Shen Jin stood before the gates of the General’s Mansion, tilting her head back to read the plaque: *Shen Residence*. She drew in a deep breath.
The vermilion doors loomed tall, flanked by two stone lions. Lanterns still burned faintly above the lintel, while the two gatekeepers yawned at their posts.
The gate was larger than she had imagined. The mansion was more imposing than she had expected.
She whispered encouragement to herself: *It’s fine. You’re just going home. What’s there to be afraid of?* With that, she lifted her foot and stepped forward.
“Hey, hey—!” One of the gatekeepers blocked her path. “Who are you, barging in like this?”
Shen Jin froze, glancing down at herself. Her clothes were yesterday’s, wrinkled and worn. Her hair hung loose, her face still smudged with the remnants of last night’s makeup. She looked less like the daughter of a general’s household and more like a wild girl who had run out from some alley.
“I am Shen Jinshu,” she said.
The gatekeeper gave her a long, skeptical look. Clearly unconvinced.
“Our young lady?” He snorted. “Whenever our young lady goes out, isn’t she surrounded by attendants? And you think you’re—”
“Fu’an.” A voice, aged but steady, came from within.
Shen Jin raised her head. From behind the screen wall emerged an elder in a gray robe, about fifty, lean-faced and sharp-eyed.
The gatekeepers immediately bowed low. “Steward Zhou.”
Steward Zhou approached Shen Jin, studying her carefully. Surprise flickered in his gaze, but it was quickly replaced by respectful composure.
“The young lady has returned,” he said, bowing slightly. “Please, come in.”
Shen Jin nodded and followed him inside.
Behind them, the gatekeepers muttered under their breath: “So it really is the young lady? Why does she look like that…”
Shen Jin pretended not to hear.
They passed through the screen wall, along a covered walkway, past a lotus pond, and through two moon gates before arriving at a refined little courtyard.
Above the gate hung three characters: *Jinse Pavilion*.
Steward Zhou stopped there and turned to her. “Young lady, this is your courtyard. Last night, you did not return, and the General was furious. You should prepare yourself.”
“…Thank you for the warning,” Shen Jin murmured.
Steward Zhou inclined his head and departed.
Shen Jin stood at the threshold of *Jinse Pavilion*, inhaled deeply, and pushed the door open.
The courtyard lay silent. Not a single maid in sight. Crossing the yard, she opened the main room’s door. A wave of powdery fragrance rushed out to meet her.
The chamber was spacious. The dressing table was crowded with bottles and jars, the wardrobe half-open to reveal a riot of colorful silks—just like the boudoirs she had seen in period dramas. She sat before the bronze mirror and finally saw her face clearly.
Young. So very young. Skin pale as porcelain, almond-shaped eyes, cherry lips, a pointed chin—features delicate as a porcelain doll. Beautiful. Far more beautiful than the Shen Jin of modern times.
Shen Jin nodded with satisfaction, then turned to the bronze mirror to remove her makeup. Last night’s cosmetics were a disaster—her eyeliner smudged like a panda’s, lip rouge smeared across her face.
“Miss!” A sharp voice suddenly rang out from outside.
Moments later, a maid in pink rushed in. She was fourteen or fifteen, round‑faced, bright‑eyed, quick in her movements. The instant she saw Shen Jin, tears spilled down her cheeks. “Miss! You’re finally back! I was worried sick! You didn’t return all night—I asked Madam, but she said she didn’t know where you’d gone. Then I asked the General, and he nearly scolded me to death—”
“Stop.” Shen Jin raised her hand to cut her off.
The maid froze, tears still clinging to her face.
Shen Jin searched her memory. This girl was Chun Tao, her personal maid since childhood, loyal to the original Shen Jin to the point of devotion. Even though the original mistress often scolded and struck her, Chun Tao had never wavered.
“Chun Tao,” Shen Jin said as calmly as she could, “boil some hot water for me. I want to bathe.”
Chun Tao blinked, as if trying to confirm whether this was truly her young lady.
The young lady had never used the word *please*.
The young lady had never spoken in this tone.
The young lady’s usual commands were: “Chun Tao! Where’s the water?” “Chun Tao! Are you dead?” “Chun Tao! Do you want a beating?”
