Zhan let out a heavy sigh as he watched them leave. He remained seated where they had left him, lost in thought about life and everything tangled within it. Aunt Anu....where was she now? Where had she gone? She had disappeared into a distance far beyond his expectations. The kind of distance he never imagined possible. The dream he had about her the night before still clung to him, lingering in his chest. She had been his mother's closest companion, practically her sister. Since his mother's side of the family had shut him out, as if he no longer existed, it seemed they had forgotten that their own kin had married off his daughter to a faraway land...and she had a child with her even....or did they ever care?
A mother... a mother is a cornerstone in one's life. A pillar, a foundation. Anyone who loses her will inevitably cry....a deep, unending kind of sorrow that won't fade until the day life itself ends.
It felt like Zhan had been given a new kind of awareness about what a mother means. Even if his father had more power than his mother, and even if the marriage had been forced while she was still alive, Zhan knew for sure that had she been around when he returned, things would not have turned out like this.
First, there was his father's new bride, who had taken an instant dislike to him. Then there was Fenghua and Cunxin. He had long known where he stood with them, but he had hoped, foolishly, that things would change now....that they'd show some appreciation, given that they were all benefitting from his so-called marriage.
But no.... when he greeted them, they replied out of politeness. If he didn't greet them first, no one looked for him. Even if he spent days locked in his room, not one person would knock or ask after him. Only his younger siblings brought him any comfort. They were his companions and his confidants. Still, his heart carried too much.... so many thoughts twisted together, weighing him down. After just two weeks back home, he was already losing weight.
Beyond the lack of comfort he once knew in New York....the small joys and care freely given....here, nothing remained. No one cared how he liked his food, no one asked what he needed. No one thought to give him money for shower soap or laundry. If he got anything at all, it was because his younger siblings insisted on sharing what little they had. Even they didn't have enough. He didn't know if this neglect was coming directly from his father or through the hands of his father's wives.
He didn't know, and perhaps it didn't matter. Whatever he was given, he used. Whatever came his way, he accepted. He reminded himself that the life he had in New York was a dream... one that matched only the sweetness of fantasy.
Still, he couldn't deny that not having a mother made everything harder. If she were alive, even if he had nothing else, he would've had a shoulder to cry on. A place to speak his truth. Even if his problems couldn't be solved, he would've received comfort, advice, someone to ask him what was wrong or what he needed. But now... there was no mother. So he carried his worries alone or shared them with siblings who likely didn't understand the weight behind his words.
After showering, Zhan changed into fresh clothes, checking the pile of laundry waiting to be washed. There was no soap left, and he didn't want to touch his siblings' supplies, knowing they barely had enough themselves.
He walked slowly toward the kitchen. Anyone who knew him well could tell from a single glance... he was deeply troubled. His thoughts were stormy, and the air around him felt heavy. The kitchen was empty. He had come for some tea. He found a mug and poured some for himself, aware that sometimes the children were scolded by the wives if they so much as touched the wrong mug.
He picked up a slice of bread that had gone slightly stale....he was sure it was his. He was nearly always the last to eat breakfast in this house. No one saved anything for him, nor did anyone ask if he'd eaten.
He was still standing, sipping his tea, when the new wife entered the kitchen. It seemed it was her turn to cook that day. Her expression was cold, her arms crossed as she moved irritably around the kitchen, muttering and casting sharp looks in his direction. She barely returned his greeting, clearly doing so only out of obligation, then began preparing lunch. She always cooked in a rush...just enough to say the meal was made. She'd earned a reputation for it. Zhan had overheard arguments between her and Cunxin about the same thing...how tasteless her food was.
Fenghua never intervened. She usually just clapped her hands and called herself a spectator. Whether anyone liked it or not, she had declared herself the head wife, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
"So you're the kind of person who's only useful when food is placed right in front of you?"
