The changes did not arrive with announcement or ceremony.
They came quietly, in ways that only someone accustomed to being ignored would notice.
Shen Qingyu realized it the next morning, when her medicine arrived warm instead of lukewarm. The bowl was clean, the herbs freshly prepared, their scent sharper and more balanced than before. She examined it for a moment, then drank without hesitation.
It tasted different.
Not sweeter—but clearer.
Physician Xu Wenren's hand was evident in the change.
Her meals followed the same pattern. The porridge was thicker, the vegetables better cooked. Portions were not larger, but they were thoughtful, measured to nourish rather than merely sustain. No one explained the adjustments. No one needed to.
Someone was paying attention now.
Shen Qingyu did not allow herself to relax.
Attention was a double-edged blade in the general's residence. It could protect, but it could also invite scrutiny—and resentment.
That afternoon, as she rested by the window, Maid Chunhua entered with fresh water. The girl's posture was noticeably more careful than before, her movements slower, her head bowed slightly lower.
"Miss Qingyu," Chunhua said softly, using her name instead of the impersonal title.
Shen Qingyu looked up.
"Yes?"
"The steward said… if you require anything, I am to report it immediately."
A simple sentence. A significant shift.
"I understand," Shen Qingyu replied calmly.
Chunhua hesitated, then added, "Physician Xu will return in three days."
"Thank you."
When the maid left, Shen Qingyu leaned back against the chair, exhaling slowly. The faint warmth within her body stirred again, more responsive than it had been before, as if encouraged by proper care rather than dulled by neglect.
She closed her eyes and focused on breathing.
In.
Out.
Pain surfaced briefly as the blocked channels resisted circulation, a dull ache spreading along her chest and arms. She stopped immediately, refusing to force progress.
Slowly, she reminded herself. If I rush, I lose everything.
Outside, the sounds of the courtyard drifted faintly through the window. Training continued as it always had. Her siblings moved forward along paths laid for them since childhood.
She was not walking beside them.
Yet for the first time, she did not feel left behind.
That evening, footsteps paused outside her door once more. A shadow lingered beneath the frame—longer this time.
Still, no knock came.
Shen Qingyu opened her eyes, gaze steady.
Whether her father chose to enter or not no longer defined her existence.
She had secured something far more important than recognition.
She had secured time—and with it, the possibility of change.