it was a wednesday like any other, and you had decided to go along with chris to his shift at the garage. you were sitting on his workbench with your feet kicked up, leaning against the wall next to it, as he stood hunched over the engine of a car nearby.
the other guys that worked in the garage frequently passed by, and now a few of them had stopped to speak to you and chris while they had a free moment.
they were mostly speaking to you, though. they often went on about how much they appreciated your presence at the garage, but now it was starting to veer into unfamiliar territory for you, with continued comments on how charming and cute you were, how they wanted to see your face around here more often.
you knew it was harmless teasing, that they'd never try to make a pass at you in earnest, especially not with chris watching. but it still made you slightly flustered, so you reached up to twirl a piece of your hair between your fingers, a habit you had had since childhood that always calmed you down. you occasionally glanced over at chris, trying to hint for him to join in the conversation so you didn't feel like so much of the attention was focused on you.
what you didn't notice was the way chris was watching you, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed as they flitted between your hand playing with your hair and your doe eyes as you looked up at the guys. you lifted your knees up a little, giving chris a direct view of your panties beneath your dress, and he had no doubt the others could catch a glimpse, too. but what pissed him off most was the way you kept looking back at him, as if making sure he was seeing this bullshit.
after a minute or so more, he spat out the toothpick he was idly chewing on and dragged you by your wrist to get up off the table.
you barely had time to realise you were on your feet before chris was tugging you out the garage entrance and down the street to nancy's house.
"chris, what's going on?" you asked, entirely baffled and pulling back in an attempt to resist his driving pace.
he charged on in silence. once you were home, he dragged you past the living room where nancy was sitting in front of the blaring tv, completely oblivious to the fact that you had even entered the house. chris brought you straight down into the basement.
he locked the door behind you and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. his silence was getting unnerving, so you took the opportunity to try and get some answers out of him.
“chris, are you upset with me? i don't understand what's—”
“come here.” his voice was calm, too calm for his behaviour moments earlier, and it only served to make you extremely uneasy as you stepped forward to stand in front of him.
you let out a yelp of surprise as chris gripped your hips and bent you over his lap in one swift motion.
"think you're funny, huh?" chris drawled as he flipped your dress up to expose your ass. "flirtin’ with the guys in front of me like i'm fucking blind? showin’ them your fucking panties like a little slut?"
you immediately felt your cheeks burning. was that really how it looked? could chris not tell how flustered you were, how you were silently praying for him to intervene?
your thoughts were interrupted by a harsh smack. you screamed, mostly from the sudden shock, and tried to squirm away, but chris pressed his free hand on the small of your back to keep you down.
"who do you think i am, huh?" another smack.
"chris, i swear i wasn't—"
you were cut off by another smack. chris laughed, but there was no humour behind it. "nah, way too late for excuses now. gotta take what's comin', doll."
you had no choice but to stifle your screams and protests as chris continued with your punishment, spanking you with a firm palm until your butt was raw and throbbing. he squeezed and rubbed the tender skin every now and again in a half-hearted attempt to soothe you.
you didn’t know how to react — you knew chris was trying to punish you, to teach you a lesson, and even though you knew you were innocent, you couldn’t ignore some part of you that… enjoyed it? no, that couldn’t be. enjoyed wasn’t the right word. it just had you whining and squirming beneath him, your pussy twitching and aching for a redirection of his attention. that was all.
once chris was satisfied with his work, he tugged your panties down to your mid thighs and spread your legs slightly, giving him just enough space to drag his fingers through your soaked folds.
"she's wet for me, baby. don't tell me you liked gettin' put in your place like that."
you couldn't speak, only letting out small gasps as chris continued gathering your slick on his fingers.
"filthy girl." he gave one last smack, this time to your pussy, causing you to gasp and jolt forwards.
chris pushed you off his lap, leaving you standing in front of him all sore and confused, your legs trembling. he mocked your bewildered expression. "what? don't tell me you thought you were getting something out of this? thought i'd be takin' care of you after all that?"
you couldn't fight the tears that started to well in your eyes. "chris, please... i promise i wasn't flirting— i just didn't know how to react… wanted you to say something…"
you tried to bend to his level and wrap your arms around his shoulders, only to be pushed back by a firm hand. you gasped as his coldness, and now you really couldn't hold back your tears.
he hated to admit it, but seeing you sob before him was really tugging on chris's heartstrings. he couldn't watch you for too long before sighing in resignation and patting his thigh. "come sit."
you immediately stepped forward and perched yourself on his knee, hiding your face in his neck as you continued to sniffle and whimper. chris let out an exaggerated sigh and rubbed a slow hand up and down your back. "what are you crying for? y'really wanna get off that badly?"
when he felt you nod against his neck, he continued. "go on, then."
it took you a second to realise what chris wanted you to do, but as soon as you connected the dots, you started to rut your bare pussy against his thigh, relishing the feeling of the rough denim of his jeans against your skin.
soon your little cries turned to moans, and you were gripping on to chris's shoulders for support as you picked up the pace.
chris had his chin resting on your shoulder and his hand planted on your back under the guise of offering you comfort, but really he was watching the movements of your ass as you shifted back and forth on his thigh. the way your dress was hiked around your waist was giving him the perfect view of you, and he started to grope at fleshy fistfuls of your ass, suddenly finding himself feeling greedy and desperate to have his hands on you. he could feel his cock hardening in his jeans.
you were far too preoccupied to notice any of that, pressing yourself down harder on his thigh, rocking your hips with increasing speed until you reached your peak, soaking his jeans with the evidence of your pleasure as your loud, desperate whines filled his ears.
chris could feel the liquid of your release seep through to his thigh. he let out a guttural groan and spanked your ass one last time as he felt his cum spilling out into his boxers. untouched.
he gasped as the hot, sticky ropes soaked his underwear. this had never happened to him before. you sat up to see his flushed cheeks and gaping mouth, his chest rising and falling erratically fast.
Warning : psychological abuse, emotional neglect, family conflict, public shaming, false accusations, intense grief and mourning themes, death of a character, childbirth-related tragedy, isolation, betrayal, gaslighting themes, strong emotional distress, angst-heavy narratives.
