Spring arrived in full bloom.
The apricot tree in the western courtyard stood covered in delicate white blossoms.
Flower petals drifted through the air whenever the wind blew, scattering across stone pathways like fallen snow.
For the first time in weeks, Wen Qingli sat outside beneath the tree with a blanket covering her shoulders.
Though her fever had broken, her injuries still had not fully healed.
The twenty-five lashes had left deeper scars than the previous punishment.
Some wounds would fade.
Others never would.
Lan Yue hovered nearby like an overprotective mother hen.
Every few moments she glanced toward Qingli.
“Miss.”
Qingli looked up from her book.
“Hm?”
Lan Yue stood with her hands on her hips, wearing the expression of someone about to deliver a very serious complaint.
“You have been sitting for too long.”
Qingli blinked.
“I just sat down.”
“Exactly.”
Qingli stared at her for a moment before a laugh escaped her lips.
Lan Yue immediately pointed at her triumphantly.
“See?”
“See what?”
“You’re tired.”
Qingli frowned.
“How does laughing mean I’m tired?”
“It just does.”
Qingli pressed a hand to her forehead and shook her head in exasperation.
There was simply no winning an argument against Lan Yue.
The woman could twist any conversation into a victory for herself.
“You’re impossible.”
“Yet you keep me around.”
“Unfortunately,” came the soft reply.
Lan Yue gasped dramatically, clutching her chest as though she had been struck by an arrow.
“Miss, after all these years together, this is how you repay my loyalty?”
Qingli couldn’t help laughing again.
The quiet courtyard soon filled with the sound of their easy banter.
Sunlight filtered through the trees overhead, casting dappled shadows across the stone path.
A gentle breeze stirred the drying medicinal herbs spread across the trays beside them, carrying with it the faint fragrance of flowers and earth.
For a brief moment, everything felt peaceful.
Then—
Tap.
Something landed beside Qingli’s chair.
Both women paused, and Qingli lowered her gaze to stare at the small pebble resting on the ground near her feet.
Lan Yue slowly turned toward the courtyard wall, and Qingli followed her gaze.
The wall stood silent and still beneath the afternoon sun.
Yet there was no mistaking it.
Someone had thrown those pebbles.
Lan Yue narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
Then—
Tap.
A second pebble bounced across the ground.
Neither of them had imagined it.
“Did…”
Tap.
A third pebble bounced across the stone path, and the two young ladies watched as the pebbles rolled across the ground.
“…someone just throw rocks at us?”
Qingli closed her book and rose slowly from her chair when somewhere beyond the wall came the faint sound of hurried movement, followed by what sounded suspiciously like muffled laughter.
Caution replacing her earlier amusement, Lan Yue slowly approached the wall.
A few steps away, something caught her eye.
A small embroidered pouch lay on the ground where the pebbles had landed.
“What is this?”
She bent down and picked it up.
The pouch was made of faded brown cloth, the fabric worn soft from frequent use.
A simple cotton cord tied the opening shut, and a few loose threads hung from the seams.
Curious, Lan Yue loosened the cord and peeked inside.
Inside were dozens of folded paper cranes.
For a moment, neither woman spoke.
Lan Yue blinked in surprise and carefully tipped the contents into her hands.
One paper crane after another tumbled out of the pouch, their folded wings rustling softly against each other.
Qingli rose from her chair, confusion flickering across her face.
“Paper cranes?” she grabs one from Lan Yue’s hand and opens it.
A short message had been written inside.
Miss Qingli, thank you for helping my grandmother.
She can walk again.
Another crane.
Miss Qingli, my son is healthy because of you.
Another.
Miss Qingli, thank you.
Another.
We haven’t forgotten you.
Lan Yue’s eyes immediately filled with tears as she unfolded more.
And more.
Every single paper crane carried a message.
A thank you.
A prayer.
A blessing.
Words written by servants throughout Wen Residence, whose words they couldn’t say openly.
Words they had risked punishment to deliver.
Qingli stared silently.
Her hands trembled slightly.
Not from pain but from disbelief.
She carefully unfolded one crane.
Miss Qingli, please don’t lose your smile.
Another. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
The western courtyard isn’t lonely because we are thinking of you.
Another.
You are the kindest person in Wen Residence.
By the time she reached the tenth crane, her vision had blurred, and tears filled her eyes.
The moment was broken when Lan Yue immediately burst into tears.
“I knew it.”
Qingli laughed weakly through her own tears and wiped them away.
“Knew what?”
