Spring arrived quietly.
The frozen earth softened beneath warm sunlight, and the first green shoots emerged from the soil.
Across the capital, peach blossoms began blooming in shades of pale pink and white.
However, inside the western courtyard, spring brought little joy.
The gates remained locked, and the chains remained in place.
Although servants still secretly left food and supplies whenever they could, the isolation weighed heavily upon everyone.
Especially Lan Yue.
“Miss.”
Qingli looked up from the medicinal text she was reading to glance at Lan Yue, who stood beside the window, arms crossed.
“What is it?”
The maid frowned, “You haven’t left the courtyard in nearly three months.”
Qingli smiled softly, “Neither have you.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Lan Yue opened her mouth, then paused.
Then sighed dramatically.
“I don’t know.”
The answer made Qingli laugh, and for that moment, the tension faded.
A sudden commotion interrupted them.Raised voices echoed beyond the courtyard walls.
Angry voices.
Frightened voices.
Then came the unmistakable sound of someone crying.
Qingli immediately set her book aside.
“What’s happening?”
Lan Yue hurried toward the wall and listened and the maid’s expression changed.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“It’s Old Chen.”
Qingli’s heart dropped.
The elderly servant had become one of her closest friends over the years.
“What happened?”
Lan Yue listened carefully.
Then her face turned pale.
“He collapsed.”
Qingli was already standing.
Without hesitation, she grabbed her medical bag however, before she could leave the house, Lan Yue caught her arm.
“Miss.”
Qingli froze and both women looked toward the locked gate The reality struck immediately.
She couldn’t leave.
Outside the courtyard, voices grew louder.
Someone was crying while another person was shouting for a physician.
Old Chen’s granddaughter sobbed openly and every sound tightened Qingli’s chest.
She moved toward the gate.
Stopped.
Moved again.
Stopped once more.
The chains gleamed beneath the afternoon sunlight.
Cold.
Unyielding.
A prison.
“Miss…” Lan Yue’s voice trembled.
Qingli gripped her medical bag tightly, “He’s sick.”
“I know.”
“He needs help.”
“I know.” The maid’s eyes filled with tears, “I know.”
The silence that followed was agonizing.
For years, Qingli had helped anyone who needed her.
Servants.
Children.
Elderly workers.
Anyone.
Now someone she cared about was suffering only a few dozen steps away, and she could do nothing.
Then Old Chen’s granddaughter screamed and the sound shattered whatever restraint Qingli had left.
She moved.
Quickly.
Purposefully.
Straight toward the gate.
Lan Yue’s eyes widened.
“Miss!”
Qingli dropped to her knees beside the lock.
Her hands worked desperately.
Searching.
Testing.
Pulling.
The chain rattled violently.
“Miss, stop!”
Qingli ignored her.
The lock wouldn’t budge.
The chain wouldn’t break.
Her breathing became uneven.
Outside, the crying continued.
Every second felt unbearable.
Finally Qingli looked at Lan Yue and for the first time in years, desperation filled her eyes.
“Help me.”
The words broke Lan Yue’s heart, because Qingli never asked for help.
Never.
Not even when she was hurt.
Not even when she was punished.
Yet now she was asking.
Begging for someone else.
Without hesitation, Lan Yue grabbed a nearby gardening tool and together they attacked the lock.
Again.
And again.
And again, until the metal eventually cracked… then broke.
The chain fell to the ground and the sound echoed through the courtyard.
Freedom.
For the first time in months, however, Qingli didn’t care about freedom and Qingli immediately ran.
The moment she emerged from the courtyard, shocked servants stared.
No one stopped her.
No one dared.
She followed the voices toward Old Chen’s residence.
The elderly servant lay unconscious on a small bed while his granddaughter cried beside him and several servants surrounded the room.
Relief flooded their faces when they saw Qingli.
“Miss Qingli!”
“Thank Heaven.”
“Please help him.”
Qingli moved immediately.
Professional.
Focused.
Calm.
She examined his pulse and checked his breathing.
She then prepared herbs and started issuing instructions.
Within minutes, the room shifted from panic to purpose.
For nearly two hours she worked tirelessly.
When Old Chen finally opened his eyes, the room erupted with relief.
His granddaughter burst into tears.
“Grandfather!”
