Wei Jian closed the door to his study gently. The dim lantern cast a soft glow on his aging features—lines deeper, but eyes still sharp with vigilance. Across from him, Lin Xi sat upright, composed, but ever-watchful.
“While you were ‘away’, much has changed. Junlin isn’t entirely incapable. He tried to replace you, but…” He paused, voice heavy, “...he lacks your merchant's instinct.”
Wei Jian studied Lin Xi for a long moment. The pale-faced girl before him was still, almost too still—too calm, too veiled in something darker. She was the same, and yet different. He didn’t know whether that was a blessing… or the omen of coming disaster.
Leaning back in his chair, he pulled out a small drawer and retrieved a thick parchment sealed with golden wax. He slid it across the table toward Lin Xi.
“This is an official invitation to the Trade Alliance Banquet at Furong Garden, three nights from now. Major merchants, nobles, and trade lords will be in attendance. And…”
He fixed his eyes on Lin Xi. “The Emperor is sending an observer. Not just for ceremony—but as a judge. They’ll decide who earns the convoy rights for the new southwestern trade route.”
Lin Xi picked up the invitation, eyes scanning it briefly. Her pulse quickened.
Furong Garden—the very heart of trade influence within the empire.
Wei Jian continued, his voice low and pressing.
“If the Wei family wants to rise again, we must win that convoy bid. This new route connects the largest southern port to the southwestern spice frontier. Whoever controls it… will control the gold flow for the next five years.”
“Who are the main contenders?” Lin Xi asked with quiet understanding.
Wei Jian exhaled deeply.
“The Shen family, almost certainly. They’re well-funded and have imperial ties. And… Shen Zhihao has just returned from Yulin, bringing with him a new fleet from the southern harbor.”
He looked at her steadily.
“Lianhua… I’m giving you this chance not just because you’re my daughter. But because I believe—if anyone in this house can stand against the cunning of the capital’s trade sharks… it’s you. You must prove—to them, and to the Emperor—that the Wei name still carries weight.”
“I’ll attend the banquet,” Lin Xi said, gripping the invitation. Her eyes gleamed cold and resolute. “And I’ll return with that convoy right—for this family.”
Wei Jian gave a slow nod. “Don’t just attend. Make sure they remember you afterward.”
---
Two days before the journey to Furong Garden, the Wei household buzzed with frantic preparations. Servants scurried about, tending to everything from silks to spice samples. Yet beneath the surface bustle, Lin Xi’s mind was occupied by something heavier—the truth behind Lianhua’s so-called elopement.
That afternoon, she sat in the side veranda, pretending to read a herbal manual. From behind a carved wooden pillar, A Qiao—her loyal maid—approached carrying warm tea. With her came Madam Yin, an old servant who had long served Lin Shuyin. Aside from Lin Shuyin and A Qiao, only Madam Yin knew Lin Xi’s secret—that she was not Lianhua.
“Mistress, Madam Yin wishes to speak with you privately,” A Qiao murmured, closing the chamber door.
Lin Xi nodded and gestured for Madam Yin to sit. Their talk began with niceties—questions about her health, whether she lacked anything, whether the bedding was warm enough. But as Madam Yin poured tea, her eyes briefly met Lin Xi’s with something deeper than subservience.
“The wind is chilly today, Miss,” she whispered, head bowed. “This kind of wind sometimes carries the scent of the past.”
Lin Xi stared into her cup. She didn’t respond right away. She knew this was Madam Yin’s way of opening an unspoken conversation.
“The scent of the past,” Lin Xi said softly, “is often suffocating. So many wounds left unhealed.”
Madam Yin folded a cloth in her lap, her voice barely a breath.
“Back then, when word spread about Miss Lianhua’s... disgrace, most believed it outright. But some of us... sensed something off.”
“What was off, Madam?” Lin Xi lifted her gaze slowly.
Madam Yin didn’t answer immediately. She looked toward the small garden blooming with chrysanthemums.
