---
The early morning sun filtered through the carved lattice windows of Shen Yuhan's courtyard, bathing the room in a gentle gold. The incense on the antique stand burned slow and silent, perfuming the air with a faint sandalwood scent.
Shen Yuhan sat at her desk, a stack of ledgers before her, the heavy silk sleeves of her robe trailing over polished mahogany. She flipped through the pages slowly—not out of confusion, but disbelief. Her lips curled upward, not with joy, but bitter amusement.
"One hundreds taels monthly, with three bolts of silk and regular access to the family treasury for 'miscellaneous eclenses'?"
She murmured, tapping her finger against the line marked:Second Young Miss- Shen Yulan.
Another page turned. Her eyes narrowed.
"Eldest Young Miss - monthly allowance: thirty taels. No special provisions noted."
A chuckle escaped her lips.
This ledger might as well have been a comedic play. It was almost poetic how blatant the disparity was.
If she remembered correctly, in this so-called era of propriety and hierarchy, the daughter born of the legal wife should outrank a concubine-born daughter by several steps in both status and honor. The legitimate bloodline was everything in these ancient houses—rank inscribed in bone and protocol. So why, in the household of General Shen, was everything upside down?
Her fingers drummed against the desk.
Of course. It wasn't just numbers in ink. It was years of accumulated bias, concealed beneath layers of smiling hypocrisy and familial decorum. Master Shen's favoritism toward his beloved concubine-turned-wife, Madam Su, had rotted the roots of fairness in this household. A man, no matter how noble his rank, was still a man—weak to pillow talk, blind to manipulation when it came sweetly packaged in tears and gentle persuasion.
Shen Yuhan leaned back in her chair, the robe slipping slightly from her shoulder to reveal a glimpse of the bruises yet to fade—faint reminders of the so-called accident at the Lotus Pond.
In the original story, this imbalance had simply been brushed aside. Readers dismissed the eldest daughter as overbearing, foolish, and easily angered by trivial slights. But now, Shen Yuhan saw the whole game from a new angle—one that didn't rely on the sweet tears of a pitiful girl or the gentle persuasion of a scheming concubine.
She picked up the brush beside her and dipped it in ink, casually scrawling across the edge of the record book:
"Favouritism is the first thread in a family's unraveling."
Then she smiled.
Shen Yuhan closed the ledger with a soft thump and stood. Her footsteps echoed quietly across the polished stone floor as she walked to the window. From here, she could see the main courtyard of the Shen residence—clean, orderly, with blooming plum blossoms swaying gently in the wind. A picture of peace—one that completely belied the filth buried beneath the surface.
She had seen families like this before—elegant on the outside, rotten within. In her past life, the targets she had taken down often came from similar noble backgrounds, dripping with public virtue and private vice. Still, she had to admit, the Shen family had mastered the art of hypocrisy with a certain finesse.
Behind her, Ming'er stepped into the study cautiously, cradling a fresh pot of tea.
"Miss, this servant has brewed your favorite—ginseng and red dates. Shall I pour it?"
"Mn," Shen Yuhan replied absently.
Ming'er set the tray down carefully. She hesitated for a breath before asking in a low voice, "Miss, did something happen? You've been reading those ledgers since dawn…"
After reading Madam Lu's dowry list, Shen Yuhan had asked her to fetch the Shen household's account book. Ming'er didn't understand why her young mistress wanted it—but she obeyed. As before, she'd slipped a few silver taels to the same guard she'd bribed for the dowry records. The account ledger had arrived not long after.
Shen Yuhan turned to look at her.
"Something?" Her voice was light. "No, nothing happened. I simply learned that the family I was born into is far more interesting than I remembered."
Ming'er didn't understand, but she knew better than to ask further. She poured a cup of tea and offered it with both hands.
Shen Yuhan accepted it, swirling the amber liquid idly. "Tell me… did you know that my monthly allowance is only a third of my younger sister's?"
Ming'er nearly dropped the teapot. "Wh-what? That can't be right!"
"It can," Shen Yuhan said with a smile. "And it is."
"But—but you are the eldest daughter! The legitimate one! Young Miss Yulan was born of a concubine—even if Madam Su is the main wife now, it doesn't change—"
"It changes nothing," Shen Yuhan said flatly, finishing her sentence. "At least, it shouldn't. But in this household, reality seems to operate differently. You see, when a man places love over blood and obsession over order, fairness is the first casualty."
Ming'er lowered her eyes, fists trembling slightly. "This servant… this servant didn't know…"
"You do now, though," Shen Yuhan said calmly. "And we can let others know too."
Ming'er blinked, startled. "W-what? Miss… does that mean you want to spread rumors through the city?"
Shen Yuhan tilted her head slightly, amusement flickering in her eyes. "Rumors? Why call it a rumor when it's the truth?"
Before Ming'er could reply, the door curtain rustled, and Ah Zhu stormed in with a face full of fury. Her hands were clenched, her sleeves pushed halfway up her arms as if she'd come straight from the kitchen or training yard.
"Young Miss, we should spread it!" Ah Zhu's voice was sharp and full of righteous anger. "Everyone in this household knows what they've done but pretends not to see. Since your mother passed, they've treated you worse than a servant! They punish you on a whim, believe every tear that white lotus sheds without so much as asking for your side, and dress themselves in two sets of the finest fabric every season while you barely get one. Even the fabric—was from Madam Lu's dowry!"
The room fell into stunned silence. Even Ming'er looked at Ah Zhu in alarm, shrinking her shoulders as if expecting to be dragged into a scuffle.
Ah Zhu wasn't finished.
"And now this! A third of the allowance of that concubine-born brat? When you're the legitimate daughter?" She spat to the side. "This whole place is rotten. Rotten to the core!"
Even Shen Yuhan was taken aback for a moment, blinking at the rare outburst. Then, slowly, the corners of her lips curved upward—not in scorn, but with genuine amusement.
"Relax, Ah Zhu," she said, voice calm but edged with a chill. "We won't let them get away with this. I'll make sure they return every coin they've stolen from my mother's dowry—and pay for it with their lives, too."
Her voice was soft, almost tender. But the frost that clung to each word made both girls' backs straighten in instinctive fear.
Ah Zhu's fists unclenched. Ming'er swallowed hard.
This wasn't the same Young Miss they'd known—timid, self-conscious, always second-guessing herself in the face of injustice. That girl had long been buried in the cold waters of the Lotus Pond.
And what had risen in her place was something else entirely.
Something calculating.
Something dangerous.
Something… unstoppable.