Zhang Yun had begun to feel the emptiness of gestures he once took for granted.
On cold mornings, he found himself alone, holding a lukewarm cup of tea in his hands. No one waited for him with a hot infusion at the door. No one arranged the scrolls on his desk. No one paused to look at him in silence as if he held the heavens. No one gave him a massage when he was weary.
And then, without realizing it, he began to search for her with his eyes.
In the courtyards, where the servants moved about carrying jugs of water or baskets of clothes, Yun walked with a furrowed brow, hoping to see her pass. But Meixin no longer crossed his path. Her steps were so light they seemed to vanish before arriving.
One day, in the plum garden, he saw her sitting beneath an eave. She wore a dull green robe, unembroidered, her hair tied back in a low bun, unadorned. Her face was pale, but it was her gaze that hurt the most—empty. Distant.
He approached, hesitantly.
—Meixin,— he called.
She didn't answer.
—Are you alright?
She only tilted her head slightly.
—I'm alive,— she said, emotionless.
He wanted to say more. To ask if the wound still hurt, if she needed anything, if… she hated him. But his pride sealed his lips. He simply stood there, aching to reach out and embrace her.
Meanwhile, Zhang Ron lived in unease, caught between the walls of filial obedience and the burning whisper of forbidden love. Her heart, young and untamed, beat each night with the thrill of secrecy.
Chen Lian, Zhang Yun's subordinate, was a man of firm manners and calm demeanor, with dark eyes that only softened when they looked at her. His navy-blue cotton uniform was always immaculate, and his movements were quiet, as if he had learned to melt into the night.
They met at dusk, when the sky still held the last threads of light and the oil lanterns began to glow one by one along the corridors. The rear garden, meant for contemplation and solitary walks, became their sanctuary at that hour. Among evergreen trees, the moss-covered stone statues seemed like slumbering witnesses to their secret. In the distance, the croaking of frogs and the soft hum of insects wrapped the air in fragile stillness.
There, beneath the oldest plum tree—its branches stretching like twisted fingers toward the sky—Ron and Chen Lian met.
She arrived cloaked in deep purple silk, her hair loose, unadorned. Her steps were cautious, her eyes scanning every silhouette. But at the sight of him, her face changed: her brows relaxed, and a timid smile curled her lips.
—You arrived first,— she whispered, stopping before him.
—I couldn't risk letting you wait alone,— he replied in a deep, almost fearful voice.
They held hands quickly, like thieves stealing a moment from fate. At times, she rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, feeling the beat of his heart through the fabric.
—If my father finds out…—she murmured.
Chen Lian clenched his teeth. His eyes glimmered with the tension of fear, but also with the resolve of a man who had loved beyond return.
—We'll run away, if we must. Far from here, where no one knows us. Just you and me.
Ron swallowed. The longing for freedom clashed with the blood flowing through her veins. Breaking the chains she'd worn since birth wasn't easy.
—It's not that simple… I can't leave my father,— she whispered.
He lowered his head. Silence fell between them like a heavy stone.
Then Ron pulled from her sleeve a small embroidered ribbon. Upon it, sewn in red thread, was a peony flower.
—Keep it. So you remember that I love you, even if one day I can't see you again.
Chen Lian took the gift reverently, as if it held his fate.
—As long as I have this, I'll never forget.
Then they embraced tightly, fearing they might never see each other again.
What they didn't know was that a letter, written with trembling hands, would soon fall into the wrong hands.
One night, a servant intercepted a small folded paper, hastily written. A message: "Tonight, by the oldest plum tree. Don't be late, my flower."
He gave it to Zhang Tao. Tao frowned.
—What flower? Who?— he growled. —Investigate!
The message bore no names, and that unleashed the storm.
When Ron found out, she ran to Huang Fei, her constant ally.
—Fei! Help me! If my father finds out it's for me, he'll kill him!
Fei narrowed her eyes with a calculated smile.
—Don't worry, dear,— she murmured. —I have an idea.
That same week, one of Meixin's close maids was arrested. A handkerchief with embroidered initials—"C.L."—was found in her possession, along with a letter speaking of "stolen kisses" and "forbidden love."
All signs pointed to Meixin.
Zhang Yun received the news without delay.
A crumpled sheet of paper, smudged with running ink and a sweet scent, was enough to ignite a storm in his chest. The letter had no name but spoke of secret meetings, whispers in the night, and promises of love. It read: "Tonight, as always, I'll wait by the pond. Your kisses bring me peace, Meixin."
His mind clouded. He didn't think about details. He didn't seek confirmation. The poison of jealousy had already spread.
With his heart pounding like it wanted to burst from his chest, Yun walked the Zhang residence corridors. His steps were quick, trembling. The servants stepped aside as he passed, lowering their heads in fear. His training robe, still damp with sweat, flared with every step, and his boots echoed loudly against the polished stone floors. The hallway lanterns, lit with a warm glow, seemed to tremble before his contained fury.