The old man blinked weakly, then smiled weakly when he saw Qingli.
“Miss Qingli.”
Qingli returned the smile, “You frightened everyone.”
The elderly servant laughed weakly, “I apologize.”
For a moment, everything seemed alright.
Then the room fell silent, and a servant standing near the doorway suddenly paled.
Everyone followed his gaze.
Zhao Meilin stood there.
Her expression was terrifying.
Beside her stood several guards.
And behind them—
Wen Youru.
The room instantly emptied of sound, and Qingli slowly rose to her feet.
Her heart sank.
The broken chain.
The locked gate.
The disobedience.
She already knew what would happen.
Zhao Meilin’s gaze swept across the room.
The herbs.
The servants.
Old Chen, then finally, Qingli.
“Bring her.”
The order was ice.
An hour later, the entire household had gathered in the central courtyard as word spread quickly.
Everyone knew what was happening.
Everyone knew why, and the atmosphere was heavy with dread.
Qingli knelt in the center of the courtyard.
The same place where she had been punished before. New chapters come out on g.com first.
The same place where blood had stained the stone.
The memories returned immediately.
Beside her, Lan Yue knelt as well.
Her face was streaked with tears as she had begged, argued, and pleaded.
Yet, none of it mattered.
The moment Zhao Meilin heard that Wen Qingli had broken the lock and left the western courtyard, her fury erupted.
Years of carefully maintaining control were shattered in an instant.
The locked gates had been a warning.
A lesson.
A reminder of Qingli’s place.
Yet once again, the hidden daughter had ignored her, and once again, servants throughout the estate were speaking Qingli’s name with gratitude and admiration.
The entire household was ordered into the central courtyard, and servants gathered nervously.
No one dared speak.
No one dared leave.
Everyone knew punishment was coming, and the only question was how severe it would be.
At the center of the courtyard, Qingli knelt quietly.
Her medical bag rested beside her.
A painful reminder of the crime she had committed.
Helping someone.
Again.
Old Chen’s granddaughter suddenly broke free from the crowd and threw herself onto her knees.
“Madam, please!”
Several servants gasped.
The girl bowed repeatedly, “It was my fault.” Tears streamed down her face, “My grandfather would have died. Please don’t punish Miss Qingli! She only wanted to save him.”
The courtyard fell silent and Zhao Meilin’s expression remained unchanged.
Cold.
Unmoved.
“You dare speak?”
The young servant immediately turned pale, and a steward quickly pulled her back into the crowd.
No one else dared interfere after.
Qingli lowered her head.
“Madam.”
Zhao Meilin’s gaze settled upon her.
“You disobeyed.”
“Yes.”
“You broke the lock.”
“Yes.”
“You ignored my orders.”
“Yes.”
The admissions came calmly.
Without argument.
Without excuses.
Without resentment.
Somehow, that only seemed to anger Zhao Meilin further.
“You continue embarrassing this family.”
Qingli remained silent because she knew nothing, she said would matter.
Nothing ever did.
Nearby, Wen Youru watched the scene unfold.
Unlike some of the servants, she felt no sympathy.
Only irritation and the entire situation annoyed her.
Every few months it was the same story.
Qingli helped someone.
The servants praised her.
Mother became angry and the household descended into chaos.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Youru’s eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced toward the crowd and noted how several servants were openly crying for Qingli while others looked furious on her behalf.
The sight bothered her.
Deeply.
Why?
Because they never looked at Youru that way.
She was the acknowledged daughter.
The legitimate daughter.
The daughter who represented Wen Residence.
Yet somehow the servants adored Qingli.
It made no sense, and Youru couldn’t understand it.
And since she couldn’t understand it, she resented it.
The bamboo whip was brought forward as a hush fell across the courtyard.
Lan Yue immediately dropped to her knees.
“Madam!” Her voice cracked, “Please. You can punish me instead.”
The words shocked everyone, and Lan Yue bowed until her forehead touched the stone, “It was my fault. I helped break the lock. Punish me, please.”
Qingli’s eyes widened as she glanced at Lan Yue, and tears filled her eyes, “Yue’er.”
The maid ignored her, and tears continued to stream down her face.
“Please.”
For a brief moment, even the servants dared hope.
But Zhao Meilin merely looked disgusted.