Synopsis : in the late 1990s Taipei royal household, reputation is everything and truth is rarely spoken aloud. the Lin and Zhao families are bound by tradition, status, and carefully arranged expectations. One daughter is praised for her grace and perfection, while the other is quietly reduced to an afterthought present, but never truly seen. within the palace walls, love is displayed like ceremony and duty is mistaken for devotion. every smile is observed, every silence is judged, and every rumor becomes something heavier than truth. when an irreversible tragedy strikes, the balance of the household fractures. grief does not remain private. it spreads, reshaping loyalty, memory, and belief itself. In a place where appearances decide innocence, one person becomes the center of a story she never chose.
reblog to get your ass eaten for a week.
PART TWO
1996, Taipei Royal Residence
Morning in Taipei arrived softly, like it always did, with pale sunlight slipping through carved wooden screens and settling across the polished stone floors of the royal residence. The palace stood quiet yet alive, its walls carrying whispers of routine and expectation. Servants moved in practiced silence, their footsteps light, their voices lower than the wind that stirred the hanging lanterns in the courtyard. Everything had its place here. Everything had its rhythm.
And everyone had their role.
Before you were even seen, you were already being spoken about.
“The second miss woke late again.”
“Ai yo, she never learns.”
“Nothing like the eldest miss. That one is truly obedient.”
Their voices blended into the morning air as naturally as birdsong. No hesitation. No doubt. Just certainty. The kind that did not need proof.
You had not even stepped into the courtyard yet.
When you finally did, the atmosphere did not shift dramatically. No one gasped. No one fell silent out of respect. Instead, there was a subtle tightening, a quiet awareness. Heads lowered, but not in admiration. More like caution. As if your presence required careful handling.
Your steps were unhurried, though your expression carried its usual edge. Not anger, not exactly. Something sharper. Something people preferred to label instead of understand.
A servant hurried past you with a tray, her hands slightly trembling. The porcelain cups rattled softly against one another. Just as she passed, someone called her name from behind, and she turned too quickly. The tray tilted. A cup slipped. It shattered against the stone near your feet.
The sound cut clean through the morning.
She froze immediately, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between apology and fear. Then she dropped to her knees.
“Duibuqi, second miss. I am sorry. I am so sorry.”
You looked down at the broken pieces, then at her. Your brows knit together, irritation flickering across your face before you could stop it.
“Watch where you are going,” you said.
Your voice was not loud. It did not need to be.
But it was enough.
The servant bowed lower, her forehead nearly touching the ground. “Yes, second miss. I will be more careful.”
Behind you, the whispers had already begun again, quieter this time, but sharper.
“See, she gets angry so easily.”
“Always like this.”
“So difficult.”
You did not turn back to look at them. You already knew the expressions they wore. Pity mixed with disapproval. Judgment wrapped in politeness.
Across the courtyard, laughter rose, soft and bright, like a completely different world existing just a few steps away.
Your gaze shifted without meaning to.
There she was.
Your sister stood beneath the shade of a flowering tree, sunlight catching gently in her hair. Everything about her seemed to belong perfectly to this place. The way she held herself, the way she smiled, the way people naturally gravitated toward her as if drawn by something warm and steady.
And beside her stood Zhao Yufan.
He was composed in the way people expected of him, posture straight, expression calm, yet softened in her presence. His hand lifted briefly to adjust the sleeve of her hanfu, the motion careful, almost instinctive. She laughed at something he said, her voice light, unguarded.
They did not need to try.
That was what made it unbearable.
“They are truly well matched,” someone murmured nearby.
“A perfect pair.”
You looked away before the scene could settle any deeper into your chest. There was no use staring at something that was never meant to include you.
The dining hall was already prepared when you entered later that morning. The long table stretched across the room, its arrangement precise, every seat assigned according to importance that had long been decided.
Your father sat at the head, his presence commanding without effort. Your mother beside him, elegant and composed, her gaze sharp enough to notice every detail that fell out of place. Your sister sat close to them, naturally, as if there had never been any other arrangement possible.
Your seat was further down.
Not at the very end. Not completely removed.
Just far enough to remind you where you stood.
You took your place quietly. No one acknowledged your arrival.
Tea was being poured.
Your sister’s movements were fluid, practiced to perfection. She lifted the teapot with steady hands, pouring into each cup with care and precision. Not a single drop spilled. Not a single motion wasted.
Your mother watched with approval. “You have improved again.”
Your father gave a small nod. “Discipline shows in the smallest actions.”
Your sister lowered her gaze modestly. “Thank you.”
Then, as if it were inevitable, their attention shifted.
“And you,” your father said without looking directly at you.
You paused, fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table.
“Yes.”
“Have you completed your studies for this morning.”
You opened your mouth to answer, but a servant spoke first, her voice careful.
“Second miss woke later than usual today.”
The words hung in the air.
Your mother sighed softly, disappointment woven neatly into the sound. “Again.”
You felt something sharp press against your ribs, but your expression remained unchanged.
“I will complete them,” you said.
Your father finally looked at you then. Not with anger. Not even with frustration.
Something worse.
Expectation already abandoned.
“You should learn from your sister.”
Of course.
You reached for the teapot when it was passed down the table. For a moment, you considered not taking it at all. But that would only confirm what they already believed.
So you poured.
Your hand was steady, but not perfect. A slight miscalculation, a fraction too slow in adjusting the tilt, and a thin line of tea slipped over the edge of the cup.
It was nothing.
Barely noticeable. But it was enough.
Your mother’s gaze sharpened immediately. “Even this, you cannot do properly.”
You set the teapot down carefully. “It was just a little—”
“Excuses,” your father cut in.
Silence followed.
No one defended you. No one questioned it.
Across the table, your sister’s expression shifted, concern flickering briefly in her eyes. But she said nothing. Not because she did not care.
Because she did not know how to bridge a gap she had never experienced.
The rest of the meal passed with conversation that did not include you. Plans were discussed. Expectations were set. Your sister responded with grace, her voice calm, her answers always correct.
You finished your meal quietly and left before you were dismissed.
No one stopped you.
The corridors outside felt cooler, the air less suffocating. You walked without direction at first, letting your steps carry you away from the weight of the dining hall.
Servants passed you, bowing quickly, their eyes avoiding yours.
Somewhere along the way, you heard it again.
“The second miss.”
“Troublesome.”
“She argued with the tutors yesterday, did you hear.”
