The carriage creaked with a steady rhythm as it rolled forward, the sound amplifying the silence between its two passengers. Inside, the air was thick with unspoken words. Lianxue sat with her head bowed, her fingers absently knotting the heavy fabric of her gown, across from her, General Hau Wenji sat still, his posture rigid, staring out the curtained window.
Despite the carriage's fine craftsmanship, it felt tight, as if the walls were closing in. It was a feeling Lianxue accepted in her body, even if her mind rebelled against it. It was a constraint she'd known for most of her life, this feeling of being confined, of not truly belonging anywhere or to anyone.
As the mansion's grand presence faded into the distance and the city's clamor grew louder, the bustling sounds of the market overtaking their quiet world, she couldn't help but sense the shift. Her awareness of his gaze, however fleeting, brushed over her like a flicker in the dark. What was it? Curiosity? Discomfort? Or something else entirely?
"Do you always wear such modest clothing?" His voice was rough, breaking through the silence like a ripple on a still pond. Startled, she looked up, her eyes wide with confusion. He was speaking to her.
"Ming'er…" she murmured, glancing toward the curtain where the maid, walking alongside the carriage, wore a faint smile. "She tries, but..." Her words trailed off, a small, hollow laugh escaping her lips as her arms moved slightly. She shifted, allowing the embroidered sleeves to fall. The fabric was heavy, ornate, elegant—but suffocating. "I'd prefer something lighter. Easier to move in."
Wenji's brows arched, his tired eyes widening just a fraction. His expression shifted—curious, surprised—and for a moment, his usual stoic demeanor faltered. "Something less...?" he echoed, his voice slow as if the words themselves required careful thought.
He ran a hand through his unkempt beard, the rasp of his fingers catching the air in the close quarters. The soft glow of daylight filtered through the curtain, briefly catching on the calluses of his hands and the dirt that marked his nails. Soldier's hands—worn, tough, unpolished. For a moment, the hardened lines of his face softened as he seemed to look at her not as a soldier would, but as a father, though unsure of how to act.
Could she really be his daughter?
The thought clawed at her. What memories of her did he carry? What had the girl he knew promised him in another life, in a world that she didn't fully remember? Lianxue struggled to reach out to that version of herself—the girl who might have been his daughter—but all she found was the tightness in her chest, the tremble in her fingers. Still, the way he regarded her, with a quiet patience that was far from the hardness she expected, stirred something inside her. Was this... fatherly concern? Was this how he showed care?
"Didn't you once say you'd work beside me, once you were old enough?" he muttered after a long pause, still toying with his beard. "Suppose you'll need proper clothes for that."
Her heart skipped. She had said that? The words felt alien, distant. She had no recollection of such a promise. And yet, the warmth in his voice, despite its roughness, felt undeniably real. Not gentle, but steady. Like a father who didn't know how to embrace a child, only how to train one.
"Of course, you'll still have to pass the exam," he added with a rough chuckle, the sound low and cracked, as though it had been years since he had allowed himself such an expression. It wasn't quite a laugh, not in the way it was supposed to be, but there was something genuine in it—an attempt at lightness that made her pause.
It was these small, strange moments that made her question everything. Was this what family was like? The quiet jests, the shared moments of awkwardness, of silent understanding?
Her hand twitched, moving forward of its own accord. She wanted to reach out, to say so many things—to tell him about the hairpin, about Ming'er being cornered by those men in the alley, about how terrified she had been in that moment. But before she could, the roar of the market swallowed her words. Shouting, the clatter of carts, the jostling of people. Guards barking orders as they neared the city gate.
Wenji's attention snapped toward the noise outside, the sudden shift in focus pulling him away from her. Lianxue's hand froze mid-air, then slowly, reluctantly, fell back into her lap. She watched him closely as he reached for the curtain, lifting it to exchange a few words with a guard outside. His eyes were sharp, focused—entirely different from the man who had just shown her the gentleness of a father's care.
The guard's report was delivered efficiently, without Wenji needing to step out of the carriage. From the hustle of the market streets to the quieter corners, the guard provided all the information he needed.
