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No. 3: “I look in people’s windows, transfixed by rose golden glows.”
Isolation | Candlelight | Found Family
~~~
When warmth becomes a guarded resource, all other needs become secondary.
A freezing child cared not for history or calligraphy—certainly not compassion. Even food meant little when a child’s hands were so cold they feared movement lest they might shatter.
Well, Shen Jiu wasn’t cold anymore, but still not warm. He was fed, but not full. He still had no room in his heart for senseless parables.
A fact he only became aware of when listening to a traveling storyteller, plying his craft to happy children in carefully chosen robes, clutching sweets in one hand and their mother’s fingers in the other. They gasped and awed at the heroic characters described and dutifully nodded their head when the storyteller revealed the theme.
“Unselfish deeds ripple outward, keeping heaven, earth, and humanity in harmony.”
Shen Jiu was bothered by his own apathy at the unfairness of the message. If unselfish deeds truly rippled, why hadn’t it reached him yet? Why did all of these brats get to grow up fat on ideals while he fought for scraps?
And if they were so lucky, why didn’t they actually embody these lessons? Why was Qiu Jianlao such a bastard if he had the privilege of compassion?
Simple enough answer. The story was like most pretty things—a con.
And cons targeted the stupid.
Much like the little lord Shen Jiu spotted, enraptured with the storyteller with sparkling eyes and clasped hands. There were no guards nor attendants around him—he was alone. Shen Jiu knew he wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Every pickpocket, bandit, and cut throat was waiting for their opportunity.
The little lord approached the storyteller, singing his praises and then—confessing he was lost.
That same storyteller who had just praised unselfish acts caught a greedy gleam in his eye. His hand reached to pat the little lord on the head and usher him away. Shen Jiu knew hands like those.
“My lord!” Shen Jiu cried, rushing forward and kneeling to the little lord. “I’ve finally found you.”
“Huh…?” The child turned, his face—so similar to his own they could have been twins. This day truly was fate’s way of laughing at him. Look at this boy with a face like your own, but he wears the robes of a prince while you are a slave, worth less than the beasts of burden.
“My lord, I insist you return with me. Your mother will be worried.” Shen Jiu insisted.
“But…?” The lordling sputtered, clearly confused not only by his words, but the uncanny similarity.
“Erm, I meant no harm.” The storyteller laughed. “I was going to help the young master find his way back to this carriage.”
Shen Jiu shot the storyteller a venomous stare that cut like daggers. “My lord, this market is rife with unsavory folk. Trust me.”
And the little lord stupidly did so.
He took Shen Jiu’s hand, startling him with how soft it was—still unmarred, not even a sword callous to be found.
“Thank you…” The little lord whispered as they walked away. Shen Jiu violently turned on him, hissing at him to hush. After bobbing and weaving through the stalls, Shen Jiu finally felt safe enough to breathe. The thieves and cutthroats wouldn’t be able to follow such an impossible maneuver. He’s quicker now that he's been fed.
The little lord’s breath was huffing from the exertion, clearly unused to such excitement. “Was—was it truly so dangerous?” The little lord asked, before breaking into a horrid cough. “Sorry—sorry, I’m…I’m lost.”
“I know.” Shen Jiu grumbled. “So did everyone in that market.”
“Why did you help me?” The little lord asked.
“You’re a guest of my master. Lord Shen Yuan, correct?” Shen Jiu sighed. “I was sent to look for you. Many of us were. Your mother was so—worried,”
“Oh! I didn’t mean—” Shen Yuan sighed. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”
Shen Jiu couldn’t hold back the sneer. It was perhaps due to the fact he knew Shen Yuan was only going to receive a light scolding at most. Any punishment Shen Jiu would receive resulted in another layer of bruising.
“You’ll be fine, young master.” Shen Jiu scoffed.
A beat of silence followed until Shen Jiu realized Shen Yuan was watching him with wide curious eyes. Then, realization, his own stupidity and annoyance caused him to talk down to this wealthy, noble young master who was no doubt about to go crying to his mother about the disrespect. The beating—no, lashing—no, he couldn’t even imagine what punishment Qiu Jianlao would concoct for this offense—stupid, stupid, stupid–!
