Shen Qingyu heard her name spoken beyond her door for the first time since her rebirth.
"Third Miss Shen Qingyu's condition has stabilized," the steward said, his voice careful and respectful. "Physician Xu reports gradual improvement."
There was a pause.
General Shen Yanwu did not respond immediately.
Inside the room, Shen Qingyu sat quietly, hands resting on her knees, posture straight despite the faint ache lingering in her limbs. She focused on her breathing, slow and even, refusing to let tension rise. She had learned by now that impatience only punished the body she inhabited.
"Improvement?" Shen Yanwu repeated at last.
"Yes, General. Her treatment has been adjusted. She follows the physician's instructions with discipline."
Another pause followed—longer this time.
"Open the door," Shen Yanwu said.
The words carried weight.
The steward complied at once.
Shen Qingyu stood slowly, bracing herself against the table for a brief moment before moving forward. By the time the door opened, she was already composed, expression calm, eyes clear.
General Shen Yanwu stood in the doorway, tall and imposing in dark robes rather than armor. His gaze swept over her—her pale complexion, her thin frame, the steadiness with which she stood.
She bowed.
"Father."
The word did not tremble.
Shen Yanwu studied her in silence. He had expected weakness—perhaps tears, perhaps nervousness, perhaps resentment.
He found none of it.
"How long have you been following this routine?" he asked.
"Since I awakened from my collapse," Shen Qingyu replied honestly.
"And before that?"
She paused briefly. "I did not understand my body before."
That answer, simple as it was, struck deeper than complaint.
Shen Yanwu turned his gaze to the room itself—the old furnishings, the thin bedding, the medicine laid neatly aside. His expression darkened almost imperceptibly.
"Physician Xu will continue reporting to me directly," he said. "If your condition changes, I will be informed."
"Yes," Shen Qingyu replied.
There was nothing more to say.
Shen Yanwu nodded once, then turned and left without another word.
The door closed softly behind him.
Shen Qingyu remained standing for several breaths after his departure, heart steady, mind clear. There was no surge of triumph, no rush of relief.
Only acknowledgment.
Her father had spoken her name.
Had looked at her—not past her.
It was not affection.
But it was no longer indifference.
She returned to her seat slowly, a faint warmth stirring within her chest—not from cultivation, but from something quieter.
For the first time in this household, Shen Qingyu had been recognized as a person who existed.
And that, she knew, would change everything that followed.