
The IV beeped quietly beside her. Her cheeks were pale, her lips dry.
"...If I die," she continued, still smiling, "could you tell the insurance people to send the money to my biological family? I don't want the Xues to spend it on another banquet."
Mr. Yuwen blinked. Her words were joking — but only just.
"And also," Xue Ning whispered, "please make sure I left everything useful behind. The reports, the projects. Don't let Zhen get overwhelmed."
Finally, she looked directly at him.
"...Did you ever care? Even just a little?"
"A tiny bit... then, or now?"
The silence stretched. Xue Ning's lashes fluttered.
Then the butler spoke, his voice low:
"The night your parents gave you up," he said, "your grandfather — Xue Rui — brought you to second master. You were still red-faced and mewling in your swaddle."
Xue Ning blinked slowly.
"But the old master didn't hand you for hours," Mr. Yuwen added. "Said you might wake up. That Xue Hexian was too emotional to carry you."
He closed the book in his lap. His eyes never left hers.
"That was the first time I saw the old man hesitate."
He didn't say more.
And Xue Ning didn't ask again.
⸻
The hallway light flickered like it hadn't made up its mind. Shadows pooled beneath the vinyl chairs, and the only sound was the drip of the IV behind the door.
Xue Yiran stood still, hand hovering just above the handle. She hadn't meant to overhear. She wasn't supposed to be here anyway—just a disowned daughter with a family name no one dared call her by anymore.
Inside, a voice trembled like old paper left out in the rain.
"Did I do okay... being a Xue daughter?"
The silence that followed was worse than an answer.
She heard Mr. Yuwen answer, about Grandpa Rui and all that bullshit.
Yiran clenched her jaw. Her grip on the thermos tightened until her gloves squeaked against the steel. She hated the name more and more every day. Xue. A name that raised tyrants, buried girls, and handed crowns to unworthy sons.
But then again—this one was different.
She took a breath, held it, then exhaled like it would empty the ache too. With a practiced calm, she opened the door.
Warm pine, gentle and green, drifted in ahead of her like a soft rebellion.
It wasn't even a real perfume. She had spent weeks—weeks—combing through obscure botanical oils, because Ning once whispered that Xue Zhen's scent made her feel safe, but she never understood why.
"It smells like... when you know someone's going to stay," Ning had murmured once.
So Yiran found it. Replicated it. Carried it.
And brought it into this ward like a shield.
"Time for your meds," she said flatly, not looking at Ning's face.
"I'm not your nurse. I'm the cousin who forgot to disappear."
Ning didn't reply. She just turned her head toward the scent like someone searching for shelter in a storm.
Yiran placed the thermos gently on the side table, then stepped back into the shadows, earbuds back in place.
As the door shut softly behind her, the echo of that question lingered in her chest: a competent Xue?
No. Ning wasn't just a competent Xue.
She was the only one worth saving.
⸻