The lecture hall was already silent when Rhea arrived.
Ling was standing at the podium, coat perfectly pressed, glasses on, hair tied back—every inch of her controlled, unreadable. The board behind her was already filled with neat medical diagrams and sharp handwriting. Students were bent over notebooks, no one daring to whisper.
Rhea stood at the door, chest tight.
Her eyes were swollen despite makeup. Her steps slowed as every gaze flicked toward her for half a second and then away—everyone remembered yesterday.
She cleared her throat.
"May I come in, ma'am?"
Ling looked up.
For one fraction of a second, something flickered—recognition, memory, restraint—but it was gone before anyone could notice.
"Yes," Ling said evenly.
Rhea walked in quietly and moved toward an empty seat.
"Miss Nior," Ling said suddenly.
Rhea froze.
She turned slowly, heart thudding. "Yes?"
Ling's eyes rested on her without expression. "Why were you late?"
A few students glanced up nervously. Pens paused mid-air.
Rhea swallowed. Her voice came out controlled, rehearsed. "I had to submit some paperwork at home before coming. It took longer than expected."
Ling studied her for a moment too long.
Rhea forced herself not to look away. Her jaw tightened. Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag until her knuckles hurt.
Ling nodded once.
"All right," she said calmly. "It's okay. Take your seat."
That was it.
No punishment. No humiliation. No extra word.
The class exhaled collectively.
Rhea sat down slowly, confusion twisting with relief and something sharper—disappointment she didn't want to admit.
Ling turned back to the board immediately.
"As I was saying," Ling continued, voice steady, "diagnosis requires observation without emotion. If you let personal reactions interfere, you will miss critical signs."
Her marker moved smoothly. Her tone was professional, distant.
Rhea stared at the back of Ling's hand as it wrote. The same hand that had once grabbed her wrist, once held her face, once bled in front of her on purpose.
Now it didn't shake at all.
Ling didn't look at Rhea again.
Not once.
She called on other students. Corrected answers. Gave examples. Walked between rows with controlled steps. When she passed Rhea's row, she didn't slow down.
Rhea felt it like a slap.
So this is how it is now, she thought bitterly. Cold. Polite. Safe.
It hurt more than being shouted at.
At one point, Ling said, "Medicine is not about ego. It's about restraint."
Rhea's pen paused.
Ling didn't look at her, but the words landed anyway.
When the lecture ended, Ling closed her file.
"Class dismissed."
Students stood, chairs scraping. Whispers started immediately, low and cautious.
Rhea stayed seated for a moment, gathering herself. When she finally looked up, Ling was already walking out, surrounded by quiet distance and authority.
No glance back.
Rhea pressed her lips together hard.
I hate her, she told herself again.
But her chest ached like it didn't believe the lie.
Back at Kwong Mansion, evening settled heavy and quiet.
Eliza stood near the window for a long moment before turning around.
"Victor. Mother," she said calmly, "I want to talk."
Her tone alone made both of them sit straighter.
They moved to the sitting area. The lamps were dim, shadows stretching long across the marble floor. No servants. No interruptions.
Eliza folded her hands in her lap. "Ling is about to turn twenty-four."
Victor's jaw tightened immediately.
Dadi closed her eyes for a second, as if she already knew where this was going.
"She has to be married before that," Eliza continued. Her voice was controlled, but there was something urgent beneath it. "Before—or on—her twenty-fourth birthday."
Victor frowned. "Eliza… she won't agree. You know how she is."
"That doesn't change the rule," Eliza said quietly.
Silence dropped.
Dadi opened her eyes slowly. "The date is fixed," she murmured. "Before full moon."
Eliza nodded once. "Yes."
Victor leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "And if she isn't?" His voice was low, dangerous.
Eliza didn't answer immediately.
She looked away.
"That cannot happen," she said finally. "You both know why."
Dadi's fingers tightened around her prayer beads. "Ling doesn't know," she said. "And she must not. Not yet."
Victor exhaled sharply. "She already hates the idea of marriage. If we push her—"
"We don't have a choice," Eliza cut in. "This isn't about society. Or heirs. Or appearances."
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
"It's about what happens if she crosses that age unmarried."
The room felt colder.
Dadi whispered, "We have protected her all these years."
"And we will continue to," Eliza said. "But time is running out."
Victor stood up abruptly and walked a few steps away, running a hand through his hair. "She's unstable already. If this comes out now—"
"It won't," Eliza said firmly. "For now, we watch. We prepare. And when the time comes… we make sure the marriage happens."
Dadi looked at Eliza sharply. "With whom?"
Eliza didn't answer right away.
Her eyes flickered—calculating, worried, resolute.
"That," she said, "we'll discuss later."
The clock on the wall ticked loudly.
Somewhere else in the mansion, Ling slept—unaware that her twenty-fourth birthday wasn't just a number.
And that the full moon was waiting.
Eliza sat alone in her room long after the house had gone quiet.
The lights were dim, curtains half-drawn, moonlight slipping in thin silver lines across the carpet. She hadn't changed out of her formal clothes.
She hadn't even moved from the armchair near the window. Her fingers rested against her temple, unmoving, as if her thoughts alone were heavy enough to exhaust her.
Her mind circled back to one name.
Mira.
Of all the names, of all the alliances, of all the carefully calculated possibilities that had crossed her mind over the years—Mira was the only one that didn't feel entirely wrong.
Not perfect. Never perfect. But… acceptable.
Eliza closed her eyes briefly.
Mira was controlled. Disciplined. Intelligent. Someone who understood power without being intoxicated by it. Someone who would never try to dominate Ling openly, yet would be strong enough not to be crushed by her either. Most importantly—someone who knew how to keep secrets.
And secrets were everything.
Eliza's gaze drifted to the window. The moon was not full tonight, but it was growing. Every night it grew brighter, rounder. A silent reminder.
"There is no one else," she whispered to herself.
Not from their world.
Not with Ling's temperament, her violence, her obsession with control, her refusal to bend. Most people would either fear her or try to own her. Both would end badly.
Mira wouldn't do either.
That was why the thought kept returning, uninvited but persistent.
Still, Eliza remained quiet.
Too quiet.
Ling was already on edge—fractured by old wounds that hadn't healed, by emotions she pretended didn't exist. Pushing marriage into that chaos now would be reckless. Worse, it could provoke exactly what they were trying to prevent.
Eliza's fingers curled slowly against the armrest.
Ling could not know the truth.
Not about the age.
Not about the full moon.
Not about what would happen if the condition wasn't fulfilled.
She had watched Ling grow up—cold on the outside, burning underneath. A child who learned early that emotions were liabilities. A woman who loved like it was war.
And now… Rhea.
Eliza's jaw tightened slightly.
Rhea was the variable no one had planned for.
Not part of the calculation. Not part of the legacy. Not part of the protection plan.
And yet, she had destabilized Ling in a way nothing else ever had.