Her Identity is "Maid"

It was late at night, but a lamp still flickered on the back mountain of Murong Manor.

Su Wan sat on a meditation cushion in the alchemy room, the medicinal furnace before her emitting wisps of blue smoke. She held a small silver spatula, gently turning the spirit herbs inside the furnace with skilled and patient movements. The firelight reflected in her eyes like two tiny flames, flickering unsteadily.

The scent of herbs gradually spread, bitter yet with a hint of sweetness. She nodded slightly—the heat was just right.

"Miss Su," came the voice of the maid Su Xin from outside the door, "the eldest young master has returned and is throwing a tantrum in the courtyard."

Su Wan paused in her movements, then set down the silver spatula, rose, and smoothed her robe. "What's wrong?"

"It's because of that new arrival today..." Su Xin lowered her voice, "That Miss Liu Yiyi just now said she wanted to see the eldest young master, but was stopped by the servants. She then ran into the courtyard and made a scene, saying... saying she was brought back by the eldest young master, so why should they stop her."

Su Wan was silent for a moment, then said softly, "I'll go take a look."

In the courtyard, Murong Yan stood with his hands behind his back beneath a peach tree, his brows slightly furrowed. Scattered on the ground were several peach blossoms knocked down by his sword aura. Liu Yiyi stood not far away, her eyes red, looking deeply wronged.

"Young Master Yan, look at them..." As soon as Liu Yiyi saw Su Wan approaching, her voice immediately rose, and she cast a provocative glance at Su Wan. "Are they deliberately targeting me? I just wanted to talk to you, but they stopped me outside. Are the rules of this manor so hierarchical?"

As she spoke, she deliberately glanced at Su Wan out of the corner of her eye, implying clearly—even this unorthodox "Miss Su" could come and go freely, so why couldn't she?

Murong Yan, however, did not look at her. His gaze fell on Su Wan, and his tone carried a hint of weariness. "You're here."

"Young Master," Su Wan slightly curtsied, her voice as soft as the night breeze, "the medicine is ready. Drink it later to calm your nerves."

Murong Yan hummed in acknowledgment and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Liu Yiyi grew anxious and stepped forward. Suddenly, she noticed the slightly worn jade pendant at Su Wan's waist. Her eyes darted, and she reached out to touch it. "Oh, Miss Su's jade pendant looks quite unique. Let me have a look..."

Su Wan instinctively sidestepped to avoid her.

"What?" Liu Yiyi's face fell at being dodged, and her tone turned sharp. "Can't even take a look? Young Master Yan, look at her. After all these years in the manor, she's become quite arrogant."

Murong Yan stopped and looked back. His gaze fell on the jade pendant at Su Wan's waist, lingered for only a moment, then shifted away, as if looking at an ordinary object.

"It's just an old trinket," he said flatly, without any emotion. "What's there to see?"

With that, he turned and walked into the inner chamber, without looking at anyone else.

Liu Yiyi stood rooted to the spot, her face alternating between red and white. Su Wan lowered her eyes and silently followed him in, brought him the medicinal decoction, watched him drink it, then quietly cleaned up the bowl and withdrew.

From beginning to end, she had not spoken a single word in her own defense.

Su Xin stood under the eaves waiting for her. Seeing her emerge, her eyes reddened. "Miss, are you just... letting it go? What she said was too much."

Su Wan shook her head and said softly, "Just a few words."

She looked up at the peach tree in the courtyard. The moonlight was like water, spilling over the pinkish-white petals, dreamlike and illusory. A breeze passed, and petals rustled down, landing in her hair and on her shoulders, like a silent snow.

One hundred years.

She remembered that night a hundred years ago, under the same moonlight. She was just a child of eight or nine then, her hometown ravaged by demonic beasts, the entire village reduced to a sea of fire. She hid in a dry well, listening to the roars of beasts and the screams of her clansmen above, trembling all over, not daring to breathe loudly.

Just as she thought she would surely die, a small figure appeared at the mouth of the well.

It was a boy of eleven or twelve, wearing a slightly oversized white brocade robe, holding a long sword taller than himself. Moonlight illuminated his face, still youthful, yet with a calmness and determination beyond his years.

"Come out," he said, his voice still crisp like a boy's. "The demonic beast is already dead."

He pulled her up from the dry well. She saw a huge demonic beast carcass lying by the well; the boy's shoulder was stained with blood, and the hand holding the sword trembled slightly—he was afraid too, but he had come anyway.

"What's your name?" the boy asked her.

"Su Wan," she answered softly.

"Su Wan..." the boy repeated, as if memorizing a new word. He looked at her, then at the village behind him lit by firelight. He was silent for a moment, then handed his sword to a servant, took off his slightly oversized outer robe, and draped it over her thin shoulders.

