Night fell early in the Li estate. A soft mist crept through the plum grove, weaving through the branches like old memories refusing to fade.
Li Yun stood alone beneath the largest tree, the one his mother had planted the year he was born. Its twisted trunk bore the marks of age, but it still bloomed — delicate white petals catching the moonlight like frost.
He knelt beside the stone marking her grave.
"Do you think she mourned you?" a voice asked from behind.
Lady Shen.
She approached slowly, her white robes nearly indistinguishable from the mist. She didn't wear her usual jade hairpin tonight — only a simple silk tie. No makeup, no ornaments. Just herself.
"Do you always walk the gardens at night?" Yun asked without turning.
"Only when I can't sleep."
He didn't respond.
She stepped closer but left a respectful distance between them.
"I didn't come to disturb you," she said softly. "I only wanted… to see her again."
Yun's jaw clenched. "You act like you knew her well."
"I did not. But I admired her."
He looked up sharply.
"She never spoke of you," he said.
"She had no reason to," Lady Shen replied. "By the time I arrived, her place had already been erased."
He stood slowly, brushing his hands on his robe.
"So why pretend to care now?"
Her gaze didn't flinch.
"Because your mother died with her dignity intact. That's more than I can say for most women in this house."
The silence between them grew heavy.
He watched her carefully, searching her face for any trace of falsehood. But she wasn't pretending. That, somehow, made it worse.
"I thought you came here to replace her."
"I never could," she replied. "And I never tried to."
A wind stirred the branches overhead. Petals drifted down around them like snow.
Lady Shen stepped forward, her hand reaching out to brush one of the lower blossoms. Her fingers lingered on the branch.
"She was kind," she said. "Too kind for a place like this. That's why it broke her."
Yun's throat tightened.
He wanted to argue. To deny her. But some part of him—some old wound that had never healed—recognized the truth in her voice.
"She didn't belong in a house of power," Lady Shen said quietly. "She lived with her heart open. That's dangerous among people who see kindness as weakness."
"And what about you?" Yun asked. "Are you one of them?"
She turned to face him fully now. The moonlight caught the outline of her face—high cheekbones, long lashes, soft lips pressed in restraint.
"No," she said. "That's why I'm alone."
The answer was too honest.
Yun wasn't sure what disturbed him more—her words, or how familiar they sounded.
He took a step closer.
"You don't have to lie to me," he said.
"I'm not."
"You're hiding something."
She didn't deny it.
Instead, she looked at him with something unreadable in her gaze. Not motherly. Not cold. Something… human.
"You remind me of someone I once knew," she said.
"Someone you loved?"
Her expression flickered.
"No," she said. "Someone I failed."
Yun didn't know what possessed him, but his hand lifted—reaching, pausing just inches from hers.
She didn't move.
Not toward him.
Not away.
He let his hand fall.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked.
"Because one day," she whispered, "you'll understand what it means to carry regret."
She turned to leave.
But as she passed him, her sleeve brushed against his fingers. A whisper of silk. A breath of warmth.
He stood in the garden long after she vanished, heart thudding too loudly in the quiet.
He didn't want to admit it.
But for the first time since returning, he didn't feel completely alone.