A breeze laced with the fragrance of white magnolias planted in the east side of the main courtyard slipped into the room through the carved lattice windows, curling through the silk drapes and making the chamber smell like spring. It swept across Shen Yuhan's sleeves, as though nature itself had paused to watch the scene unfold.
By the time she lifted her head again, that faint smile had vanished entirely, replaced by eyes shimmering with tears and a trembling lower lip. Her gaze sought Su Wanning's, soft and glistening like a child's.
"Thank you, Mother," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "I knew you wouldn't abandon me."
There was no triumph in her expression—only relief and vulnerability so convincing that even Su Wanning, a woman skilled in reading masks, found herself unsure.
Reluctantly, bound by propriety and the eyes of servants lingering just beyond the open doorway, Su Wanning stretched out her hand. Her fingers brushed against Shen Yuhan's head in a gentle, rehearsed gesture of maternal affection. The act was shallow, but it had weight in this moment.
"Don't worry," she said with soft warmth, a practiced tone laced with feigned comfort. "Everything will be fine. I'm always here with you."
From the side, Shen Yulan's voice rose, sweet and innocent as ever, though her gaze remained fixed on her mother's hand—still resting atop Shen Yuhan's head.
"But Mother," she said, twisting a silken handkerchief between her fingers, "how are we going to prove that Sister isn't possessed by some spirit or ghost or whatever it is?"
She gave a nervous little laugh, as though embarrassed by the absurdity of her own words. "If we try to silence the talk, won't that just make it worse? People might think we have something to hide. And if one of the maids lets it slip outside the mansion… What will others think of Sister? Of the Shen family?"
Her tone remained soft, but her meaning was barbed. There was no question—Shen Yulan didn't care about the servants' gossip. She was already envisioning noble wives murmuring behind their fans, matchmakers crossing names from lists, and court officials whispering of curses.
Su Wanning's expression hardened for the briefest of moments before she looked toward the doors and waved a hand. "Leave us," she said.
The remaining maids bowed and retreated silently, closing the wooden screens behind them with a muted click.
Now alone, the air changed.
Su Wanning withdrew her hand, folding it neatly within her sleeve. "Yulan is right," she said coolly. "The matter has grown beyond our walls. I thought a few idle rumors would pass with time. I didn't think they'd become so… stubborn."
Her gaze fell on Shen Yuhan—not hostile, but cautious. Measuring.
"You should have said something earlier."
"I didn't want to cause more trouble," Shen Yuhan murmured, lowering her eyes. "If even you started to think I'd lost my mind… I didn't know who I could turn to."
That struck a chord, and for a moment Su Wanning remained quiet.
But Shen Yulan pressed on. "What if someone reports this to the Ministry of Rites or a temple official? What if they think we're harboring an evil spirit? Even if it's all nonsense, just the association could ruin Sister's standing forever."
She turned to Shen Yuhan with a face of polite concern. "Sister, please don't blame me for saying this, but… there's only one way to put this to rest."
Shen Yuhan blinked slowly. "What way?"
Shen Yulan stepped closer, tilting her head like a girl sharing a precious secret. "We let the monk perform the ritual."
The words dropped like cold water.
"If he declares you clean—just a simple blessing, nothing dramatic—then we can silence the rumors honorably. You'll be seen as someone who has suffered but endured, someone who faced spiritual adversity with grace." Her smile grew faint. "People admire that. It may even work in your favor."
Shen Yuhan stared at her.
She had known, of course. Had seen it coming the moment Su Wanning feigned concern. But to hear Shen Yulan say it aloud—with such a pretty smile, no less—it confirmed that this wasn't just damage control. It was a trap.
They weren't clearing her name.
They were preparing to humiliate her publicly, under the guise of cleansing her spirit.
A flicker passed behind Shen Yuhan's eyes.
But she let her lips tremble.
"Will… will it hurt?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. "I've never undergone something like that before. What if the monk… says I'm not clean?"
Su Wanning exchanged a quick look with her daughter, then said gently, "That's why we must choose the right monk. Someone wise and discreet. Someone who understands what he should say."
A pause.
Then Shen Yuhan lowered her head and looked at her shoes for a while, then as if she had made her decision, firmly nodded. "If that's what it takes… then I'll do it."
She drew in a shaky breath, blinking hard as though trying not to cry. "I only want to stay by Father's side. I don't want him to be ashamed of me."
And deep inside her, far beneath the mask of fear, a new plan was already taking root—sharp, blooming, and deadly.
Let them bring their monk.
Let them dig this pit.
She would make sure they were the ones to fall in.
---
After leaving the Main Courtyard, Shen Yuhan walked steadily toward Osmanthus Courtyard, her steps light yet measured. Behind her, Ming'er and Ah Zhu followed in silence, their expressions unreadable as they passed through the winding corridors of the estate.
But the moment the gates of Osmanthus Courtyard closed behind them, the atmosphere shifted.
Gone was the soft fragility, the wide-eyed helplessness of a girl pleading for acceptance. Shen Yuhan's posture straightened, her gaze sharpening into its usual calm precision. The coolness returned to her features, though a glint of amusement still lingered in her eyes—one born of the spectacle she had left behind.
Ming'er had barely turned the bolt on the chamber door when she and Ah Zhu burst into restrained laughter, their shoulders shaking with barely contained delight.
"'Mother, I know you wouldn't abandon me,'" Ah Zhu recited in a deliberately trembling voice, mimicking Shen Yuhan's earlier tone with exaggerated innocence.
That broke the dam.
All three of them dissolved into quiet laughter, the sound light and unrestrained, echoing through the stillness of Osmanthus Courtyard. The air here was bright with jasmine and old tea leaves, and the carefree laughter stood in stark contrast to the stifled tension and solemn dignity Su Wanning and her daughter had likely imagined cloaking this place in.
Shen Yuhan leaned slightly against the edge of a carved sandalwood table, one hand brushing the lid of a teacup, her lips still curved in a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes.
For all the world, it looked like she had returned from a pleasant stroll.
But only the Osmanthus Courtyard knew—here, the storm was just beginning to form.