Madam Liu noticed Shen Qingyu's return to the courtyard the same day it happened.
She did not rush to respond. She never did.
Instead, she waited until evening, when the household gathered for dinner and the air was thick with polite conversation and unspoken judgments. Shen Qingyu arrived late, escorted by Chunhua, her steps measured but steady.
Madam Liu smiled the moment she saw her.
"Third Miss," she said warmly, rising halfway from her seat. "You look much better. I'm relieved to see you well enough to leave your room."
Her tone was gentle, her concern convincing.
Shen Qingyu bowed lightly. "Thank you for your worry, Madam."
They exchanged pleasantries, but Shen Qingyu felt the weight beneath the words. Madam Liu's gaze lingered just long enough—assessing, calculating, measuring how much of a threat this quiet recovery might become.
"Still," Madam Liu continued, seating herself again, "the courtyard can be taxing. I hope you're not forcing yourself for appearances."
"I'm careful," Shen Qingyu replied calmly. "I only observe."
General Shen Yanwu, seated at the head of the table, glanced at her briefly. "Observation is acceptable," he said. "Overexertion is not."
"Yes, Father."
Madam Liu's smile did not falter, but something colder flickered in her eyes.
After dinner, a maid delivered a small pot of soup to Shen Qingyu's room. The aroma was soothing, the presentation thoughtful.
"Madam Liu prepared this specially for you," the maid said.
Shen Qingyu thanked her and waited until she left before lifting the lid.
She did not drink it immediately.
Later that night, Physician Xu Wenren examined the leftover residue. His brows furrowed slightly.
"It's not harmful," he said quietly. "But it will slow your recovery. Subtly."
As expected.
Shen Qingyu nodded. "Then I'll adjust."
"You won't report it?" Xu asked.
"Not yet," she replied. "She wants me weak, not gone. That gives me room."
Xu studied her for a long moment, then inclined his head. "You're learning faster than I expected."
That night, Shen Qingyu practiced her breathing longer than usual, carefully counteracting the dulling effect of the soup. Pain followed—sharp, insistent—but she endured without complaint.
When she finally lay back against the pillow, exhausted but clear-headed, she allowed herself a single thought.
Kindness could be more dangerous than cruelty.
And now, she knew how to recognize both.