By the seventh day, Shen Qingyu could sit by the window without feeling faint.
It was a small victory—one no one else noticed—but she accepted it quietly. Each morning, after finishing her medicine and meal, she would shift from the bed to the chair placed near the wall, resting there until the trembling in her limbs subsided.
From that position, she could see the edge of the courtyard.
She never opened the window fully. She only parted the curtain enough to observe without drawing attention. Sunlight spilled across packed earth, illuminating figures already moving in disciplined patterns.
Training had begun.
Shen Qingyu watched in silence as wooden weapons cut through the air. The rhythm of movement was precise, almost beautiful. Each strike followed another without hesitation, each breath controlled and measured.
Strength here was not just power—it was habit.
At the front stood a tall man in dark armor, posture straight, gaze sharp enough to silence even the wind. His presence alone imposed order.
General Shen Yanwu.
Her father.
Shen Qingyu felt no surge of longing as she watched him. No ache in her chest, no childish hope that he might look her way. Those emotions belonged to the girl who had died in this body.
She observed him the same way she observed everything now—calmly, analytically.
He corrected a stance with a sharp word. Adjusted another with a brief gesture. Praise was rare. Expectation was constant.
So this is the measure of worth in this household, she thought.
Her siblings trained among the others. She recognized them easily from memory. Shen Mingxiu's movements were aggressive, powerful, but impatient. Shen Ruyan's were refined and cautious, elegant but restrained.
Strength, Shen Qingyu realized, always revealed its flaws when watched long enough.
A sudden wave of dizziness forced her to grip the armrest. She closed her eyes immediately, breathing slowly until the sensation passed. Her body was not ready for prolonged focus yet.
She drew the curtain closed and leaned back, heart steady.
Not yet.
If she stepped into that courtyard now, she would still be the fragile daughter they expected to see. Nothing would change except the depth of their judgment.
That afternoon, as she rested, footsteps paused briefly outside her door.
No knock followed.
Whoever it was moved on.
Shen Qingyu opened her eyes, expression unreadable.
Let them continue to overlook her.
For now, being unseen was not a weakness.
It was protection.