Min Min felt a twinge of irritation. The way Shang Jun had glanced at Yao Yao earlier—smiling in that warm, rare way—made her stomach tighten. He had never looked at her like that. Not once.
"Big Brother," she suddenly spoke, her tone deliberately loud enough to draw attention.
"Did you bring back any gifts from your trip?" Min Min's tone was deliberately light and sweet. Her gaze, however, darted toward Yao Yao, as though to ensure her younger sister was listening.
"Gifts?" Shang Jun repeated, tilting his head slightly, the word rolling off his tongue.
Of course!" she said, leaning forward just a little. "You've been gone so long. And you promised me you'd bring something special."
Shang Jun didn't respond right away. He merely shifted in his seat.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he replied, "Of course I did."
Min Min's eyes brightened. "What is it?" she pressed.
Shang Jun leaned back slightly, his usual composed demeanour slipping into something more relaxed. A small, almost playful smile curved his lips.
"It's a secret."
He reached for his glass, taking a slow sip of wine, ending the conversation.
"Big Brother, you wouldn't lie to me, would you?" she tried again, her voice dipping into a practiced pout.
But Shang Jun let out a quiet chuckle, his expression unfazed. "Of course not."
Min Min quickly recovered, her eyes flickering toward Shang Jun once more as she tilted her head. "I suppose Ying Ying gets one too?" she asked, her tone light yet unmistakably probing.
Then, as if struck by a sudden realization, her brows knit together in a show of exaggerated concern.
"Oh… but before you left, Yao Yao wasn't here, was she?" Min Min continued, feigning innocence as she turned toward her younger sister. "So I suppose you didn't bring anything for her."
She paused, letting the words hang in the air before quickly adding, "But no worries! Yao Yao, we can share."
Min Min smiled triumphantly, her eyes gleaming as if she had just bestowed a great favor upon Yao Yao.
Seizing another opportunity, she turned to her father. "Father, did you bring us anything?" Her lashes fluttered, her voice soft and hopeful.
Without looking up, Shang Zhao answered flatly, "No."
Min Min's smile froze. "Oh… I see."
And just like that, the table fell into silence again.
....
When the meal finally ended, Yao Yao quickly excused herself after dinner, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere.
"Thank you for the meal," she murmured softly as she bowed deeply.
Then, without hesitation, she turned and left the dining hall.
Her soul was already halfway out the door, resisting the urge to sprint as fast as her tiny legs could carry her.
She had never wanted to leave a place so badly.
____________________________________________________________________
The garden stretched endlessly before her, the air was cool, carrying with it the faint scent of night-blooming flowers drifting in from the courtyard.
Yao Yao lingered near the corridor of the backyard garden alone, her gaze fixed upwards on the sky.
The moon hung high, silver and distant, its glow spilling gently over. She let out a slow breath, feeling the cool air brushed against her cheeks.
Finally, some peace.
No strict lessons, no scrutinising gazes, no one reminding her she didn't belong. Just the wind, the stars, and the soft rustling of leaves.
She had managed to slip away, escaping the suffocating walls of the estate just for a moment, just to breathe.
As she looked back toward the house, her eyes narrowed. Under the moonlight, she noticed Min Min returning to her room, a faint skip in her step. Her maid behind her, holding onto a delicate gift bag.
Yao Yao raised a brow, tilting her head slightly, a strange sensation stirring in her chest.
So, she got a gift after all.
She wasn't sure why it bothered her. It wasn't as if she had expected anything.
And yet—
She felt a quiet weight in her stomach, heavy.
She had lived forty years in another life, long enough to know that expecting anything was pointless. But still… inside her, the part of her that still remembered the sting of being overlooked couldn't quite let it go.
Just as she was about to turn away, she heard it.
"Yao Yao?"
She inhaled sharply.
It was Lily.
They must be looking for her.
Her eyes darted toward the house, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The mere thought of returning to her room and facing Xiu Lin made her stomach twist.
She needed to hide.
She refused to go back.
Frantically, she turned on her heel, slipping into the shadows before the sound of footsteps could reach her.
Tonight, she wouldn't let them find her.
____________________________________________________________________
From the balcony, Shang Qing Ye stood, resting her shoulders on the railing as she watched the garden below. The wine in her glass swirled slowly, reflecting the faint light of the moon.
She took a slow sip of her wine, letting the rich liquid settle on her tongue. But no amount of alcohol could wash away the bitterness she felt.
She had been feeling unsettled.
People whispered that she had abandoned the child, cast her aside like an unwanted burden.
But they knew nothing.
It wasn't her decision.
She did not sent Yao Yao away.
Shang Zhao did.
He made the call, and she complied. And yet, she was the one who bore the consequences.
He had wanted Yao Yao erased, tucked away in silence, never to be spoken of again. But the moment Yao Yao ran through the streets, healthy, glowing, throwing magic around like balls, the world had taken notice.
And so, to ease the gossips and questions that followed, she had allowed Yao Yao's return.
And yet, Shang Zhao remained silent.
Her grip on the glass tightened.
He had not uttered a single word about Yao Yao since his arrival, nor had he asked why she was in the house.
He did not even acknowledged Yao Yao's presence, let alone shown displeasure.
Why?
She could not decipher him and his indifference only deepened her growing irritation.
And then—the sound of the butler's voice broke her thoughts. "My lady," he said, bowing slightly.
"Miss Yao Yao is nowhere to be found. She had not return to her chambers after dinner."
Shang Qing Ye's fingers paused mid-swirl, the ripples in the wine deepened.
Crack.
A sudden, sharp sound split through the air.
The delicate glass shattered in her grip, shards slicing into her skin as a crimson mix of wine and blood dripped down her fingers, staining her dress.
The butler flinched. A chill crept up his spine, his composure faltering for just a breath as he forced his expression back into place.
Shang Qing Ye exhaled slowly, letting the remnants of the glass slip from her grasp.
"Don't inform me," her voice cold, as the broken glass fall from her fingers. "Tell Shang Zhao instead."