---
The monk pressed his palms together and bowed slightly. "Imagination is a powerful force, Madam. It can kill, and it can cure. In your daughter's case, it has simply… gotten a bit carried away."
Su Wanning opened her mouth to retort—but nothing suitable came out. Instead, she turned to Shen Yulan, who was now paler than ever, hands twisting in her lap like frightened little birds.
"A bit carried away," Su Qingren repeated, biting the inside of his cheek. "Is that the medical term?"
The monk gave him a placid look. "Something like that."
There was a long silence in which Shen Yulan hiccupped, possibly from suppressed sobbing—or possibly from holding her breath too long in terror. One of the censers clinked as it cooled, the sandalwood smoke thinning into a vague suggestion of what had once been ominous mystery and was now just poor ventilation.
The Monk bowed to Su Wanning. "Amitabha. I have done what I can. Please do not disturb the balance further with more incense. That much sandalwood could summon a headache worse than any ghost. Now that here I don't have any need, I'll take my leave. There are still spirits for me to purify."
"Do any of them also suffer from... creative spirits?" Su Qingren asked dryly.
The monk pretended not to hear and drifted serenely from the room, jingling faintly with each step, his prayer beads rattling like a wind chime tied to poor decisions.
Silence settled in again.
Once the door closed behind him, Su Wanning turned on her brother with a tight smile that did not reach her eyes.
Su Qingren exhaled and turned to his sister. "Well. That was enlightening."
"You find this amusing."
"I find this entire display more suited to the stage than the ancestral hall," he replied. "Honestly, Wanning, if you think this is the work of Shen Yuhan, then you've been outplayed."
Su Wanning didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
Her eye twitched.
It had not been a spirit. Not a curse. Not even some ancient grudge. It was Shen Yuhan. The girl had planted a story in Yulan's head and let her own foolish mind do the rest.
Shen Yuhan hadn't needed magic.
She'd used a book.
A book, Su Wanning thought bitterly, closing her eyes. That scheming, smug little fox.
Su Wanning's jaw locked.
"Don't you see?" he continued, gesturing vaguely at the still-flickering candles and the ceremonial rice now coating the floor like bird feed. "This is exactly what she wants. To make you act like a lunatic while she watches from behind her curtain, sipping tea and whispering ghost stories."
"I know," Su Wanning said through clenched teeth. "Believe me, I know."
She turned toward Shen Yulan, whose expression was now hovering somewhere between bewildered and ashamed. "Yulan," she said tightly, "no more talking to mirrors. No more incense. No more shrieking in the night unless you see an actual corpse."
Behind her, Shen Yulan whispered, "But I felt it…"
Lord Su Qingren patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Of course you did, niece. The mind is a mysterious thing. I once dreamed I married a goose. Didn't mean I woke up with feathers."
Su Wanning gave him a withering look.
Lord Su Qingren gave a low chuckle and moved toward the door. "Good luck, Sister. I'll send you a physician with more experience in… imaginative maladies."
He left before Su Wanning could throw a censer at him.
Left alone with her increasingly damp daughter and a room that smelled like burnt poetry, Su Wanning finally let her composed mask slip. She pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering, "Outplayed by a book and a girl who couldn't even lift her soup spoon last month. Heaven help me."
Su Wanning sat down hard on the edge of the bed, pressing her fingers to her forehead.
Shen Yulan sniffled. "Maybe we should get another monk?"
"No." Su Wanning exhaled. "I already told you, it's not some ghost, but that wretched girl playing tricks on you. Listen to your mother and your Eldest Uncle. Your uncle said he would find a physician… more experienced, someone who has dealt with patients… of your kind." Her tone grew a little awkward, but she pressed on. "Wait for the physician, okay?"
Shen Yulan's lips parted, but no words came. Her fingers, twisted in the hem of her sleeve, trembled slightly.
"Of my kind?" she whispered at last, the words cold and fragile. "Mother… you think I've gone mad?"
Su Wanning closed her eyes for a moment. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" Shen Yulan's voice cracked, barely containing the panic rising in her throat. "You think I'm imagining the flickering shadows on my walls? The footsteps in the corridor that vanish when I open the door? The scent of burning incense at midnight when no one lights it?"
Her voice trembled as she spoke, but her eyes were wild, desperate for validation.
Su Wanning opened her mouth, then closed it again. She paced a few steps, her silk slippers brushing the edge of the carpet. Finally, she turned back.
"Yulan, trust me, just one more day," Su Wanning said, her voice thick with a promise that rang as cold as steel. "Once the physician examines you and uncovers the truth behind this... affliction, I will make sure those responsible for your torment will pay, and pay dearly. Do you understand?"
In the quiet darkness of her mind, a storm of vengeful thoughts brewed.
Shen Yuhan would regret ever crossing her. She would make sure, that wretched girl would beg for death.
Su Wanning's imagination raced, conjuring a dozen ways to break the girl, to make her suffer the consequences of her schemes.
'No one would escape the wrath after making her precious daughter suffer.' Su Wanning thought to herself as she gritted her teeth.
---
In Osmanthus Courtyard, Shen Yuhan sneezed.
Ah Zhu brought her a handkerchief. "Cold?"
"Someone must be cursing me," Shen Yuhan replied with a grin. "Hopefully with style."
Ming'er peeked through the screen. "The monk's gone. Su Wanning's brother too."
"Did they look angry?"
"No… more like resigned."
Shen Yuhan laughed. "Perfect. Now we move to the next part."
Ah Zhu blinked. "There's more?"
"There's always more," Shen Yuhan said, stretching her arms. "But for now, let's make more sugar buns."