“What’s your name?” Shen Yuan asked.
Shen Jiu flinched. “It’s…Shen Jiu.”
“You’re so fun, Shen Jiu!”
“Huh?”
“No bowing or blubbering. It’s nice. Almost like we’re just old friends. But just call me Shen Yuan, okay?” The young master’s eyes were shining with delight, eager and now grasping Shen Jiu’s hand as if they were blood brothers. Ridiculous.
“If you wish it…” Shen Jiu sighed, the tension in his shoulders still found no relief. Qiu Haitang was always nice; it didn’t mean she was safe.
Once they found their way back to the Qiu Manor, Shen Jiu had to pry his hand out of Shen Yuan’s grasp lest the guards report back to Qiu Jianlao. The second they were in sight of the gate, soldiers in the Shen Insignia burst forward and—fret over the young master like mother hens.
“Little lord, you’re not hurt, are you? We were worried!”
“Your mother was beside herself!”
“How are you feeling? You’re not ill, are you?”
Shen Yuan laughed them off. “No, I’m fine. My friend, Shen Jiu, helped me.”
The guards turned to Shen Jiu, ready to offer their thanks but froze at the sight of him, then turned their eyes back to Shen Yuan, and then again to Shen Jiu, clearly astonished by the resemblance.
“Come with us. Our lady will want to thank you herself.” The main guard addressed, before taking Shen Yuan’s hand. Shen Jiu suddenly felt very trapped; he never intended to gain an audience with the visiting lady.
Upon entering, the servants were all in a frenzy until they spotted Shen Yuan. The servants that had traveled with their family all released sighs of relief while the Qiu servants couldn’t keep their jaws closed—not at the sight of Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu standing side by side.
When they entered the receiving room, Lady Shen did not bother with formalities. She rushed to Shen Yuan and let her billowing sleeves bury him in their warmth.
Her cries bellowed throughout the room. “A-Yuan! We were so worried! Why did you run off like that?”
Shen Yuan wriggled his face free from her embrace, enough to offer a sheepish look. “I saw something—shiny? I only wandered a little. Besides, Shen Jiu found me.”
At that name, Lady Shen turned.
Her fine amber eyes fell on Shen Jiu, and for an instant, she froze. Her lips parted perhaps to ask why this ragged youth shared her son’s face. But she regained her noble discipline and smoothed the surprise away, composing herself as she folded her hands into her sleeves.
“You have my deepest gratitude,” she said at last, inclining her head to the smallest degree, a rare gesture from a noble lady to a servant. “Your name is Shen Jiu?”
Shen Jiu immediately fell to his knees, bowing low. “This unworthy one does not dare accept such praise. I merely happened to be nearby.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Yuan replied gently. “Were it not for you, my foolish boy would have met all kinds of misfortune. I must thank your master for raising such a perceptive servant. To which household do you belong?”
A pulse of panic jolted through him. “This lowly one serves under Qiu Jianlao,” he managed, keeping his voice even. “I was only doing my duty, madam.”
At the mention of Qiu Jianlao, Lady Yuan’s expression softened with polite recognition. “Ah, then you must have been among those he sent to find Yuan-er. How fortunate.”
Her tone carried warmth, but Shen Jiu caught the faint flicker of pity beneath it.
What little idealism he held in his heart couldn’t stay the slight disappointment he felt. Some part of him, with the little hope he possessed, prayed this would be the moment his life changed forever.
He imagined Lady Shen bursting into tears, exclaiming they had finally found him, their long lost son. Shen Jiu would be swept away into a home that produced stupidly happy children like Shen Yuan. He’d even be given a true name, one chosen with care and love rather than convenience.
But no—Lady Shen addressed him as he’d always been—a servant.
She turned to one of the Qiu servants standing nearby. “See that he is rewarded for his diligence.”
Shen Jiu stiffened. “I could not possibly—”
“It is not a request,” Lady Shen said, though her voice remained kind. “You saved my son. Let us repay what little we can.”
