News traveled quickly in the General's residence.
By noon, the servants' glances had changed. They lingered just a heartbeat longer when passing Shen Qingyu's door, their movements more cautious, their voices softer. The rumor was simple, yet powerful—General Shen Yanwu had visited the Third Miss.
Not summoned.
Not reprimanded.
Visited.
Shen Qingyu noticed the shift without reacting to it. She accepted the improved meal delivered that morning and finished it quietly, then moved to the chair by the window to rest. Her body still demanded care and restraint. Whatever attention she now received would mean nothing if she collapsed again.
A knock sounded at the door.
It was light. Hesitant.
"Enter," Shen Qingyu said.
Maid Chunhua stepped inside, posture stiff with nerves. "Miss Qingyu… the Second Miss has sent a gift."
She set a small wooden box on the table. Inside lay a folded silk handkerchief, finely stitched but modest in design.
Shen Qingyu studied it for a moment.
"Please thank Second Sister for her thoughtfulness," she said.
Chunhua nodded quickly and retreated.
Elsewhere, reactions were less gentle.
Shen Mingxiu slammed his practice spear into the rack with more force than necessary. "Father went to her room?" he scoffed. "For what—sympathy?"
No one answered him.
Shen Ruyan sat quietly at her dressing table, fingers resting against the silk box she had debated sending for half the morning. She remembered the calm in Shen Qingyu's eyes and felt a faint, unsettling doubt.
Perhaps weakness was not always what it appeared to be.
As for Madam Liu, she smiled.
"Recovering children invite trouble," she murmured to her maid. "Prepare something nourishing for the Third Miss. We mustn't appear inattentive."
Kindness, once again, was her chosen mask.
Back in her room, Shen Qingyu closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. The faint warmth within her body responded more readily now, gathering and dispersing with less resistance. Pain followed, sharp and fleeting, but she welcomed it. It meant progress—slow, fragile, real.
She did not celebrate.
Ripples in still water drew attention. And attention invited currents beneath the surface.
When evening came, Shen Qingyu carefully stood and took three measured steps across the room without support. Her legs trembled violently by the end, but she remained upright.
She smiled faintly.
Not because others were watching.
But because she was no longer merely enduring.
She was moving forward—
and the household, whether it wished to or not, would have to adjust to the quiet changes she left in her wake.