The silence that followed Lawyer Zhang's declaration was not empty. It was filled with the unspoken histories of two families, the weight of seventeen years lived on the wrong side of fate. Su Qing finally lowered her hand, her face a pale, fragile mask.
Her gaze drifted past Anran, up the grand imperial staircase, as if searching for something to anchor her in this new, terrifying reality."Where is Chuyao?" she whispered, her voice thin and brittle.As if summoned by the name, a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. A girl, her own age, with hair like silk and eyes that mirrored Su Qing's delicate features.
She was dressed in a simple but exquisitely tailored white dress, her posture radiating a lifetime of confidence, upper-class grace, and absolute ease. She was beautiful and elegant, looking down at Anran with an expression of pure, unadulterated horror.
This was Gu Chuyao.
The girl who had lived her life.The contrast between them was devastating. Anran, in her faded jeans and cheap, second-hand sweater, felt coarse, clumsy, and painfully insignificant. Chuyao was polished and perfect, like a piece of fine jade, while Anran felt like common dirt beneath her feet.
Chuyao's eyes, wide with shock, swept over Anran, taking in every detail of her poverty, and then flew to her parents, her expression morphing into one of desperate pleading."Mother? Father? What is going on?" Chuyao's voice was melodic, cultured, everything Anran's was not. "Who is this?"Gu Tiancheng's strict composure finally cracked. He took a rapid step towards the staircase, his hand outstretched.
"Chuyao, darling, come down. We need to talk." His voice, which had been so cold and clipped with Anran, was now saturated with a desperate, deeply protective warmth. It was the tone a loving father uses for his precious child, and it struck Anran's starved heart with the force of a physical blow. She felt a sickening pang of envy, instantly followed by a desperate, pathetic urge to mimic Chuyao just to hear him speak to her that way.
Chuyao descended the stairs slowly, her gaze locked on Anran with a dawning, fearful comprehension. She clutched the polished wood banister for support, her knuckles turning white. When she reached the bottom, she didn't look at Anran again.
She went straight to Su Qing, who immediately enveloped her in a fierce, protective hug. "Oh, my baby," Su Qing sobbed, clinging to the girl as if she might vanish into thin air.Anran stood frozen, an island of awkward silence in a sea of familial drama. Her chest ached so violently she could barely breathe. She wanted to push Chuyao away, to throw herself into her mother's arms, to scream that she was the one who had been lonely for seventeen years.
Instead, she just stood there, swallowing her pride, hoping someone would notice her bleeding heart.
Lawyer Zhang cleared his throat, a gentle reminder of the legalities that underpinned this emotional wreckage. "Perhaps it would be best if we discussed the practicalities in the study," he suggested, gesturing towards a set of imposing double doors.Gu Tiancheng nodded, his face grim. He gently disentangled his wife from Chuyao, murmuring soft, tender reassurances to them both before turning his cold, dismissive gaze back to Anran.
"A room has been prepared for you," he said, his tone instantly flattening into neutrality. He nodded to a uniformed housekeeper who had materialized from the shadows. "Nanny Chen will show you."There was no "welcome home." No embrace. Not even a gentle touch on her shoulder. Just a curt dismissal. Anran was an inconvenient problem to be tucked away while they comforted the daughter they actually loved. Trembling, she followed Nanny Chen's rigid back up the grand staircase, past portraits of stern-faced Gu ancestors whose blood ran in her veins.
She stared at the back of her father's head down below, silently promising herself that she would be perfect, she would be obedient, she would do whatever it took to make them love her.The room she was shown to was not a daughter's bedroom. It was a guest room, elegant and impersonal. The furniture was expensive mahogany, the fabrics were luxurious silk, but it had the sterile, unlived-in feel of a high-end hotel. There were no photographs, no personal trinkets, no sign that anyone cared about the person staying here. It was a beautiful cage.
"Your luggage will be brought up," Nanny Chen said, her voice completely devoid of warmth. "Dinner is at eight." She stepped out and closed the door, the soft click echoing like the locking of a prison cell.Anran walked to the large window and looked out over the sprawling, immaculate traditional courtyards and gardens. In the distance, a fountain danced in the fading light. This was her birthright.
This house, this life of unimaginable privilege.
But as she stood there, her eyes welled with tears. Downstairs, a family was holding each other, comforting the fake daughter, while she, the real daughter, was left alone in a freezing room.
She pressed her forehead against the glass, her heart screaming for their attention, but there is no one to listen or care of it.