---
The dawn broke late that morning, veiled behind a curtain of clouds and mist. Even the sparrows seemed subdued, as though the Shen household had fallen beneath a heavier sky.
Ming'er was the first to stir. She rushed breathlessly into Osmanthus Courtyard, her face pale, eyes wide with urgency.
"Miss! News from the front gate—Master Shen has returned!"
Shen Yuhan, seated by the window with her long, waist-length hair still damp from the cold bath she had taken to cleanse the traces of her midnight infiltration, lifted her gaze slowly.
"Returned?" she echoed, her voice calm, even amused—as if the man in question were not her supposed father.
"Injured. Gravely," Ming'er added. "They say he was struck during a confrontation with bandits near Meixi's border!"
At the mention of "injured," a flicker of memory sparked in Shen Yuhan's mind. In her past life, Shen Zhirui had been wounded in the same manner—struck by a poisoned arrow and carried home to recuperate. That injury had become the stage for a performance that changed everything.
Madam Su had used the opportunity to display tearful devotion, hovering at his bedside, feeding him medicine, winning his trust with well-timed gestures of care. Shen Yulan, ever the clever actress, had played the dutiful daughter—her exaggerated concern winning praise from visiting nobles for being such a considerate child.
And Shen Yuhan? She had stayed away.
Rumors had painted her as cold and indifferent, too prideful to show concern for her father. No one ever knew the truth.
She had tried to visit him. The moment she stepped into his chambers and saw Shen Zhirui swathed in blood-soaked bandages, pale and barely breathing, a wave of panic had surged through her. The image struck too close to the memory of her own mother—limp and lifeless, lying in a pool of her own blood. That sight had never left her.
The trauma overwhelmed her. She fainted before she could even speak a word.
That night, she burned with fever and was tormented by nightmares, weeping in delirium for days. No physician was summoned. No elder showed concern. Worse, Ah Zhu and Ming'er had been locked in the wooden storeroom as punishment—because their mistress had failed to show proper filial piety.
It was after this that Shen Zhirui's heart turned entirely against her. The man who once lifted her as a child looked at her with only contempt. When Shen Yulan later accused her of stealing the Golden Phoenix Hairpin, he didn't hesitate. He had dragged her before the authorities himself, as if eager to be rid of her.
Thinking of the pain and humiliation she had endured because of her so-called "father," Shen Yuhan's lips curled into a cold smirk.
"Well then," she murmured, voice light but laced with frost, "since Father is injured, it is only proper for me—his eldest daughter—to visit and show my filial piety. Don't you agree, Ming'er?"
There was no sorrow in her tone, no urgency or concern befitting a daughter upon hearing of her father's grave condition. Yet neither Ah Zhu nor Ming'er found her response inappropriate. On the contrary, they exchanged a glance and sneered quietly, lips twitching in unspoken agreement with their mistress's scorn.
"Yes, Miss," Ming'er said, her voice cool. "He will surely be... touched."
Shen Yuhan rose from her seat, the movement fluid and deliberate. She reached for her cloak, wrapping it around her slender frame and tightening it at the shoulders. The thick fabric muffled the chill, but not the cold that lingered in her gaze.
She paused at the doorway, eyes narrowing in amusement.
"It's merely a performance of filial piety," Shen Yuhan said coolly, adjusting the folds of her cloak. "Anyone can shed a few tears and sob until they're breathless. What matters is that others see how sorrowful I appear to be over my father's injury."
Behind her, Ah Zhu and Ming'er lowered their heads, their eyes reddening as they sniffled, voices hoarse with restrained emotion.
"You're right, Miss," Ah Zhu murmured. "It's only fair that they see with their own eyes who the true filial daughter is."
Ming'er nodded in agreement, her voice trembling with fake sorrow as she wiped her non-existent tears. ""Yes, Miss. Let everyone see how devoted you are to Master Shen."
Thus, the trio—a mistress cloaked in quiet defiance and two maids with just the right shimmer of unshed tears on their lashes—made their way toward the Main Courtyard, where Shen Zhirui lay after returning.
---
By the time Shen Yuhan arrived at the Main Courtyard, the place was a hive of noise. Maids rushed about with basins of hot water, footboys fetched physicians, and in the heart of it all, Madam Su knelt by Shen Zhirui's bedside, eyes glistening, sleeves soaked with tears.
In the center of this orchestrated chaos, Madam Su knelt at Shen Zhirui's bedside like a figure carved from grief. Her usually immaculate hair was slightly disheveled, and her embroidered sleeves were soaked through as she dabbed at her husband's fevered brow with a damp cloth. Her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, shimmered with unshed tears. She let out the occasional tremble of breath, soft gasps that spoke of a wife's endless devotion and agony.
"Zhirui, you must hold on," she whispered, her voice cracking just loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Our Yulan still needs her father… I— I cannot endure losing you."
As if on cue, Shen Yulan stumbled forward from behind the silk divider, a snow-white handkerchief pressed to her lips. Her pale face was streaked with perfectly timed tears, her gaze locked on her unconscious father with trembling despair.
"Father…" she sobbed, her voice breaking, "please, wake up… If only I could take the pain for you…"
She sank to her knees beside Madam Su, clutching Shen Zhirui's unmoving hand as though her own life depended on it. Her cries were soft and melodic, not loud enough to be called dramatic, but just moving enough to stir the hearts of onlookers. A few maids nearby dabbed at their eyes, clearly affected by the display of mother-daughter grief.
It was a portrait carefully composed—filial piety, wifely devotion, and noble sorrow.
Just as Madam Su and Shen Yulan's duet of sorrow reached its crescendo, a piercing cry cut through the air like a blade through silk.
"Father—!"
All eyes turned.