“Remove her.”
Two guards stepped forward, and Lan Yue struggled desperately.
“No!”
“Please!”
“She didn’t do anything wrong!”
Her cries echoed through the courtyard as she was forcibly restrained, and Qingli closed her eyes as the sight hurt far more than any whip ever could.
“Twenty-five lashes.”
The sentence fell like a blade.
Several servants openly sobbed.
No one dared object.
No one except Lan Yue, and she was already being held back.
The first strike landed.
A sharp crack echoed through the courtyard.
Pain exploded across Qingli’s back.
She bit down hard enough to taste blood.
The second strike followed.
Then the third.
And the fourth.
The punishment continued.
Relentless.
Merciless.
Each lash tearing through fabric.
Through skin.
Through barely healed scars.
Servants turned away.
Some cried.
Others clenched their fists helplessly.
Old Chen himself had arrived despite his weakness and the elderly servant fell to his knees.
Tears streamed down his weathered face.
“This old servant deserves death.”
His voice shook.
“Miss Qingli should never have suffered because of me.”
No one answered because everyone felt the same.
Halfway through the punishment, blood stained the back of Qingli’s robes.
Yet she remained upright.
Silent.
Enduring.
Exactly as she always did.
Youru watched coldly, not because she enjoyed it.
But because she had convinced herself it wasn’t her problem.
That was how she survived uncomfortable truths.
By looking away.
By pretending they weren’t hers to solve.
Yet even she couldn’t ignore one thing.
Every servant was watching Qingli, not with pity but with loyalty.
With affection.
With love.
And that realization irritated her more than the punishment itself.
By the twenty-fifth lash, Qingli’s vision had begun to blur.
The world swayed around her and the steward finally lowered the bloody whip while his hands trembled.
The punishment was over.
Qingli nearly collapsed and Lan Yue immediately broke free from the guards and rushed forward.
“Miss!”
She caught her before she struck the ground while tears soaked her face.
“Miss.”
Qingli’s lips moved weakly, “Old Chen…”
The old servant immediately stepped forward, “I’m here, Miss.”
Qingli managed a faint smile, “You’ll recover?”
Old Chen burst into tears, “Yes.”
Relief softened her expression, and she closed her eyes, “Good.” She said softly before darkness claimed her.
For three days, Wen Qingli did not leave her bed.
The punishment had been far worse than the first.
Twenty-five lashes had torn through skin that had only recently healed.
Fever followed soon after.
Her body, already weakened from years of neglect and poor treatment, struggled to recover from the damage.
Lan Yue barely slept and neither did Nanny Zhao.
Though Zhao Meilin had forbidden servants from interacting with Qingli, the elderly nursemaid ignored the order for the first time in years as some rules were not worth obeying.
Not when a child she had helped raise lay burning with fever.
The room was quiet except for the sound of water dripping into a basin.
Lan Yue carefully replaced another cold cloth on Qingli’s forehead.
Too pale.
Her lips had lost their color.
Every now and then she whimpered in her sleep and each sound felt like a knife twisting inside Lan Yue’s chest.
“Miss…”
Lan Yue gripped Qingli’s hand, “Please wake up.” Her voice cracked, “You promised we would leave one day.”
The tears she had been holding back finally spilled, “You promised we’d see mountains.”
However, no answer came.
Only silence.
Nanny Zhao sat nearby preparing medicinal tea.
The old woman’s expression was unusually grim.
For years she had watched Qingli suffer.
Years.
Yet somehow each punishment hurt more than the last, because Qingli never deserved any of it.
Not a single day of it.
The old woman looked toward the sleeping girl.
Memories flooded her mind.
A lonely child asking why her mother didn’t love her.
A young girl secretly tending injured servants.
Every memory made her heart ache.
“Old Heaven.” Nanny Zhao’s hands trembled.
“What crime did this child commit?”
No answer came.
There never was one.
Outside the western courtyard, the mood throughout Wen Residence had changed.
The punishment had shaken everyone.
Even those who rarely interacted with Qingli.
Especially the servants.
Because nearly all of them had witnessed what happened.
They had watched a young woman nearly beaten unconscious for saving someone’s life.
Again.
The injustice lingered heavily over the estate.
Whispers spread through hallways and anger spread with them.
Quiet anger.