Before Shen Jiu could speak—if he’d even dared—Lord Qiu Jianlao appeared at the doorway, robes immaculate, his smile perfectly measured. “Thanks the heavens, my lady. Fortune is on our side that my servant was nearby to offer aid.”
He bowed deeply, voice oily with humility, and gestured toward Shen Jiu as if presenting a fine hound. “This boy is one of mine. An orphan my family took in out of charity. I shall see he is rewarded.”
‘Please tell him. Tell him I’m yours. I was kidnapped! Thought to be dead! Anything—anything to take me away from here.’
But no such revelation was made. Lady Shen gave a graceful nod. “Charity or not, the heavens still move through small hands. I will send a gift for your household.”
Qiu Jianlao’s smile tightened just slightly at the implication that the reward might not land in his coffers. Shen Jiu had no doubt it would never reach the kitchens.
At her side, A-Yuan turned toward Shen Jiu, still beaming, still innocent of the currents running beneath every word. “Mother, he’s my friend! He helped me when no one else would. Can he stay with us while we visit?”
The room went very still. Shen Jiu’s heart plummeted.
Lady Shen blinked, visibly caught between amusement and surprise. “A-Yuan,” she said softly, “you speak as though you could take servants home like stray kittens.”
“But he looks just like me! Isn’t that strange?” Shen Yuan laughed, tugging at her sleeve. “Doesn’t it mean we’re fated to meet?”
The polite laughter that followed was the sound of knives being sheathed.
Qiu Jianlao’s expression froze into something brittle. “Ah, children notice the funniest things,” he said lightly. “A small resemblance, perhaps. Shen Jiu, bow properly before Lady Shen.”
Shen Jiu dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor. “This servant is unworthy of your notice, my lady,” he said, voice muffled.
“Unworthy?” Lady Shen murmured, more to herself than to him. “You brought my son home. Rise.”
He hesitated until Qiu Jianlao’s sharp intake of breath warned him to obey. He rose, head still bowed, hands trembling.
Lady Shen regarded him for a long, unreadable moment. “You must have been cold out there,” she said. “See that he is given something to eat, Lord Qiu. And… another set of clothes, perhaps. My son insists he’s made a friend, after all.”
Qiu Jianlao bowed again, the movement stiff. “Of course. It shall be done immediately.”
But Shen Jiu knew that tone. In some inadvertent way, he had insulted his master and whatever comforts Lady Shen provided only doubled the punishment. It was clear that this noble house of Shen held more wealth, power, and influence than Qiu Jianlao’s own, and he needed to impress her.
Lady Shen turned to usher her son away, still scolding him fondly for his recklessness. Shen Yuan looked back just once, smiling at him over his mother’s sleeve, and waved.
“See you tomorrow, Shen Jiu!”
And then he was gone, swallowed by the silk and light of their entourage.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Qiu Jianlao waited until the last servant had bowed from the room. Then, in a voice low enough that only Shen Jiu could hear, he hissed:
“You think you’ve done well? You think saving a noble boy makes you my equal?”
His hand struck Shen Jiu across the face, sending him sprawling across the floor. His good sense evaporated—this was so unfair. Being punished for saving Shen Yuan was unfair. Shen Yuan having his face but that life was unfair.
It would always be unfair!
In the misery of it all, Shen Jiu spat in Qiu Jianlao’s face.
He would truly die now. He almost wished it.
“You grovel before her feet, but spit in my face?!” Qiu Jianlao roared, seizing a handful of his hair. “You’ll remember your place before this visit is over.”
Qiu Jianlao’s grip yanked Shen Jiu’s head back, forcing his throat bare to the candlelight. The boy’s breath came short, ragged; his scalp burned where fingers twisted into his hair.
“Let me go—” he gasped, and instantly regretted it.
Qiu Jianlao slammed him to the floor. “You think because she smiled at you, you’ve earned the right to speak?” Qiu Jianlao hissed. “You forget what you are the moment someone shows you pity. Do you think Lady Shen’s kindness means anything once she leaves these gates?”
He threw Shen Jiu to the ground again. Pain sang up his arm where it hit the polished wood. He barely had time to gasp before Qiu Jianlao’s boot drove into his ribs.