“I am not surprised.”
You kept walking.
There was no point correcting them. Even if you did, they would not believe you. Even if they believed you, it would not matter.
By the time you reached the outer gardens, the noise of the palace had softened into something distant. The air here felt different. Less controlled. The scent of flowers stronger, the breeze less restrained by walls and expectations.
You stopped near a stone path, staring down at the uneven patterns beneath your feet.
“Why do you always make things harder for yourself.”
Her voice was gentle. Of course it was.
You did not turn immediately. You already knew who it was.
Your sister stepped beside you, her presence warm in a way that should have been comforting.
“Everyone is concerned,” she continued softly. “You do not need to argue with them all the time.”
You let out a quiet breath. “I am not arguing.”
“They say you are.”
You turned to look at her then, something sharp flickering in your eyes. “And you believe them.”
She hesitated. That was answer enough.
“I just think,” she said carefully, “if you tried a little more, things would be easier.”
You laughed, though there was no humor in it. “For who.”
“For you.”
You shook your head. “You would not understand.”
“Then explain it to me.”
Her voice carried genuine concern, and for a moment, something inside you wavered. The urge to say something real, something honest, rose quietly beneath everything else.
But it faded just as quickly.
“What is the point,” you said.
She fell silent.
There were no words she could offer that would change anything. Not really.
After a moment, she reached out, her hand brushing lightly against your sleeve. “I only want things to be better for you.”
You pulled your arm back before you could stop yourself.
Her hand lingered in the air for a second before she lowered it.
“I know,” you said, though it came out flat, distant.
Because you did know.
And that made it worse.
By evening, the palace had transformed again. Lanterns were lit one by one, their glow casting soft light across the courtyards and corridors. The air cooled, carrying with it the quiet hum of night settling in.
From your room, you could see part of the outer walkway.
You had not meant to look.
But you did. They were there again.
Your sister and Zhao Yufan walked side by side beneath the lanterns, their steps slow, unhurried. They were not speaking much, but they did not need to. The silence between them was comfortable, filled rather than empty.
At one point, she said something that made him pause, a faint smile touching his lips before he responded. She laughed softly, the sound carrying just enough to reach you.
It looked effortless.
You watched for longer than you should have.
Long enough for something unfamiliar to twist quietly in your chest.
Not anger. Not exactly. Something heavier. Something you refused to name.
When they finally disappeared from view, the courtyard felt colder.
You remained by the window, the moonlight slipping across your face, pale and distant.
“If they have already decided who I am,” you murmured softly, your voice barely audible even to yourself, “then what is the point of proving them wrong.”
The night did not answer. It never did.
And somewhere within the palace walls, life continued exactly as it always had.
Perfect for some. Unforgiving for others.
The days that followed moved with a kind of quiet certainty, as if everything within the palace had already been decided long before anyone spoke it aloud. Routines deepened, expectations sharpened, and attention narrowed itself around a single center.
Your sister.
Her name carried through the halls now with even more weight.
Lin Meiyu.
It suited her. Soft, elegant, easy to praise.
“Meiyu did this.”
“Meiyu handled that.”
“Meiyu never disappoints.”
Even the way people said her name felt different from the way they said yours.
Hers was spoken with warmth.
Yours was spoken with caution.
Or not at all.
By midmorning, the courtyard had already begun to fill with activity. Servants moved in and out with fabrics, trays, documents, and sealed letters. The atmosphere was not frantic, but it was charged, like something important was approaching and everyone could feel it.
You leaned against one of the wooden pillars in the outer corridor, watching without really watching. No one stopped you. No one asked why you were there.
They rarely did.
Across the courtyard, Meiyu stood with a small group of attendants, reviewing something laid out before her. Silk fabrics in soft tones were draped over a low table, each one more delicate than the last. Her fingers brushed lightly over them as she listened, nodding occasionally, asking quiet questions.
She looked… comfortable.
Not just in the moment, but in her place within it.
A servant approached her with a respectful bow. “Miss, the young master has arrived.”
A faint change crossed her expression. Not surprise. Not nervousness.
Something gentler.
You did not need to look to know who they meant.
Still, your gaze shifted.
Zhao Yufan entered the courtyard with the same composed presence he always carried. There was nothing overly grand about the way he walked, yet people made space for him without being told. Respect followed him naturally, like a shadow.
He stopped a short distance from Meiyu, offering a slight nod. She returned it, though her lips curved into a small smile that softened the formality of the gesture.
“You came early again,” she said.
His voice was low, steady. “There were matters to discuss with your father.”
“And you chose to come here first.”
A pause.
Then, quieter, “Yes.”
There was no embarrassment in his tone. No attempt to deny it.
Meiyu lowered her gaze briefly, though the faint color in her cheeks gave her away.
You looked away before the moment could settle further.
Their conversations were never loud, never meant for others to hear. Yet somehow, they always felt more present than anything else around them.
“Zhen de hen pei,” someone whispered nearby.
“They suit each other so well.”
Of course they did.
Later, inside one of the inner halls, preparations had shifted from fabrics to something more formal. Documents were being arranged carefully across a long table. Seals, brushes, and ink were placed with precision.
You lingered near the entrance, just far enough not to be immediately noticed. Or perhaps you were noticed, and simply not acknowledged.
Your father stood at the center, speaking with a group of officials. His tone was measured, authoritative.
“The arrangements have been discussed thoroughly,” he said. “There should be no further delay.”
One of the officials nodded. “The Zhao family has expressed their full agreement.”
Another added, “The union will strengthen both sides significantly.”
Union. Agreement. Strength.
The words felt heavy, deliberate.
Not a single one mentioned love.
Your mother stood beside them, her posture as composed as ever. “Meiyu has been prepared for this role her entire life. There will be no issue.”
You felt something tighten in your chest, though your face remained unchanged.
Across the room, Yufan stood with his own family representatives. He listened more than he spoke, his expression unreadable but attentive. When addressed directly, his answers were clear, respectful.
Responsible. Reliable.
Everything they wanted him to be.
“He is only twenty,” one of the older officials remarked, not critically, but thoughtfully. “Yet he carries himself well.”
Your father gave a short nod. “Age does not determine capability. Discipline does.”
