Chapter Text
Ｎｏ．１→❄️🥼𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞
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₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
You sat quietly on the front porch, knees tucked to your chest, the wood creaking faintly beneath you. Today wasn’t a good day.
Firstly, it was your mother’s death anniversary—what made it worse was that you were the only one who remembered.
Or, at least, the only one who acknowledged it.
You were four when she passed away, an illness stealing her breath piece by piece until she was nothing more than a fading memory in the corners of your mind. You remembered the smell of medicine, the soft touch of her hand, and the way she smiled even when she was in pain. And then—she was gone.
Your father made a grand display of grief. To the neighbors, to distant relatives, to anyone who would listen, he wore sorrow like a cloak, speaking of her in heavy tones, eyes glassy with crocodile tears. But when the doors closed and no one lingered to watch, his expression lightened. He laughed with your uncle—his own brother—about finally being free, about marrying some western woman named Cassidy Mae or whatever her name was.
At first, you thought he was bluffing. A child’s imagination can run wild, and you were only four.
But people often underestimate children. They think they don’t understand, that they don’t notice the sharp edges of truth buried between lies. Parents pull the tired excuse: “You’ll understand when you’re older.”
No.
You understood even then.
Because not long after, she arrived. A woman with hair like spun gold, eyes the color of the summer sky, and skin pale as porcelain. Cassidy. You saw it instantly—in the way your father hovered near her, in how his voice softened when he spoke to her. She wasn’t just a stranger. She was your mother’s replacement.
By the time you turned five, your father had married her, and Cassidy was already pregnant. The household shifted around her like a flower bending toward the sun, and you—his daughter—were left in the shadows.
It didn’t happen all at once. It was slow, deliberate, like erosion. A missed meal here, a forgotten birthday there. Her laughter filling the halls where your mother’s lullabies used to linger. And with every passing day, you were pushed further away—piece by piece—until you wondered if you were ever wanted at all.
When Cassidy’s daughter—Cheyyenne—was born, it broke your heart even more.
Because that was the day you were erased.
No one said it aloud, but you felt it in every glance, every word left unsaid. The servants who once fussed over you now crowded around the crib. Your father, who had already begun to forget you, no longer even pretended. He held the baby with pride, kissed Cassidy’s forehead, and laughed as though the past had never existed.
And you stood in the doorway, watching. Invisible.
At five years old, you learned what it meant to be unwanted. The toys once gifted to you were passed on to her; the clothes you wore, replaced by silks and frills that belonged to Cheyyenne. At meals, your father’s eyes never strayed in your direction—only to the pale-haired infant bouncing in her mother’s lap. When guests arrived, he introduced Cassidy and her daughter with such devotion that it made your stomach turn.
But worst of all, it wasn’t just neglect. It was dismissal. You weren’t scolded, or corrected, or punished—you were simply… forgotten. As if your existence had been an accident that he no longer cared to acknowledge.
And the cruelest part?
You loved Cheyyenne.
You couldn’t help it. She was your little sister, a baby who would reach for your hand, giggle when you peeked around the cradle, tug at your sleeve when she wanted comfort. You gave her what you could, even as your own heart ached. But every smile she gave you felt like another knife, because while she was cherished, you were nothing more than a shadow in your own home.
That was when the quiet bitterness began to settle deep in your bones. Not loud, not raging—but quiet, like a chill you couldn’t shake.
Once Cassidy noticed you lingering around the baby, her smile slipped.
At first, she played the doting mother, but her eyes narrowed every time she caught you hovering near the crib, every time Cheyyenne’s tiny hands reached out for you instead of her. You weren’t supposed to be there—this wasn’t your place anymore.
“Don’t touch her,” Cassidy said one afternoon, her voice sickly sweet but her grip iron as she pulled Cheyyenne from your arms. “She doesn’t need… confusion. You’ll upset her.”
Confusion? You were her sister. But to Cassidy, you were an intruder.
From then on, she made it clear: you weren’t welcome near her daughter. If she caught you peeking into the nursery, she shut the door in your face. If she found you playing with Cheyyenne, she whisked the baby away, whispering poisonous words to your father about how you were “too clingy, too desperate for attention.”
And your father believed her.