“Brother?”
Qiu Haitang stood in the threshold, sunlight spilling around her like a halo. She was carrying a small porcelain bowl and a silk handkerchief embroidered with orchids. Her voice was gentle, unhurried.
“Brother, what’s happened?” she asked, stepping closer.
“Oh, um—Haitang–I…” Qiu Jianlao sputtered for an explanation.
Shen Jiu offered his own. “I helped find Young Master Shen. In fending off unsavory characters, I was injured. The young master was just seeing to my wounds.”
She accepted the explanation without any further inquiry, always so eager to ignore all unpleasant implications. Or more likely, like Shen Yuan, she just didn’t see them.
She frowned delicately. “Shen Jiu? Oh, you poor thing.” She set down the bowl and knelt gracefully at Shen Jiu’s side. “You’ve bruised your cheek again.”
Again. As if it were a habit of his own making.
“Clumsy as ever,” she sighed, dabbing gently at his lip with the handkerchief. “You must take better care. You’ll be a husband soon, after all. It won’t do to frighten me with these silly injuries.” She turned to him again, tucking a strand of his hair back into place with practiced ease. “You’ll come dine with us this evening. Lady Shen is very fond of you for rescuing her son. The young master is still singing your praises.”
“Yes, my lady,” Shen Jiu murmured.
“Not ‘my lady,’ silly,” she chided gently, touching his cheek. “Haitang-jie.”
He forced a smile. “...Yes, Haitang-jie.”
Her laughter lingered in the air long after she’d gone.
When the door closed, Qiu Jianlao turned back to Shen Jiu, voice low and cold. “You see? She believes in your obedience. Don’t disappoint her.”
He left him there with the bowl and handkerchief she’d left behind—tokens of tenderness that only made the pain worse.
Shen Jiu wiped the blood from his lip with her embroidered silk, watching the petals stain red.
If this was what compassion looked like, it was a luxury he could never afford.
~~~
Dinner felt endless. Shen Jiu sat two paces behind Qiu Jianlao, silent and stiff, his bruised cheek hidden beneath the soft glow of candlelight. The scent of roasted duck and osmanthus wine made his stomach churn. Servants flitted around like moths, refilling cups and whisking away plates before he’d even dared to glance at them.
Lady Shen clearly wasn’t grateful enough to ensure he received his reward.
Across the table, Shen Yuan laughed at something Qiu Haitang said, his eyes bright with that same guileless light that had drawn every adult in the room to dote on him. When he coughed, soft and restrained, Lady Yuan immediately set her chopsticks down and poured him tea herself.
Once dinner ended, Qiu Jianlao dismissed him with a flick of his fingers, and Shen Jiu all but melted into the shadows of the corridor—until a small hand caught his sleeve.
“Shen Jiu!”
He froze. Shen Yuan’s eyes were bright in the lantern light, his lips curved in an eager smile. “Come with me?”
“It’s late, young master,” Shen Jiu said immediately. “Your mother will be looking for you.”
“She’s talking with Sister Qiu. And Brother Qiu’s boring,” Shen Yuan said, wrinkling his nose. “Come on! Just a little while. You can show me the roof, can’t you?”
Shen Jiu blinked. “The roof?”
“The one you were looking at earlier,” Shen Yuan whispered. “You were staring at it during dinner. I saw.”
Shen Jiu hadn’t been staring at the roof. He was thinking about the sky—about how if he were a bird he could fly away.
“I wasn’t—” Shen Jiu began, but Shen Yuan was already tugging at his sleeve, surprisingly strong for his small frame.
“Please? I always have guards and servants around. I never get to go anywhere. Just this once.” His tone turned pleading. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”
It wasn’t really a request. Shen Jiu knew that. But he followed anyway, because disobeying a noble son carried its own kind of punishment.
They slipped through the quiet courtyard, the lanterns casting their shadows long across the paving stones. The air was cool, smelling faintly of lotus and rain-soaked earth.
