SCARS

The villa wasn't the estate I'd pictured.

It stood behind towering iron gates—tall, cold, unmoving—like soldiers guarding secrets. Not the kind of house you approached, but one that stared down at you. Proud. Pale. Silent.

Fu Sihan didn't say a word as he drove in. The gravel whispered under the tyres as we pulled into the compound. His hands rested calmly on the wheel, like this was routine. Like I hadn't just been uprooted from Fujian and dropped into the centre of something I didn't yet understand.

He parked, stepped out, and walked away without glancing back. No welcome. No instructions. No mention of where I was meant to sleep or where to put the sack I clutched to my chest. But I didn't need telling. I was used to having little, and even less was expected of me.

I stood by the car a moment longer.

The building stretched high, elegant and white, with long glass windows that reflected nothing back. A villa too clean, too precise. Almost like a painting. Something about it made the hairs on my neck rise.

To the left, I saw a garden—meticulously kept. Roses trimmed to identical heights, hedges cut into perfect squares. But it felt artificial. It was beautiful, yes—but in the way a mask is. Pretty on the surface. Hiding something else beneath.

I walked in alone.

Inside, the air was cold. It didn't smell of cooking or warmth, only polish and expensive perfume. Echoes lived in the hallways, and marble floors stretched endlessly beneath my feet. It didn't feel like a home. More like a theatre. Or a trap.

I learned quickly that Fu Sihan didn't live alone. There was a woman—Sheng wuang. His mistress. And she ruled the house like she'd been born into it. Her lips smiled, but her eyes never did. She wore elegance like armour, sharp and gleaming.

And she had two daughters—lin ruan and Ye shu.

The day I arrived, they made it clear I wasn't welcome. They didn't scream or curse. No—they were too refined for that. Their cruelty was quieter. More polished. They draped their insults in laughter and turned chores into punishments.

By nightfall, I was scrubbing the hallway tiles.

By morning, I was handwashing a pile of branded clothes before the sun touched the curtains.

They gave me no room to rest. But worse than the work were the whispers. The mocking glances. The way they said my name with a twist in their mouths—Kui fu—like it tasted wrong to them.

One evening, they tried to poison me.

I'd only just sat down when lin ruan brought me soup. Her smile was wide, her eyes watchful. Ye Shu hovered by the doorway, pretending not to look.

I stared at the bowl. Something smelled… off. I couldn't place it, but it scratched at my instincts.It was instinct now—what Master Zhou had drilled into me in those early TCM days. I slipped the silver needle into the soup. Truth doesn't lie to silver, I always carried a needle with me, tucked in the fold of my sleeve. Quiet protection.

I dipped it into the soup.

It turned black.

Wuji Du San.

A rare poison—illegal, lethal, and impossible to trace. Found only in China's black market. I remembered reading about it once. A drop was enough to silence the heart within minutes. The perfect poison for someone who wouldn't be missed.

I poured the soup down the sink.

Said nothing.

They never asked.

Days blurred. Tasks piled. Lin Ruan's voice rang through the halls every morning like a church bell no one could silence. That woman had a talent for cruelty wrapped in silk. She never yelled—no, she delivered insults with poise.

That morning, she called for all the servants to gather in the parlour.

"My friend is visiting today," she said, a glint in her eyes. "She's a very important socialite. I expect all of you to act like you have an ounce of manners."

Her gaze lingered on me as she spoke, like I was the one likely to ruin the illusion she clung to so tightly.

I said nothing. Just nodded with the others and stepped back into the shadows.

Just past noon, Fei Fei arrived.

Her heels struck the marble like gunshots—deliberate, commanding. She wore a dress that shimmered under the chandelier and a smirk that didn't waver. Everything about her said money. Power. Control. She walked in like she'd built the villa with her bare hands.

"Fei! Look what the storm dragged in!" Lin Ruan's laugh echoed as she stepped into the room.

I stood quietly by the doorframe, my hands folded, my expression unreadable.

Their eyes snapped to me, and the room shifted. The air turned sticky.

Fei Fei tilted her head. "She's the one you told me about?"

"She smells, doesn't she?" lin ruan said, wrinkling her nose as though my presence offended her senses.

The laughter that followed was light, theatrical. Practised.

"Two cups of coffee," Lin Ruan said with a flick of her manicured hand. "Dark. No sugar. And Kui… try not to take all day."

I turned silently, walked into the corridor, their laughter snapping at my heels again like a whip.

In the kitchen, I moved slowly. Poured the coffee. Held the cups in both hands. I felt the heat through the porcelain—like the sting of every insult, every chore, every glance that passed over me like I was nothing.

But I didn't tremble.

I returned, placed the cups carefully before them.

Lin Ruan didn't even look up.

"Took you long enough," she said.

I turned to go.

"Wait," she said, her tone light and lazy. "I think you forgot something."

I paused.

Fei Fei stood. Her heels clicked once. She lifted her cup, smiling sweetly.

Then, in one swift motion, she turned and poured the entire thing down the front of my blouse.

A gasp tore from my throat before I could stop it.

The liquid soaked into my fabric, steam curling upward. Lin Ruan hissed, then stilled. Her eyes darted to me.

She smiled.

But it wasn't warm.

"Seems you've learned something today," she said quietly.

I didn't move. My arms stayed by my side. My eyes didn't drop. I met hers—calm. Cold. I wouldn't give her the pleasure of seeing me flinch.

Lin Ruan stepped forward.

"Get out," she said sharply. She shoved the empty cups toward me. "Take those."

I obeyed without a word. Walked down the hallway as their laughter rose again, trailing me like smoke.

Later, I stood in the garden.

My shirt still clung damp to my skin. The sting had faded, but not the memory. The roses looked plastic under the sunlight. Fake, like everything else here.

I heard footsteps.

"You were always too proud," Ye Shu's voice came from behind me. Flat. Measured.

"You should've stayed in Fujian. Would've been easier."

I didn't turn.

She stepped closer. "Now? You'll pay."