The market had done its magic. For the first time since yesterday, I felt lighter, almost… myself again.
Jun Jie and Junyue, of course, insisted on buying sweets before we returned home.
"Do you want the rose almond cakes or the honey buns?" Junjie asked, holding two boxes as if it were a life-or-death decision.
"I want silence," I replied, rolling my eyes.
He gasped. "We're making progress. Yesterday it was tears. Today it's sarcasm. Tomorrow, full recovery!"
I raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be comforting or threatening?"
"Both!" he grinned.
Junyue quietly selected the pastries I liked. He didn't need to say a word—he already knew.
"Did I like those?" I asked, softening a little.
He glanced at me, expression unreadable. "Even when you pretend to hate everything, you still eat these when no one's looking."
Traitor.
Back at the carriage, I nibbled a honey bun, savoring the sweetness. The warmth of my brothers' attention, their playful teasing, even their arguments over which sweets to buy… it felt like a shield, pushing away the heaviness of yesterday.
I laughed softly to myself. Finally.
That night, after returning home, Xiaomei came to help me tidy my room. She was about to leave when I stopped her.
"Wait," I said.
She paused, eyebrows raised. "Yes, Madam?"
"Tell me about the Royal Family."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Why do you want to know, Madam?"
"So that I don't make a mistake again," I replied, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
Xiaomei nodded, understanding. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything" I replied.
Xiaomei smiled slightly and began, "Alright… let's start with the basics. The king is His Majesty Jinhai. He has four sons and three daughters. The queen, or Empress Xiyara, has one daughter and two sons."
"Okay… so the queen's kids first?" I asked.
"Yes. The eldest daughter is Mingyue. She's married to a prince from a neighboring country. The first prince is Jianyu, and the youngest is Renjie."
"And the king has other wives?" I prompted.
"Right," Xiaomei continued. "The second wife is Lady Ruoyan. She has one son, Xiangrong, and two daughters, Lianxin and Yuxi. The third wife, Wei Shulan… she was Jin Wei's mother, but she's passed away."
I swallowed, thinking about the delicate balance in that family. "When did Wei Shulan die?"
Xiaomei hesitated. "I don't know exactly, Madam. The third prince was very small… some people even say he killed the man responsible for his mother's death when he was only seven."
My chest tightened. Seven years old… and already taking a life?
"After that," Xiaomei added softly, "His Majesty sent him to the border under General Yu's care."
I didn't know why, but it hurt. He was just a child… and yet he had suffered so much.
*No wonder he's so careful… so reserved. And why he notices everything.*
I stayed silent, letting the weight of it settle.
Finally, Xiaomei left, and I curled up in bed. My fingers still smelled faintly of sugar and flowers from today's outing. For the first time in a while, I felt… cheerful.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought of Jin Wei—how he had watched me, how seriously he noticed everything—and a small, mischievous smile tugged at my lips.
Tomorrow, I'll face everything again.
But tonight… I'll just enjoy this little bit of peace.
Jin wei POV
I returned to my residence after leaving the market, but my thoughts remained on her. Xueyi—bright, fragile, and yet already the target of whispers and malice.
"Who was the one spreading rumors about her today?" I asked my black guard, voice calm but edged with steel.
"Yueran, the daughter of Minister Liang," he replied immediately.
I narrowed my eyes. *So it was her.*
"Tomorrow," I said, my voice low and precise, "she will kneel in front of the school until classes end. She will learn—no one spreads rumors about me. No one dares."
I clearly know what I wanted to say is nobody should dare to spread rumors about xueyi.
The guard inclined his head silently, understanding the weight of the order.
I leaned back, my gaze distant, thinking of Xueyi's laughter earlier. *She shouldn't have to endure this… and yet, some lessons are unavoidable.