The courtyard was alive with morning frost, and Li Yun's breath curled in the air like smoke. The servants whispered as he passed, their eyes darting like minnows in still water.
He ignored them.
He had no interest in gossip—or at least that's what he told himself.
His feet led him to the rear training field. The place hadn't changed. The stone dummies were still cracked from decades of cultivation practice, and the bamboo fence still swayed in the wind. But the figure waiting there was a surprise.
Lady Shen.
She wore a deep blue robe today, her long sleeves tucked up as she held a wooden staff in both hands. Her hair was tied in a simple knot. Practical. Out of place. Almost… youthful.
"You train here?" Yun asked, brows raised.
"I used to," she replied, twirling the staff once before planting it into the ground. "Before I became a Lady."
Yun tilted his head. "And now you're what? A warrior in disguise?"
"Once a cultivator, always one," she said calmly. "Just because I wear silks doesn't mean I've forgotten how to fight."
A pause passed between them. The wind tugged at the loose strands of her hair.
"Would you like to spar?" she asked.
He blinked. "With you?"
"Scared?"
He scoffed. "No. Just… confused."
She threw him a staff. He caught it, instinctively feeling the weight in his hand.
"Don't hold back," she said, her lips curling faintly. "I won't."
Their first exchange was simple. He lunged, she blocked. He spun, she ducked. There was no tension in her movements—just grace. Controlled power.
Yun increased the pace, feet moving across the frost-covered ground. He struck high, then low, trying to push her back. But she parried everything.
And then—she swept his feet out from under him.
He landed on his back with a grunt, the wind knocked from his chest.
Lady Shen stepped over him, eyes glinting with quiet amusement.
"Still a little slow," she said, extending a hand.
Yun stared up at her. The way the sunlight caught her cheekbones… the slight smile tugging at her lips… She looked nothing like a stepmother. Not like a mother at all.
He took her hand, and for a moment—just a moment—he felt something shift in the air.
Warmth. Tension. Something unnamed.
She helped him to his feet, her fingers lingering a second too long before letting go.
He quickly looked away.
"You learned that move from which sect?" he asked, brushing snow from his robe.
"The Azure Wing Pavilion," she answered. "Before I married your father."
"That's a top-tier school," he said, frowning. "Why did you…?"
"Why did I give it up to become a wife?" she asked, finishing the thought.
He nodded.
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she walked to the side, picked up a flask, and poured herself a small cup of tea.
"Not all choices are made with the future in mind, Yun'er," she said quietly. "Some are made to bury the past."
That cryptic line echoed in his mind as he followed her gaze.
"Your past," he said slowly. "Or my mother's?"
Her eyes turned sharp for a heartbeat. But then, as quickly as it came, the moment passed.
"You ask too much," she said, setting the cup down.
"And you say too little," he replied.
They stood there, the morning stretching thin between them. Yun wasn't sure if it was the fight or the words that had left him more breathless.
Finally, Lady Shen stepped back.
"I'll be overseeing the monthly offering rites at the ancestral shrine today," she said. "You may join if you wish. Your name is still listed."
He didn't respond.
She turned to leave, but at the threshold, she paused.
"Don't underestimate me, Yun," she said softly, her back to him. "I may have become your father's wife, but I never stopped being myself."
Then she walked away, robes trailing behind like shadows in the snow.
Later that afternoon, Yun found himself standing at the edge of the ancestral shrine. Incense smoke drifted in long trails above the altars. The names of dozens of Li ancestors were etched in stone tablets—stoic, impassive.
Lady Shen knelt alone before the altar, her back straight, her hands folded.
He didn't interrupt.
Instead, he watched.
And for the first time, he wondered:
Who are you really, Shen Lihua?
His stepmother.
His father's widow.
And maybe—just maybe—someone who held more secrets than this manor had walls.