A few weeks after her seventh birthday, something unusual happened.
For the first time in her life, Wen Qingli was summoned by her father.
The message arrived just after breakfast.
A servant from the main residence appeared at the western courtyard gates while Qingli was helping Lan Yue water the vegetables.
“Master summons second miss.” The servant announced, and Qingli froze.
The water bucket slipped from her hand and hit the ground with a soft thud.
Her father?
For a moment, she thought she had heard wrong because in seven years, Wen Guozhen had never once summoned her.
Never called for her and never asked to see her.
Yet today – he wanted to see her, and the small, hopeful part of her heart immediately awakened.
Perhaps Father finally remembered her and wanted to speak to her.
Suddenly, the thought made her nervous, and she looked up to Nanny Zhao, who had quietly walked and stood by her side.
Nanny Zhao looked down at her, gave her a soft, sad smile, took her hand, and led her into the house.
Nanny Zhao immediately straightened Qingli’s clothing while Lan Yue carefully fixed her hair.
“Remember your manners.” Nanny Zhao whispered as she looks out to the servant waiting at the gate.
Qingli nodded and followed Nanny Zhao out to the courtyard before trailing behind a servant toward the gates.
Her heart raced as she moved through parts of the Wen Residence she rarely saw.
Her eyes widened as she looked around, taking in the beauty of the main residence.
Red pillars and polished floors, expensive lanterns, and elegant gardens surrounded her.
Everything felt like another world, one she was not meant to enter.
Eventually, they arrived outside Wen Guozhen’s study, and the servant pushed open the doors.
“Master, the second miss has arrived,” the servant announced.
Qingli stared at her father for a moment before kneeling on the ground and bowing her head.
“Greetings, Father,” she said.
Silence.
No answer came, and Qingli remained kneeling.
Minutes passed.
Then more minutes passed, and still nothing.
Qingli did not dare to move.
From the corner of her eye, she could see Wen Guozhen sitting behind his desk, reviewing documents, writing reports, and drinking tea as though she wasn’t there at all.
An hour passed.
As Qingli knelt, she felt a sharp pain in her knee.
The polished floor beneath her seemed harder than stone, yet she remained perfectly still.
Perhaps this was part of the test, and her father wanted to see if she would be obedient.
As the hours passed, her legs went numb, her back ached, and her stomach quietly growled.
Still, she did not move.
Finally, Wen Guozhen looked up, and for the first time, his eyes met hers.
He appeared cold, distant, and uninterested, as if he were looking at a stranger rather than his own biological daughter.
The disappointment was painful, but Qingli quickly lowered her head.
“Father,” she said politely and waited.
Wen Guozhen remained silent.
Instead, he gave a small nod to a servant, who immediately stepped forward, carrying a delicate jade teacup.
Qingli’s eyes widened as she gazed at the jade cup.
It was beautiful—pale green, thin as paper, and worth more than she had ever seen.
The servant placed the tea before her.
“Serve the Master tea.”
Qingli froze.
No one had ever taught her how to serve tea, at least not properly.
She had watched servants countless times, but watching and doing were different things.
Qingli carefully reached for the cup, her hands trembling.
She took a deep, calming breath, the thought of “don’t make a mistake” repeating endlessly in her mind.
The jade felt smooth, slippery, and expensive—far too expensive, and fear gripped her chest.
She slowly took a step forward, holding the jade tea cup carefully in her hand while supporting it with her other hand from underneath.
As she took another step forward, the cup shifted slightly, and she felt it slipping from her grasp.
She gasped, then—
CRASH.
The jade tea cup slipped through her fingers, shattering against the hard floor.
Pieces exploded in every direction, and the room fell painfully silent.
Qingli’s heart stopped as she stared, frozen, at the broken fragments of jade.
For a horrible moment, nobody moved.
No one spoke.
Continuing to stare at the shattered pieces, her face drained of color, she immediately knelt on the ground.
“I’m sorry!” The words rushed out.
“I’m sorry, Father.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated as tears stung her eyes.
She quickly lowered her head until it touched the floor.
“I’m sorry.”
Fear filled her words as her father continued to maintain his silence.
“I’m sorry.”
The room became colder—much colder—as Wen Guozhen slowly looked at the broken jade, and his expression darkened.
Not because of his daughter, but because of the cup.
The expensive cup.
The irreplaceable cup.
When he did speak, his voice was as cold as ice.
“Careless.”
Qingli flinched and bowed her head to the ground again.
Tears welled up in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You cannot even complete a simple task.”
“I’m sorry.”
The word became automatic, and the servants beside her looked uncomfortable.
Qingli was only seven—a child—but Wen Guozhen showed no mercy.
“Punishment,” he said sharply, and that word made Qingli freeze.
“Lock her in the cold storage.”
The room went silent, and Qingli’s eyes widened.
The cold storage.
The dark room beneath the residence where winter vegetables were kept.
No windows.
No sunlight.
Only darkness.
Fear immediately consumed her body, and she looked up at her father with tears streaming down her face.
“Father—”
Two servants grabbed her arms and pulled her up, but she continued staring at her father.
“Please.”
Qingli struggled slightly, not because she wanted to escape, but because she was scared—very scared.
“Father, I am sorry,” she cried as the servants dragged her towards the door.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, tears streaming down her face as her words echoed through the study, again and again and again.
She didn’t even know what she was apologizing for anymore, only that sometimes, apologies made people less angry…sometimes.
“Father… I’m sorry,” she tried again, but Wen Guozhen never looked at her—not once.
As the servant dragged her from the room, her small voice grew fainter with each apology, her words echoing down the hallway and around the corner.
Then…finally, there was silence.
The study became quiet once more, as if she had never been there.
Hours later, in the cold darkness of the storage room, seven-year-old Wen Qingli sat curled against the wall, her knees pulled tightly against her chest.
The room was freezing.
Dark.
Lonely.
The tears had long stopped
Because she had learned something important that day.
The reason her father summoned her wasn’t because he wanted to see her.
It wasn’t because he remembered her or cared for her.
He just wanted to show her that she meant nothing to them, and that thought broke her heart as she pressed her face onto her knees.
Outside, the Wen residence continued with its daily routine.
Servants hurried through the corridors.
Nobles visited, and life went on.
No one thought about the little girl locked beneath the residence.
No one except Lan Yue.
So in the darkness, Qingli wrapped her knees tighter against her and quietly whispered the words she always wished someone else would say.
“It’s alright.”
But even she didn’t believe them.