“They love you.” The maid pointed dramatically at the growing pile of paper cranes.
“They absolutely love you.”
Qingli looked down at the messages, at the simple words that were neither extravagant nor expensive.
Yet somehow they felt more precious than any jewel, because every crane represented someone she had helped.
Someone who remembered.
Someone who cared.
That afternoon, a servant was caught.
One of the kitchen boys had been seen near the western wall, and words quickly reached Zhao Meilin.
The boy was dragged into the main hall while several servants watched nervously.
His face had gone completely white as Zhao Meilin sat at the head of the room.
Cold as ever.
“Did you leave items at the western courtyard?”
The boy’s entire body shook.
Fear warred with determination in his eyes, and for a brief moment, fear seemed certain to win.
Yet somehow, he forced himself to look up.
“Yes,” he said.
The room froze.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
No one breathed.
No one had expected him to say it aloud.
A shadow crossed Zhao Meilin’s face.
“You were warned,” she said coldly, each word landing like a blade.
The young servant swallowed.
“I know.”
“You understand the consequences?”
His hands shook violently, yet somehow he nodded.
“Yes.”
The room fell silent, and several servants looked away.
Unable to watch.
Then the boy said something no one expected.
“If Madam wishes to dismiss me, then dismiss me.”
Gasps erupted, and the servants stared at him in stunned disbelief, horror spreading across their faces.
The boy’s face remained pale, yet his voice steadied.
“Miss Qingli saved my mother.” His eyes reddened.
“When she was sick, nobody cared, but Miss Qingli did. And not once did she ever asked for anything,”
The servant continued.
“Not money.”
“Not gifts.”
“Nothing.”
His voice shook.
“She only helped.”
Zhao Meilin’s face became frighteningly cold.
“Enough.”
The servant immediately fell silent.
“You’re dismissed.”
The sentence echoed through the room, and the boy closed his eyes, and for a brief moment, pain flashed across his face.
Then he bowed.
“Thank you for employing me for all these years.”
The response stunned everyone because there was no begging.
No pleading.
No apology.
Only dignity.
That evening, news spread throughout Wen Residence that the kitchen servant had been dismissed.
Because he supported Qingli.
Meanwhile, in the western courtyard, Qingli knew nothing of what had happened.
She sat beneath the apricot tree, carefully folding the paper cranes back together.
One by one and treating each message like a treasure.
Lan Yue watched her silently, then smiled.
“Miss.”
“Hm?”
“If we ever leave Wen Residence…”
Qingli looked up.
“…you’ll have an army following you.”
Qingli laughed and quirked an eyebrow.
“An army?”
Lan Yue nodded seriously.
“An army.”
The image was ridiculous, and Qingli laughed softly, yet somehow she found it comforting because, for the first time in years, Qingli felt something she rarely allowed herself to feel.
Hope.
A small hope.
And, as the sun began setting, a warm breeze swept through the courtyard, and hundreds of flower petals danced through the air.
Qingli closed her eyes briefly, enjoying the moment and the peace.
Unaware that beyond the capital walls, another story was unfolding.
A military procession had finally reached the outskirts of Jinzhou.
Banners bearing the emblem of the Shen Family fluttered proudly in the wind as soldiers celebrated their return.
Citizens lined the roads, cheering, and they welcomed heroes home.
The capital erupted into celebration before sunrise.
From the palace district to the merchant quarters, every street was crowded with citizens eager to welcome home Jinzhou’s victorious army.
Banners fluttered above rooftops and drums echoed through the city.
Children sat atop their fathers’ shoulders while merchants abandoned their stalls for a chance to witness the procession because everyone had come to see one man.
Shen Jiarong.
The Empire’s undefeated general.
The hero who had spent the last year securing Jinzhou’s northern borders.
Along the main road leading toward the Imperial Palace, soldiers marched in perfect formation, their armor gleaming in the morning sun.
At their head rode a tall man upon a black warhorse.
Shen Jiarong.
Unlike the cheering crowd surrounding him, Jiarong’s expression remained calm and unreadable.
Years of warfare had taught him discipline, and the praise of strangers no longer excited him.
What occupied his thoughts instead was much simpler.
Home.
The campaign had lasted nearly twelve months.
Twelve months away from his family.
Twelve months away from the capital.
Twelve months of battlefields, military reports, and endless responsibilities, and for the first time in a year, he could finally rest.
Beside him rode Mo Feng, the commander of the Duke’s shadow guards, who looked as emotionless as ever.
“You should smile.”
Jiarong glanced sideways.
