Morning light filtered through the lattice window, casting mottled shadows on the floor. The shadows moved slowly, silently, as though time itself was flowing across the bluestone ground.
Shen Ninghuan sat behind the desk, looking at Shen Ningyue kneeling on the floor.
The morning light fell on Shen Ningyue, making her half-worn jacket look even more plain and shabby. She knelt there, her forehead pressed against the cold ground, motionless, as though awaiting a verdict.
Shen Ninghuan did not speak at once.
Her gaze lingered on Shen Ningyue's slightly trembling shoulders, on her fingers gripping the hem of her garment until the knuckles turned white. But her thoughts drifted far, far back, to a time long ago.
There had once been a period of closeness between them as sisters.
She remembered it well.
Back then, Shen Ningyue was five years old.
She had just moved out of Concubine Fang's courtyard and had begun studying and learning to read and write with Shen Ninghuan. The little girl loved to follow her around like a little tail that couldn't be shaken off. Wherever Shen Ninghuan went, Shen Ningyue would follow, calling out "Sister! Sister!" in a crisp, sweet voice.
When Shen Ninghuan went to pick flowers in the garden,
Ningyue would lift her skirt and run after her, her little face flushed pink, fine beads of sweat on her forehead, yet she refused to stop and rest.
When Shen Ninghuan handed her a peony, the little girl would hold it like some precious treasure, her eyes curving into crescent moons as she turned it over and over again in delight.
Back then, Shen Ningyue's eyes were bright, filled with dependence and admiration whenever she looked at her sister.
When did things begin to change?
Probably when she grew a little older.
Shen Ningyue gradually came to understand the difference between a legitimate daughter and a concubine's daughter.
She began to notice that her own courtyard was smaller than her sister's, her clothes were not as fine as her sister's, and when noble ladies visited the mansion, their eyes always landed on her sister first, while for her, they offered only a polite "What a well-behaved second young lady" before turning away.
She began to notice that when their father tested their knowledge,
he always questioned her sister first.
But he paid little attention to her studies.
The servants showed outward respect but gossiped behind their backs, constantly comparing the two of them, saying, "After all, she's a concubine's daughter, not comparable to the legitimate eldest young lady."
Those words pierced Shen Ningyue's heart like needles, one after another.
Her gaze gradually shifted.
Gone was the pure dependence and admiration. In its place was a cautious observation, a silent tallying of slights, and a poorly concealed trace of jealousy.
Shen Ninghuan was not unaware of this.
She tried to reach out to her younger sister, tried to take her hand and go play in the garden as they had when they were young, tried to give her newly acquired pearl hairpins, tried to speak well of her in front of their father.
But Shen Ningyue's reactions always left her feeling helpless.
The hairpin she gave—Ningyue accepted it but never wore it.
When she spoke up for her sister in front of their father, Ningyue learned of it and, instead of gratitude, looked at her with an even more complicated gaze, as if to say—Are you showing off? Showing off that you have the right to speak for me?
As time passed,
Shen Ninghuan stopped trying.
Not that she didn't want to be close, but she understood that some rifts could not be mended by her efforts alone. The gap between legitimate and concubine-born was something this marquis's mansion, this world, had etched into Shen Ningyue's heart.
The more she tried to pull her up, the more Ningyue felt she was being patronized.
And so, the two sisters,
drifted apart.
By last year, after a severe fever, Shen Ningyue had completely changed.
Shen Ninghuan remembered it clearly. The fever had struck violently—Shen Ningyue burned for three whole days and nights. Concubine Fang stayed by her bedside, her eyes swollen from weeping.
When Shen Ninghuan went to visit, Ningyue was delirious with fever, muttering nonsense, one moment gnashing her teeth, the next sobbing uncontrollably.
It was then that Shen Ninghuan knew—her sister had become someone else entirely.
She had "reborn."
The Shen Ningyue of before, though harboring petty thoughts, had at least put on a mask of obedience and gentleness on the surface. But the Shen Ningyue after the fever had stopped pretending altogether.
When she looked at Shen Ninghuan, her gaze no longer held quiet envy but outright hostility, along with a perplexing fervor.
A fervor for wealth and status.
She began to dress herself up carefully, began scheming everywhere, and gazed at Pei Ciling with a chilling look, as though he were a prize she was determined to win.
What happened afterward, everyone knew.
The marriage swap. Entering the household as a concubine. Step by step, she had come to this day.
Shen Ninghuan lowered her eyes, looking at Ningyue kneeling on the ground.
The person kneeling before her now was different from the Ningyue of last year—the one filled with fervent ambition and schemes. Those eyes no longer held the blatant hostility or the unsettling obsession.