“Someone saw Miss Lianhua that night. But he was too old, too afraid to speak. His name is Du. He used to guard the front gate. After that night, he was moved to the back kitchen.”
Lin Xi listened in silence. “How do you know this?”
“I overheard Madam Su and old Maid Tao speaking in hushed tones.”
“Is Uncle Du still here?”
“He is,” Madam Yin nodded. “But he only speaks to those he trusts. He loved Lianhua... thought of her like his own granddaughter. If anyone can make him talk, it’s someone who still carries a light from the past.”
“Is that light still burning?”
Madam Yin looked deep into Lin Xi’s eyes—as if she wanted to say more, something deeper… about bloodlines, about hidden truths—but she held back.
“As long as belief remains in your heart, then the light has not gone out, Miss. But be careful. Some shadows in this house are too clever to be burned by light.”
---
That night, Lin Xi slipped quietly to the side yard—where Uncle Du, once the family’s gatekeeper, now spent his days in obscurity. The old man sat near a small firepit, sipping tea, his hunched frame lit by the soft flicker of lanterns.
He sat on a worn wooden bench near the old kitchen, polishing an aged cutting board. His silver hair gleamed faintly, and though his body was frail, his eyes remained sharp—wary, like a man haunted by silence.
Lin Xi approached without sound, stopping a few steps before him. She waited.
“It’s been a long time since we spoke, Uncle,” she said softly, offering a basket of dried pastries and fine tea leaves.
Uncle Du looked up, eyes misted by age but still recognizing the face before him.
“Ah... Miss Lianhua… or should I say, a woman grown. I heard you’ve returned. Madam Lin must be overjoyed.”
Lin Xi sat across from him, placing the basket gently.
“Much has changed. But I came back for one reason, Uncle. Something... remains unfinished.”
Her tone dropped.
“That night, three years ago—the one everyone calls my ‘elopement’. You were at the gate, weren’t you?”
Uncle Du's hands trembled, his grip on the teacup wavering.
“You must understand, Miss... I’m just an old man. There are things I should not meddle in…”
“But you saw something. Didn’t you?” Lin Xi’s voice remained soft, but firm. “Something you’ve never told anyone. If I was taken—if I didn’t leave by choice—I need to know who did it.”
Uncle Du clenched his jaw, exhaling deeply.
“I saw you—or someone dressed like you—being carried by two hooded figures. They didn’t use the main gate. They passed through the side corridor. One of them wore a ring... a peony crest. Only one family here uses that symbol on their jewelry.”
Lin Xi’s breath caught.
The Peony crest. Lady Su Wanrong’s emblem.
“Why didn’t you report it to Father?”
“No one listens to an old man,” he whispered bitterly. “And after that, I was reassigned. Soon the rumors spread—about you running off. I kept silent.”
Lin Xi bowed her head, rage simmering beneath her calm.
“I wanted to speak out, but I was warned. My son... my grandson... they live in Luoyang. Lady Su said... if I ever opened my mouth, they’d never live in peace.”
He looked down, tears brimming. “I was a coward, Miss. I pretended I didn’t know. When they said you fled in shame, I nodded. But I knew... you didn’t run. You were dragged away.”
Lin Xi closed her eyes. Her heart twisted—equal parts fury and compassion.
“Do they still threaten you?”
“Maybe not like before... but I’m still afraid. My son knows nothing. My grandson wasn’t even born then. I’m too old to fight. But if you pursue this, Miss... please—don’t drag them into it. Protect them.”
“I swear,” Lin Xi said solemnly. “Your family will remain safe. This time… let me be the one who fights.”
For the first time, Uncle Du looked at her with teary eyes full of both gratitude and decades of regret.
Before Lin Xi rose to leave, he added quietly,
“The young man who died that night—his name was Pei Heng.”
Lin Xi memorized the name behind her gentle smile. Then bowed in deep respect, before quietly walking away—one more thread in her hand, pulling her closer to the heart of a long-buried truth.