"Ah, my daughter wants clothing..." Wenji's gaze shifted back to Lianxue, his words unexpectedly drawing her back into the present. She flinched instinctively, as if expecting reprimand. But the moment passed in silence, as he took her in with a quiet intensity that seemed to pierce through her. She wasn't sure what he saw, but she felt it—the scrutiny, the understanding.
A gentle breeze rustled the curtain, and the silence stretched between them, as if both of them were searching for the right words. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She wanted to say something, to apologize for everything she had done wrong, to explain how unworthy she felt, but the words wouldn't come.
"Your mother…" Wenji spoke again, his voice slow and deliberate. He leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him, his expression distant for a moment. "She used to love the color lavender..." His eyes softened, and he reached out, taking the end of her sleeve between his rough fingers. A distant look crossed his face, but he quickly cleared his throat, lifting his gaze back to her.
"You'd look good in it…" he murmured, his voice lower now, almost like he was speaking to himself. "How about I get you some fabric, and you can make your own outfits?"
The words hung in the air, so unexpectedly tender that they left her breathless. Outside, the market continued its riotous chorus, but in the confines of the carriage, there was only him. His words. His presence.
Lianxue's hands clenched the fabric of her dress in her lap, her fingers twisting the cloth slightly, the motion hidden by the voluminous sleeves. Was she worthy of this love? This affection? She wasn't even his daughter—was she?
A knot formed in her throat, a pressure that threatened to choke her. Her heart raced, thundering in her chest. She wanted to scream, to push away the confusion and the shame, to run far from this moment where love felt so foreign and yet so desperately needed.
She remembered sitting alone in her apartment after long days, wishing someone would just say it was okay. Wipe her tears. Ask her to come along—even just to the store. Suddenly she felt her throat tighten and her eyes closed as her head bowed and she hiccupped, unable to stop the sudden build up of emotions that his simple affection had caused.
She tried to swallow the ache rising in her throat. But her chest wouldn't stop tightening. Her sleeve trembled against her mouth. "Yes... I want to go shopping with you."
The words were out before she could stop them, and as soon as they were spoken, a flood of emotions crashed down on her. The tears came so quickly, so unexpectedly, that she couldn't contain them. It felt like the dam inside her had broken, releasing everything she had tried so hard to suppress.
She wiped her face with her sleeves, but the tears wouldn't stop. They soaked through the fabric, leaving her chest tight with helplessness. It was too much. She had wanted this—to be loved, to be cared for—but it was all so overwhelming now.
Wenji, however, didn't seem repulsed. Instead, he leaned forward, taking a handkerchief from his coat and gently dabbing at her wet cheeks. His touch was warm, careful, and for the first time, she saw the softness in his eyes that he had so carefully hid.
"If I'd known you were so eager to go shopping, I would've asked you sooner," he teased gently, trying to ease the mood. But the smile on his lips was not one of mockery—it was genuine, a touch of humor that felt foreign in this tender moment.
"I'll come home more," he continued, pressing the handkerchief to her cheek, his voice low. "And we'll start doing father-daughter days… like I promised before... Okay, Lianxue?"
His words were soothing, a balm to the rawness inside her. She forgot about being Sara, about her past, and for the first time, she let herself feel the warmth of what he was offering. She gripped the front of his robes gently, her face buried in his chest as she nodded a few times.
"You better keep your promise," she whispered, her voice small but filled with hope. "And come home for dinner… maybe lunch too… and breakfast sometimes."
In that moment, Lianxue, or Sara, or whoever she was becoming, wanted nothing more than to stay in that embrace forever. His arms enveloped her, his sleeves draping over her shoulders like wings, covering her in a warmth she had never known.
"My Cherished snow…" Wenji whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he held her close. His lips brushed the side of her head, and the delicate jewels in her hair chimed softly against his touch.
But as he sat there holding her, a tightening in his grip signaled something deeper—a silent anger that stirred beneath his calm exterior. His Cherished snow had not been given the care she deserved while he was away. The trinkets in her hair, mere costume gems, were a sharp reminder of that. Not a single piece of jade. Nothing of value.
While his sister was in charge of the house expenses, he had always told her to set things away for Lianxue, he had sent silks home, jewels and gems, coffers of coins from battles won. Where were they now?
Her carefully pinned hair was a mess now, but he didn't seem to mind, he looked out the window behind her and made a silent vow. He would right these wrongs as soon as possible.