“What are you standing there for?” Shen Jin added. “Go quickly.”
Chun Tao snapped back to herself and bobbed her head. “Yes! Right away!” She ran out, but at the doorway turned back to glance at Shen Jin again, confusion clouding her eyes. Today… her young lady seemed different.
After bathing, Shen Jin changed into clean clothes and sat down to eat the breakfast Chun Tao had brought.
Plain porridge, a few side dishes, and a basket of soup dumplings. The taste was quite good.
She was eating happily when the courtyard gate was suddenly kicked open.
*Bang—*
Startled, Shen Jin dropped her chopsticks.
Chun Tao’s face went pale. She whispered, “It’s the General…”
General Shen Chongyuan, just past forty, a military man with a broad frame, square face, thick brows and large eyes—he looked every inch the fighter. Now he stood at the gate, his expression black as soot, eyes blazing. Behind him trailed a young man in brocade, about twenty, bearing a resemblance to Shen Chongyuan but with a softer, more calculating air.
Shen Jin rifled through her memory. This was Shen Zhao, her half‑brother, the General’s eldest illegitimate son, born of a concubine long since deceased.
“Shen Jinshu!” Shen Chongyuan’s voice cracked like thunder. “Get out here!”
Shen Jin hesitated, still holding her porridge bowl. *Get out?* But she was still eating. She decided to take the bowl with her.
When Shen Chongyuan saw her walk out carrying it, he froze—then his fury flared hotter.
“You still have the nerve to eat?!” he roared. “Where were you last night? You didn’t come home! Do you know what people are saying about you outside?!”
Shen Jin calmly swallowed her mouthful of porridge. “Dad, calm down first. Let’s talk slowly.”
Shen Chongyuan: “…”
Shen Zhao: “…”
Behind them, Chun Tao gasped.
*Miss called the General ‘Dad’?*
She had always said “Father,” with deliberate formality and distance.
And when had she ever spoken in such a coaxing tone—like soothing a child? Even Shen Chongyuan faltered at that word “Dad,” but quickly recovered and bellowed again: “Explain yourself! Where were you last night?”
Shen Jin’s mind raced. She couldn’t tell the truth, but she couldn’t invent something too wild either.
“I went to Marquis Dingyuan’s residence,” she said.
Shen Chongyuan’s face changed. “You went to Dingyuan Marquis’s house?” His voice dropped low. “For what?”
“To attend a banquet,” Shen Jin replied evenly. “His Highness the Crown Prince’s birthday feast was held there.”
That part was true. In the original story, the Crown Prince’s birthday banquet had indeed been hosted at Marquis Dingyuan’s residence—because of their close ties to the Eastern Palace, and because Xiao Heng, the Marquis’s heir, was the Crown Prince’s cousin.
“The banquet ended at the hour of Hai,” Shen Zhao suddenly spoke, his tone cool. “It is now the hour of Si. Did little sister spend the night at the Dingyuan residence?”
Shen Jin glanced at Shen Zhao. This half‑brother barely appeared in the original story, but from the few descriptions, he was no good man. He and the original Shen Jin never got along—polite on the surface, but always scheming behind her back.
“Brother seems very clear on when the banquet ended,” Shen Jin said with a smile.
Shen Zhao’s expression shifted. “I only heard it from someone.”
“From whom?”
“…”
Shen Chongyuan cut in, breaking off their sparring. “Enough of this nonsense! Shen Jinshu, speak honestly. What exactly did you do at the Marquis’s residence last night? Did you disgrace the Shen family?”
Shen Jin thought it over. The truth would be shameful. A lie… might be shameful too. But better than the truth.
“Nothing much,” she said. “I drank a little, then found a guest room to sleep in. Overslept.”
Shen Chongyuan stared at her for a long while.
Shen Jin met his gaze calmly. She had survived five years as a corporate drudge—being scolded by bosses without flinching. Why fear this?
“Really?” Shen Chongyuan asked.
“Really.”
“No other business?”
“No.”
He drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Fine.” He nodded. “I’ll believe you—for now. But from today on, you stay home. No going anywhere!”
“Alright,” Shen Jin agreed.