Another voice, quieter but still audible, followed. “Marriage will only solidify that. With the eldest miss by his side, managing the palace will not be difficult.”
There was a pause.
Then, almost as an afterthought, “Do you believe he is ready to take on such responsibility so soon.”
Yufan spoke before anyone else could answer.
“I will fulfill what is required of me.”
The kind of answer that satisfied everyone in the room.
Your father seemed pleased. “Good.”
A decision sealed not with emotion, but with expectation.
You shifted slightly, your hand brushing against the edge of a nearby table. One of the documents slid just enough to misalign the careful arrangement.
A small thing. Easily fixable.
But in a room like this, even small things were noticed.
A servant stepped forward quickly, adjusting the paper, though her eyes flickered toward you for just a moment too long.
It was enough. Whispers did not begin immediately.
By the time you left the hall, the tone of the palace had already begun to shift.
“Did you hear?”
“The engagement is being announced.”
“It is official now.”
“Of course it is. It was always going to happen.”
“And the second miss…”
A pause.
Then, quieter, but sharper.
“She looked displeased.”
“Jealous, maybe.”
“Ai yo, it is obvious, is it not.”
You kept walking.
Your steps were steady, your expression unchanged, but the words followed you anyway.
Jealous.
The courtyard was more crowded than usual by the afternoon. Servants moved with greater urgency, decorations beginning to appear in subtle ways. Red accents. Gold details. Nothing overwhelming yet, but enough to signal what was coming.
An announcement. A celebration. A future already being built.
You had not intended to go there again.
But you did. Maybe out of habit. Maybe out of something else you refused to name.
Meiyu stood near the center this time, surrounded by attendants adjusting the layers of her clothing. The colors were softer than the bold reds that would come later, but even now, she looked… radiant.
Someone laughed lightly. “The young master will not be able to take his eyes off you.”
Meiyu smiled, though she shook her head slightly. “Do not say things like that.”
“They are true.”
You turned to leave.
A servant carrying a tray of porcelain teacups moved quickly around the corner, not seeing you until it was too late. You stepped back instinctively, but your sleeve caught against the edge of the tray.
The entire thing tipped.
The sound of porcelain shattering against stone echoed far louder than it should have.
Every eye turned toward you.
The servant dropped to her knees immediately, trembling. “Duibuqi, duibuqi—”
But no one was looking at her. They were looking at you.
Your hand lowered slowly, the fabric of your sleeve still swaying slightly from the sudden motion.
“I did not—”
Your mother stepped forward, her expression tight, controlled, but unmistakably displeased. “What are you doing.”
“It was an accident,” you said.
Your father’s gaze hardened. “An accident that always seems to follow you.”
You clenched your jaw slightly. “I did not do it on purpose.”
“No one said you did,” your mother replied. “But intention does not erase consequence.”
Behind them, the murmurs continued.
Meiyu stepped forward, her brows drawn together slightly. “It is alright. No one was hurt.”
Her voice was gentle, as always.
But it did not change anything.
Your father exhaled sharply. “Enough.”
The single word cut through everything else.
He turned to one of the attendants. “Take her back to her room.”
You blinked. “What.”
Your mother did not even look at you. “You will remain there.”
“Until the announcement is complete.”
Something in your chest twisted. “You are locking me away.”
“To prevent further embarrassment,” your father said flatly.
“I did nothing wrong.”
His gaze met yours, cold, final. “You have done enough.”
The decision was made. As always.
Two attendants stepped forward, hesitant but obedient. “Second miss…”
The walk back felt longer than it should have. The palace that had always felt suffocating now felt distant, as if you were already being removed from it piece by piece.
When you reached your room, the doors were opened.
You stepped inside. And then they closed behind you.
The sound of the lock sliding into place was quiet. Too quiet.
You stood there for a moment, staring at the door, half expecting someone to open it again. To say it was unnecessary. To say it was a mistake.
Outside, the palace continued without you.
The announcement began not long after.
Though you could not see it, you could hear fragments carried faintly through the walls and corridors.
“The union between the Lin family and the Zhao family…”
“Eldest daughter, Lin Meiyu…”
“Zhao Yufan…”
“…to be married…”
Applause followed.
You moved toward the window slowly, your fingers brushing against the wooden frame as you looked out at the fading light.
Lanterns were being lit again. One by one. Marking the beginning of something new. Something you were not part of.
Your reflection stared back at you faintly in the glass, blurred by the dimming sky.
The words echoed again, quieter now, but deeper.
You let out a small breath, your expression unreadable.
“Let them think what they want,” you murmured.
Outside, laughter rose faintly into the evening air.
Inside, the room remained still.
And somewhere within the palace, a future was being celebrated.
Without you.
The morning of the wedding arrived before the sun had fully risen, yet the palace was already awake.
The kind of life that only came with celebration, with expectation, with something so carefully prepared that even the air seemed to carry it differently. Red lanterns lined the corridors, their color deep and vivid against the carved wood and pale stone. Silk banners hung from the archways, embroidered with gold thread that caught every bit of light.
Everywhere you looked, there was proof of it.
This day mattered.
Servants moved quickly, their usual quiet steps replaced with something closer to urgency. Trays of ornaments, folded garments, ceremonial items passed from hand to hand. Voices overlapped, instructions given and followed without pause.
No one came to your door.
No one asked if you were ready.
You had not been unlocked since the day before.
The palace had simply… moved on.
You sat by the window, exactly where you had been the night before, though the light now was different. Morning filtered in, softer, almost indifferent. It illuminated the room just enough to show what had been left behind.
A wedding was happening. And you were not part of it.
From where you sat, you could see part of the outer courtyard. Not clearly. Not enough to feel included. Just enough to remind you what was happening beyond the door you could not open.
More lanterns had been added overnight. The space looked fuller now, more complete, like it had been waiting for this final transformation.
Footsteps passed your door more frequently today.
None of them stopped.
“Make sure the headdress is secured properly.”
“The guests will arrive soon.”
“Has the young master prepared everything on his side?”
“He has. He was up before dawn.”
Zhao Yufan did not seem like someone who would falter on a day like this.
Dressed in ceremonial robes, every layer placed with care, every detail checked twice. His posture would be straight, his expression composed, his movements precise. There would be no hesitation in him.
That was what they all believed.