The wall wasn’t high and Shen Jiu had climbed it a thousand times, usually to escape beatings or fetch things for Qiu Haitang’s amusement. Shen Yuan, on the other hand, nearly fell twice before Shen Jiu grabbed his wrist.
“Careful!” Shen Jiu hissed.
“I’m fine!” Shen Yuan whispered, laughing under his breath.
They finally reached the roof, balancing on the curved tiles. Below them, the village lights shimmered faintly against the darkness, a few oil lamps burning in windows, faint sounds of laughter from the tavern, dogs barking distantly.
“It’s beautiful,” Shen Yuan said softly, hugging his knees. “I always wanted to see this. Father says the commoners’ homes are humble but full of warmth. Doesn’t it look warm?”
Warm.
Shen Jiu stared down at the crooked roofs, the faint smoke rising from cracked chimneys. Warmth. He remembered winter nights shivering beside a stable fire, praying no one would find him before dawn.
He swallowed the bitterness on his tongue. “…Sure.”
Shen Yuan tilted his head. “You don’t think so?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, young master.”
Shen Yuan frowned. “Why do you always call me that? You can just say my name.”
Shen Jiu gave a low laugh, humorless. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Shen Jiu said, looking at him in the dim light, “you can climb roofs for fun. I climb them to run.”
For the first time, Shen Yuan didn’t have a ready answer. His smile faltered, and in its place came something awkward—confusion, then pity.
Shen Jiu hated it.
Before Shen Yuan could speak again, he pushed to his feet. “We should go. You’ll catch a chill.”
“Wait—” Shen Yuan caught his sleeve again. “Thank you for helping me earlier. Everyone says you were brave.”
Shen Jiu didn’t turn around. “It wasn’t bravery.”
“What was it, then?”
He looked out at the dim village lights, thinking of hunger, of cold, of kindness that always came with a price.
“Instinct,” he said finally.
He didn’t see the look on Shen Yuan’s face then—hurt, uncertain, reaching for something he couldn’t quite grasp.
But he felt the boy’s hand loosen and fall away, and that, at least, was a kind of mercy.
~~~
The Shens leave tomorrow and Shen Jiu feels like an opportunity is slipping by.
He has yet to receive any more surprise gifts from Lady Shen and didn’t bother with his fantasies anymore.
The servants whispered over it fervently, “Oh no, little Shen Jiu isn’t the young master’s brother or anything. Lady Yuan didn’t bear twins—at least, that’s what she says. But if it were true, why would Shen Jiu be discarded and not the other? Most likely a coincidence.”
They weren’t brothers.
Their resemblance was fate taunting him. He didn’t know why it bothered with someone as low as him.
The night had settled quietly over the manor. Lanterns glowed softly in the corridors, and the laughter and chatter of the Shens had long since dwindled into polite conversation. Shen Jiu had completed his assigned duties: serving tea, clearing the last of the dinner plates, bowing precisely when demanded. And now he allowed himself to slump into the shadows, thinking his work done for the evening.
And when he allowed himself to fall back onto his bed, he hadn’t expected to land on Shen Yuan.
“What are you doing here?” Shen Jiu exclaimed, scrambling back against the wall.
“Sorry, I didn’t know when you would be back—” Shen Yuan sighed, rubbing at tired eyes. Once he got his bearings, that unbearable gleam of delight returned. “I waited for you because I have an idea! Something fun!”
Shen Jiu froze, suspicion prickling along his spine. “Fun?” he asked, his voice low, wary. “The manor is not safe for wandering.”
“Not dangerous,” Shen Yuan said firmly. “Just… pretend. Just for tonight. We’ll swap places.”
Shen Jiu blinked. “Swap… places?”
“Mhhmm!” Shen Yuan answered, then eagerly began removing his outer robes. Shen Jiu moved to stop him, but the boy seized his hands, surprisingly strong.
“You’re going to wear this,” Shen Yuan whispered. “I’ll take your servant’s clothes. Just for tonight.”
Shen Jiu resisted the impulse to snap. “Why?”
“Because… you want…,” Shen Yuan said simply, “… to be treated nicely.”
He said it so simply. As if one night was going to heal years of hurt; as if one night of warmth would make him forget what it meant to be cold.