He didn’t ask if it was true. He didn’t ask you at all. He simply stopped you with a raised hand and a sharp look whenever you tried to protest. “Leave Cassidy to handle her child,” he told you. Her child. Not your sister.
That was the moment you understood.
Cassidy wasn’t just replacing your mother.
She was erasing you, too.
Piece by piece, the space you had in that house—your place at the table, your father’s glance, even your right to comfort your sister—was taken from you until all that was left was silence.
You still remembered that night vividly.
You were seven years old. Cassidy was turning two, her birthday a grand affair at the dinner table, the servants bustling to and fro, your father beaming as though he’d been given a new life.
The dishes laid out were nothing like the food your mother once made. Western meals filled the table—roast meats, pale breads, and desserts decorated with fruits you barely recognized. The air smelled foreign, unfamiliar, and so far from the warmth you once knew.
You tried to swallow, but the food was bland to your tongue. Lifeless. Tasteless. You stared at the dessert set before you, the fruit glistening atop the cream. A fruit you knew would make you sick.
You opened your mouth to protest, timid at first: “I… I can’t eat this. I’m allergic.”
But your father waved you off, his smile still fixed on Cassidy and her child. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s just food.”
His dismissal burned more than the taste. You felt it—that invisible wall that kept pushing you further and further away. His gaze, once yours as a daughter, now belonged to Cassidy and her western life. His western wife. His western child.
And you? You were too Chinese for him. A reminder of a woman he’d buried and forgotten.
The tears came before you could stop them, hot and stinging. You sobbed, words tumbling out in broken cries as you clutched your chest, begging him to believe you.
That was when it happened.
Cassidy’s hand cracked across your face. Sharp. Shocking. The sting lit your skin like fire.
The entire table went silent. You froze, your small hand flying to your cheek, eyes wide with disbelief. It was the first time anyone had ever struck you.
And your father—he didn’t move. He didn’t scold her. He didn’t shield you. He just sat there, his expression unreadable, allowing Cassidy to lower her hand as if nothing had happened.
Your cries grew louder then, not just from the pain in your cheek, but from the hollow realization settling into your bones.
No one at that table would protect you.
Not even him.
You couldn’t stay at the table after that.
Your small legs carried you out of the dining hall, stumbling down the corridor as sobs tore from your throat. The sting of Cassidy’s hand still burned on your cheek, but worse than that was the hollow ache in your chest—the knowledge that your father had sat there, unmoving, as though you deserved it.
You ran until your lungs hurt, until your tears blurred the lanterns into smudges of gold against the night. Finally, you collapsed against the steps of the back courtyard, curling into yourself, shaking with every breath.
That was where Xiao Ling found you.
She had served your family since before you were born, her hair now streaked with silver, her hands calloused from decades of labor. She moved slowly but with purpose, and when she saw you, her eyes softened with the kind of warmth you thought you’d never feel again.
“Oh, my poor little miss…” she murmured, crouching down beside you.
You tried to speak but could only hiccup between sobs, your voice breaking as you stammered, “She—she hit me. F-father didn’t… he didn’t—”
Xiao Ling hushed you gently, drawing you into her arms, her embrace firm but tender. She rocked you slowly, the way a mother might. “I know, child. I know. You don’t deserve this.”
Her words undid you completely. You buried your face against her shoulder, clutching at her sleeve like you would drown without it.
That night, she cleaned your face, pressed a cool cloth to the redness on your cheek, and fed you warm congee she had kept aside, food that tasted of home.
And as you drifted into sleep on her lap, you thought that maybe—just maybe—someone in this world still remembered you.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Now, at the soft age of twenty-one, Xiao Ling no longer lived.
The years had not been kind to her. Her back bent further with each season, her steps slowed, and her voice grew faint. And yet, she had been steady, always there—until the day she simply wasn’t.
When she passed, you and the other servants did what your father would not: you buried her. Not in the family shrine, where she rightfully deserved a place after a lifetime of loyal service, but in the commoners’ cemetery beyond the city gates. A simple grave. A modest stone. No honor, no grand mourning.
But you went. You carried her with your own hands, stood with the handful of others who wept quietly, and lowered her into the earth with the reverence of a daughter.
And from that day on, every Saturday, you visited her.