Zhan froze mid-action, still holding the cup he had just rinsed after drinking his tea. He turned to the new bride, puzzled, not quite understanding what she meant. All he knew was that before his younger siblings left for school, they swept the sitting room and veranda. He had never once made them lazy. He even cleaned the kitchen thoroughly every day, washing all the dishes whether they were his or not, just to make sure the place stayed decent.... especially since he couldn't count on the younger ones to always do it properly. The new bride herself had witnessed how much cleaner the kitchen had become since his return. Every time they finished a meal, he gathered the dishes and washed them again. Ever since he came back, the pile of dirty dishes never lasted overnight.
So what else did she want from him?
Before he could ask, her next words hit him like a slap.
"That's the problem with living under the same roof with a used-up divorced man. You treat him like a person, and he starts thinking he's special. He probably thinks he's smarter than everyone. Who knows, maybe when we had a night with his father, he already knew which styles we did. Pathetic. No wonder a father turns his own son into a cut-sleeve just because of money."
Zhan blinked slowly, a wave of heat rising behind his eyes, his heart pounding hard and loud in his chest. He placed the cup down carefully, afraid he might shatter it, and turned to leave the kitchen.
He barely made it to his room before he collapsed onto the tiled floor, sitting cross-legged, trying to process the venom in her words. Each sentence spun through his head like shards of glass, cutting deep. Her voice still echoed in his ears. Her words hurt in a way he hadn't anticipated. Then the tears came, silently, trailing down his cheeks without permission.
"Divorced man." That phrase gripped him tighter than anything else. It dragged him into a well of thought he couldn't climb out of. Every time he looked in the mirror, that name flashed in his mind like a label he couldn't scrub off. It defined him. Anyone who knew him would immediately attach it to him. Whenever a potential relationship was mentioned, that's the name people used... "the divorced one." And worst of all, if they asked him who his ex was, he couldn't even give a clear, organized answer.
The insults from the new bride weren't just words anymore....they were poison. They sank into him, breaking apart his peace, shaking his sense of self. The weight of them pressed hard on his chest. Even Cunxin had started following her lead, turning cold, as if Zhan had wronged them both somehow. Each day he woke up, it was to tears and loneliness. The energy, the spark he'd come home with, had long since vanished.
To make things worse, his bitterness toward the Tianjin household deepened. No matter how he looked at it, they were the root of his suffering. As much as his father had failed, a father was still a father. But even so, Zhan couldn't help but feel that his father had become the second greatest reason behind everything....responsible for nearly every misfortune in his life. In a short time, Zhan had grown to resent not just the people around him, but even his own existence.
✨✨✨
"Damn it," Prince Yibo muttered as he jerked awake, sitting up straight on his bed and holding his forehead in both hands.
He stayed like that for a long while, breathing heavily. Then he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, flicking on the light. The room flooded with brightness. He made his way into the bathroom, where he splashed cold water on his face, again and again.
The dream he'd just had still clung to him....every image, every voice lingering in his mind like it had only just happened. His face, his voice....it was all still there, sharp and clear.
After a long time, he reached for a towel and dried his face, returning to the bedroom. He sat back on the bed, this time reclining with a pillow behind his back. His breaths were deep and steady now, but his eyes remained wide open, lost in thought.
Sleep never returned to him that night. He lay awake, restless, until the sun began to rise. Only then did a short, shallow sleep finally take him.
Later that morning, the servants in Queen Zhaiye's wing all respectfully bowed and greeted him as he passed, though he didn't acknowledge them or respond. His stride was calm but firm, every step filled with unspoken authority. Still, anyone who knew him well could see the weariness on his face... the absence of his usual fire.
Without stopping, without waiting for anyone to announce him, he entered the sitting room where his mother was entertaining guests. As soon as he walked in, everyone stood and quietly excused themselves, leaving the space for him and the Queen.
He walked to the soft carpet where she sat, pulled one of the plush pillows close, and lowered himself beside her with gentle reverence. Then he greeted her, voice low but filled with respect.
Queen Zhaiye's eyes stayed fixed on him as she responded, then voiced the question that had been circling her mind all week:
"Are you truly alright, Prince?"
He glanced at her briefly before lowering his gaze. Rubbing his neck and jawline, he replied,
"I'm fine, Mom."
"But what's behind this weariness and the constant look of worry on your face this entire week?"