"Come with me," he said.

So she followed him to the Murong Manor on Qingyun Mountain.

When she first entered the manor, she understood nothing and could do nothing. She was an orphaned girl from the countryside, while he was the eldest legitimate son of the Murong clan, blessed with unparalleled talent, the center of attention. Everyone in the manor treated him with utmost respect, but toward this unknown little girl, they showed curiosity, disdain, or pity.

She didn't understand cultivation, didn't know etiquette, and was even cautious about eating. But he never disliked her.

"Su Wan," the teenage Murong Yan often called her, holding a small carving knife, clumsily carving on a piece of waste jade. "Look, I'll carve a jade pendant for you, okay?"

She stood beside him, watching his serious profile as sunlight slanted in through the window, casting scattered specks of light on his eyelashes. She didn't speak, just looked at him, a faint smile on her lips.

"What should I carve?" he furrowed his brow in thought. "Let's carve a peach blossom. See that peach tree in the yard? It was planted the year I was born."

He carved very earnestly, cutting his fingers several times with the knife, blood beading up. He merely wiped it away casually and continued. The finished jade pendant was crooked, the peach blossom shape not very neat, but he was delighted. He personally tied a red string and hung it at her waist.

"Wear it," he said. "Whenever you see it, remember I gave it to you."

She nodded vigorously then, clutching the jade pendant tightly in her hand.

She wore it for a hundred years.

The red string was replaced again and again, the edges of the pendant were smoothed by time, but she never took it off. Yet the boy who had carved the pendant for her with his own hands had long forgotten the matter.

A century passed. She grew from a child to a young girl, and from a young girl to a serene woman. When he went into seclusion to cultivate, she guarded outside his cave, keeping watch for months on end; when he was injured in battles, she stayed up all night refining pills and sat by his bed for three days and nights without sleep; when he brought new romantic interests home, she silently arranged accommodations for them and tidied their rooms, like a dutiful housekeeper.

She cultivated in the unconventional path of healing. Her spiritual root was unique; her spiritual power was not very strong, but her healing skills were unmatched among her peers. Every time Murong Yan was seriously injured, she silently stayed by his side, using her spiritual power to heal him. Sometimes, when she overexerted her spiritual power, she would faint, but upon waking, she would force herself to continue.

He didn't know these things. He only knew that every time he was gravely wounded, he would miraculously recover upon waking, with a bowl of warm medicine by his bedside and a silent figure sitting beside him.

"Su Wan," he would often call her casually, as if addressing a familiar servant. "Where is my sword?"

"Su Wan, change the prescription for today's medicine."

"Su Wan, that young lady I brought back—arrange a courtyard for her."

She never refused and never said much. Every time, she would just softly reply, "Mm," and silently go do it.

Late at night, Su Wan returned to her room. The room was very simple, with only a bed, a table, and a medicine cabinet. On the table sat an oil lamp, its dim yellow light casting her slender shadow.

She took out a small box from under her pillow and opened it. Inside the box were neatly arranged dozens of small porcelain bottles, each with tiny regular script characters: "Young Master's Healing Pill," "Young Master's Calming Powder," "Young Master's Essence Nourishing Ointment"... Each one was prepared for him.

She gently traced the characters with her fingers, her fingertips trembling slightly.

The next morning, Su Wan went to Murong Yan's secret chamber as usual to tidy his belongings. Only he and a few others could enter that chamber, and she was one of them—because she was silent, trustworthy, and because, to him, she was like air: everywhere yet often overlooked.

The secret chamber was quiet, with only the sound of her footsteps. She carefully organized his old items, returning scattered scrolls to their places, wiping clean dusty objects.

Just as she was cleaning a dust-covered wooden box, she saw something.

A jade pendant.

Almost identical to the one at her waist—same texture, same peach blossom carving, even the marks from the carving knife were so similar. But this one was coarser than hers, the peach blossom shape even more crooked, like an initial attempt.

Beneath the jade pendant was a small note, yellowed with age. She carefully picked it up. On it was a line of very childish youthful handwriting:

"Wanwan's birthday gift."

Wanwan.

How long had it been since anyone called her that? She herself had almost forgotten that someone once called her that.

Holding the jade pendant, Su Wan's fingertips trembled slightly. She remembered that sunny afternoon, the boy carving earnestly, those fragmented memories buried by time. She thought he had long forgotten, but it turned out he had once seriously prepared a small gift for her.

She clenched the jade pendant tightly in her palm, the cool jade against her burning palm, making her eyes feel hot. She put the jade pendant and note back into the wooden box, closed it, and returned it to its original place.

Then she stood up, wiped the corner of her eyes, and continued tidying the secret chamber as if nothing had happened.

But just as she turned, a glint of tears flashed in her eyes.