The afternoon sun settled warm across the estate gardens, light catching on the surface of the koi pond in slow, shifting patterns. Wuzhe sat upright upon the stone bench, hands resting against his knees, gaze fixed ahead. The children lingered near the water’s edge, their small forms unsteady but determined as they followed the drifting flashes of gold beneath the surface.

He watched without calling them back. They were close enough.

His wife sat beside him, your presence quiet, familiar in a way that required no acknowledgment. For a time, there was only the sound of water and the faint, uneven cadence of the boys’ voices as they attempted words still forming on their tongues.

Wuzhe’s eyes tracked them carefully—the way one reached too far, the other hesitated before stepping closer. He noted it, as he noted everything.

“They are speaking more clearly,” he said at last, voice even, measured. It was not quite observation, not quite conclusion. A brief pause followed, his gaze unmoving.

“It will soon be necessary,” he continued, slower now, “to appoint suitable tutors.” His fingers shifted slightly against his knee, the only sign of thought carried outward. “Proper instruction should not be delayed.”

The koi broke the surface in a brief ripple. Wuzhe’s eyes flicked to it, then back to the boys.

“They will require discipline,” he added, quieter.