In her previous life, their first encounter had been nothing remarkable just a fleeting glance in the crowd. Yet that single moment had sealed her fate. From that day on, her life had been dragged into darkness, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but regret.
She scans the crowd unconsciously, her breath shallow.
Maid Su notices immediately. "Miss, are you feeling unwell?" she asks softly. "We can return if you wish."
Shen Qingwan shakes her head, forcing herself to slow her steps. "No. I'm fine."
But her heart does not listen.
Every tall figure in fine robes makes her tense. Every official's carriage passing by sends a ripple of cold through her spine. She remembers his face too clearly the polite smile, the calculating eyes, the way his gaze once lingered on her as if she were already something he owned.
"I won't make the same mistake, she tells herself firmly. I won't let him notice me."
The guards shift slightly closer as the street grows more crowded. One of them clears the path ahead, his voice firm but respectful. People step aside, bowing briefly when they recognize the Shen family insignia.
Shen Qingwan lowers her gaze modestly, hiding the storm in her eyes.
She reminds herself this is the past. He is not her husband yet. He has no claim on her. She still has choices.
Shen Qingwan's steps slow as the Lingering Fragnace Teahouse comes into view.
From the outside, it looks no different from any other teahouse in the capital two stories high, wooden railings carved with simple floral patterns, the scent of roasted tea leaves drifting gently into the street. Laughter and conversation spill from its open windows, warm and unguarded.
Yet Shen Qingwan's heart tightens.
This is the real reason she came out today.
In her previous life, she had never meant to learn the truth.
She remembers it clearly now standing quietly behind a screen, preparing tea for guests in the Liu residence. She was not supposed to be there long enough to overhear anything. She was invisible, as always. That was why no one guarded their words.
Her husband's voice had been calm, almost amused.
"Dig into their backgrounds," he said casually. "Everyone has something buried. Find it."
The man sitting across from him had laughed softly.
That man.
A frequent visitor to the Liu family. A man her husband had once "saved" by chance so, the story went at the Lingering Fragrance Teahouse. At the time, he had been nothing more than a bullied worker, beaten and humiliated by the teahouse owner.
No one knew then,
He was the son of the Wang Family, a household destroyed overnight, exiled after being falsely accused of embezzlement.
And later, that same man became the shadow behind countless secrets in the capital.
The one who knew everyone's past.
The one who controlled information like a blade.
Shen Qingwan exhales slowly.
This time, she will not be ignorant.
She stops walking.
"Su," she says gently, turning to her maid. "I'd like to sit inside for a while. I'm a bit tired."
Maid Su nods at once. "Of course, Miss."
Shen Qingwan glances back at the two guards following them. Her expression remains calm, unassuming.
"You may return to the mansion," she says lightly. "I won't be long. This place is crowded there's no need to draw attention."
The guards hesitate only briefly before bowing. "As you command, Fourth Lady."
They turn back, their footsteps fading into the noise of the street.
The moment they are gone, Shen Qingwan's shoulders relax just a fraction.
She steps inside the teahouse with Maid Su.
Warmth wraps around them instantly. The air is rich with layered fragrances jasmine, oolong, and chrysanthemum. Patrons sit at wooden tables, some chatting animatedly, others whispering behind sleeves.
"Order tea," she murmurs.
Maid Su obeys and retreats.
Shen Qingwan lowers her gaze, fingers resting lightly against the table. Outwardly, she appears like any other noble lady seeking rest. Inwardly, her attention sharpens, every sense alert.
She knows he will appear.
The man who once stood beneath her husband.
The man who later controlled the flow of secrets in the capital.
The man whose fate was quietly changed in this very teahouse.
Her lips curve faintly not into a smile, but into something colder.