You shifted slightly, your fingers brushing against the edge of the window frame. The wood was cool beneath your skin, grounding in a way nothing else had been since yesterday.
You wondered, briefly, what Meiyu looked like now.
Whether she was nervous. Whether she was smiling. Whether she had thought of you at all. The thought came and went quickly. There was no point holding onto it. Outside, the sound of music began to rise.
Soft at first. Then clearer.
Traditional instruments, steady and ceremonial, marking the beginning of something that had already been decided long ago.
The ceremony itself unfolded without you, but not without sound. Every step of it seemed to echo faintly through the palace walls, carried in fragments that reached you whether you wanted them to or not.
“The bride is ready.”
“The groom has arrived.”
“Prepare for the formal greeting.”
Voices layered over music, over movement, over something that felt too large to ignore and too distant to touch.
You stood eventually, unable to remain seated any longer. The room felt smaller today, the walls closer, the air heavier.
Your hand hovered near the handle for a moment before resting lightly against it. Locked. On the other side, footsteps passed again.
“They look perfect together.”
Your grip tightened slightly before you let go.
Across the palace, beneath the weight of tradition and watchful eyes, the ceremony reached its most important moment.
Yufan stood where he was expected to stand.
Responsibility sat heavily on him, even if it did not show in the way he held himself.
Meiyu stood across from him, her presence softening the weight of it all. Her expression carried warmth, a calm kind of happiness that settled easily into the moment.
When their eyes met, there was no doubt.
No hesitation. The vows were spoken. The formalities completed.
The announcement that had already been made the day before now became something permanent.
Applause followed. Louder than before.
The ceremony gave way to celebration.
Guests filled the halls, their voices louder now, less restrained. Laughter echoed through the corridors, blending with music and conversation.
“Lin Meiyu.”
“Zhao Yufan.”
A perfect future.
“The second miss was not present.”
A quiet response followed.
“It is better that way.”
And that was enough. The day continued without interruption.
By the time evening settled in, the palace had transformed again. The lanterns glowed brighter now against the darkening sky, their light warm and steady. The celebration had not slowed, only softened into something more intimate, more relaxed.
From your window, you could see more now. Shadows moving. Figures passing. At one point, you caught sight of them. Just for a moment.
Meiyu, dressed fully now, her figure unmistakable even from a distance. Yufan beside her, his posture unchanged, though something about him seemed… quieter than before.
As if something had shifted into place.
They moved through the courtyard together, surrounded by others, yet somehow still apart in their own space.
You watched until they disappeared from view again.
You tilted your head slightly, studying your own reflection as if it belonged to someone else.
“Then I will stop trying,” you said softly.
You turned away from the window at last, the light from the lanterns no longer reaching your face.
Behind you, the sounds of laughter carried faintly into the night.
Ahead of you, the room stretched out in silence.
Time in the palace did not rush. It unfolded.
Slowly, deliberately, like silk being pulled from a loom, thread by thread, until something whole appeared without anyone noticing when it truly began.
After the wedding, the atmosphere shifted into something softer, yet more structured. Celebration faded into routine, and routine settled into expectation. The red decorations were taken down one by one, replaced again with the familiar elegance of the palace’s everyday order.
Lin Meiyu was no longer simply the eldest daughter.
She was now the wife of Zhao Yufan.
And with that came a quiet transformation that everyone seemed to accept without question.
She moved differently now, though only slightly. There was more weight to her presence, more attention in the way others spoke to her. Servants bowed a fraction deeper. Officials addressed her with greater care.
Morning routines began earlier for her now. Before the sun fully rose, she was already awake, seated by the window with documents laid out neatly before her. Household matters, financial records, correspondence between families. Things she had once observed from a distance were now placed directly in her hands.
She did not hesitate.
At first, there had been moments of quiet uncertainty. A pause before speaking. A second glance at certain details. But those moments grew fewer with each passing week.
“You have a natural sense for this,” one of the senior attendants told her once.
Meiyu had smiled, modest as always. “I am still learning.”
But she learned quickly. Yufan noticed.
He did not praise easily, nor did he speak unnecessarily, but there were small moments. Subtle ones. The kind that could be missed if not watched carefully.
A document adjusted slightly before she could reach for it.
A quiet explanation offered before she needed to ask.
A glance that lingered just a second longer than required.
Their conversations were still soft, still measured, but there was something deeper settling between them now.
Comfort. Understanding.
They did not rush into affection, nor did they avoid it. It simply existed, growing quietly in the spaces between responsibilities and expectations.
In the evenings, when the formalities of the day had passed, they would sometimes walk through the courtyard together. Not always speaking. Not always needing to.
As the months passed, that quiet balance only deepened.
Yufan’s responsibilities grew heavier, but he carried them without complaint. Decisions that once passed through older hands now rested with him more frequently. Matters of the palace, internal affairs, external relations. Each one added weight, but also steadiness.
He did not falter. Not outwardly. But Meiyu noticed the subtle signs.
The way his shoulders held tension a little longer than before.
The moments where his silence stretched, not empty, but occupied.
By the time the seasons began to shift, the palace had settled fully into this new rhythm.
And then, one morning, something changed again.
Not in the structure. In her. It began subtly.
A moment of dizziness she brushed aside.
A slight fatigue she did not mention.
Days passed. Then weeks.
Until it could no longer be ignored.
The physician was called quietly, without announcement, without concern beyond routine.
Meiyu sat calmly as the examination was completed, her hands resting gently in her lap.
She did not seem worried.
Just… attentive.
The room was silent for a moment after.
Then the physician bowed his head slightly.
“Congratulations.”
A pause.
“You are pregnant”
The words settled into the space like something fragile.
For a moment, Meiyu did not react.
Not because she did not understand. But because she did.
Slowly, her hand lifted, resting lightly against her abdomen as if to confirm something she could not yet feel.
“I see,” she said softly.
There was no shock. Only quiet realization.
When Yufan was told, his reaction was different.
He stood still for a moment after hearing it, as if the words needed time to settle into something real.
“Pregnant?,” he repeated.
The physician nodded. “Yes.”
Silence followed.
Then, slowly, something in his expression shifted.
Not uncertainty. Not fear. Something deeper. Responsibility. Again.
But this time, intertwined with something else.
Something warmer.
He dismissed the others soon after, leaving only the two of them in the room.
