----
Memories had a way of clinging—like shadows under her skin.
The rain came softly that morning. Lin Xiao stood by the window of her classroom, watching droplets lace the glass like threads of a broken web. Below, the courtyard shimmered silver, the cherry blossoms wet and heavy.
It reminded her of a different rain.
A darker one.
---
She had been five.
Knees scraped from falling on the stone steps of the ancestral hall, crying softly into the linen sleeve of a servant woman who was too afraid to hold her for long.
"You mustn't cry, Miss," the servant had whispered. "The old madam doesn't like noise."
Lin Xiao had looked up, searching for comfort in the place children normally did—in their mothers.
But her mother stood far away. Head lowered. Eyes hollow. Beside her, Madame Wu stood tall and proud, her belly swollen with the child that would later be Lin Jun—her father's legitimate heir.
"Take her to the back courtyard," Madame Wu had said coldly. "That child has no place here."
Lin Xiao hadn't known what "illegitimate" meant then. But she'd learned quickly.
Even at five, she'd learned what it meant to be unwanted.
---
"Lin Xiao?"
The voice tugged her back to the present.
She turned. Li Wei stood at her side, slightly damp from the rain, his uniform clinging at the sleeves.
She blinked at him. "You're early."
"I came to return this," he said, holding out a small bracelet—childish, made of knotted string. "Found it when I unpacked some old boxes. Do you remember?"
Her breath caught. She did.
They had made them when they were children. She'd tied his with shaky fingers, and he'd insisted on doing hers with his eyes closed—"for luck," he'd claimed.
She'd worn it every day until Madame Wu threw it into the fire.
Her throat tightened, but she kept her tone light. "You kept it?"
He gave a lopsided smile. "You were a clingy kid. I couldn't exactly forget you."
She smiled back—automatically, almost—but something in her chest ached.
Li Wei looked at her a moment longer, then said softly, "You've changed."
"I had to," she replied. "The world doesn't wait for little girls to grow up slowly."
---
At home that evening, the storm had followed her indoors.
She found her father, Lin Zhenghua, in the study—papers spread out across the lacquered table, the light from the desk lamp casting long shadows across his face.
He didn't look up when she knocked.
"Come in," he said, like he hadn't seen her in months, like she was a guest.
She stepped in anyway.
"I heard you received your grandmother's will," he said, fingers tapping against a document. "I wanted to speak to you about that."
Lin Xiao said nothing.
He finally looked up. "That 23%—the shares from Lin Group—are symbolic, really. A gesture of affection. I think it would be best if you signed them over to me, so they can be managed properly."
Her chest burned.
"So… you want me to hand over my inheritance," she said slowly, "because you think I can't handle it?"
"No," he said. "Because I can."
The words hung heavy.
She clenched her fists. "You never gave me a chance."
"I gave your mother a home," he said, irritation flaring. "She should have known her place. Instead she poisoned you with ideas—telling you that you were equal, that you were heir—"
"I am the heir," she snapped.
His eyes narrowed. "Not while you carry that woman's blood and my heir your brother is studying in abroad."
Silence fell.
The words cut deeper than they should have.
She didn't cry. Not anymore.
Instead, she turned to the door.
"You can have your legacy," she said, voice low. "But I'll keep my name. And one day, you'll wish I hadn't."
She left him there. Just like he had always left her.
---
That night, sleep did not come.
She sat by her window, the old bracelet from Li Wei clutched in her hand.
She wasn't strong.
Not yet.
But she remembered what it felt like to be small, forgotten, burned at the edges of her own life.
And she would never let it happen again
---
The rain came without warning.
A soft drizzle at first, then a downpour that soaked the tiles of the courtyard and blurred the windows of the Lin estate. Lin Xiao stood in the hallway, the cold marble floor numbing her bare feet. Her school blazer clung to her arms, damp and heavy, but she made no move to change. Not yet.
She'd returned home to find her father waiting—an unusual thing, and never a good one.
Lin Zhenghua sat in the study now, his favorite pipe untouched, his eyes sharper than she remembered. The man looked every inch the powerful patriarch he pretended to be—well-groomed, expressionless, and hollow inside.
Her fingers curled at her sides.
She stepped into the room.
"You wanted to speak with me," she said quietly.
He didn't look up at first. Just tapped his fingers against the document laid out before him.
Her grandmother's will.
Again.
"Lin Xiao," he said, calm as ever. "You've grown… independent."
She didn't reply.
He gestured to the document. "You're still young. There are things about the company, about inheritance, that you don't fully understand. I thought we could come to an arrangement."
She said nothing, so he continued.
"If you sign over your share to me, I'll ensure you receive a fixed allowance and a property in the city once you come of age. In return, I'll manage the Lin Group shares properly."
There it was. Polished manipulation, wrapped in silk.
And she remembered—
---
A memory, jagged and uninvited:
She was ten. Her mother weeping in the hallway, clutching Lin Xiao's tiny hand.
"We were supposed to be the first family," Mei Hua had whispered. "But because I had a girl—because you were born a girl…"
From behind the door came the voice of another woman. Lilting, sweet, triumphant.
Wu Min.
The mistress who would become the second Madam Lin.
Even though she came after. Even though she was nothing more than an intruder.
She had a boy. And that was all that mattered.
Lin Jun.
Illegitimate, yet glorified.
And Lin Xiao… legitimate, but erased.
---
Back in the present, Lin Xiao swallowed.
"My grandmother's wishes were clear," she said softly.
Her father's eyes flickered. "Your grandmother was a romantic. Not a realist. Her decisions were based on emotion."
"No," Lin Xiao said, her voice rising without meaning to. "Her decisions were based on love. Something this family knows nothing about."
His mouth thinned. "Watch your tone."
She took a breath. "Why? You never taught me to raise my voice. You taught me to kneel. And I did—my whole life. For nothing."
Silence.
Outside, the rain hit the windows harder.
"I won't sign it," she said, her voice steadier now. "And if you try to take it from me, I will drag every secret this house holds into the daylight."
Her father stood slowly.
"You think you're strong now," he said. "You've had a taste of power and forgotten what it means to be a daughter."
She met his eyes. "No. I remember exactly what it means. That's why I'll never be like you."
---
Later that night, Lin Xiao lay curled in her bed, the argument still burning under her skin. Her phone buzzed once.
A message.
From Li Wei.
> "You okay?" Kinda missed you
She stared at the screen.
She hadn't told him. Not about the will. Not about the inheritance. Not about her father's schemes.
She typed a reply slowly.
> I'm fine. Just tired.
A pause. Then another message.
> You don't have to carry everything by yourself, Xiao Xiao.
She turned her phone over and closed her eyes.
But the darkness wasn't kind.
It dragged her back—to her childhood. The cold garden pond. Her stepmother's scolding voice. Lin Jun pushing her down the stairs when no one was watching. The bruises she hid. The silence she swallowed.
And through it all, her father's back, always turned away.
---
She dreamed of drowning again.
But this time, she didn't scream.
She just sank—quiet and unseen—into the place they thought she belonged.
And yet, somewhere far above the water, a boy with gentle eyes once whispered,
"Don't let them bury you. You're not a weed, Lin Xiao. You're a storm waiting to bloom."