She had truly come to understand.
And had let go.
Shen Ninghuan was certain of this.
Not only because Shen Ningyue had humbled herself enough to kneel here and beg for guidance, but also because Shen Ninghuan could hear the voice within her sister's heart.
That voice was faint, like ripples spreading across water when a breeze passes by—fleeting, yet Shen Ninghuan heard it clearly.
"My child."
"My child."
"I don't ask for wealth or rank for him. I only hope he can grow up safe."
"I don't seek the position of the duchess anymore. I only want to live in peace, I only want my child—because of all the foolish things I've done—not to be looked down upon or bullied."
"Elder sister is a woman of great wisdom. She must know what to do."
"Please, tell me."
That voice no longer held the old fervor for wealth and status. In its place was a craving for stability, a confusion and worry about the future of the child in her womb.
So she had come.
Kneeling here.
Her forehead pressed to the ground, waiting for her sister to speak.
Shen Ninghuan sighed softly in her heart. Since this younger sister wanted to change for the better, she would not make things difficult for her. After all, though the marquis's mansion was divided into the main branch and the second branch, they were still one family in the end.
If the main branch could finally be at peace, it would be a good thing for the entire household.
A family.
After all, they were a family.
Shen Ninghuan withdrew her thoughts and looked at Shen Ningyue. When she spoke, her tone was calm, carrying a hint of warmth. "There’s no need for such a formal bow. Rise and sit down to speak."
Shen Ningyue remained kneeling on the ground.
She did not move.
She still kept her forehead pressed to the floor, like a silent stone statue. The morning light fell on her arched back, making her half-worn jacket seem even thinner.
Shen Ninghuan looked at her and sighed inwardly again.
She understood Shen Ningyue's silence. This was not ignoring her words, nor deliberate defiance. It was a stubborn, wordless expression of apology and sincerity.
Shen Ninghuan watched her sister's trembling shoulders, her fingers gripping the hem until the knuckles turned white, the faintly visible bones along her curved spine.
She had lost a lot of weight.
A woman with child should not be this thin.
Shen Ninghuan's tone softened a few notches, carrying a hint of helplessness and a touch of genuine concern. "Rise, and sit down to speak. No need to be so hard on yourself. Since you're with child, you should take better care of yourself."
She paused, softening her voice even more. "If you have questions, go ahead and ask. I wouldn't call it guidance, but I'll do my best to answer you."
Shen Ningyue's shoulders trembled slightly.
She understood. Her sister's words meant she had agreed—not to brush her off, not to mock her, but sincerely willing to show her a way forward.
She slowly straightened up. When her forehead left the ground, the cold sensation still lingered on her skin, chilling. Her knees were numb, and she staggered slightly as she stood, instinctively grasping the armrest of a nearby chair to steady herself.
She composed herself and sat down carefully.
Her posture was like that of a newcomer afraid of breaking the rules: perching on only a third of the chair, back ramrod straight, hands folded on her knees—though her fingers still trembled faintly.
She lifted her head and looked at Shen Ninghuan.
Shen Ninghuan's expression was calm. Her clear eyes gazed at her without disdain or pity, only a quiet, reassuring peace.
Shen Ningyue took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was a bit hoarse, but every word came from the heart: "Sister, I was foolish in the past. I made terrible mistakes."
She paused, as if organizing her thoughts or gathering courage. Her voice quivered slightly, but she forced it steady: "Now I’ve truly repented. I don’t know how to earn your forgiveness. I know some wrongs can't be erased with a simple 'I'm sorry.'"
"But I know you are a woman of great wisdom." She raised her eyes, meeting Shen Ninghuan's gaze. Gone was the old hostility and jealousy—only earnestness and longing remained. "Please help me find my way. How should I navigate the Marquis’s household from now on?"
She finished speaking and fell silent, waiting for Shen Ninghuan’s answer, like a drowning person clutching the last piece of driftwood.
Shen Ninghuan did not reply directly.
She picked up her teacup, took a sip, set it down, and fixed her eyes on Shen Ningyue. Instead, she asked, "Do you understand that even if you give birth to the eldest son, you can never become the Heir’s legitimate wife?"
The question was blunt.
Even a bit sharp.
As she spoke, Shen Ninghuan kept her gaze on Shen Ningyue’s face, watching her reaction.
There was no disappointment in Shen Ningyue’s eyes—not the kind feigned indifference, but a genuine, deep-seated calm, like a pool of stagnant water.
A pebble tossed into it.
And not even a ripple stirred.
