Upon leaving the cellar, Yun crossed the threshold with a furrowed brow. In the dimly lit corridor, barely illuminated by oil lanterns, he intercepted Liu Zhen, who was carrying an empty bowl in her hands.
—Tell me,— he said, his voice laced with reproach, —why is my wife so emaciated? Why haven't you been feeding her properly?
The maid looked up, her lips trembling and her face soaked in sweat.
—My lord...— she whispered. —In the kitchen, they only give her hard rice, sometimes moldy, or cold leftovers. Even though I beg on her behalf, the servants won't listen to me.
Without another word, Yun turned and walked straight to the kitchen door. There, surrounded by cauldrons and chopping boards, he found two cooks hunched under gray caps. His robe was wrinkled, his gaze sharp as a blade.
—Who ordered you to deprive the lady of food?— he demanded.
The women, pale, exchanged glances and stammered:
—Miss Zhang Ron... she gave the order, my lord.
Yun inhaled sharply, his knuckles whitening. Without hesitation, he stormed toward Ron's quarters. She greeted him with feigned surprise, still dressed in her pale blue hanfu.
He took a step forward and, without another word, slapped her. The echo of the blow reverberated under the dark beams.
—How dare you!—he shouted.
She covered her face with a hand, her voice shaking as she tried to explain:
—What's the matter, brother?
—You...— Yun began, his voice cold, —you ordered that Meixin not be given warm food.
—I...— she began, moving closer to him. —It was for your honor... I wanted to protect you from disgrace.
Yun pushed her away with contempt.
—I don't need your protection,— he said, without looking back. —Make sure it never happens again.
Ron lowered her gaze, lips pressed together as Yun turned and walked away.
Meanwhile, in the cellar, Meixin refused the spoonful of food Zhen was offering her.
—My lady... the master is very worried because you haven't eaten. He even brought this food himself—they say he chose it for you.
Meixin rested her forehead against the wall and murmured without turning:
—I'm not hungry...
Zhen clenched her fists, holding back emotion.
—Please, drink something, think of the baby,— the maid pleaded, her voice trembling. "You need to eat so he can grow strong.
But Meixin merely closed her eyes, too weak to reply. She opened her mouth in silence, unaware that with each bite, she was sealing her child's fate
In the dead of night, a stifled moan broke the silence. Meixin awoke suddenly, clutching her belly. A sharp pain bent her over, and a thin stream of blood began to flow between her fingers. Terrified, Zhen ran into the hallway to find help.
—Help!— she screamed between sobs. —My lady is bleeding out!
Yun arrived gasping, his robe disheveled and soaked with sweat, hair falling over his forehead, eyes blazing with pure fear. He stumbled as he crossed the cellar, stopping dead when he saw the blood on the stone floor. His chest heaved, overwhelmed by a dread heavier than any punishment. When he saw Meixin's collapsed form, pale as wax, his heart seemed to stop.
He knelt down and lifted her in his arms as if she were a feather, with a desperate gentleness that contrasted with the strength of his hands. She trembled, her face slick with cold sweat and twisted in pain.
—Hold on...— he whispered, his voice trembling, cheek pressed against hers as he rushed down the corridors, ignoring the horrified stares of servants stepping aside in his path.
He pushed open his chamber door with his shoulder and laid her carefully on the bed, onto silk sheets that could not hide the crimson stain spreading beneath her. Zhen followed behind, her hands covered in blood, her throat tight with emotion.
Shortly after, a physician entered in haste, hunched with age but with a steady hand. He wore a plain, practical linen robe and carried a wooden case worn smooth with use. He knelt beside the bed without delay, lit an oil lamp, and examined Meixin's belly with practiced hands.
—Please, save her!— Yun pleaded, his voice cracking. —Do whatever you must... I'll give you anything. Just save her! Save my wife!
His words tumbled out, desperate, shaking. He stepped closer, as if his mere presence could stop the inevitable, as if he could protect her from the fate he himself had unleashed.
—I need space to work. Please leave,— the old man said firmly.
The hours crawled by, endless, as though time itself had stopped to suffer with him. Yun paced back and forth in front of the door, hands trembling, his face slick with cold sweat. Each second was torture, each breath another dagger to the heart. Only the hushed whispers of the servants peeking from the corners broke the silence.
Finally, when night was fading into the first pale hues of dawn, the door creaked open. The physician stepped out, his steps heavy, the sleeves of his robe stained with dried blood, his face marked by deep lines of fatigue and solemnity.
Yun straightened instantly.
—How is she?— he asked in a thread of a voice, as though afraid of the answer.
The doctor looked at him with tired eyes, dark as still water.
—She lost a baby of nearly four months,— he said after a long exhale, his voice grave and plain. —The bleeding was severe, and her body... is at its limit. I fear she will not be able to conceive again.
Yun felt the words crash down on him like stones. His vision blurred for a moment. He leaned against the doorframe to keep from collapsing. He wanted to step back, but his legs refused. The news pierced him like a blade: he, who had once wished for this loss, had never imagined the price she would pay. For a few moments, he stood suspended between regret and guilt, throat dry, heart clenched.
He entered the room with unsteady steps. Zhen's soft weeping blended with the dull thud of his boots on the damp floor. The maid moved aside in silence; he approached the edge of the bed and saw her: Meixin, unconscious, her belly hollow and sunken. He stopped, voice rough with remorse, and could barely whisper:
—I'm... I'm sorry.
And so, amid guilt and lament, the fruit of their union vanished forever into the darkness.