Meiyu watched him quietly, her gaze soft but searching.
“You are thinking too much again,” she said gently.
He let out a small breath, almost a quiet laugh. “Perhaps.”
She tilted her head slightly. “Is it troubling you.”
“No,” he said after a moment.
Then, more honestly, “It is… a lot.”
Her lips curved faintly. “It always is.”
Then, softer, “But not everything that is a lot is something to fear.”
He looked at her then, his expression steadier now.
“You are not afraid.”
She shook her head lightly. “No.”
“Why.”
Her hand rested again over her abdomen, her gaze lowering just slightly.
“Because I know I will not be alone.”
The words were simple. But they carried weight.
The kind that settled into something lasting.
Yufan did not respond immediately.
Instead, he stepped closer, his hand hesitating for only a second before resting gently over hers.
Neither of them spoke. They did not need to.
Outside, the palace continued as it always did.
But the news spread quickly.
“The young mistress is expecting.”
“A child.”
“This is good.”
“Very good.”
“Everything is falling into place.”
Servants smiled more easily. Officials spoke with renewed confidence.
The future, once discussed in careful terms, now felt closer.
More certain. And within the palace walls, life continued to unfold.
Carrying with it something new.
1997, Taipei Royal Residence — Early Spring
Time did not stop after the news.
It moved forward, steady and unquestioned, carrying everything with it.
And at the center of it all, Lin Meiyu changed.
But slowly, visibly, undeniably.
Her days became softer in structure, though no less important. The responsibilities she once handled from morning until night were gradually eased, passed carefully into other hands, though never fully taken from her. She still sat with documents, still listened, still advised, but now there was always someone beside her, watching, reminding, guiding.
“You should not strain yourself.”
“Rest a little longer.”
“Leave this for later.”
Her mother in law was the one who said it most.
Always calm. Always present. Always attentive in a way that left no room for refusal.
She would adjust Meiyu’s sleeves when they slipped too far, ensure her tea was warm but not too hot, watch her steps when she walked even the shortest distance.
“You must think of the child now,” she would say, her tone gentle but firm. “Nothing is more important.”
And Meiyu listened. She always did.
Her hand found its way to her stomach more often now, resting there without thought, as if grounding herself in something that was slowly becoming more real with each passing day.
By the time the weeks turned into months, the change was no longer subtle.
Her figure softened, her movements slower, more measured. The curve of her stomach began to show beneath the layers of silk, impossible to ignore, impossible to dismiss.
Servants spoke softer around her, their voices lowered instinctively. The corridors she walked were always cleared just a moment sooner. Even the air seemed to shift, making space for her presence.
“She is glowing.”
“It suits her.”
“The child will be strong.”
Everything about her was seen as something good.
The Lin family came to visit when the news had settled into certainty.
It was not a small event.
Arrangements were made carefully, reception prepared with the same attention as any important gathering. Your parents arrived with the composure they always carried, their presence commanding, their expressions controlled.
They had come for their daughter.
You stood at the far end of the hall when they entered, your figure half hidden behind one of the carved pillars. No one told you to come forward.
No one called your name. And you did not move.
Your mother’s gaze passed over the room, settling immediately on Meiyu. It softened in a way you had not seen directed at you in a long time.
“You look well,” she said, stepping closer.
Meiyu smiled gently. “I am.”
Your father nodded, his attention already shifting to the visible curve beneath her clothing. “Good.”
That was enough.
No questions. No hesitation. Just approval.
Servants moved quickly to bring tea, to arrange seats, to ensure everything was exactly as it should be. Conversations began, polite and measured, centered entirely around Meiyu, around the child, around the future that was already being imagined.
At one point, you took a step forward.
Not even enough to fully enter their space.
But it was noticed. Not by them. By someone else.
A quiet murmur reached you before you could take another step.
“Do not let her get too close.”
A second voice followed, lower.
“It is not appropriate.”
“She will bring bad luck.”
The words were not meant to reach you.
But they did.
They always did.
You stopped.
Your foot settled back into place without a sound.
Across the room, Meiyu was laughing softly at something your mother had said, her hand resting lightly over her stomach again. She looked… happy.
Safe. Surrounded.
The space around her was full.
The space around you was empty.
You turned your head slightly, your gaze dropping before it could linger too long.
There was no place for you there.
There never had been.
Later, when the gathering moved into a more private space, you were not called to join.
The doors closed.
Voices continued behind them, muffled, distant.
You stood in the corridor for a moment longer before turning away.
Your steps were quiet.
By evening, the palace had settled again, the visit continuing in contained spaces, conversations flowing where you were not present.
You found yourself back near the outer courtyard, the same place you had stood countless times before. The lanterns were already lit, their glow steady, unchanged by anything that had happened.
From a distance, you could see movement again.
Meiyu, walking slowly, one of the attendants beside her, another just behind. Her steps were careful now, deliberate, as if every movement carried more weight than before.
Her mother in law walked with her this time, her attention unwavering.
“Careful,” she said softly, her hand hovering just slightly, ready to steady if needed.
“I am fine,” Meiyu replied, though her pace did not quicken.
“You should not walk too long.”
“I wanted some air.”
A small pause.
Then, softer, “It feels different now.”
Her hand rested again over her stomach, her expression thoughtful, almost distant.
Her mother in law’s gaze followed the motion, something gentle passing through her expression. “It will only become more real from here.”
Meiyu nodded.
You watched for a moment. Just a moment.
Then you looked away. Your chest felt tight.
Not sharp. Not sudden.
Just… constant.
Like something that had settled there and refused to leave.
You leaned back slightly against the pillar behind you, your fingers curling loosely against the wood. Your eyes burned faintly, though no tears fell.
You did not let them. You had learned not to.
Because there was no one to see them.
No one to care. And no one who would understand.
Somewhere along the way, the words had stopped feeling like accusations.
They had become… facts.
Bad daughter. Bad sister. Trouble.
You let out a slow breath, your gaze fixed somewhere distant, unfocused.
“That is what I am,” you murmured quietly.
Not questioning. Not denying.
Just… accepting.
Across the courtyard, Meiyu’s soft laughter rose again, carried lightly through the evening air.
It did not reach you.
Or maybe it did. And you simply did not respond.
The palace stood as it always had. Beautiful. Unchanging.
