Volume One, Chapter Six: Nothing More Than a Lowly Servant

A few days later, Liu Xishuang carried a box of cosmetics and went to see Lin Chuyao. She walked all the way to Lin Chuyao’s courtyard and found the gate wide open. Inside, the maids were busily cleaning, everything seeming as usual. Yet her gaze lingered on the tightly closed door, her brows furrowing slightly.

“You’ve only been back a few days, and yet you’ve already learned to lock yourself away,” Liu Xishuang thought, a hint of doubt rising in her heart.

Five years ago, Chuyao had been so obedient and sensible. Now, she had become silent and distant, as if shrouded by a mist that made her all the more inscrutable.

She called to Qingxing, who was sweeping the floor, “Is Chuyao in her room?”

Her tone was calm but carried an unmistakable pressure that brooked no refusal.

“Madam, Miss is in her room, but we don’t know what she’s doing. She told us not to disturb her unless necessary,” Qingxing said cautiously, setting down her broom and bowing slightly.

Liu Xishuang frowned deeply and fell silent for a moment before striding directly to the door. Just as she reached to push it open, a strange scent wafted through the crack—the fragrance of incense mixed faintly with the smell of burnt paper ash.

Her expression darkened instantly, her heart tightening. “A memorial?”

Without hesitation, she flung the door open. The scene inside deepened the shadow on her face.

In the room, a small table held a simple incense altar; a few sticks of incense smoldered in the burner, wisps of smoke curling upward. The table was cluttered, and the nearby cabinet, which should have housed neatly arranged porcelain and ornaments, showed signs of disorder as the pieces were haphazardly moved.

Liu Xishuang’s eyes fixed on the altar, her fingers trembling slightly. In that moment, a sharp pang of guilt stabbed her heart, only to be quickly suppressed and replaced by cold hardness.

She stepped forward without hesitation and overturned the incense altar. The incense burner shattered, ash scattering across the floor, the sound piercing the room’s silence.

Lin Chuyao sat by the window, holding a book. At the noise, her body stiffened slightly.

She lifted her head, her gaze lingering on Liu Xishuang’s cold, harsh face, filled with confusion and disappointment.

Liu Xishuang glanced down at the scattered ash, restraining the complex emotions within her. “What are you doing?”

Lowering her eyes, Lin Chuyao’s voice was so soft it was barely audible. “I’m honoring those who suffered and died with me in the Alchemy Valley.”

Hearing this, Liu Xishuang’s expression darkened further, anger creeping into her tone. “Honoring them? They were lowly servants. How dare you set up an incense altar for them in the Marquis’s residence? If this gets out, the Marquis’s family will lose all face!”

Lin Chuyao looked at the ash-strewn floor, memories of the Alchemy Valley flooding back.

“Chuyao, don’t cry anymore. I will protect you.”

She recalled a girl named A Jin, who had always held her back from despair. A Jin would bring the heaviest doses of medicine with a smile and say, “I’m strong, don’t be afraid.”

But later, that warm smile froze forever as the girl collapsed during a poisonous trial and never woke again.

“Chuyao, they’re free now, but you…” Another companion’s voice echoed faintly, now nothing but dry bones.

“Free?” She smiled bitterly. In the Alchemy Valley, no one had freedom. Some simply left the living hell earlier, while she was forced back to face it all.

She raised her head, her eyes reddened slightly. She thought she had long since grown numb, yet a single word from her mother still pierced her heart.

“Lowly? Mother, have you forgotten I just returned from the Alchemy Valley a few days ago? Am I really no different from them in your eyes?” Her tone was calm, but tears welled in her eyes.

Liu Xishuang flinched under her gaze. She opened her mouth to retort but found the long-suppressed guilt tearing at her heart.

“To me, they were benefactors, family. In the Alchemy Valley, it was they who kept me alive,” Lin Chuyao said in a low but resolute voice. “Now, I don’t even have the right to honor them in my own room?”

Liu Xishuang’s hand clenched at her side before relaxing slowly. She sighed deeply. “Chuyao, I know you’ve suffered much these years, and I know there’s resentment in your heart. But your mother has her own hardships.”

She paused, her voice heavy with restrained helplessness. “It was Princess Pingyang who forced me. I had no choice but to send you to that cruel place.”

“Do you remember when you had a high fever as a child, and I stayed awake all night, afraid something would happen to you? And that time in the back mountain, I searched for you all night, my body covered in scratches.”

She looked at Lin Chuyao, her voice softening. “You are flesh of my flesh. How could I bear to see you suffer? Everything I did was because I had no other choice.”

Lin Chuyao listened quietly, the fragments of memory overlapping with her mother’s words. She had never forgotten those scenes, and because of them, she still clung to a flicker of hope for the Marquis’s household.

Seeing her expression soften, Liu Xishuang turned to the cabinet and carefully restored the displaced ornaments to their rightful places, her tone gentle. “I picked out these pieces for you myself. Each has its place for a reason. Please don’t move them around carelessly again, alright?”

She turned back, a complex emotion flickering in her eyes. “Chuyao, luckily, it’s all in the past now. We are still family. Let’s live well together.”

Lin Chuyao looked at Liu Xishuang with mixed feelings. After a moment, she nodded softly, her voice calm. “Yes, Mother.”

Relieved, Liu Xishuang instructed the maids to clean the room thoroughly. “The altar is broken; don’t leave any traces.”

With that, she turned and left.

The room fell silent once more, only the scattered ash remaining on the floor. Lin Chuyao knelt down and picked up the fragments one by one. Her fingertips were cut by the sharp edges, and blood seeped out, dropping onto the ashes.

The lingering scent of incense filled the air, momentarily transporting her back to the cold, damp prison of the Alchemy Valley.

The cries of her companions, the acrid smell of medicine, the cold touch of death—all the memories surged like a tide, almost drowning her.

Holding the shards in her palm, her gaze hardened. Her mother’s “hardships,” the “farewell” at the Alchemy Valley, her own pain and torment—all these heavy memories pressed on her chest, suffocating her.

She whispered softly, “Family? Mother, am I really your family?”

Rising, she laid the pieces on the table and clenched her hands tightly. Her nails dug into her palms, pain radiating, yet she felt nothing.

“Chuyao, you must live. You have to return to the outside world…”

A Jin’s words were still clear, but that smiling face was forever frozen by the trial table.

Her companions still suffered there; she could no longer drown in sorrow.

She had once hoped to return to the Marquis’s household to use its power to save them. Now, with her mother’s attitude, that seemed impossible.

It seemed this matter would have to rely solely on her own strength.