The guards of the east wing barely bowed as he arrived. Yun didn't look at them. He pushed open Meixin's doors without knocking, without announcing himself. The hinges creaked. The doors crashed open like thunder.
Meixin, reading silently by the window, looked up. She wore a pearl-gray robe, unadorned, her hair loose over her shoulders like a curtain of dark silk. She turned, surprised by the intrusion.
—Yun?— she whispered, dropping the book.
But her eyes did not find the man she knew. Before her stood someone whose gaze was darkened by fury. The veins in his neck pulsed. His fists trembled.
—How could you?!— he roared, his voice rough, torn with emotion.
Meixin stood, struggling, confused.
—What… what are you saying?
—With him?! With Chen Lian?!— he shouted.
He took two harsh steps forward. Pulled a crumpled paper from his belt and threw it at her feet.
—Is this what you did while I wore myself thin trying to understand you? Deceive me like a vulgar courtesan?!
She looked at the paper but didn't touch it.
—It's not mine…
—You lie!— he shouted, his rage cracking in his voice.
Meixin stepped back, her back against the wall. But she didn't lower her head.
—I would never betray you.
Yun looked at her with wide eyes, as if he could no longer recognize her. As if, in that moment, everything he believed about her crumbled. The words of others—Fei, Ron, the servants—echoed in his mind, feeding his insecurity.
—Confess!— he yelled, stepping closer.
—I'm telling the truth!
A sharp slap.
The sound of the blow filled the room like a whip on raw flesh. Meixin fell to the ground, her hair disheveled, her lip split. She didn't scream. She only breathed deeply, trembling, curling into herself.
Yun stared, his chest heaving, his hands still raised… but for a moment, the echo of the strike made his soul tremble.
Meixin looked up from the floor. There was pain on her face. Pain… and something worse: disappointment.
—You must believe me,— she said softly, without tears.
But Zhang Yun, blinded, didn't listen.
—Take her away!— he shouted into the hallway.
Two guards appeared at once. Confused but obedient, they grabbed Meixin by the arms. She tried to resist.
—What… what is he going to do?— a servant whispered shakily.
Yun didn't answer. He walked to the brazier in the corner. With tongs, he took a long iron rod, curved at the tip, where an ancient character glowed red-hot: Adulteress.
Meixin's eyes widened. She tried to speak, to scream… but her voice died in her throat.
—No! Please, no!
The guards hesitated.
—Do it!— Yun ordered, with ice in his voice.
And Meixin's world became fire.
Her back arched in a scream that never came. The iron touched her flesh, and the stench of burning skin filled the room like a curse. Her body collapsed soon after, unconscious.
Zhang Yun let the iron fall. The metal struck the stone with a clang that seemed eternal.
But the silence that followed was even more cruel.
For days, Meixin did not wake.
The room, isolated from the main wing, knew neither day nor night. Her eyes remained closed, her voice did not whisper a single name. Her body, fragile as a withered leaf, lay on a hemp futon, barely covered by a thin sheet that could no longer protect her from the cold or from abandonment. The wound on her back, still fresh, oozed beneath poorly adjusted bandages.
Fever coursed through her skin, wrapping her forehead in sweat, burning her dry throat. Sometimes, she murmured in a low voice, caught in a delirium that confused past with present.
—Mother… father…— her cracked lips opened with difficulty, pronouncing the names as if they hurt.
But no one answered.
No one… except Zhen.
The faithful maid never left her side. She slept seated beside the bed, her head resting on her arms, waking at the slightest breath. Each time Meixin trembled, Zhen hurried to place damp cloths on her forehead. When the fever made her delirious, she held her hand tightly.
—I'm here, my lady…— she whispered through tears. —You're not alone… I won't leave…
Zhen's heart was shattered by the pain she witnessed. Every time she removed the bandages, she cried in silence, swallowing the scream of rage at the sight of the wound, the cruel mark branded on raw flesh.
—How could they do this to you?— she muttered, soaking a cloth in warm water. —You… you didn't deserve this…
Sometimes, when Meixin seemed calmer, Zhen would lean in and stroke her tangled hair.
—Do you remember, my lady? When we used to hide silk threads in the garden trees? You laughed so much…— she sobbed. —I'd give anything to hear that laugh again.
No one else entered the room. The other maids avoided it, afraid of getting involved. Huang Fei only passed by the door, casting a fleeting glance before disappearing. The order had been clear: no one was to speak to Meixin.
Zhang Yun never returned.
He didn't ask about her.
He didn't send anyone.
Perhaps he thought she was no longer his wife. Or maybe, that she was no longer human. Just a stain to be hidden.
And as the days passed and the birds outside announced a new season, Meixin remained there. Silent. Unconscious. Clinging weakly to life.
When she finally opened her eyes, Meixin was no longer afraid.
She had been hardened by pain.