Meixin remained in bed for days, in that spacious room that felt more like a cage.
Her back was wrapped in bandages soaked with peony root salve and bamboo sap. Every movement drew a sigh from her lips, though she tried not to make a sound. The maids spoke in whispers, as if fearing that even the air might betray their compassion.
In those first days, Meixin barely opened her eyes. There were moments when the fever left her unconscious, trapped in a delirium where memories blurred with reality.
During those silent hours, someone kept watch by her bedside.
Zhang Yun.
The young master, always distant, would sit at the edge of her bed when no one was looking. Meixin's pale face, the frailty of her breath, pained him more than he could admit.
He watched her sleep — lips slightly parted, her brow furrowed even in dreams. Yun would reach out and gently stroke her hair, with a tenderness he would never show if she were awake.
— Why…?— he whispered to himself. — Why did you do it?
He took a linen handkerchief and wiped away the tears that streamed from her eyes even in unconsciousness. Once, without realizing, his fingers brushed the corner of her mouth, as if trying to erase the sorrow she could no longer hide. He didn't understand what he felt, but something inside him was beginning to crack — guilt, a creeping doubt.
At some point, when the fever subsided and her mind cleared, Meixin awoke. She didn't ask how long she had slept. She didn't want to know. She simply opened her eyes to the ceiling, took a deep breath, and understood that something inside her had broken.
That night, as silence filled the room, she realized she no longer wished to earn Zhang Yun's love.The girl who once dreamed of making him fall for her had died — amidst the pain, the beatings, and the betrayal. She no longer cared if he looked at her. Or defended her.
She felt foolish. A naïve child who had mistaken a marriage arrangement for fate. And in that moment, she grew up all at once.
When the servants offered her dresses in pale silk, Meixin refused.
— Choose another color,— she said, her voice firm. — Grey. Or dark green.
From that day on, she dressed in muted tones. She put away the soft, cheerful colors, the floral ribbons, the youthful hairstyles. She gave up trying to be pleasing. She wore no flowers in her hair, no pearl earrings. Her steps were silent. Her presence, discreet.
One afternoon, soft footsteps broke the quiet of the room. The light tapping of satin slippers crossed the threshold, and the voice that followed was a sharpened caress.
— Poor Meixin,— whispered Huang Fei. — So sweet… so foolish.
Meixin barely turned her head. Everything hurt.
— What do you want?— she asked in a thread of a voice.
Fei walked in with elegance, like a poisonous flower swaying in the wind.
— I only came to make sure you're… alive. I thought with your delicate nature, you wouldn't survive so many blows.
Meixin pressed her lips together.
— Sooner or later, the truth will come to light.
Fei laughed. A soft, melodic laugh, perfectly controlled.
— The truth? Yun will never believe you. I've known him since we were children. We've shared so much — he'll never trust a stranger.
She leaned down beside the bed and whispered into her ear:
— He will never be yours. Never.
Then she straightened up as if she'd said nothing and walked away, leaving behind a trail of white lily perfume.
That same week, Meixin received another visit.
Zhang Ron, her face still marked from the altered cosmetic, appeared in the doorway wearing an expression hard to read. She wore a white veil to hide the scars that had yet to fade. Her gaze was haughty. In her hands, she carried a porcelain tray with a red clay teapot, fragrant and steaming.
— Lotus flower tea. Calming, they say,— she added. — Let me pour it for you.
Meixin, sitting up with difficulty, watched her silently.
Ron poured the tea with precise movements, but as she turned toward her, she "tripped."
— Oh!— she cried, pretending to lose balance. The cup flew from her hands. The scalding liquid splashed directly onto Meixin's face.
The scream of pain shook everyone. Meixin fell to the floor, clutching her face. Her skin burned as if pierced by a thousand needles.
— IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!— Ron shouted, raising her hands. — I slipped! I didn't mean to!
The maids ran in — one bringing cold compresses, another rushing to fetch the physician. Tension seeped into every corner of the room.
The doctor arrived quickly, an old man with wise eyes and hands stained with herbs.
— Quick,— he ordered. — Rice water and lily balm. Now!
Zhang Yun burst in shortly after, pale as paper.
— What happened?— he asked, his voice strained.
— Her face, young master!— Liu Zhen explained. — The boiling water burned her skin…
The doctor carefully lifted the bandage. Meixin whimpered through her sobs. Zhang Yun dropped to his knees beside her.
— Save her,— he begged the doctor. — Don't let her be scarred. Please. Do whatever it takes.
The doctor nodded solemnly.
— I'll do what I can.
Days passed. The burns healed slowly. Meixin refused to let anyone see her without the bandages. Not out of vanity, but because of a deeper wound — one carved into her soul.
One morning, when she finally stood without feeling faint, Zhang Yun entered.
He wore his training uniform, his hair tied back with a dark blue ribbon. He stopped when he saw her, as if the weight of everything they'd been through crushed him in an instant.
— I've come to talk to you,— he said, firm.
Meixin looked at him, weary.
— It was Huang Fei,— she whispered. — She gave your sister the rouge. She tampered with it. And Ron… the tea wasn't an accident.
Zhang Yun frowned.
— You're suggesting Fei is behind all this?
— I'm not suggesting,— Meixin said, her voice breaking.— She is.
He sighed.
— Huang Fei is like a sister to me. You're hurt, I understand… but that doesn't mean you have to look for someone to blame.
— And Ron?— she whispered. — Will you defend her too?
— Ron was a victim as well. Her face was disfigured. She's bitter, but she's not a criminal.
— And me?— Meixin asked, tears streaming down her cheeks. — Am I the only enemy here? I, who tried to love you in silence?
Zhang Yun looked away.
— I don't know what to think.
Meixin looked at him one last time and remembered her mother's words: "Sometimes, love isn't enough. And the name you choose to carry can weigh more than you ever imagined."
She felt empty. Humiliated.How could she go back home? Her father had warned her. She insisted. She had failed.
From that day on, she no longer sought anyone's attention.She only wanted to be invisible.
And in that silence… something within her began to change.Not out of resentment.Not out of pride.
Simply because she had stopped dreaming.
She let go of the fantasy that, with patience, kindness, and tenderness, she could find a way into Yun's heart.
The little gestures she used to offer shyly — a warm cup of tea on cold days, a blue ribbon to match his robe — vanished without goodbye. She no longer embroidered him handkerchiefs. No longer asked if he had eaten. No longer watched him in secret hoping for a kind word.
Because she no longer cared to win his love.
She simply resigned herself to living in that place where she was meant to fulfill her duty.Where she woke each day as if her soul weighed more than her body.
Meixin had grown up all at once.