The capital was restless. Whispers curled through the streets like smoke, carrying tales of Lord Lin Yongan of the Prime Minister's Manor and the sudden death of Lady Xu, his wife. Lin Meihua's carriage cut swiftly through the murmuring crowds, her heart pounding as the city's gates loomed before her.
She rushed inside, skirts brushing against stone, and ran toward the manor. The scene struck her like a blade: her mother's body laid out in solemn silence, her father Lin Yongan standing nearby, devastated, his shoulders bowed beneath grief. Three small figures trembled close to him—her younger brothers Lin Wen and Lin Hao, and her little sister Lin Xinyi.
Meihua fell to her knees, gathering her siblings into her arms. Wen clung to her sleeve, Hao pressed against her side, and Xinyi buried her face in her chest. For a moment, the world blurred, grief swallowing her whole. The funeral rites unfolded under the weight of sorrow, her father too broken to speak, his silence heavy as the incense burned.
When the rites were complete, Meihua guided her siblings back to her chambers. First she embraced them all, holding them until the silence broke. Xinyi and Hao, shocked into stillness, finally began to cry. Meihua hushed them gently, laying her brothers to sleep, then consoling her sister until her sobs faded into dreams.
Only when the room was quiet did Meihua retreat to her brodiour. Under the cover of night, her composure cracked, and tears slipped silently down her cheeks.
Elsewhere, in a pleasure house draped with lanterns and perfumed smoke, a figure sat in shadow. The establishment was known as a teahouse, yet its courtesans and whispered dealings made it far more than a place for tea.
Rumors flowed freely among the patrons. "She rushed back to the capital," one murmured, "Lady Lin Meihua herself, they say. Straight from the countryside, as if the frost chased her here."
Another voice added, "The Prime Minister's wife is gone, and the manor is shaken. Some say the young lady will have to shoulder the household now."
The figure listened, unmoving, his cup untouched. His attendant leaned closer, lowering his voice. "The city speaks of her with pity, but also with curiosity. They wonder what role she will play now that grief has struck the Yongan Manor. "
The figure's gaze lingered on the lanternlight, unreadable. He did not answer, but the faintest curve of thought touched his lips.
The attendant bowed slightly, his words quiet but firm: "It's time to leave, Your Highness."