Qingli was seven years old when she stopped waiting.
Stopped hoping.
Stopped believing.
The western courtyard remained as lonely as ever.
The locked gates still separated her from the rest of House Wen.
Nothing had changed.
Except Qingli.
A year had passed since her sixth birthday.
A year since she sat by the gate from sunrise until nightfall, waiting for someone to remember her.
A year since Lan Yue had given her a steamed bun and whispered, “Happy Birthday, Miss Qingli.”
A year since she cried herself to sleep.
Children remembered pain.
Especially the kind that came from disappointment.
So, when her seventh birthday approached, Qingli tried not to think about it.
She truly tried.
But she couldn’t help remembering.
The maids were talking again.
Just like last year.
“Miss Youru’s birthday banquet will be even grander this year.”
“I heard the Governor’s family is attending.”
“The entire residence has been decorated.”
“Madam ordered new dresses made.”
Qingli listened quietly from behind the window.
Seven years old.
And still hidden.
Still forgotten.
Still unwanted.
Yet a tiny part of her heart whispered:
Maybe this year.
Maybe.
Children were stubborn that way.
Hope was difficult to kill.
The night before her birthday, Qingli lay awake staring at the ceiling.
She told herself she wasn’t waiting.
She told herself she didn’t care.
She told herself she wouldn’t sit by the gate again.
Yet before dawn arrived, she was already awake.
Already dressed.
Already standing near the locked gate.
Not waiting.
Just looking.
That was what she kept telling herself as the morning passed.
No one came, Qingli wasn’t surprised.
Yet, she still waited.
The afternoon passed.
No one came and she wasn’t disappointed…not really.
At least that’s what she kept telling herself.
Beyond the walls she could hear music.
Laughter.
Celebration.
Youru’s birthday party had begun.
Servants hurried back and forth carrying food, and guests arrived in elegant carriages.
Children laughed.
Adults praised House Wen’s beloved daughter.
The entire residence was alive.
Everywhere except the western courtyard.
Qingli sat beneath the gate, quietly and listening.
At some point, she began tracing circles in the dirt, then flowers, then nothing at all.
The hours slipped away.
The sun slowly descended.
Orange light filled the courtyard.
Then red.
Then gold.
Still no one came.
Not her father.
Not her mother.
Not even a servant carrying a message.
Nothing.
The realization hurt.
Not because she expected much…but because she finally understood.
Last year might have been a mistake, but this year wasn’t.
People remembered birthdays.
People remembered celebrations.
People remembered those they loved.
No one had forgotten.
They simply didn’t care, and that thought settled quietly into her heart.
Not with anger.
Not with tears.
Just sadness.
A deep sadness too large for a seven-year-old child.
As darkness fell, fireworks exploded in the distance, and bright colors illuminated the sky.
Red.
Gold.
Silver.
Qingli looked up…watching them silently.
Beautiful.
So beautiful.
And so far away.
The sounds of celebration drifted across the estate, and for a moment she imagined what it would feel like.
To wear a pretty dress.
To have guests.
To receive gifts.
To hear her mother say she was proud.
To have her father smile.
The fantasy lasted only a moment…then she let it go.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Like releasing a bird into the sky.
Lan Yue found her sitting beneath the gate.
Again.
Just like last year, and the servant’s heart broke.
She sat beside Qingli.
Neither spoke.
For a long time.
Finally, Lan Yue pulled a small pastry from her sleeve – A sweet red bean cake.
She had spent two months secretly saving coins to buy it.
Qingli stared at it.
Then slowly looked away.
Lan Yue smiled and hand it over to Qingli, “You should eat it. It’s delicious.”
Qingli didn’t take it.
Instead she quietly asked “Yue’er?”
“Yes, Miss?”
“Did Mother remember?”
The question nearly shattered her and Lan Yue couldn’t answer.
Because she knew that Madam had spent the entire day celebrating Youru.
Laughing.
Smiling.
Showing off her daughter to guests.
And, not once had she mentioned Qingli.
Not once.
Lan Yue’s silence was answer enough, and Qingli lowered her eyes.
Then she smiled.
A tiny smile.
One that looked far too old for a seven-year-old child.
“I understand.”
Lan Yue immediately felt tears sting her eyes.
Because no child should have to understand something like that.
No child should have to accept being unloved.
Qingli accepted the pastry and took a small bite.
Sweet.
Warm.
Good.
She smiled again.
“Thank you.” She whispers as she takes another small bite and looks up at the fireworks in the sky.
Lan Yue’s tears finally fell and Qingli gently patted her arm.
As though she were the one offering comfort.
“It’s alright.” Qingli whispers with a soft smile.
But the words hurt even more.
Because they weren’t alright.
They never would be.
Qingli looked toward the fireworks one last time and quietly whispered, “I won’t wait anymore.”
Lan Yue froze, “What?”
Qingli smiled softly.
Not angry.
Not bitter.
Just tired.
“Birthdays are for important people.”
The words pierced straight through Lan Yue’s heart.
Qingli looked up at the stars, and for the first time in her life, she stopped hoping.
Stopped waiting.
Stopped expecting.
Because hope hurts.
And disappointment hurt even more.
That night, seven-year-old Wen Qingli made a promise to herself.
She would never wait by the gate again.
She would never expect anyone to remember.
Not her birthday.
Not her existence.
Not her.
Years later, when people asked for her birthday, Qingli would genuinely pause.
Trying to remember…because after that night, she stopped celebrating it.
Stopped counting it.
Stopped caring.
And eventually—she forgot it herself.
Just as Wen Residence always had.