Divided in ways no one ever spoke about.
And within it, life continued forward.
For some, it moved gently.
For others, it passed without ever truly touching them at all.
The palace learned how to speak about them in a single voice.
Lin Meiyu and Zhao Yufan.
A perfect union. A steady balance. A love that needed no proof because it appeared, to everyone watching, effortless and enduring.
They walked side by side, spoke with quiet understanding, fulfilled every expectation placed before them. There were no raised voices, no visible cracks, no moments that invited doubt. If anything, they were admired more with each passing month.
“They will last,” people said.
“They already have.”
But what the palace saw and what existed beneath it were not the same.
Meiyu loved him.
That much was real.
It showed in the way her gaze softened when it rested on him, in the way she listened even when he did not say much, in the small, careful efforts she made to ease the weight he carried without ever making it obvious.
Her love was gentle, patient, constant.
Yufan… was different.
Not unkind. Not distant in a way that could be criticized.
But measured.
Everything about him remained measured.
Even now. Even with her.
He cared for her. That was undeniable. He ensured her comfort, her safety, her needs were met before she ever had to ask. He listened when she spoke, responded when required, stood beside her exactly as he should.
But his thoughts were often elsewhere.
On the palace. On decisions waiting to be made.
On responsibilities that stretched far beyond the walls they lived in.
Marriage had not changed that.
If anything, it had only deepened it.
At night, when the palace quieted and the corridors emptied, there were moments where Meiyu would look at him and feel it.
Not absence. But distance.
A quiet space between them that no one else seemed to notice.
“You are thinking again,” she said once, her voice soft as she sat beside him.
He did not deny it. “There is much to consider.”
“There always will be.”
A pause.
Then, quieter, “Do you ever stop.”
He glanced at her briefly, then away. “I cannot afford to.”
She watched him for a moment longer, her hand resting lightly over the curve of her stomach.
“I do not want you to feel like you have to carry everything alone,” she said.
“I do not.”
But he did. And she knew it. Still, she smiled.
Because that was what she did. She made things easier.
Even when they were not.
As the months passed, her body changed more noticeably. The soft curve of her stomach grew into something undeniable, something that drew attention wherever she went.
Life was no longer just a quiet promise.
It was visible. Real.
Her steps slowed, her days shortened, her responsibilities carefully reduced. She was surrounded constantly now, never left alone for long, watched over with a level of care that bordered on suffocating but was accepted without question.
“You must rest.”
“Do not walk too far.”
“Be careful.”
Her mother in law remained closest, always present, always attentive. There was no room for error now. No room for risk.
The child mattered.
More than anything. More than anyone. Even more than her.
By the time winter approached, the palace had fully adjusted to the coming arrival. Rooms were prepared. Plans were made. Every detail considered, every possibility accounted for.
Foreign physicians had been brought in, their presence a quiet reassurance. They spoke in different accents, carried unfamiliar instruments, but their purpose was clear.
To ensure the child’s safe arrival.
Everything was ready. Everything was controlled.
Until it wasn’t.
It happened suddenly.
In the early hours of the morning, before the sun had risen, before the palace had fully woken.
A sharp pain. A shift. And then—
“Call the physician.”
Her voice, strained for the first time.
Servants rushed. Doors opened. Footsteps echoed.
Water spilled across silk and floor, unmistakable, undeniable.
“It is time.”
The words spread faster than anything had before.
Yufan was there within moments, his composure intact but his movements sharper than usual. His eyes found her immediately, taking in every detail, every sign.
“Stay calm,” someone said.
“We are prepared.”
But preparation did not erase reality.
She was in pain. Real pain.
The kind that could not be softened by careful words or steady hands.
She was taken into the delivery room quickly, the doors closing behind her with finality.
Outside, the palace gathered.
Yufan stood closest. Still. Silent. Controlled.
But his hands were clenched at his sides, the only sign that something within him was not as steady as it appeared.
The Lin family arrived not long after, their presence urgent, their composure strained for the first time in years.
“How is she,” your mother demanded.
No one had an answer yet.
Time stretched. Minutes blurred into something longer.
Inside the room, voices rose and fell, instructions given, movements rushed.
“More pressure.”
“Careful.”
“She is losing too much—”
The words cut off, replaced with something more urgent, more controlled.
Outside, the tension grew.
Yufan did not move. Did not speak. But his gaze never left the door.
Not once.
Inside, the situation shifted. Quickly. Dangerously.
The physicians exchanged glances that did not need words.
Too much blood. Too fast.
“The child—”
“The mother—”
A choice. Unspoken. But understood. Only one.
Outside, no one knew yet. Not fully.
Only that something was wrong. Very wrong.
And then.
A servant appeared at the doorway, her expression pale, her voice unsteady.
“She… she is asking for the second miss.”
Immediate.
Your name had not been spoken like that in a long time.
Then your father spoke, his voice tight. “Let her inside.”
“Come,” the attendant said quickly. “You are needed.”
Needed. The word felt strange.
You did not hesitate. You followed.
By the time you reached the room, the air had changed.
It was thick. Tense.
Filled with something that pressed against your chest before you even stepped inside.
You hesitated only briefly before entering.
The sight in front of you.
It did not match anything you had imagined.
Meiyu laid pale against the sheets, her usual warmth drained, her breathing uneven, fragile. The strength that had always defined her seemed to flicker, barely holding.
For a moment, you could not move.
“Come closer.”
Her voice. Weak. But still hers.
You stepped forward slowly, your vision narrowing, everything else fading into the background.
Her eyes found you immediately.
And for the first time in your life
There was no distance in them.
Only urgency. Only something real.
“You came,” she whispered.
You swallowed, your throat tight. “They said you asked for me.”
Her lips curved faintly, though the effort showed. “Of course I did.”
You stood beside her, your hands uncertain, unsure where to rest, what to do.
She reached for you first.
Her fingers found yours, cold but firm, holding on with a strength that surprised you.
“I do not have much time,” she said softly.
Your breath caught. “Do not say that.”
“Listen to me.”
Her grip tightened slightly. “Please.”
You nodded, your vision blurring.
“If… if something happens to me,” she continued, her voice trembling now, “you have to promise me something.”
“What are you—”
“Promise me.”