You never brought wine—she hated the bitterness of it. Instead, you carried a steaming bowl of spicy congee, the very comfort she used to make for you when you were small and broken. You set it by her grave, the fragrance rising into the air as if to reach her, whispering into the silence: I remember you. I love you still.
It was the only place you felt peace. In front of her stone, you could cry without shame, speak without fear, and laugh without being silenced.
Here, you weren’t forgotten.
Here, you were someone’s child.
Cheyyenne—now nineteen years old—had become her mother’s mirror.
Pretty, yes. Blonde hair, pale skin, eyes that sparkled whenever she got what she wanted. To outsiders, she was the darling daughter, Cassidy’s pride, your father’s joy. But behind closed doors?
She was cruel. Just like her mother.
Rude words dripped from her tongue like venom, never caring who she stung. She struck you whenever the whim struck her—shoving past you in the hall, slapping your hand away from food, even pulling your hair once when you didn’t move quickly enough.
The worst part was the way she smiled when she did it. A sharp, gleeful little grin, as if hurting you was her favorite game.
And your father? He only laughed. “Sisters quarrel. Don’t take it so seriously.”
But it wasn’t quarreling. It was bullying. It was cruelty.
You’d learned long ago not to fight back—not because you were weak, but because no one would stand on your side. Every bruise, every insult, every little cut of her sharp tongue became something you swallowed quietly.
By twenty-one, you were used to it. The sting of her hand, the sting of her words. You bore it all in silence, because you had learned the truth long ago: in this house, there was no place for you.
Not as a daughter.
Not as a sister.
Not even as a human being.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱🥼❄️🥼⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
“You want us to marry off our daughter?” your father asked, brows arched as if he couldn’t believe his ears.
Mr. Li smiled faintly, sipping his tea with unhurried grace. “Of course. She’s a very sweet girl. I remember her as a child—she got along quite well with Shen-er.”
Your father blinked, clearly confused. “But Cheyyenne wasn’t even born then… wait, you’re not suggesting—”
Cassidy slammed her chopsticks down, her painted lips tightening into a scowl. “There is no way we’re handing off her to you,” she spat, her gaze sliding toward you with thinly veiled disgust. “Why not our youngest? She’s just as regal, just as disciplined. A perfect little sweetheart—”
“I’m afraid not.”
The interruption came sharp and cold from Mrs. Li. Her eyes—keen and merciless—cut across the table, silencing Cassidy at once. She tilted her head ever so slightly, her lips curving in something like a smile, though it never touched her eyes.
“Our son doesn’t like…” she paused deliberately, her gaze flicking to Cheyyenne with a hint of disdain, “blondes.”
Cassidy’s face twitched, but Mrs. Li wasn’t finished.
“And those blue eyes…” she leaned back in her chair, her voice dripping with contempt, “might frighten him. He might think she’s a beast.”
The words hung in the air, sharp enough to draw blood.
Cheyyenne’s mouth opened in protest, but your father silenced her with a raised hand. His jaw clenched, his eyes darting between the Lis and you, as though he were calculating what you were worth.
And you?
You sat frozen, hands in your lap, your heart pounding. For once, Cassidy’s outrage wasn’t directed at you, and Cheyyenne’s perfect mask had cracked. For once, someone had chosen you—not because they loved you, not because they cherished you, but because fate had twisted the game in your favor.
You felt a flicker of hope, small and fragile, but warm enough to make your chest ache.
Maybe—just maybe—you’d finally be free.
Free from Cassidy’s sharp tongue and cruel hands. Free from Cheyyenne’s constant torment. Free from a father who had long forgotten you, and a household that had spent your entire life erasing your existence.
The Lis’ calm authority, the way they spoke your name with respect, the thought of being somewhere new—somewhere that wasn’t filled with judgment and neglect—made your chest tighten in a strange mix of fear and longing.
For the first time in years, you allowed yourself a quiet smile, one that didn’t need to be hidden behind bowed eyes or trembling lips.
Freedom wasn’t guaranteed. The Lis were distant, their son—Li Shen—was cold, silent, and unyielding, from what you’d heard. But even if he was a wall of ice, even if your new life was uncertain and lonely, it was still a life your own.
And that alone was enough to spark hope.