"In this house, you will dress plainly. You will receive simple allowance. You will help with the tasks appropriate for a girl of your supposed circumstances." Madam Li continued.
Wan Li nervously touched the edge of her rough sleeve.
The fabric scratched.
She missed silk.
But she said nothing.
"What did your mother teach you to do?" she asked. "Can you read?"
"Yes, Madam," Wan Li said, a little more quickly. "Mother said… I must not be completely ignorant. I can read the women's texts. Lessons for Women. Some Analects. Some… other books."
She trailed off, unsure if she had spoken too much.
"Write?"
"Yes, Madam." She forced herself to add, "Not very elegantly yet."
"Sew?"
Wan Li's fingers twitched.
"A little, Madam. I can mend small tears. Embroider borders. I have not… made anything large."
"Hm," Madam Li said.
It was neither praise nor criticism. Just another weight placed somewhere out of sight.
"I will have a few texts sent to your courtyard," she said. "Reading will keep your mind occupied. You will practice writing when you can. And you will learn to mend your own clothing."
Wan Li nodded.
"Yes, Madam. I… will try."
She said it softly, because the truth was: she didn't know if she could do any of these things well. Her life had always been controlled—scheduled lessons, guided tasks, gentle corrections. Nothing had ever depended on her alone.
"You will not attend dinners unless I summon you," Madam Li continued. "You will not appear when relatives visit. And when my sons return home, you will not approach them unless introduced."
Wan Li's spine went rigid.
Her sons.
Her mother's voice rose in her memory—
"You are promised to their youngest son… he will be your future."
Wan Li swallowed.
Throat tight.
Hands cold.
Heart fluttering with something like fear… and something like hope.
She whispered, barely audible:
"Madam… a-am I… to meet… the youngest son?"
Su Yan stiffened slightly behind her, fearing she had spoken out of turn.
Madam Li was silent for a moment. Then her voice came, measured:
"In time. But not now."
Wan Li's shoulders eased, though she didn't understand why relief and nervousness were tangled together in her chest.
Madam Li spoke again:
"He is away at school. And even when he returns, you must understand—nothing is guaranteed. You are here to live quietly. That is all."
The words hit harder than the woman intended.
Nothing is guaranteed.
But Mother had said—
"He will be your safety."
Wan Li lowered her head again.
"…Yes, Madam."
There was no place to put her confusion. She simply folded it into the silence inside her.
Madam Li studied the small girl before her—a thin figure in a servant's dress, hair neatly braided, back straight despite trembling shoulders. A child taught her whole life to bow, to yield, to obey.
"A few more things," Madam Li said. "If someone in this house scolds you, corrects you, or speaks sharply—do not take it as cruelty. You must learn your place here."
Wan Li nodded instantly.
"Yes, Madam," she whispered. "I… I will not… make trouble."
"But," Madam Li continued, "if someone goes beyond what is necessary—if they aim to harm or humiliate you in a way that could disgrace this household—then speak to the senior maid. She will inform me."
Wan Li blinked.
The thought that someone might purposely hurt her made her stomach twist. But the idea of telling anyone felt heavy in her chest. She had never reported anyone in her life. In the palace, servants were punished harshly—she feared bringing trouble to others even by accident.
So she only whispered:
"Yes… Madam. If… if needed…"
Madam Li did not look entirely convinced the child would ever dare.
"Look up," she said softly.
Wan Li hesitated, then lifted her gaze only to the level of Madam Li's collar and shoulders—not the eyes. She didn't dare reach that far.
Madam Li took in her small, frightened face. Soot had been washed off, but the grief had not. There was still redness around Wan Li's eyes from crying. Her cheeks were pale, her lips pressed together too tightly.
"Child," Madam Li said lightly, almost to herself, "do you truly understand anything that is happening?"
Wan Li's answer was a tiny shake of the head.
"Mother said… come here," she whispered. "Mother said… this is… my future. So I… I came."
Her eyes glistened.
"And… Mother said I must… survive."
Her voice trembled so softly it nearly disappeared.
"So I am… trying."
A hush fell.
Su Yan lowered her head fully—because hearing Wan Li speak like that always hurt.
Madam Li leaned back slightly, expression unreadable.
"Very well," she said at last. "Then surviving is what you will do. Quietly."
Wan Li bowed again, forehead touching the mat.
"Thank you… Madam… for letting us stay."
Her voice wavered, but she said it sincerely. She didn't know what else she could offer.
"You may go," Madam Li told them.
Wan Li exhaled in a small, shuddering breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She rose carefully, swaying once from nerves, but Su Yan steadied her with a discreet hand.
They backed away, bowed again, and exited the hall.
--
Outside
The air felt cooler.
Wan Li gripped Su Yan's sleeve as they walked—half for balance, half for reassurance.
"Miss," Su Yan whispered, "you did very well."
Wan Li shook her head faintly.
"I only said… yes."
"Sometimes," Su Yan murmured, "that is enough."
They walked slowly through courtyard after courtyard, past servants who whispered behind their sleeves.
Wan Li did not look up.
She only repeated her mother's words in her heart:
Endure.
Obey.
Survive.
And someday… he will be your future.
A twelve-year-old child's fragile hope.
The only thing she had left.
--
TBC