At the third quarter of the Mao hour (around 6:45 a.m.), the morning mist had not yet lifted, but a commotion broke out outside the Shen Mansion's gate.The vermilion-lacquered main gate was tightly shut. Old Zhao, the gatekeeper, was dozing against the stone lion when the sound of horse hooves jolted him awake. Looking up, he saw the Third Prince's crimson-gold carriage parked at the stone steps—its curtain embroidered with hidden patterns of hornless dragons, glinting so brightly in the early sunlight that it hurt the eyes.
The curtain was lifted, and first to touch the ground was a pair of lotus-root-pink embroidered shoes, followed by Liu Qingyao.
She had deliberately dressed plainly that day: a sky-blue silk skirt, its hem outlined with silver thread to depict broken plum branches; in her hair, only a mutton-fat jade hairpin, while her earlobes dangled with two southern pearls that swayed gently with her steps. She looked so delicate, as if she might topple over at the slightest breeze.
The most striking thing was her right wrist—a phoenix-shaped jade pendant hung from her sleeve, its tail feather dotted with cinnabar. It was the exact token of love that Shen Weiwan and Xiao Jingyuan had carved together years ago.
Old Zhao had intended to bar the door, but Liu Qingyao raised her hand, revealing a token from the Prince's Mansion between her fingers: "By His Highness's verbal order, I've come to offer condolences to Miss Shen the Eldest."
Old Zhao dared not stop her and had no choice but to let her in.
Behind Liu Qingyao, four palace eunuchs carried two sandalwood chests, their corners gilded. With each step, the chests made a dull thudding sound—like heavy hammers striking the hearts of everyone in the Shen Mansion.
Shen Weiwan had already removed her phoenix crown and changed into a plain daily dress, though she still wore the red silk flower in her hair that she had not taken off the day before.
The hall door stood open, and slanting sunlight poured in. She sat upright in the main seat, her fingertips brushing the edge of her teacup, as if waiting for a good show to begin.
The sandalwood chests were carried in, and their lids were lifted—inside, piles of glistening gold ingots rose like small hills. On top of the gold lay a large red gift list, inscribed with two characters: "Modest Present."
Liu Qingyao bowed gracefully, her voice as soft as spring rain: "Cousin, Brother Jingyuan knows he's in the wrong. He's specially prepared this modest gift—hoping you'll accept it."
She raised her hand, and two elderly maids stepped forward carrying a brocade box. Inside was a set of jade jewelry—of the finest water quality, priceless.
But Liu Qingyao did not even glance at it; she only lowered her head, tears falling: "This jewelry was a reward from the palace. Brother said, if you like it, cousin, keep it; if not, you may give it to anyone you wish."
Her words, overt and covert, treated Shen Weiwan as no more than an outsider to be fobbed off.
The maids in the hall exchanged glances, and a few of the more timid ones had already reddened eyes.
Shen Weiwan let out a soft laugh, set down her teacup, and her gaze fell on Liu Qingyao's wrist: "That jade pendant of yours, cousin—it looks familiar."
Liu Qingyao flinched as if burned, instinctively drawing her hand back. But then she lifted it boldly, tears rolling down her cheeks: "If you want it, cousin… I'll return it to you right away."
She made a show of unfastening the pendant, but her fingers trembled. With a "clink," the jade pendant fell to the ground and rolled to Shen Weiwan's feet.
The sound of it hitting the floor was like a slap in the face.
Shen Weiwan bent down to pick up the pendant, her fingertips brushing the cinnabar dot on the phoenix's feather.
It was carved by Xiao Jingyuan himself for her sixteenth birthday.
That day, the young man had breathed on his hands to warm them in the snow of the plum garden, carving each stroke carefully: "The phoenix seeks the phoenix. The cinnabar on its tail—it's the mole between your eyebrows."
Now, the jade remained, but the person had become unrecognizable.
Liu Qingyao threw herself forward, tears streaming: "Cousin, don't be angry! I… I only took it reluctantly, afraid of making Brother sad…"
She reached out to grab Shen Weiwan's sleeve, but before her fingertips could touch it, Shen Weiwan had stepped aside to avoid her.
"Reluctantly?" Shen Weiwan's voice was very soft, but every word was clear. "If you really took it reluctantly, you wouldn't still be wearing it today."
She raised her hand, holding the jade pendant high and holding it up to the sunlight.
In the next moment, she swung her arm and threw it.
"Crack—"
The pendant smashed against the gold brick floor, breaking into three pieces.
Gasps echoed through the hall.
Liu Qingyao screamed, scrambling to her knees and picking up the shards. Her fingertips were cut by the jade, drawing blood—making her look even more pitiful.
Shen Weiwan looked down at her, her voice cold as frost: "Cousin, since you like picking up things others don't want, these shards on the ground—consider them a wedding gift from me."
She raised her hand, and the servants stepped forward to take the chests.
"Take the gold away. Tell His Highness—dissolving the engagement is fine, but humiliation is not. The Shen family owes him nothing, and he is far from worthy of atoning for his wrongs."
Liu Qingyao's eyes were blurred with tears, but she dared not cry out again.
Behind her, one of the eunuchs stepped forward, his smile icy: "Miss Shen the Eldest, His Highness said that if you think the gift is too modest, we can add more."
Shen Weiwan shifted her gaze to the eunuch's face.
"Add more?" She chuckled. "Even if you add ten more chests, it won't buy back the Shen family's reputation. If His Highness is truly sincere, he should come in person, carrying thorns on his back to apologize."
The eunuch's smile froze.
Liu Qingyao crawled forward on her knees, grabbing the hem of Shen Weiwan's skirt: "Cousin, don't make things hard for Brother! He… he has his difficulties too."
Shen Weiwan bent down, her fingertips lifting Liu Qingyao's chin. Her voice was as gentle as a knife: "Cousin, were your difficulties that the pillow talk you whispered in the Prince's Mansion last night wasn't loud enough? Or that the poor-me act you're putting on at the Shen Mansion this morning isn't real enough?"
Liu Qingyao's face turned deathly pale, and tears hung on her eyelashes—she dared not let them fall.
Shen Weiwan stood up straight and ordered the servants around her: "See them out."
The servants stepped forward, lifting the people and the chests together to remove them.
Liu Qingyao stumbled a few steps, then turned back—there was a flash of venom in her tear-filled eyes.
"Cousin, you're being so heartless today. Don't regret it someday."
Shen Weiwan stood with her hands behind her back, her voice calm: "When I, Shen Weiwan, do something, I never look back."
The vermilion gate slammed shut, locking the Prince's golden carriage, the sandalwood chests, and the willow-like, delicate figure outside.
Silence fell over the hall.
Slanting sunlight streamed in, and the broken jade shards glinted coldly in the dust—like a silent curse: "Deep affection does not last."
Shen Weiwan bent down, picking up the largest shard. Her fingertips brushed the cinnabar dot.
After a long moment, she let go, and the shard fell into the brocade box that Atan held out.
"Keep it," she said.
"Yes, miss."
"Tomorrow, take it with me to the palace."
Atan looked up. The young woman's profile was bathed in the morning light—sharp and unyielding, like a sword just drawn from its sheath.