Snow fell gently over the Li family estate as Li Yun stepped through the grand gates for the first time in five years.
The walls hadn't changed—still towering, still cold. But something in the air had shifted. His mother's warmth no longer lingered here. Only silence. Only distance.
The servants bowed, but none met his eyes. He wasn't surprised. After all, he had been the discarded heir, the boy sent away after his mother's death.
Now, at seventeen, he had returned—older, taller, and with secrets of his own. His heart beat with quiet resolve. He had survived the outer sect alone. He wouldn't be that powerless child anymore.
"Second Young Master," a steward murmured, "the Lord remains in closed-door cultivation. You'll be received by Lady Shen."
That name struck like an unfamiliar melody.
Lady Shen. The woman his father had married after his mother died. A stranger who now held the keys to his home, and perhaps, to truths buried beneath years of silence.
He nodded wordlessly and followed the steward across the snow-laced courtyard. Winter plum trees stood in bloom, their petals scattering like ash.
The main hall doors opened slowly.
She was already waiting.
Lady Shen stood by the incense burner, her slender figure draped in a pale lavender hanfu embroidered with silver cranes. Her long black hair fell like silk down her back, pinned simply with a jade comb. Her face was serene—almost too serene. Eyes that could freeze water or melt stone turned toward him.
"So you are Li Yun," she said softly.
Her voice was low, smooth, unreadable. Not maternal. Not cold, either. Just distant. Controlled.
Yun bowed stiffly. "Lady Shen."
She studied him with a gaze too calm for someone seeing her husband's son for the first time.
"You've grown."
"I was a child when I left."
"Indeed." She turned and gestured toward the tea set. "Sit. You've had a long journey."
He obeyed, legs folding beneath him as he sat across from her. Her movements were elegant, precise—like a sword sheath hiding a blade.
She poured tea into two cups. "I heard you advanced to Foundation Stage recently. Your letters were... brief."
He didn't answer immediately. "I didn't write them for you."
A flicker crossed her face—something too fast to name.
"No," she said at last. "But I read them anyway."
He looked up then, eyes meeting hers.
There was no hatred in him. But no trust, either.
"You took my mother's place."
"I was asked to marry your father," she replied calmly. "I did."
"Did you love him?"
A beat of silence.
She placed the teapot down gently. "That is not a question I owe a child."
"I'm not a child anymore."
Their eyes locked again.
This time, neither looked away.
A servant entered then, bowing low. "The young master's courtyard has been prepared."
Lady Shen rose. "You will stay in the east wing. Your mother's rooms were sealed after her death."
"I know," he said quietly.
As he stood to leave, she added, "You may not remember this place, but it is still your home. No one will cast you out again."
He turned at the door.
"I wasn't cast out," he said. "I was forgotten."
And with that, he stepped into the cold again.
—
The east wing was quiet, old, untouched.
Dust clung to the windowsills, but the furniture had been cleaned. A jade pendant lay on the table—his mother's, long since lost. A gesture? A trap? He couldn't tell.
That night, sleep evaded him.
He wandered the garden alone, snow crunching beneath his boots. Moonlight bathed the plum trees in silver.
He didn't expect to see her there—Lady Shen, standing beneath the blossoms, her white cloak blending into the snow.
"You should be asleep," she said without turning.
"So should you," he replied.
They stood like that, in silence, for a moment too long.
Then she spoke. "Your mother was brave. Kind. The manor changed when she died."
"She died suddenly."
Her voice tightened. "Yes."
"Was it sudden for you, too?" he asked.
Finally, she turned to face him.
Something flickered in her eyes then—not anger, not fear. Guilt? Regret?
"You ask dangerous questions, Li Yun."
He stepped closer.
"So give me a dangerous answer."
But she only turned away again.
"The past is never kind," she said. "Sleep well, Yun'er."
And then she was gone.
Leaving only the falling snow… and questions that no longer waited patiently for answers.