Your hand shook in hers. “You are not going to—”
“Take care of my baby.”
Your heart stopped.
“I cannot—”
“You can.”
Her eyes held yours, steady despite everything.
“You are stronger than you think.”
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.
“I am not,” you whispered.
“You are.”
Her voice softened further.
“They do not see you,” she said. “But I do.”
Your breath hitched.
“You have always been more than what they say.”
Another tear fell.
“Promise me,” she whispered.
You shook your head weakly, but your fingers tightened around hers.
“I… I promise.”
A faint smile touched her lips.
Relief. Soft. Quiet.
“Thank you.”
Her grip loosened slightly.
Her breathing faltered.
You leaned closer, panic rising. “Meiyu—”
Her eyes never left yours.
Not until the very end.
And then, they did.
Her hand went still in yours. The room fell silent.
For just a moment. And then—
A cry. Sharp. Clear. Alive. The baby.
A girl.
Delivered. Safe.
But she, meiyu.
Gone.
You did not move. Did not react.
Her hand still in yours.
Your tears falling silently, unnoticed.
Standing there. Holding her hand. The last one she saw. The last one she spoke to.
Grief did not arrive quietly.
It tore through the palace like something violent, something unforgiving, something that did not care who it touched or how deeply it cut.
The celebration that had once filled these halls was gone.
Replaced. Completely.
Lanterns still burned, but their light felt colder now, harsher against the silence that followed every whispered word, every stifled cry. Servants moved differently, their steps uncertain, their voices trembling.
No one knew where to look. No one knew what to say.
Because the truth was simple.
Lin Meiyu was gone.
And nothing in the palace knew how to exist without her.
Her name echoed everywhere now, but not in praise.
In disbelief. In sorrow.
In something that bordered on desperation.
“She was fine…”
“How could this happen…”
“She was so careful…”
“She was supposed to be safe…”
The words circled endlessly, searching for something to hold onto.
They found nothing.
And then—
They found you.
You were still standing in the same room when it began.
Still holding her hand long after it had gone cold.
Still unable to process the silence that had replaced her voice.
Someone pulled you back. Rougher than necessary.
Your fingers slipped from hers.
And just like that.
She was taken from you.
Covered. Hidden. Gone.
“No—”
You did not even realize the sound had come from you until it was too late.
Too soft. Too late. Too meaningless.
The room filled quickly after that.
Voices overlapping, grief spilling out in ways that could not be contained.
Your mother was the first to reach her.
A sound left her that did not sound human.
Not controlled. Not composed. Broken.
“Meiyu—”
She collapsed beside the bed, her hands grasping at what was no longer there, her voice shaking with something raw, something desperate.
“This cannot—this cannot be happening—”
Your father stood frozen, his face pale, his usual authority stripped away completely. He did not move at first.
He did not speak.
As if saying it out loud would make it real.
“She is gone,” someone said quietly.
Everything shattered.
Your mother’s head snapped up.
Her eyes found you.
Still standing there. Still too close. Still the last one.
“You—”
Her voice cracked. Then rose.
“What did you do.”
The room went still.
Your breath caught. “I—”
“You were with her,” she continued, her voice breaking but growing louder, sharper. “You were the last one with her.”
“I didn’t—”
“What did you say to her.”
“I didn’t do anything—”
The sound of the slap came before you even fully registered her movement.
Sharp. Loud.
Your head snapped to the side, the sting spreading across your cheek instantly, your ears ringing from the force of it.
“You killed her.”
The words hit harder than the slap.
You froze.
“I did not—”
“You killed her.”
Her voice was louder now, shaking, uncontrolled.
“She was fine until you went in.”
“That’s not true—”
“You were always jealous of her.”
The room shifted. Eyes turned. Whispers began.
“She envied her…”
“She never liked her happiness…”
“It makes sense…”
“No—” your voice broke this time. “No, that’s not what happened—”
“Then what did happen.”
The voice came from behind.
You turned.
Zhao Yufan stood there.
He looked nothing like he had before. The composure was gone.
The control. Gone.
What remained was something hollow. Something broken.
His eyes were fixed on you.
Not uncertain. Not questioning. Accusing.
“You were with her,” he said.
Each word slow. Deliberate.
You shook your head, tears finally spilling freely now. “She called me in—she wanted to—”
“To what,” he cut in sharply.
“To say goodbye?”
The word hit like a blade.
Your voice trembled. “She—she made me promise—”
His expression darkened further.
“Promise what.”
“To take care of—”
“You expect me to believe that.”
Your chest tightened painfully. “It’s the truth—”
“The truth is you were always jealous of her.”
“No—”
“The truth is you could never stand being compared to her.”
“That’s not—”
“The truth,” his voice broke slightly now, but it only made it worse, “is that she is dead, and you were the last one with her.”
The words settled into something final. Something unmovable.
You stared at him, your vision blurring completely now.
“You think I would do that,” you whispered.
Around you, the palace had already decided.
“She brought bad luck…”
“She always did…”
“A curse…”
“A bad daughter…”
“A bad sister…”
“A killer…”
The words came from everywhere.
From no one. From everyone.
You could not tell anymore.
Your mother’s voice rose again, louder, more desperate. “Get her out of here.”
No one hesitated this time.
Hands grabbed you. Pulled you back. You did not resist.
You did not speak. There was nothing left to say.
As you were dragged from the room, your gaze flickered once more to where Meiyu had been.
Gone. Completely.
As if she had never been there at all.
The door closed behind you.
And the sound of grief continued on the other side.
Unstoppable. Unforgiving.
Inside, Yufan did not move for a long time.
He stood where he was, his gaze fixed on the place where she had been, his expression empty in a way that was more terrifying than anything else.
“She promised…” your voice echoed faintly in his mind.
But it did not matter.
Nothing mattered. Not now. Not without her.
When he finally moved, it was slow.
Like something within him had been removed, leaving behind only what was necessary to stand, to breathe.
To exist. But not to live.
“She is gone,” someone said again, softer this time.
He did not respond.
His hand lifted slightly, as if reaching for something that was no longer there.
Then fell. Empty. The palace would recover. It always did.
But something had broken that night that would not be so easily repaired.
And at the center of it, two lives changed forever.
One buried. One blamed.
And one left behind, standing in the ruins of everything he had never realized he truly had.