“Why?”
“The people are cheering for you.”
“They would cheer regardless.”
Mo Feng considered this before nodding his head slightly.
“That is true.”
The conversation ended immediately as neither man was particularly gifted at small talk.
Meanwhile, several nearby officers tried unsuccessfully not to laugh.
Inside the Imperial Palace, Empress Shen Yunzhi stood at the balcony overlooking the capital.
The elegant Empress watched the distant procession approaching the palace gates, and a small smile appeared on her face.
“He finally returned.”
Beside her, Emperor Li Xuanyou looked equally pleased.
“Your brother has always had terrible timing.”
Yunzhi laughed softly and turned to her husband, who, after seven years of marriage, still made her heart flutter.
“What has he done now?”
“He returned precisely when every noble family is searching for husbands for their daughters.” The Emperor sighed dramatically as he wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her closer to him.
“The ministers will begin proposing marriages before the banquet even starts.”
Yunzhi’s amusement grew as she leaned against her husband.
“You say that as though it isn’t true.”
“It is absolutely true.” The Emperor rubbed his forehead as Yunzhi lay her head on his shoulder, and he kissed the top of her head.
“Half the capital wants him as a son-in-law, and the other half wants him as a husband.”
Meanwhile, inside Wen Residence, excitement filled the main residence.
Servants hurried through corridors carrying silks and jewelry as preparations for the upcoming victory banquet.
In her chambers, Wen Youru sat before an enormous bronze mirror while three maids adjusted her appearance.
“Careful.” Youru frowned before sending a scalding look to the maid.
“You’re pulling my hair.”
The maid immediately apologized.
“Forgive me, Miss.”
Youru side-eyed her before examining her reflection, inspecting yourself.
Every detail had to be perfect.
The finest silk.
The finest jewelry.
The finest cosmetics.
After all, Shen Jiarong would be attending, and Youru had never met the Duke personally, and based on what she knew, his reputation was impossible to ignore.
He is powerful, handsome, respected, and everything a noblewoman could desire.
Most importantly, he belonged to one of the most prestigious families in the empire.
A man like that deserved a wife worthy of him, and naturally, Youru believed she was that woman.
The western courtyard remains isolated from the rest of the world.
Qingli sat beneath the blooming apricot tree while carefully tending a tray of medicinal herbs, as spring sunlight filtered through the branches above.
For once, the day was peaceful.
Lan Yue hurried into the courtyard carrying a basket.
Her expression was unusually excited.
“Miss!”
Qingli looked up at Lan Yue’s excited expression and smiled softly at her.
“What happened?”
“The Duke of Xian returned today.”
Qingli blinked and frowned in confusion.
“The Duke of Xian?”
Lan Yue nodded enthusiastically.
“The famous general.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Qingli murmured.
She turned her attention back to the tray of medicinal herbs, deft fingers picking through the leaves and roots with practiced ease.
Everyone had.
Even someone hidden from society like Qingli had heard of Shen Jiarong.
The servants often whispered about the empire’s affairs when they thought no one was listening, and their conversations inevitably drifted to the young general whose victories had brought glory to Liang.
His achievements were not confined to court reports and military records; traveling storytellers carried them from city to city, weaving them into tales of heroism that captivated audiences wherever they went.
Over the years, his name had become impossible to avoid, reaching even the neglected courtyard where Qingli spent her days.
Lan Yue grinned, a wistful sigh escaping her lips.
“They say he’s the most handsome man in Jinzhou,” she said.
“Everywhere he goes, noble ladies throw handkerchiefs and flowers in his path.”
Qingli let out a soft laugh.
“Is that what interests you?”
“Of course.”
Lan Yue placed a hand over her chest and dropped onto the stone bench with exaggerated drama.
“Handsome men are always interesting.”
The answer drew another laugh from Qingli.
She shook her head, carefully sorting the medicinal herbs spread across her tray.
“You should read fewer romance novels.”
“And you should read more,” Lan Yue shot back without missing a beat.
Qingli merely smiled and continued her work while Lan Yue launched into a passionate defense of her beloved stories.
Before long, their laughter drifted through the quiet courtyard, warm and carefree beneath the afternoon sun.
Neither woman could have known that the name Shen Jiarong—spoken so casually on an ordinary day—would one day become intertwined with Qingli’s fate.
The man they laughed about now would eventually walk into her life and change it forever.
For now, he was simply a distant figure.
A famous general.
A stranger.
Nothing more.
Yet fate had already begun moving them toward one another.