Chapter 6: Seeing Shen Zhuang Again

The moment Zhang Ru and the others left, Fang Mei belatedly caught on. She frowned, studying Jiang Huashan. "Shanshan? What's wrong with you?"

Jiang Huashan didn't even register her mother's existence. She lifted her gaze and took in her surroundings with careful attention.

Twelve Flower Deity panels in carved rosewood. Light and shadow falling just so, the floral patterns casting themselves into paintings across the floor. A hall so vaulted and expansive it seemed to breathe. High above, an enormous glazed skylight poured down a cascade of light like liquid gold... This was the kind of weight only a centuries-old dynasty family could carry — the aura of it like dust motes floating in sunlit pages of an ancient book. So real it made her fingertips tingle.

This was the main hall of Shen Garden.

"Shanshan, you—" Fang Mei, displeased at being ignored, was about to speak when a figure ascended from the floor below.

Fang Mei immediately composed herself and greeted him with a smile. "Steward Shen."

Shen Zhi was the head steward of the Shen estate. He'd served the Shen family for forty years; every word and gesture he spoke carried the weight of the old master's authority. Even Fang Mei wouldn't risk crossing him.

"Madam, the old master has heard about the incident in the front hall. He's asked for Miss Jiang to come see him." Shen Zhi's gaze settled on Jiang Huashan.

Grandfather?!

Jiang Huashan's breath caught.

"Steward Shen, Shanshan's been frightened out of her wits too. Could she have a couple of minutes to collect herself? Let her calm down before she sees the old master?"

The matter of pushing Fu Suier down the stairs could be blown up or brushed aside — it all depended on how it was handled. Fang Mei needed to coach Jiang Huashan carefully, make sure she didn't say the wrong thing and displease the old master.

Shen Zhi looked at Jiang Huashan. Seeing her unfocused gaze and unsteady expression, he gave a reluctant nod. "Don't keep the old master waiting too long, Mrs. Jiang." He turned to leave.

"Wait."

Jiang Huashan caught the hem of his jacket. "I want to see Grandfather right now."

Fang Mei froze, her face turning ugly. What was wrong with this brat? Defying her again and again today — what had gotten into her?

Shen Zhi was mildly surprised. He stole another glance at Jiang Huashan. This Miss Jiang had always hung on her mother's every word — the old master came second to Fang Mei, always. What had changed today?

The smile on Fang Mei's lips stiffened, but with Shen Zhi right there, she couldn't very well say anything. She played the tender mother, smoothing Jiang Huashan's bangs. "Shanshan, when you see Grandfather in a moment, you—"

Before she could finish, Jiang Huashan swatted her hand away, turned her body aside, and looked at Shen Zhi. "Let's go." Then, without waiting for him, she headed straight for the stairs.

Fang Mei stared at her empty hand, eyes full of bewilderment.

"Mommy..." Once the two were well out of earshot, a small girl in a frilly dress stepped out from the corner.

Fang Mei beckoned her over, her eyes softening with doting affection. "Why are you out here? Didn't I tell you to wait in your room for news?"

The girl hugged Fang Mei's arm, clinging to her. "Mommy, Sis looked really, really mad. Do you think she'll tell Grandfather that the only reason she accidentally pushed Fu Suier down the stairs was because of me?"

"Shh!" Fang Mei's expression shifted. She clamped a hand over her younger daughter's mouth. "You listen to me. This was your sister's doing. Only your sister's. That's all there is to it."

Fu Suier was a young miss of the Shen family — a blood relation. If the old master found out it was Jiang Wanyi who'd pushed her, he might fly into a rage and throw them all out of Shen Garden. But if it was Jiang Huashan... at worst, she'd get a scolding.

Jiang Wanyi smiled, sweet and obedient. "Okay, Mommy."

Shen Estate comprised one grand garden and eight courtyards. Qin Court was the primary residence — the largest of them all. The old master loved Chinese classical arts, so Qin Court was built not just with pavilions and corridors, but with floral halls overlooking water, tea rooms beside rain pavilions — a living scroll of mountains and streams.

Passing through the floral hall, a few threads of daylight filtered through the sparse window lattice and fell across a rosewood console table. Dust motes danced in the beams. The air held the familiar fragrance of aged wood and blossoms. In the courtyard, an elderly man in a traditional Tang jacket stood bent over a Wei Purple peony, silver at his temples but vigorous and upright, holding a pair of pruning shears. Hearing footsteps behind him, he set the shears down at once and turned.

An April breeze drifted through, rippling the still surface of the lake deep in Jiang Huashan's heart. Her expression went slack with wonder.

It was the kindly old man from her memories.

The grandfather who had treasured her like a jewel in his palm.

"Grandfather."

In that moment, she could hold back no longer. Her voice cracking, she ran to Shen Zhuang.