And yet, Shen Yuan meant it earnestly.
“It’s fine…” Shen Jiu huffed. “You treat me…nicely.” He forced out the word as if it were poisonious. “Just go back to your mother.”
Shen Yuan slumped back onto the bed, his mouth drawn into a pout. Shen Jiu could never have imagined his face that way but here it was.
It was terribly effective too. Perhaps he should pout more often.
“Fine. But we’re trading back as soon as your mother goes to sleep.” Shen Jiu conceded, now fully engaged in trading their clothes. “What should I say about this…?” His hand gently ghosted over the bruise.
Shen Yuan frowned at it. “What happened?”
“I fell.”
“Then just say that. Mama will fawn over you. My brother always says she babies me too much so she’ll probably give you sweets.” Shen Yuan answered.
“You have a brother?” Shen Jiu asked. So did he. But he was never coming back.
“Yes, and a younger sister but they are with my baba. My mother and I had to wait to travel because I get sick often.” Shen Yuan explained, tying his new robes around him. Then, he scrunched his face up in distaste. “These are scratchy.”
“Yours are soft.” Shen Jiu noted, rubbing his fingers along the fabric.
“Didn’t mama order a new robe for you?” Shen Yuan exclaimed.
Shen Jiu shifted. “It hasn’t—managed to be delivered yet.”
This deeply offended the young lord. “I will make sure your robes are delivered by my servants personally. But tonight, just make sure to relay to me which story mama tells you. She likes to quiz me later.”
Shen Yuan stayed behind in his rooms, the safest place for him while assuming Shen Jiu’s identity.
The walk to Lady Shen’s chambers lengthened with every step—she’d find him out immediately. One wrong word, expression, or perhaps she’d know right away because her A-Yuan would never be so dirty and—
“Young master, why are you up so late?”
Shen Jiu jolted around, finding an old woman bearing down on him with a stern expression. “I’m…I wasn’t sleepy.”
“You know you’re not supposed to be wandering around. Have you even taken your medicine yet?” She asked. Shen Jiu shook his head, praying it was the right answer. “And what is this?” The old woman knelt down and gently touched the bruise on his cheek. “What have you been doing to acquire such a mark?”
“I…I fell down. I’m sorry.”
“Come with me, young master. I will take you to your mother’s chambers since you clearly won’t stay in your own.”
When they entered, Lady Shen was seated by the window, holding a book in her dainty hands. The moment she saw him, her eyes softened and her hand extended out. No one had ever looked at him like that.
“A-Yuan, why are you up?” She cooed.
The old woman took the initiative. “Said he wasn’t sleepy. And took a spill.”
Once she noticed the bruise, Lady Shen rushed over to them, her hands gently cupping the unmarred cheek and taking his hand with her other. “That looks bad, A-Yuan.”
It was bad, but it wasn’t from a fall. He wondered how she would react if Qiu Jianlao ever hit her real son. Would his dear baba raise his forces against the Qius and burn this horrid place to the ground?
“And he hasn’t taken his medicine.” The old woman tattled. Shen Jiu’s couldn’t resist the look of betrayal he gave her; it felt like something Shen Yuan would do anyway.
“Please bring us A-Yuan’s tea and medicine.” Lady Shen spoke, but considered it a bit longer. “And some sweets.” She dismissed the old woman and guided him to the duvet to sit with her.
When Shen Jiu broke the rules, he got a beating. When Shen Yuan broke the rules, he got sweets.
“Oh baobei, why do you insist on scaring me so?” Lady Shen whispered, pulling Shen Jiu close into her arms and laying his head into the crook of her shoulder.
Lady Shen smoothed the hair from his forehead, humming softly under her breath. The melody was gentle, lilting, and completely unlike anything Shen Jiu had ever heard in a room meant for sleep. His muscles, so often coiled with tension, betrayed him and relaxed against her warmth despite himself.
Once the tea arrived, she shifted to allow him to sit up, but not far from her reach.
“You must take your tea slowly,” she murmured, tilting the cup to his lips. The liquid was sweetened lightly with honey, the warmth seeping through him, a curious balm he couldn’t name.
