His sister, the youngest of his siblings, caught his attention first. A small figure, her eyes glowing with the untainted joy of youth. She was the embodiment of innocence, untouched by the harsh realities that the world would one day lay bare before her. And perhaps, in her case, it was better that way. She would never know the true nature of the world — nor should she.
Her affection, pure and unclouded by ambition, was a rare and precious gift. In a family where even love was tainted by the cold machinations of his uncles and aunts, her bond was unspoiled, and that made her his only weakness. But that weakness, he knew, was a luxury he could never afford to show.
"Brother," she called, her voice high with excitement, sweet like the chime of bells, as she ran toward him, her small feet kicking up clouds of dust. "Will you play with me today?"
For a moment, he simply stared at her, the words of refusal hanging on his lips. But they did not escape. They would not. This was all part of the plan.
Instead, he lowered himself to her level, allowing a smile to touch his lips — soft, yet deliberate, imbued with a warmth that concealed the storm within him. He could not afford to let her see the turbulence in his heart.
"Of course, little one," he said, his voice a quiet, controlled murmur, masking the tempest inside. He took her hand, leading her toward the courtyard where his brothers wrestled and sparred with each other. Their roughhousing, their crude jokes, their boisterous laughter — all beneath him. Yet, it was a distraction. A necessary one.
As they approached the others, his thoughts darkened. This place, this family... they are my foundation. For now.
The air around him thickened, the weight of unseen eyes pressing against him like a heavy cloak. His aunt, ever the opportunist, stood in the doorway, her gaze sharp and calculating, as if she could peel back the layers of his soul with a mere glance. Behind her, his uncle lingered, his presence rough and crude, assessing Qin Wuye with the eyes of someone who saw only potential — but not the truth of it.
"Ah, Qin Wuye, my dear," his aunt's voice trilled from behind, saccharine and sweet, a veil to hide the cold ambition beneath. "Come in, come in. I've prepared your favorite meal."
Her warmth was a disguise, an attempt to cloak the transactional nature of her affections. She saw him as nothing more than a stepping stone, a tool to further her own ends. But Qin Wuye saw through her with ease. She does not know me. She does not know what I am capable of.
He did not answer immediately. Instead, he met her gaze, his eyes as cold and distant as a winter's night. A smile curled at the corners of his lips, but it did not reach his eyes. He would play her game, for now. There would be time later to turn the tide in his favor.
"Of course," he said at last, his voice smooth and controlled, like the gentle ripple of water over stone. He brushed past her, his steps deliberate, measured, as if every movement was calculated — for he knew he was being watched. But in this moment, it was not only the watcher who saw, but the one who was being watched in turn.