He blinked. So agreeable? The old Shen Jinshu—if you tried to confine her, she’d tear the roof off.
“You… won’t make a fuss?” he asked cautiously.
“No fuss.” Shen Jin calmly sipped her porridge.
Shen Chongyuan opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure what to say. At last, he flung his sleeve. “Just behave! If you stir up trouble again, I’ll break your legs!” With that, he stormed off.
Shen Zhao lingered, studying her. His gaze held suspicion, curiosity, and something harder to name. “Little sister truly seems different today,” he said.
“Is that so?” Shen Jin smiled. “Perhaps I just slept well last night.”
Shen Zhao narrowed his eyes but said no more, following his father out.
Shen Jin watched them leave, her smile fading. “Chun Tao,” she said, “close the gate.”
“Yes.” The maid hurried to obey. When she returned, she looked at Shen Jin anxiously. “Miss, are you really alright?”
“I’m fine.” Shen Jin set down her bowl and stretched. “Just tired. I’ll take another nap.”
“…But you only just got up,” Chun Tao murmured.
“So what?” Shen Jin flopped onto the bed, rolled herself in the quilt, and shut her eyes in comfort. “A life of lying flat needs no explanation.”
Chun Tao didn’t understand what “lying flat” meant, but she could see her mistress had changed.
The old Shen Jin had hated staying home, forever chasing excitement outside. Now, she seemed ready to weld herself to the bed.
Was this good or bad? Chun Tao couldn’t tell. She only knew her mistress hadn’t finished her porridge—a bit of a waste.
Dingyuan Residence.
Xiao Heng was already dressed neatly, seated in his study.
On the desk lay a letter, only a few lines long—the latest report.
“Miss Shen has returned to the General’s Mansion. The General was furious, but Miss Shen calmed him. She claimed she overslept in a guest room at the Marquis’s residence. The General believed her and confined her for three days.”
Xiao Heng’s gaze lingered on the words *overslept*. He lifted his teacup and sipped lightly.
“Overslept?” His lips curved faintly. “Quite the story.”
In the corner stood a servant in gray—the same one who had shadowed Shen Jin that morning.
“My lord,” the servant hesitated, “there is one more thing.”
“Speak.”
“I discovered that Miss Shen… used to be different.”
Xiao Heng raised his eyes. “Different how?”
“I looked into her past. She openly adored the Crown Prince—everyone knew it. She was flamboyant, hot‑tempered, quick to beat and scold her servants. But this morning, the Miss Shen I saw was nothing like that.”
Xiao Heng set down his cup. “In what way?”
“She… was polite,” the servant said. “She thanked the gatekeepers, spoke gently to her maid. She didn’t make a scene, didn’t cry, didn’t demand you take responsibility.”
“She left,” Xiao Heng murmured. “Asked for nothing, said nothing, just left.”
“Yes,” the servant nodded. “It doesn’t add up.”
Xiao Heng leaned back, long fingers tapping the armrest.
Not reasonable. Indeed, not reasonable.
A woman who adored the Crown Prince enough to drug him—yet after sleeping with the wrong man, treated it as nothing? Either her scheming ran terrifyingly deep, or— She simply didn’t care.
Didn’t care about the Crown Prince.
Didn’t care about him.
Didn’t care about last night.
Didn’t care about anything.
Like an outsider.
Xiao Heng recalled the look she had given him that morning.
No affection.
No calculation.
Not even fear.
Only a weary impatience, as if thinking: *What a nuisance.*
As though he, Xiao Heng, was not the heir of Dingyuan Marquis, not anyone worth her attention—just a troublesome matter to be dealt with and discarded. His fingers stilled.
“Keep watching,” he ordered. “But don’t alert her.”
“Yes, my lord.” The servant withdrew.
The study fell silent.
Xiao Heng rose and walked to the window, pushing it open to the courtyard where an old locust tree stood. The morning breeze carried a cool edge.
He thought again of last night. Of her strange words.
“Anyway, it’s just a dream.”
“In the dream, I must—”
Must what? She hadn’t finished. But her actions had finished the thought.
Xiao Heng narrowed his eyes. This woman carried secrets. And he was a man who could not abide secrets—especially the secrets of a woman who had shared his bed.