Mei Ling arrived at ten, as usual, prepared for the inevitable struggle. Her young lady was rarely an early riser, and Mei Ling had long accepted that coaxing, bribing, or sometimes sneaking a pillow under Lan Yue's arm was simply part of the job. She loved Lan Yue's spirited, cheeky side—but sometimes, just sometimes, she wished life could be a little simpler.
Today, however, she froze in the doorway.
Lan Yue sat at the table, already dressed. Boxes of jewelry were spread around her like tiny treasure troves, and she scribbled carefully on a sheet of paper, her brush moving with deliberate, precise strokes. The usual sparkle in her eyes was gone. In its place was concentration: sharp, unyielding, measured. Her back was straight, her posture rigid, every motion careful, deliberate, intentional.
The morning sun fell in soft, golden strips across the floor, illuminating motes of dust in the air. Mei Ling could hear the faint clatter of pots in the kitchen, the low murmur of a servant dusting the hallway, but in the room, all sound was reduced to the scratch of ink on paper.
Mei Ling swallowed. The madam's death must have affected her more than she had realized.
"Young lady… why are you awake?" she asked softly, almost afraid to disturb the quiet.
Lan Yue paused mid-stroke. For a long moment, only the scratching of the brush filled the silence. Then she lifted her eyes, clear and calculating, and met Mei Ling's gaze.
"Because there's work to do," she said simply.
---
"Come here. Sit with me."
Mei Ling's tray trembled slightly in her hands. That calm, steady voice—without the usual teasing lilt or grin—made her hesitate. Slowly, she crossed the room and seated herself at the table, her heart thudding in her chest.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"No," Lan Yue said quietly. "Not yet. But I need your help."
Her words were heavier than usual. "It won't be safe. Many would see me fail, inside and outside this household. So I ask you once: do you want freedom, or will you stay with me?"
Mei Ling's eyes widened.
Lan Yue continued. "I can burn your contract. I can give you enough silver to leave and start anew. Or I can arrange a marriage, if that is your wish."
Mei Ling shook her head, tears brimming. "No… I want to stay. I have no one but you."
Lan Yue exhaled softly, a faint smile touching her lips. "Then stay. If you remain, you are not just my maid—you are my sister."
Mei Ling sniffled, straightened her back, and nodded. "What do you need me to do?"
"Two things," Lan Yue said, lowering her voice. "First, watch the courtyard. Notice who whispers, who glances around too often, who reports things. Tell me what you see."
"Yes, young lady."
"Second…" Lan Yue opened a small box. Rings, earrings, and hairpins—plain, unremarkable pieces of gold and silver—lay inside. "Pawn these. Bring me the silver. Quietly."
"These were gifts from Father and Grandmother," Mei Ling murmured.
"They were given for appearances, not affection," Lan Yue replied. "I chose only those without significance. No one will notice. I need coin. My stipend is not enough for what I plan."
Mei Ling wiped her tears, nodded, and accepted the task with determination.
---
Lan Yue set her brush down and ran her fingers along the edges of the jewelry boxes, inspecting them one last time. Each item had been chosen for its neutrality—valuable, yes, but unremarkable. Her grandmother and father would barely notice if a few pieces went missing.
She made notes on her paper, carefully, about which maids had arrived late that week, which servants whispered too often, who had looked at her strangely yesterday. Small details, easy to miss, but every observation added to her knowledge. Every subtle misstep in the household could become an advantage.
She checked the windows, ensuring the curtains were tight, and glanced down the hallways. Every corridor, every shadow was accounted for in her mind. She moved quietly, deliberately, like someone walking through a minefield—careful not to disturb a thing, careful to leave no trace of her anxiety.
Her thoughts drifted briefly to her stepmother and stepsister, whispering in the hallways, spreading rumors. How easy it would be to turn their own words against them, if she were careful. But she pushed it aside for now; patience was her ally. Every action, every word had to be precise.
The soft chirping of birds outside reminded her that the world went on, oblivious to household intrigues. Lan Yue allowed herself a small reflection. Once, she would have wailed, stormed through the corridors, demanded attention, and been punished for it. The old Lan Yue would have been punished harshly, publicly, left to simmer in shame.
Now, she had time, observation, preparation, and the loyalty of Mei Ling.
---
Today, Lan Yue still had this day to herself. She had begun preparing for the future, but all she could do now was wait—for the household to reveal its weaknesses, for opportunities to present themselves.
Tomorrow, her personal hell would begin.
Her stepmother, with the help of her daughter, was already whispering in every corner of the house. By morning, her grandmother would summon her. Outwardly, it would be to "pay respects." In truth, it was a quiet trial, a weighing of rumor against reality.
The charges were already written: disrespectful to her parents, disobedient, hateful toward her stepmother, spiteful to her stepsiblings. All true—but could anyone really blame her?
Once, the old Lan Yue would have sulked, dragged her feet, thrown tantrums—and suffered for it. Kneeling in the hall, enduring beatings, months of confinement. Branded the family's black sheep.
Now, she was different. Patient, aware, deliberate. Every movement, every glance, every word could become a tool or a weapon. She would not be caught off guard.
---
The next morning arrived pale and still. Lan Yue was dressed, her hair pinned neatly, her face composed. She stood by the window for a moment, watching the first light illuminate the courtyard. Every servant moving about the house had been noted in her mind, every expression remembered. The faint scent of tea drifted up from the kitchen, mingling with the crisp morning air.
Mei Ling arrived, breath shallow, eyes darting nervously.
"It's Matron Rong," she panted. "Old Madam sent her to bring you."
Lan Yue smoothed her sleeve. "Then let us go."
Matron Rong entered, upright and precise. To her, Lan Yue had always been a disappointment: untamed, more comfortable with weapons than embroidery, like her mother. How could such a girl ever marry, raise children, or fulfill the duties of a lady?
Yet today, she paused. Her eyes swept over Lan Yue, noting every detail: attire impeccable, hair smooth, face calm, mask-like. Not a thread out of place. Not a flicker of fear or impatience. Matron Rong's hand lingered briefly over her cane, as if expecting a fault—but found none.
She was surprised. A rare thing.
Lan Yue noticed the pause and felt a quiet satisfaction. A test, met without a single tremor. Small victories mattered.
"Oh? Young Lady," Matron Rong said, measured and careful. "You are already prepared."
Lan Yue's eyes met hers steadily. A single nod. Silent, unyielding. Waiting for the next quiet step.
As Matron Rong departed, Lan Yue glanced at the open window, the morning light, the slight flutter of curtains. Every detail mattered. Every second counted. And today, she would watch, listen, and remember.