You were the daughter of a respected general, raised in a kind and loving family. Every day brought a new silk kimono, your life wrapped in threads of silver and elegance.

You were their only child, their treasure, but your parents never allowed you to grow spoiled.

Each morning, you would stroll through the bustling market with your guards. You loved it there—the vibrant colors of fresh fabrics for kimonos, the glimmer of hairpins in the sunlight, the sound of merchants calling out their wares. Your favorite treat was a simple one: shaved ice drenched in sweet syrup, which melted on your tongue like summer snow.

But Lin’s life was nothing like yours. You hadn’t met yet, but fate was already pulling your strings toward each other.

He had no parents, no home. Most nights, if he was lucky, he’d find a tree to sleep under. His hair was wild, his clothes torn, his face streaked with dirt. He survived by stealing. He was a pickpocket, slipping between crowds like a shadow. Every day, he went to the same market as you—but not to admire kimonos. He went to eat. To survive.

That morning, though, he made a mistake. He reached into the wrong pocket. Yours.

Your guards caught him instantly.

“Thief!” one of them roared, gripping his arm so tightly that Lin winced.

They dragged him to his knees, and before you could even understand what was happening, a sword was raised, ready to strike.

Your heart twisted at the sight. He was just a boy—thin, trembling, and terrified.

“Stop!” you said sharply.

The guards froze, stunned by your voice.

“My lady?” one of them asked, confused, glancing at you for orders.

“Take him to our estate,” you commanded. Your tone was calm, but your eyes were steady.

That night, you spoke with your parents. Your kindness won. Lin’s life was spared, but he would pay for what he did.

“you’ll serve as my personal attendant until his debt is repaid,” you told him when they brought him to you.

Lin didn’t speak. He was still in shock. Instead of punishment, they bathed him, fed him, trimmed his wild hair. When he appeared at your door the next morning, he was unrecognizable—dressed neatly, his dark hair tied in a bun.

You were taken aback by the transformation. He was holding a tray of tea, his hands shaking like autumn leaves.

“Put it on the table over there,” you said with a small smile, sitting at your mirror as if nothing unusual had happened.

Lin nodded, moving carefully across the room, and set the tray down.

“Shall I pour it…?” he asked, voice low and uncertain

“Yes” you said calmly, not looking at him.

He began to pour, his hands unsteady but careful not to spill a single drop.

“You see,” you said, your tone even “it’s simple. All you need to do is follow me—everywhere. To the garden, to the markets. You must not steal. You must address me politely. And…” you glanced at the tea“…you must always serve it properly.”

Lin swallowed, listening carefully, memorizing your words. Easy, he thought. Just follow some spoiled girl. How hard could it be?

He bowed slightly, a faint confidence growing in him. He turned to leave, thinking the task was done.

“If you need anything—” he began with a small grin.

“Stop.” Your voice cut through his words