The cellar was a timeless abyss, where light scarcely dared to seep in. The damp walls seemed to close in ever tighter, as if eager to consume her along with her memories. There, Meixin lay like a withered flower, conquered by cold, darkness, and pain.
Days blurred into nights. She had lost track of whether hours or weeks had passed since she last heard her name uttered in hatred. In her arms she clutched her belly, as if by protecting the child growing within her, she could keep alive a part of herself that had yet to break.
Her mind was a tangle of unanswered questions: How had she ended up here? How could love twist into such a cruel whip?
Only Zhen, her loyal handmaiden, dared to cross the threshold of the cellar where Meixin was confined. She descended in silence, her footsteps cautious and her gaze lowered, carrying a wooden tray of food that felt more like mockery than sustenance: hardened rice, bits of moldy bread, cold soup with barely a few roots floating in it. She did so with a heavy heart, knowing these wretched offerings were all she could procure despite her pleadings on her mistress's behalf.
Meixin, wrapped in rags and growing ever paler, barely had the strength to sit up. Her limbs trembled at the slightest effort, and the simple act of bringing the food to her lips was a constant battle between her body's weakness and her will to stay alive. She had wasted away, her once-rosy cheeks hollowed by exhaustion and grief.
Zhen, upon seeing her, could not hold back tears.
—Milady…— she whispered, her voice breaking, —please… drink a little. You must not let yourself die like this.
Meixin cracked open her tired eyes. Her lips moved faintly, and a thread of a voice escaped her throat:
—Zhen… how… long has it been?
—Almost a month, milady…— Zhen replied with pain in her tone. —I brought you more soup, but… it's cold again. They won't let me use the kitchen.
Meixin's hands searched the rim of the bowl by feel, but she lacked the strength to lift it. Zhen held it for her, helping her sip slowly.
—I wanted to tell your father— Zhen continued, —but they keep me watched.
—No… you must risk it for me,— Meixin murmured with effort. —If they discover you… they will harm you.
Zhen gently wiped the corner of her mistress's mouth.
—I don't care. I cannot leave you alone. You have always been fair to me… You alone, who have done no wrong…
Meixin closed her eyes, and a solitary tear slid down her soiled cheek.
—He did not believe me… Zhen… he did not believe me…
Zhen stroked her matted hair, knotted by days of confinement.
—He will, milady. Someday he will open his eyes. I pray every night that he does.
Meanwhile, Zhang Tao had summoned Yun alone to his study, his face hardened by rage and contempt.
—That woman has stained our name. I will not allow that adulteress to give birth to a bastard under this roof. I order you to rid us of that spawn. Do whatever is necessary.
Yun did not speak. He only nodded, lips pressed together, feeling a wave of fire scorch his chest—whether rage, shame, or mere obedience, he could not tell.
Hours later, he slipped away to a midwife known for her discreet methods. The woman, face lined by age and hands stained from years of herbs and potions, handed him a small cloth pouch.
—Mix these into any infusion or food. They have no taste, but work quickly,— she said without meeting his eyes. —It will take effect in two or three hours. The body will reject it on its own.
Yun paid her with a handful of coins and left without a word.
A couple of days later, Yun descended once more into the cellar. The air was thick with dampness, confinement, and something else… a foul odor. He climbed the stone steps slowly, each footfall echoing hollow in the gloom. The only light came from a single oil lamp hanging from a corroded hook, its flame flickering.
When the door creaked open, the silence shattered. He froze at the sight before him.
Meixin sat huddled in a corner, knees drawn to her chest. Her hair, once glossy like night, was tangled, loose, and dust-laden. Her face, gaunt with fatigue, revealed deep-set eyes, high cheekbones, and a cadaverous pallor that contrasted with her cracked, red lips.
Her gaze was vacant, expressionless. She stared at the floor, unfocused, as though her consciousness drifted far away, where pain could not reach.
Her belly, slightly swollen, was cradled by both hands in an instinctive refuge against the world's cruelty.
Yun felt a stab of disgust. He could not tell whether it was directed at her… or at himself. The image churned his stomach. That emaciated, fragile specter was not the woman who had once stirred his heart. It was merely a ghost, a walking reminder of what he had allowed.
He stood there, holding the steaming bowl in his hand, the invisible weight of his own choices pressing down on his chest.
Meixin slowly lifted her eyes as she sensed his presence. For a fleeting moment, those dull orbs flickered with a spark of hope. She thought perhaps—just perhaps—Zhen's silent prayers had been heard, that Zhang Yun had finally seen reason, that he had come to rescue her from this hell and beg her forgiveness. Maybe, behind that rigid figure, traces of the man who once made her dream of a shared future remained.
But her lips had barely begun to form a word when he spoke—and his dry, cold voice shattered that brief illusion like a brutal slap.
—Look at what you've become,— he spat with disdain, letting his gaze scour her as if she were something broken and contemptible. —You don't even seem human.
He stepped forward and set the bowl on the rotted table.
—I brought you food. Eat it. I don't want to see you in this pitiful state again,— he added, as though this command were an act of mercy rather than a sentence.
His distant, clipped tone extinguished completely the fleeting hope Meixin had held just seconds before.
With a sharp turn, Yun left without sparing her another glance. He abandoned the woman he once loved alone in the cellar's gloom, unaware that in doing so he was also sentencing his own child. The food he left on the table contained the midwife's powders. In his blindness, Yun failed to realize that his decision condemned not only Meixin, but the innocent life growing within her.