Shen Ningyue lowered her eyes. The corner of her mouth twitched slightly in a bitter, self-mocking, yet also resigned expression.
Last night, Pei Ciling had come to see her.
After returning from the Hall of Abundant Blessings that evening, she had sat alone in her room, hugging her knees, staring out at the pitch-black night through the window, lost in thought. She didn’t know if she could keep the child, how the household would deal with her, or what tomorrow would bring.
She just sat there.
Motionless.
Like a clay statue.
When the door creaked open, she flinched.
Pei Ciling stood at the threshold.
He had drunk quite a bit that day as well, his face a little flushed, but his steps were steady. He stood there, his gaze falling on her as though he were sizing her up, or confirming something.
She instinctively rose, at a loss, not knowing what to say or do.
Pei Ciling walked in and sat down at the table. He was silent for a long time. She stood frozen, not daring to move or speak, barely breathing.
After what seemed like ages, he spoke.
"Don’t worry about the child."
His voice was low, his tone flat, as if stating an ordinary matter—but Shen Ningyue could sense the genuine reassurance woven into those few words.
"Take good care of yourself during the pregnancy. Carry the child to term."
Just those two lines.
No extra words, no gentle comforts, no solemn promises. Yet the heavy anxiety that had weighed on her heart for so long began to settle, at least halfway.
Her nose stung suddenly. Her eyes grew hot.
She lowered her head.
And nodded firmly.
Pei Ciling said nothing more. He rose, walked to the door, paused, and glanced back at her. "Get some rest early."
Then he left.
The door clicked shut behind him. Shen Ningyue stood alone in the empty room for a long time, then slowly, slowly crouched down, burying her face in her knees. Her shoulders shuddered slightly.
She didn’t cry out loud, but warm tears seeped through her fingers, drop by drop, falling onto the cold floor.
No matter what.
Her child should be safe now.
Shen Ningyue pulled her thoughts back, suppressing the surge of bitterness that threatened to rise again. She lifted her head and looked at Shen Ninghuan, the self-deprecating curve of her lips deepening.
"Sister," she said, her voice a little raspy but each word clear, "I understand all that now. I no longer hold any hopes."
She paused, her eyes dropping to her still-flat belly. Her hand went to it instinctively, pressing lightly, as if sensing something, or guarding something.
"I only hope my child won’t suffer because of me."
Her tone was featherlight, as if a breeze could blow it away, but beneath that lightness lay a heavy, motherly strength.
Shen Ninghuan watched her—watched her hand on her belly, watched the tenderness in her eyes that had never been there before.
She truly expected nothing now.
Not just in words, but truly, from the depths of her heart, she had let go.
Shen Ninghuan nodded slightly, adding a note of sincerity to her voice. "Since you’ve recognized your situation, then cherish the present and live peacefully."
The words had barely left her mouth when she paused herself.
Cherish the present.
Live peacefully.
That sounded far too simple.
She knew the weight of those four words herself. But for Shen Ningyue—this sister who was foolish, though not entirely hopeless—understanding their deeper meaning might be beyond her.
She thought for a moment.
Decided to say a bit more.
Since she had already opened the door, she might as well spell it out clearly, lest her foolish sister mull it over all night and go off in completely the wrong direction, wasting the sincerity of today’s kowtow.
Shen Ninghuan picked up her teacup again, took another sip to moisten her throat, then set it down. She looked at Shen Ningyue and spoke unhurriedly, as if instructing a slow-witted student.
"There are no true villains in the Marquis’s household."
She raised her first finger.
"Old Madam is a woman of reason. She comes from a military family, decisive and sharp, and detests the scheming and tricks of the inner quarters. So long as you stay within your bounds and don’t do anything to make tongues wag, she won’t make trouble for you."
She raised her second finger.
The Marquis is also like this. Though he appears cold and stern on the surface, did he refuse even once last night? He didn’t object, which means he silently consented—letting you carry this child to term is his stance.
She raised a third finger.
The Heir also defended you this time. In front of the entire household, he said, “That is my own flesh and blood.” Do you understand the weight of those words? He is the Heir, the future Marquis of Weiyuan. By acknowledging this child, he has given you and your child the greatest protection.
She paused, her gaze falling on Shen Ningyue’s face, her tone calm yet direct. The Marchioness hasn’t targeted you either. You yourself know that what happened before wasn’t exactly honorable. No one would look kindly on you for it. If she truly wanted to make things difficult for you, she has plenty of ways—why wait until today?
Shen Ningyue lowered her eyes, her fingers tightening slightly.
Every word, every sentence, was like a needle piercing her heart. She knew her sister was speaking the truth. And precisely because it was the truth, it hurt all the more.
