Shen Qingyu did not return to the courtyard immediately.
That was a deliberate choice.
Attention still clung to her like a fragile shell—protective for now, but easily shattered. She needed to be certain that when she stepped outside her room again, she would not falter at the first glance or collapse beneath the weight of expectation.
So she prepared.
Each morning, after finishing her medicine, she practiced standing for longer intervals. One breath. Two. Five. Ten. Her legs trembled, muscles screaming in protest, but she listened closely to the warnings her body gave. The moment dizziness crept in, she stopped.
Progress was slow—but it was progress that lasted.
Physician Xu Wenren visited in the afternoon, observing quietly as she repeated the motion of standing and sitting. "Your endurance has improved," he said finally. "Not your strength—but your control."
"That is enough for now," Shen Qingyu replied.
Xu studied her with faint curiosity. "Most children are impatient."
"I am not most children."
He nodded, accepting that without question.
On the fifth day after her father's visit, Shen Qingyu stepped outside her room.
The corridor felt longer than she remembered. Sunlight spilled across the stone floor, warm and unfamiliar. Servants froze briefly when they saw her, eyes widening before they hastily lowered their gazes.
Shen Qingyu walked steadily, Chunhua following a step behind, hands ready but not interfering.
At the edge of the courtyard, she stopped.
Training was already underway. The rhythm of strikes and commands filled the air, sharp and disciplined. Several heads turned. Whispers followed.
"She's walking."
"On her own…"
Shen Mingxiu noticed her presence almost immediately. His brows furrowed, annoyance flickering across his expression before he masked it and returned to his practice.
Shen Ruyan paused briefly, her gaze lingering just long enough to meet Shen Qingyu's. Surprise crossed her face—then something closer to acknowledgment.
General Shen Yanwu stood at the front, issuing corrections. When he turned, his eyes found Shen Qingyu without searching.
She bowed.
Not deeply.
Not weakly.
Just enough.
Shen Yanwu held her gaze for a moment longer than before. Then he nodded once and turned back to the trainees.
Permission.
Shen Qingyu moved to the shaded edge and sat down carefully, exhaling only when she was steady. Pain radiated faintly through her joints, but she welcomed it.
She was here.
Not as a burden carried unwillingly.
Not as a child begging for notice.
But as herself—standing where she chose to stand.
As training resumed, Shen Qingyu watched quietly, eyes sharp, breathing even.
She had crossed a threshold today.
And nothing—not weakness, not whispers—would send her retreating back across it.