Shen Liuyin was assigned to cleaning duty in the outer study.
It wasn't technically part of Ji Yuanheng's personal quarters, but it was close—close enough that she sometimes saw his footsteps in the dust before anyone else arrived, close enough that the scent of rare sandalwood he preferred lingered in the air like a ghost.
She never saw him in that wing.
But she imagined him there constantly.
---
The study itself was vast, lined with scrolls of calligraphy and sealed jade slips. Liuyin swept it with care, making sure the brush didn't scuff the floor tiles. When she finished, she'd spend extra time arranging the cushions and dusting the bronze incense burner on the main table—even though no one had asked her to.
Once, she'd noticed a single untouched cup of tea left beside a scroll of internal energy flow diagrams.
She remembered the scent—light, slightly floral, steeped only briefly.
The next morning, she prepared the exact blend and left it on the table without asking.
She wasn't told to do so.
She didn't need to be.
And no one scolded her.
The next day, the cup was empty.
She took that as a sign.
---
It became a small ritual.
Each day she was assigned to that corridor, she brewed a fresh cup, placed it precisely three inches to the right of the scroll pile, and left before he arrived.
She never saw him drink it.
She never saw anyone else near it.
But the cup was always empty by the next shift.
And that was enough.
---
One morning, as she entered the study early to light the incense, the door opened behind her.
Her hand froze on the matchstick.
She didn't turn.
She knew that presence. The slight pressure in the air, the chill that didn't come from temperature.
Ji Yuanheng.
He didn't speak. His steps were soft, deliberate. He crossed the room and stopped by the main table.
She bowed deeply.
Her hands trembled just a little, but her voice remained steady.
"The tea is prepared, my lord."
He didn't reply.
There was a long pause—so long she wondered if she'd done something wrong. Had she overstepped? Had she been presumptuous?
Then—he sat down.
And picked up the cup.
Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.
He brought the tea to his lips, took a single sip—and set it down.
Then, still without a word, he stood and walked out.
---
That was the first time she saw him drink.
He hadn't looked at her.
He hadn't acknowledged her.
But he had accepted something she made.
And to a girl like her—to a servant no one named, no one praised—that one sip felt like sunlight breaking through a frozen roof.
"He trusts me," she whispered later that evening, writing in a small parchment journal she kept under her bedding.
"He may not remember me yet… but he knows my tea."
She smiled as she wrote it.
Yueyin was already asleep beside her, curled up under a patched blanket.
Liuyin touched the page gently before closing it.
It wasn't love. Not exactly.
It was reverence.
A child's admiration of a star so far away, she didn't expect warmth—just the privilege of watching it shine.
---
But starlight burns slow.
And not all things that shine offer light.
---
The next few weeks were filled with more glimpses.
She passed him once on the stairwell between courtyards.
He did not stop.
But she noticed something—he paused slightly at the top of the stairs, just before the sunlight touched his face. Like he was listening to the footsteps behind him.
Her footsteps.
"He knew I was there," she whispered.
She smiled the whole day.
---
The older servants began to notice.
"You're spending too much time with your head in the clouds," one warned her. "You'll fall harder when the ground hits back."
Liuyin bowed politely and said nothing.
How could they understand?
They didn't see him the way she did.
They didn't know the quiet, powerful dignity of someone who didn't have to speak to be kind.
---
That night, she lay awake longer than usual.
She imagined what it would feel like… to have him look her in the eye.
To have him say her name.
To have him say anything.
But she didn't ask for that. She wasn't selfish.
"Just let me stay near," she thought.
"That's enough."
____
The days blurred together in routine.
Morning cleaning. Tea preparation. Garden sweeping. Quick meals. Silent nights.
Shen Liuyin had memorized the path to the east corridor by heart. She no longer needed to look down to avoid the uneven stone near the elder's pavilion. She could feel the rhythm of the estate in her bones—the times when the air grew tense from cultivation, when the spiritual beasts stirred, when the senior disciples passed through the inner court like gusts of wind.
It gave her a strange sense of comfort.
Like she belonged.
That feeling shattered one cloudy afternoon.
---
She was sweeping the outer steps of the Lotus Walk when she heard it—a sharp crack followed by a muffled sob. It came from the eastern hall. Servants around her paused but didn't look. No one spoke.
Liuyin's brow furrowed.
Then the sobbing grew louder, ragged, panicked.
She set her broom down and crept toward the sound.
At the corner of the hallway, she peeked through the half-open lattice.
Inside, a young servant girl knelt on the floor, blood on her cheek. Her hands trembled as she picked up a shattered porcelain bowl, the pieces scattering like white bones.
Hovering above her was one of the supervisors, face tight with restrained fury.
"That bowl was carved with star jade! You know how many years it takes to engrave a soul-lock pattern?"
The girl whimpered, voice barely audible. "I—I didn't mean to—there was a snake by the window, I—"
The supervisor slapped her again. The sound echoed.
"Excuses. Always excuses. You're lucky the young master isn't here to see this."
The girl collapsed fully, forehead pressed to the floor.
Liuyin's fingers dug into the edge of the doorframe.
Her heart pounded—not just from fear, but confusion.
Didn't the girl say there was a snake? Couldn't they check? Was this really worth blood?
She almost stepped forward. Almost opened her mouth.
Then she heard another voice.
"What's going on?"
A senior steward. Calm. Uninterested.
The supervisor straightened and bowed. "Minor infraction. Dealt with."
The steward looked at the bleeding girl for half a second, then waved his sleeve.
"Clean it up before the Young Master returns."
And just like that, they walked away.
---
Liuyin stood frozen behind the wall.
The girl on the floor didn't move for a long time. Eventually, another servant helped her up, muttering soft reassurances, but no one questioned what happened.
No one apologized.
No one even asked if she was okay.
Because here… this was normal.
---
That night, Shen Liuyin lay on her straw mat with her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.
Yueyin snored softly beside her, curled like a kitten.
Liuyin's hands were clenched beneath the blanket.
"That's not how it's supposed to be," she whispered.
She tried to convince herself it was a misunderstanding. A mistake. A rare cruelty. One that Ji Yuanheng surely wouldn't approve of.
"He wouldn't allow that," she told herself. "He's not like them."
But a part of her—just a whisper—began to question.
If he was as righteous as she imagined…
If he was truly as noble as she believed…
Why was his estate built on fear?
Why did his silence let this happen?
Why did everyone walk so carefully in his shadow?
---
She closed her eyes tight, trying to push the thoughts away.
Tomorrow, she'd make the tea again.
Tomorrow, he would sip it.
And maybe… just maybe… he would look at her.
That would make it better.
Right?