But after the pain.
Her mind actually became a little clearer.
Now that you are carrying the Heir’s child, Shen Ninghuan continued, her tone still unhurried, you should admit your mistakes and show the right attitude.
She looked at Shen Ningyue, a hint of sincerity in her eyes. I’m not telling you to grovel and beg for mercy. I mean truly, from the bottom of your heart, apologize for the things you’ve done in the past. Old Madam is a perceptive woman; the Marquis is a perceptive man. If you sincerely repent, they will see it.
If you put on a show, they will see that too.
Once you’ve admitted your faults, just live your life peacefully from now on. No one will make things difficult for you.
She paused, then added, As for the future, when the Heir marries his principal wife, the same principle applies.
When the new bride enters the household, be respectful, stay in your place, and don’t fight for things that aren’t yours. You are a concubine; she is the legal wife. That’s a fact that cannot be changed. The more obedient you are, the less reason she will have to trouble you. If you stir up trouble, you’ll be handing her the knife yourself.
Shen Ningyue listened, her fingers clutching the hem of her clothes, then slowly releasing them. She opened her mouth, trying to say something, but found her throat as if blocked—not a single word could come out.
Seeing her like this, Shen Ninghuan softened her tone again. There’s no need to worry about the child’s future either.
She turned slightly, looking out the window toward the direction of Fuyuan Courtyard. Look at the second branch of the family. My father-in-law is a concubine’s son, but the Marquis’s household did not treat him unfairly. They gave him what was due, allocated what should be allocated. Old Madam treats him no differently from how she treats the Marquis.
She turned her gaze back to Shen Ningyue. So let the past be the past. You only need to cherish the present and live well.
She finished, then stopped, looking at Shen Ningyue with a calm and gentle expression.
I’ve made myself clear. Do you understand?
The study fell silent.
Outside the window, sparrows chirped incessantly. The morning light still spilled warmly inside, casting dappled shadows on the floor. The pot of orchids glistened with a glossy sheen in the sunlight, their fragrance faint and lingering.
Shen Ningyue stood there in a daze.
Her mouth hung open, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on Shen Ninghuan, as if digesting something extraordinary, like a person who had wandered too long in darkness, suddenly struck by a beam of light illuminating the path ahead—so startling she could hardly believe it.
Cherish the present.
Live well.
Was it really that simple?
She thought of the memories of her past life that had vanished like foam and bubbles.
She had once believed that Shen Ninghuan’s brilliance was because she married into the main line, because she became the Heir’s wife, because she was lucky.
But it had never occurred to her that Shen Ninghuan lived well not because she married well, but because she understood how to cherish, how to nurture, how to make the best of the life before her.
And her?
From beginning to end, her eyes had only seen Shen Ninghuan’s splendor, never what she herself possessed.
In her past life, she married Pei Cijing.
Back then, her heart was filled with nothing but resentment. She felt fate had wronged her, that everyone owed her. She looked down on Pei Cijing, thought he was useless, believed this marriage had ruined her life.
She had never once given him a kind expression.
Never.
Not even on their wedding night…
She despised him for being worthless, for lacking ambition, for loafing around all day without bothering to earn a title. Her gaze at him was full of contempt and disdain. Her words were always cold and biting.
She thought it was because he was no good that she treated him this way.
But she had never realized that people are mirrors. How you treat others is how they treat you.
She gave him cold words and harsh looks; how could he be gentle and tender with her? She found fault with him in everything; how could he care for her with warmth? She never showed him a kind face; how could he offer his wholehearted warmth to her coldness?
If she didn’t give him a good face, he would remain indifferent in return.
If she didn’t care for him, he wouldn’t care for her either.
Two people living under one roof, yet like strangers who had never met, each going their own way, ignoring each other.
She thought that was his heartlessness. But now thinking back, who was the heartless one?
It was her.
She was the one who pushed him away first. She was the one who blocked the path first. She was the one who turned her life into that miserable state, then blamed heaven and earth, feeling that everyone in the world owed her.
Shen Ningyue’s tears fell silently.
Not a wailing sob—just a quiet, steady stream, as though tears accumulated over two lifetimes had finally found an outlet, and could no longer be held back.
She closed her eyes.
She pushed the surging bitterness back into her heart.
Suddenly, she recalled the fortune slip she had drawn at Qingyun Temple: “Mirror flowers and moon reflections are not real; do not mistake illusion for truth.”
Back then, she only thought she had understood—that so-called past life memories were illusions not worth clinging to. But the fortune slip had a second half, which she had read and dismissed as ordinary worldly advice, nothing special.