Shen Jiu’s fingers hesitated around the porcelain, unused to being handled with such care rather than reprimand.
He wanted to tell her it was absurd—that he was not her son, that this comfort was alien, that every gentle gesture scraped against his scars instead of soothing them, but the words lodged in his throat. It was too warm, too quiet, too safe.
As Shen Jiu forced himself to slowly eat the sweets and not devour them, Lady Shen continued her doting. “Your hair…” Lady Shen’s hand drifted to the nape of his neck, adjusting the strands that had fallen out of place, “you always look so disheveled after play. Your mother insists on neatness.”
Shen Jiu’s chest tightened. Every word, every touch, pressed against a memory of hands that struck instead of soothed. He wanted to recoil, to pull away, to remember that this was not his life, but a small, almost imperceptible part of him clung to the safety like a sparrow seeking shelter from a storm.
“Time for your medicine,” she said, reaching for the small vial and spoon. “Don’t fuss. Just swallow, and then we’ll go to sleep.”
He obeyed, grimacing at the bitter taste, but she whispered softly, stroking his hair, murmuring little reassurances with every careful motion. Even the simple act of laying him down under the covers was foreign: gentle fingers pressing the quilt around him instead of yanking it aside, soft murmurs smoothing his fears.
Once he was tucked in, she sat at the edge of the bed, leaning slightly so her warmth enveloped him. “I will watch over you tonight, A-Yuan. You needn’t worry about a thing.”
“No story?” Shen Jiu dared to ask.
“Perhaps a song instead.” Lady Shen offered.
Shen Jiu stared up at the ceiling, struggling with a storm of conflicting emotions. This safety, this care, it was intoxicating. It was infuriating. It was impossible.
“You don’t understand,” he wanted to say. “I do not belong here. I—”
But he did not. Words would shatter the illusion. Words would bring him back to bruises and cold floors and Qiu Jianlao’s scowl. Words would make her frown in disappointment at her precious son’s behavior.
So he stayed silent. And she sang.
The lullaby carried the weight of tenderness and patience, weaving around his aches and his fears, and Shen Jiu, despite himself, felt his body sink deeper into the warmth, his eyelids heavy.
It was so unfair that Shen Yuan lived this life.
Why should he play fair?
~~~
Shen Yuan blinked against the pale morning light filtering through the shutters. The familiar scent of cold stone and worn linens greeted him—Shen Jiu’s room. It was smaller, far less adorned than his own chambers… it felt heavier, narrower, suffocating.
It was odd waking up alone without a servant or his mother’s attention, but that was only for this morning.
He just needed to wait for Shen Jiu to come back.
And he waited.
He waited until an older man barreled inside and wrenched him up by the front of his robes. “What are you still doing in here? Sleeping the day away?!”
“What are you doing?” Shen Yuan screeched.
“You completely missed the Shen family’s departure.” The old man jeered. “And here you were thinking you were so high and mighty for saving the young master. But now you’re back where you were.”
“What—what do you mean the Shens are gone? I’m right here!” Shen Yuan cried, now wriggling to free himself but the man slammed him back into the wall. Shen Yuan wailed as the back of his head blossomed with pain and stars danced in his eyes.
“Oh, did you think the young master was going to take you with him?” The old man laughed. “You might look similar, but you’re not like him. You’re nothing but a filthy rat that good master Qiu took pity on. You’re already so high and mighty because the lady doted on you and now you want to run off? Disloyal dog!”
The man threw Shen Yuan onto the floor and stormed off into the corridor. “Get to work!”
Shen Yuan lay on the cold floor, trembling, his robes rumpled and dusty. His chest heaved, eyes wide, heart hammering in disbelief. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real.
‘It’s…fine. I’ll just tell Lord Qiu what happened. He’ll take me back. Shen Jiu probably…was asleep. He’s probably waking up right now and telling mama that it was a mistake.’
Shen Yuan broke into a sprint, barreling past the other servants who all cursed and shoved him. Why were they being so ugly to him? He was just trying to get by.