He paused, as though searching for the reason himself. In truth, he didn't quite know how to answer her or what answer would be suitable for her question. He let out a slight sigh, thinking maybe he was overburdening himself... or perhaps it was a minor attachment that had crept into his life without him noticing, trying to find its way deeper. But was it really minor? What sort of attachment grows from two or three meetings that barely lasted more than an hour or two?
"I haven't been sleeping well the past couple of nights... I think it's just fatigue. Once I rest properly, things will get back to normal."
Queen Zhaiye straightened up, sitting upright... very different from her earlier relaxed posture. A sense of worry crept into her chest, fearing something might be wrong now that he was back, something possibly stemming from enemies.
"What kind of fatigue stops someone from sleeping for a whole week? Are you sure, Yibo? If there's something else bothering you, tell me now... before it grows worse, before it becomes overwhelming."
He shook his head, trying to reassure her.
"There's nothing, Mom. I'll be okay."
She was silent for a moment, then gave a small nod.
"Very well."
"Earlier, His Majesty sent word to your quarters. I also sent someone, but your assistant said you were asleep. There was a loss... He wanted you to attend the funeral with him, but you weren't found. I think it would be best if you went to him after this... hear it from him directly. If he still wants your company, prepare and go with him. You should take these things seriously for your future. Don't forget.... someday, you'll stand where he does now. That's why he wants you by his side."
"I understand," he replied, though he wasn't sure what exactly he felt about any of it.
Just then, Zhenxi entered the sitting room, dressed and ready to return to school. Before she could sit, Yibo asked her to prepare him a meal. She did as requested, set it before him, then went over to Queen Zhaiye to chat briefly. They said their goodbyes, and she left.
Barely ten minutes later, Nalan entered the room, hugging her books. She dropped them in front of Queen Zhaiye and sat down heavily beside her, her bag sliding to the floor as if she were about to lie across her lap. She kicked off her shoes, pouting.
Yibo's eyes were already on her, though she hadn't noticed his presence in the room. He rarely spoke when someone was doing something he disapproved of.... he preferred to silently observe, waiting for them to realize on their own.
"This studying is exhausting, Mom... I feel like running away," she whined.
Queen Zhaiye just smiled and looked at her.
"You've had too much comfort. Do you know how many people dream of the opportunity you've been given but never receive it?"
Nalan went quiet for a few seconds, then nodded.
"You're right, Mom. That reminds me of ZHAN."
At the sound of the name, the Prince instinctively lifted his head. He didn't know why it had become etched so deeply in his thoughts and memory. Nalan, unaware of his reaction, continued:
"He was really hardworking, Mom. We used to compete in academics, even though we weren't close. Everyone knew he was smart. His dream was to study… poor Zhan. One day his father pulled him out of school and forced him into marriage."
"You still haven't forgotten that, Nalan?" Queen Zhaiye asked, now remembering that Nalan had once come to her to complain about the matter.
Looking at her mother, her expression full of regret, Nalan replied,
"I can't forget, Mom. I didn't know he was kind, and I fought with him constantly. He didn't deserve it. He was innocent, I like Zhan...yet they stole his future from him."
"That's your brother for you. Sometimes you two never stop arguing over nonsense. When you're done, go inside," Queen Zhaiye said, shaking her head.
Nalan tilted her head, about to reply again when her eyes met Yibo's. His sharp glare stopped her mid-sentence. She jumped up and made for the door in silence.
"Make sure someone comes to pick those up. Don't come disturbing my rest later asking for your books," he called after her.
"Come and collect them," the Prince added sternly.
Without a word, Nalan rushed back, gathered her books, and left. He scoffed quietly.
"Spoiled girl. You even need someone to carry your books for you. I should cut down on all the attendants around here and make you all handle your own tasks."
Nalan didn't dare respond. She simply left in haste. Queen Zhaiye didn't say a word either... just smiled to herself. Ever since Yibo was a child, he carried himself with a kind of gravitas that extended beyond his years. But sometimes, she mused, he forgot that even he was served by others.
She shook her head again and smiled, following their movements with silent hopes in her heart.
Zhanxianyibo💚❤️💛