Dangerous anger.
The kind people carried silently.
The kind that never truly disappeared.
Old Chen sat outside his residence staring at the medicine Qingli had prepared before her punishment.
His granddaughter knelt beside him.
Both remained silent.
Finally the old man spoke.
“This old servant is the reason she suffered.”
“No, Grandfather.”
“Yes.”
His voice broke.
“If Miss Qingli had ignored me…” The old man’s eyes reddened, “…she would be healthy right now.”
His granddaughter shook her head fiercely, “No.” The young woman looked toward the western courtyard, “Miss Qingli would never ignore someone in need.”
The statement silenced them both.
Because it was true.
Meanwhile, Zhao Meilin sat comfortably inside her private residence while a maid brushed her hair while another prepared tea.
The atmosphere was peaceful.
At least outwardly, yet something felt different.
The household had become strangely quiet.
Too quiet.
Servants obeyed, but their smiles had vanished.
Conversations stopped when she entered rooms.
People lowered their heads.
Not out of respect.
Out of fear.
And perhaps something else.
Something Zhao Meilin refused to acknowledge.
Resentment.
One afternoon, Wen Youru entered her mother’s chambers looking irritated.
As usual.
“Mother.”
Zhao Meilin looked up.
“What is it?”
Youru sat down gracefully, “The servants are gossiping again.”
That immediately caught Zhao Meilin’s attention.
“What about?”
Youru frowned.
“Her.”
Neither needed clarification.
They both knew exactly who she meant.
Qingli.
Always Qingli.
The very name irritated Youru.
Even now.
Especially now.
Because despite everything, the attention remained on her sister.
Not on Youru.
Not on the accomplished daughter.
Not on the beautiful daughter.
The hidden daughter.
The forgotten daughter.
The one who wasn’t even supposed to matter.
Later that evening, Lan Yue finally got her wish, and Qingli’s eyes fluttered open.
The maid nearly knocked over a chair.
“Miss!”
Qingli blinked slowly as the room felt blurry.
Her body felt heavy and everything hurt
“Yue’er?”
Lan Yue immediately burst into tears.
The sight confused Qingli.
“Why are you crying?”
The question made the maid cry harder and Nanny Zhao laughed despite herself.
“Because she’s been crying for three days.”
Lan Yue pointed accusingly, “You nearly died.”
Qingli frowned, “I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I don’t think I did.”
“You were unconscious.”
Qingli considered this and nodded slowly.
“That’s true.”
Lan Yue stared at her, then groaned.
“Sometimes I wonder if you’re secretly immortal.”
That earned the faintest smile.
A tiny smile.
But enough.
Enough to bring relief flooding through the room.
Nanny Zhao approached with a bowl of medicinal soup.
“Drink.”
Qingli immediately obeyed while the old woman watched carefully.
Then suddenly reached out and brushed several strands of hair away from Qingli’s face.
The gesture felt oddly maternal, and Qingli froze, and so did Nanny Zhao.
For a moment, neither spoke, then the old woman smiled sadly.
“You frightened me.”
Something tightened inside Qingli’s chest because very few people had ever worried about her.
Very few.
“Sorry.”
Nanny Zhao’s eyes reddened.
“Don’t apologize.” The old woman squeezed her hand.
“You’ve spent your whole life apologizing for things that were never your fault.”
The room fell silent while Lan Yue looked away quickly and Qingli lowered her gaze, because she didn’t know how to answer.
That night, after everyone else fell asleep, Qingli remained awake and watch as moonlight filtered through the window.
The room was quiet.
Peaceful.
Her back still hurt and her body still ached.
Yet her thoughts were elsewhere.
She remembered Old Chen.
The servants.
Lan Yue.
Nanny Zhao.
All the people who cared.
All the people who cried for her.
The realization felt strange because for most of her life, Qingli had believed she was alone.
Completely alone.
Perhaps she wasn’t.
Perhaps she had never been.
The thought brought unexpected warmth to her heart, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming peach blossoms outside the window.
Spring had finally arrived.
And though Qingli did not know it yet, so had the beginning of her destiny.
Far from the capital, a military procession was making its way home.
At its center rode a man feared by enemies and admired by an empire.
A man who had survived countless battlefields.
A man who believed his future had already been decided.