Once he reached Qiu Jianlao’s study, he rushed inside and smiled brightly at the sight of him. He didn’t particularly like Qiu Jianlao, too boring and oily for his liking, but he would be able to sort this out.
“Lord Qiu, there has been a great misunderstanding. I slept too late and mama left without me—”
Qiu Jianlao’s hand cracked across his face so hard that his head snapped to the other side and sent him sprawling across the floor. His ears rang from the impact and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
“Have you lost your mind, Shen Jiu?” Qiu Jianlao cackled. “You think you’re his son because of a slight resemblance to Young Master Shen?”
Shen Yuan was reeling. Why—why would he hit Shen Jiu like this? He didn’t do anything wrong.
“No, I’m not Shen Jiu. I’m Shen Yuan—Ah!” Another slap but now to his unmarred cheek.
“Now this is a con I’ve never seen you try. Want to run off and play lordling?” Qiu Jianlao scoffed.
Shen Yuan scrambled backward on the polished floor, his knees scraping against the cold wood, chest heaving. His hands went up instinctively to guard his face, but it didn’t matter. The next strike landed across his shoulder, not leaving a mark but burning with humiliation.
“I—” Shen Yuan choked, trying to find words that would make Qiu Jianlao see reason, “I—this isn’t a trick! Shen Jiu, he took my place, my mother left with him!”
Qiu Jianlao’s oily smile widened, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. “Ha! So the little rat thinks he can step into a master’s shoes? You think I’ll believe that? Your tongue is fast, but your face tells the truth: you are mine!”
Shen Yuan’s stomach twisted. Every ounce of his upbringing, every lesson about patience, honor, and propriety, crumbled under the sting of Qiu Jianlao’s laughter. He was the real son, the rightful young lord, and yet here he was, beaten, dismissed—powerless.
“Do you think your tricks can save you from your place, boy?” Qiu Jianlao leaned closer, letting the shadows of the study swallow him. “You may fool some servants, but not me. Not ever.”
“You—You cannot do this!” Shen Yuan managed to choke out, his voice trembling, not just from fear but from outrage. “I am Lord Shen Yuan! You will not treat me like this!”
Qiu Jianlao’s laugh echoed through the study, rich and mocking. “Lord Shen Yuan? You may dream it, boy, but here, you are nothing.”
Shen Yuan pressed himself into the corner, mind racing. Every instinct screamed at him to flee, to strike back, to call for his mother, but all he could do was endure.
There had been only one time in his life his actions warranted a beating.
He and his little sister snuck out of their home, intent on finding a spiritual beast the servant children had been whispering about. Their fun was disrupted when his sister slipped into the river. If their older brother had not been secretly following them, she would have drowned.
Shen Yuan had never seen his baba so angry with him. He declared Shen Yuan would receive ten strikes and have to kneel until dinner. It seemed so harsh at the time.
But now—as Qiu Jianlao rained blow after blow, kick after kick—Shen Yuan understood the world better. He knew Shen Jiu better than he ever had.
Once Qiu Jianlao’s anger was satiated, Shen Yuan was left a sobbing mess on the floor. His ribs ached, his lip was split, and his ankle had made a sickening crunch when Qiu Jianlao stomped on it.
“Honestly, just a little bit of kindness from that woman has reduced you to this weak mess?” Qiu Jianlao scoffed, hauling Shen Yuan up by his arm. “Back where we started. You need a reeducation.”
Shen Yuan was thrown into a tiny room, no windows but on the perimeter of the house as sunlight peaked in through the cracks. The door clinked shut with the heavy weight of a knock.
He managed to drag himself over to the wall and fall limp against it—and cried. He wanted his mama, baba, gege, meimei—anyone. Why wasn’t she back? Had Shen Jiu—lied?
Shen Yuan’s hands drifted along the rotting wooden planks until they found an uneven ridge. Buried under the grime, there were characters carved there.
‘Shen Jiu.’
‘Qi-ge.’ And markings followed the second name as if Shen Jiu were counting.
He’d been locked in here once before.
Now he was with mama—and Shen Yuan was here.
When night settled in, it brought a frigid breeze. Shen Yuan prayed for warmth.