Now, that second half suddenly rose in her heart, word for word, crystal clear: “Cherish the firelight and smoke before your eyes, for that is the free self in the mortal world.”
Cherish the firelight and smoke before your eyes, for that is the free self in the mortal world!
Now she understood.
It wasn’t enough to merely “let go of illusions.”
She had to take that heart, always fixated on illusions and others, and bring it back to the present, to the moment, to the real, tangible, everyday life.
Cherishing the present—that was true freedom.
But she had realized it too late.
If she had understood this in her past life, perhaps… No, there were no perhaps.
After a long silence, she lifted her head and looked at Shen Ninghuan.
“Big Sister,” she said, her voice hoarse but carrying a clarity she had never known before. “I understand.”
She stood up, straightened her clothes, then folded her hands and, with utmost seriousness, bowed to Shen Ninghuan in a proper ritual. It was not the casual curtsy of a concubine to a legitimate daughter, but a sister’s most sincere gratitude to her elder sister.
“Thank you for your guidance.”
Shen Ninghuan looked at her, at her reddened eyes, at the still-damp tear tracks on her cheeks, at those eyes that had once been filled with hostility and fervor but now held a newfound clarity.
She gave a slight nod, the corners of her mouth curving upward. The arc was shallow, yet it carried a measure of genuine relief.
“Good that you understand,” she said, her tone gentler than before. “When you have time, go back to the Shen residence.”
Shen Ningyue was momentarily taken aback.
Shen Ninghuan continued, “Apologize to Father.”
She paused, her voice growing more earnest. “Between father and daughter, there is no grudge that cannot be resolved. You did wrong, so you should admit it. He will not refuse to acknowledge you as his daughter.”
“And while you’re at it, visit Concubine Fang,” she added, her voice softening again. “It’s been a long time since you last saw her, hasn’t it?”
Shen Ningyue felt a jolt in her heart.
Concubine Fang.
Her birth mother.
Only then did she realize that since marrying into the Marquis’s household, aside from the day of her formal return visit, she had never gone back to see her. At first, she hadn’t been in a rush—she thought she would return in splendor one day, letting everyone see her triumph.
Later, she was too ashamed to go back, because she had ruined everything.
And after that, she could barely even remember her mother—the woman who had carried her for ten months, who had sat sleepless by her sickbed, who had secretly given her all her savings while wearing threadbare clothes herself, who had stood at the gate on her wedding day, watching her sedan chair vanish into the distance, not daring to cry aloud.
She had forgotten her.
Forgotten her entirely.
Yet this sister, with whom she had never gotten along, remembered.
Perhaps this was the difference between them. Shen Ningyue felt something shift within her. Suddenly, she no longer felt any jealousy toward her sister’s good fortune—because it was simply what she deserved.
Shen Ningyue’s eyes reddened again. She nodded vigorously, her voice choked to the point that she could barely form a complete sentence. “I… I’ll go back. Tomorrow, I’ll go back tomorrow.”
She straightened up, turned to look at Shen Ninghuan, and bowed again—this time deeper and longer than before.
Then she turned around.
She walked toward the door.
Just as she reached the threshold, her steps faltered.
“Elder Sister, I’m sorry.” She did not turn her head, her voice soft, as if afraid to disturb something. “And thank you.”
With that, she stepped over the threshold.
The morning light fell upon her, casting her slender silhouette long against the ground. The shadow moved slowly across dark flagstones, step by step, until it passed out of the Lotus Abode’s courtyard, past the wisteria trellis, through the moon-gate arch, gradually dissolving into the light of day.
Shen Ninghuan sat behind the desk, watching that distant figure fade away.
The morning sun continued to pour warmly through the window, casting dappled patterns on the floor. The orchid sat glossy and green in the sunlight, its faint fragrance lingering in the air.
She picked up her teacup and took a sip. The tea had already gone somewhat cold.
But she didn’t particularly mind.
Outside, sparrows chirped and chattered among themselves, squabbling over something. Suddenly, one bird flapped up and landed on the wisteria trellis, shaking the tender green new shoots so that they swayed gently.
Shen Ninghuan watched the bird, the corners of her mouth curving upward ever so slightly.
Cherish the earthly joys before your eyes; that alone makes for an unburdened spirit in this world.
Not bad.
Treasure the present. Live well from day to day.
Those words were meant for Shen Ningyue—and also for herself.
She drew her gaze back, reopened the ledger before her, dipped the brush in ink, and continued where she had left off in the accounts. The brush strokes fell onto the paper—delicate and neat, each stroke precisely placed, properly measured.
Outside, the morning light was just right…
