Whispers of Blossoms

CHAPTER THREE: THE SILENT HEIR

The carriage ride from the bustling market back to the General’s Manor was a return to a different kind of silence. Wei Lei Yang sat straight, his elegant robes neat and unruffled, but his thoughts were far from the careful order of his daily life.

Wei Lei Yang, the eldest son of General Wei, was often described as perfection made flesh. He possessed his father’s sharp military mind and his mother’s graceful composure. In every art he excelled, archery, calligraphy, music, literature and martial arts.

To the world, he was the ideal heir, polite in court, strategic in business, and handsome in every setting. His long white hair, dark at the tips like ink dipped in snow, was his only unusual feature. He had been born with it, a mark that made him unforgettable, and because of it, people in Luoyang had given him a quiet nickname, the Mystique Prince, though he was no prince at all.

The Wei family’s home, the General’s Manor, stood like a fortress of wealth and expectation. The Weis were not only rich, they were one of the pillars of the Imperial Court, second only to the Royal Family in both military power and political influence. Their lineage traced back through generations of generals and loyal statesmen, and their presence reached into every corner of Luoyang’s high society.

General Wei Zheng, his father, was a man of iron discipline and few words. He saw his children, especially Lei Yang, not as individuals but as extensions of the Wei legacy.

Madam Wei Hua, his mother, was the quiet power behind the family’s reputation, elegant, calculating, and determined to secure her son’s marriage to a royal princess for the sake of safety and prestige.

His younger brother, Wei Jin, was bright but often overshadowed, content to follow rather than lead, while his sister, Wei Yumeng, was gentle and kind, the only person who could speak to him without the weight of duty in her voice.

The Wei family’s relationship with the Royal Family was one built on loyalty and suspicion, their influence making them both indispensable and dangerous, admired in public yet watched in private. For Lei Yang, perfection had become a cage woven of silk and gold, every action studied, every word weighed, his life not lived but managed.

Yet the girl at the market had cracked that still surface. He remembered her simple basket, her plain clothes, and the quiet way she moved, careful but not weak. And most of all, he remembered the faint bruise on her wrist and the way she had lowered her eyes when he spoke, not out of pride but out of fear or habit.

In that brief exchange, something unfamiliar had stirred inside him, a flicker of curiosity, a sense of warmth he had not felt in years.

Later, standing alone in his study, surrounded by the scent of ink and old paper, he found his thoughts returning to her. She seemed lonely, he thought quietly. I wonder where she comes from and what her name is.

A knock broke his thoughts. From the other side of the door came a familiar voice.

“Young Master,” said his loyal guard, Wei Tao. “Madam Wei is here.”

Lei Yang straightened, smoothing his robe. The brief moment of freedom vanished, and once again he was the perfect heir, ready to face his mother and the weight of expectations waiting beyond the door.