Chapter 298: The Passing of the Keys

*Runze’s POV*

Siying has been in the walker for twenty minutes and she is very serious about it.

She pushes herself forward with both feet, her little legs working hard against the floor, the walker rolling slowly across the sitting room. She makes it three steps before her legs give out and she drops back into the seat. She sits there for a second, looks down at her feet, then plants them again and pushes.

“She has more energy before noon than most adults manage in a whole day,” Grandmother says from her armchair, setting her morning paper down onto her lap.

“She spent twenty minutes chasing her own shadow along the floor earlier,” I reply, watching Siying bump gently against the padded ottoman and let out a loud, victorious noise.

I keep my sketchbook open in my lap but I haven’t looked at it in a while.

The doors from the hallway swing open, and Mrs. Wen comes in carrying a tray. A tall glass of fresh dragon fruit and lychee drink, pale pink, still cold. A small plate of fried sesame balls, warm. Walking two careful paces behind her with her hands folded neatly over her apron is Xiao Mei, the young maid who had been so steady and gentle during those long weeks after Siying was born.

Mrs. Wen sets the tray on the low table in front of me. Instead of stepping back the way she usually does, she stays where she is. Her fingers lace together over her apron.

“Young Master,” she says. “If you have a moment.”

Something in her voice makes me set the sketchbook down.

“Of course,” I say. “Sit down, Mrs. Wen.”

She hesitates for a second, then sits on the edge of the sofa beside me. Xiao Mei stays standing a few feet back, her hands clasped, looking composed but noticeably tense.

“I have served this family for thirty-two years,” Mrs. Wen says, her eyes lingering softly on Siying, who is currently attempting to turn herself around in her walker with a series of small determined hops. “My hands are not as quick as they used to be, Young Master. My knees remind me of every staircase in this house when the weather turns cool.” She looks back at me, her expression calm and settled. “It is time for me to begin stepping back.”

The words reach me before my mind can wrap around them.

Stepping back? My pulse stutters, and for a long moment, I can only stare at her, my hands tightening on my lap. Mrs. Wen has been here for every quiet, terrifying, and beautiful moment of my life in this estate. She always knew what I needed before I even had the energy to ask.

She is not just the head of the staff. She has been a mother to me in every way that counts.

“Mrs. Wen.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not leaving today or tomorrow,” she says softly, her eyes warming as she sees the emotion rising in my face. She reaches out, her worn, familiar hand covering mine where it rests on the sofa cushion. “Several months, Young Master. I intend to stay long enough to make sure everything is properly handed over.” She glances toward Xiao Mei. “I have been watching her closely for a while now. She is attentive and careful and she learns quickly. I would like your permission to begin her training.”

Xiao Mei steps forward and bows deeply, first toward Grandmother, then toward me.

Grandmother sits in her armchair without a word, her posture upright, her eyes watching with complete composure. She does not interrupt. She does not offer an opinion. By staying silent and leaving the response entirely to me, she is saying something without saying it at all.

“I spoke with the Madam yesterday,” Mrs. Wen adds quietly, her thumb smoothing once over the back of my hand. “She told me the final decision rests with you.”

“I don’t want you to go,” I say. The honesty comes out before I can filter it and I don’t try to take it back. “This house runs because of you, Mrs. Wen. You handle everything so seamlessly that none of us ever have to worry. Siying needs you.” I pause. “I need you.”

Mrs. Wen’s eyes grow soft, a faint, tender smile touching her lips.

“You don’t need me the way you used to, Young Master,” she says gently.

“I will always need you,” I say, and I hadn’t planned it, it arrives before I finish deciding whether to say it. “Retire from the work, let Xiao Mei take over the schedules and the daily running of the house. But live here. You can have a private suite on the ground floor, take your meals with us, and rest. You don’t have to leave.”

Mrs. Wen looks at me for a long, quiet moment.

“Young Master,” she murmurs.

“I mean it,” I say. “You belong here as family.”

Something moves in her expression, warm and unhurried.

“Hearing you say those words,” she says quietly, “means more to me than thirty years of work. But my heart is set on going home, Young Master.”

She folds her hands over mine, taking a slow breath.

“I have a sister in Hangzhou,” she says, her voice settling into something peaceful. “Her husband passed three years ago and she has been asking me to come ever since. I have been telling her I am not ready.” A pause. “I think I am nearly ready now. You have built a complete, happy home here, Young Master—one that doesn’t need me hovering over every detail anymore. I would like to spend my remaining years by my sister’s side, watching our garden grow and resting my knees.”

Listening to her speak about her sister, the selfish reluctance in my chest slowly begins to give way to understanding. As much as it hurts to picture this estate without her, she has earned her peace tenfold.

“I see she needs you more,” I say quietly, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

“She does,” Mrs. Wen agrees. “And after so many years of looking after this house, it will be nice to just be a sister again.”

Siying pushes herself back across the room toward us, her legs working in small, energetic bursts. The small wheels stop right in front of Mrs. Wen’s knees. Siying reaches out, her tiny hand grabbing a handful of Mrs. Wen’s apron as she lets out an eager babble.

Mrs. Wen bends down, a tender smile breaking through her composure as she gently taps Siying’s nose with one finger.

“Yes, little miss,” she says softly, her voice rich with motherly warmth. “I am still here for a little while longer.”

Siying grins, tugging on the cloth.

Mrs. Wen looks back up at me, holding my gaze. “When you first arrived here, you were uncertain. You didn’t know how this vast estate worked or where you fit inside it. But look at you now. You have brought life, warmth, and laughter into these halls. This house is happy now because of you, Young Master.”

I press my lips together, fighting the stinging heat behind my eyes.

“I am not leaving because something is wrong,” she adds, her tone full of steady reassurance. “I am leaving because you are strong enough now, and everything is right.”

I look at her, taking a deep breath to settle myself, then squeeze her hand tightly.

“Thank you,” I tell her, my voice thick with emotion. “For everything you’ve done for me. For being there when I had no one else.”

Mrs. Wen smiles warmly, patting the back of my hand before standing up and smoothing her apron. “I will not disappear overnight. I will spend the next few months making sure Xiao Mei knows every single detail of your routine and every preference for the Young Miss. And I will come back for every holiday and every one of Siying’s birthdays, without exception.”

“I will hold you to that,” I say, offering her a genuine, grateful smile. “You have my full blessing, Mrs. Wen. And Xiao Mei.”

Xiao Mei straightens immediately, her eyes wide.

“You have large responsibilities ahead of you,” I tell her. “If Mrs. Wen trusts you with this house, then I trust you too. Starting today, you shadow her in everything.”

Xiao Mei bows deeply. “Thank you, Young Master. I will not disappoint you or Mrs. Wen.”

“Now,” Mrs. Wen says, her usual efficient rhythm returning as she points to the low table. “Finish your drink, Young Master. And eat the sesame balls while they are fresh.”

She picks up the tray, straightens it, and walks back toward the hallway. Xiao Mei follows two steps behind her, already paying attention.

I watch them go.

Siying drops back into her seat with a soft thud, looks at her feet, and pushes off again.

“Good job,” I tell her, my voice coming out slightly rougher than I intend.

She grins and pushes off toward the window.