After putting her daughter to sleep, that night, Xiao Lan did what she hadn't done in years—she left the cold courtyard and walked straight into the lion's den.
At the General's Mansion
The main hall of the General's mansion was lit with golden lanterns, laughter echoing as Concubine Lin Yue poured wine into General Gu's cup. Music played softly in the background as nobles mingled, pretending not to notice the woman standing at the threshold.
But Gu Cheng saw her immediately.
His face shifted—from surprise to annoyance. And then indifference.
"Madam?" he said coolly. "What brings you out of your corner this late?"
The words stung. Madam. Not "wife." Not "Lan'er." Just a title, cold and detached.
Everyone watched. Even Lin Yue gave a coy, amused smile, sipping her wine.
"I come to speak about Hua Rui," Xiao Lan said calmly, though her hands trembled beneath her sleeves.
"She was struck by your daughter today. For no reason. In front of the maids."
General Gu raised a brow. "Children quarrel."
"It was not a quarrel," she replied, her voice firm. "It was cruelty. And if this continues, one day it won't be a cat they hurt. It will be her."
The room went silent.
"Hua Rui is your daughter too," she added.
Gu Cheng exhaled slowly, leaning back in his seat. "She is quiet. Weak. That's why she's easily bullied. If you raised her properly—"
Xiao Lan's voice sharpened. "Do not place blame on a five-year-old girl for being kind."
That struck him.
A flicker of something crossed his eyes—maybe shame, maybe pride—but it passed.
"You overstep, Madam," he said flatly.
"And you neglect your blood," she replied, eyes narrowing. "Do not let your favoritism create monsters."
He stood up abruptly. "Enough. Return to your chambers."
"And if I don't?" Anger swelled up within Xiao Lan.
He turned to the guards at the side. "Escort Madam Xiao back to the east courtyard. From now on, her presence in the main estate is not required unless summoned."
That night, Xiao Lan walked back without protest.
She did not cry.
She held her daughter close, and when Wanwan asked, "What did the General say?" she simply replied,
"He heard me. That's enough."
But after that night, she never stepped foot into the main hall again.
She never spoke another word to the General. She became a shadow—silent but watching.
And as the twins grew more spoiled, more dangerous, she grew more patient. Each insult, each slight, each bruise on Hua Rui's spirit was marked and remembered.
She knew now that power would not come from names or titles.
It would come from silence, from preparation…
And one day, from her daughter.
The next day
The spring market bustled with color and life. Red lanterns swayed in the breeze, and the smell of roasted chestnuts mingled with the sweet scent of candied plums.
Street performers juggled near laughing children, and merchants called out their prices with booming voices.
Xiao Lan rarely left the estate. But today, under a rare stroke of boldness, she took Hua Rui outside the walls.
Wanwan stayed close, clutching the little girl's hand. "Stay near, my lady. Don't wander."
"I won't," Hua Rui whispered, her eyes wide with wonder.
Every stall was a treasure chest. Painted fans, silk ribbons, carved wooden animals, sugar figures shaped like birds and dragons. It was a world unlike the cold estate she had known.
"Can I look at the birds?" she asked.
Wanwan nodded, letting her move a little closer to the vendor.
At the same time, a boy around her age stood near the same stall, cloaked in a simple robe, a silk mask pulled halfway over his face. He had slipped out from the cold palace with his loyal guard, disguised and thrilled by the taste of freedom.
It was the young Fourth Prince.
His eyes were sharp, but kind. Curious, but guarded. A bird sat on his finger, tiny and blue, fluttering its wings.
"Do you like birds too?" he asked suddenly.
Hua Rui startled, unsure if he was speaking to her. But then she nodded slowly.
"They're small," she said, "but they still fly so high."
The boy smiled. "That's the best part."
She inched closer, gazing at the bird with quiet admiration. "What's its name?"
"I don't know yet," he replied. "I was thinking of giving it one."
"Name it after the sky," she said. "So it never forgets where it belongs."
He blinked, surprised. "You're strange."
She looked down. "Sorry…"
"No," he said quickly. "It's a good strange."
They stood there for a moment, silent, both children of broken mothers and absent fathers, unaware of how their paths would one day twist into each other's fate.
"Here," he said, and gently handed her the little bird. "You take it."
Hua Rui's eyes widened. "Me?"
"I have too many birds," he lied.