It was a gray afternoon. The trees in the garden, mostly stripped of their leaves, swayed in the autumn wind. The crunching of dry leaves could be heard beneath Yun's feet as he slowly walked along the stone paths of the pavilion.
Meixin, seated beside the fountain whose gentle murmur accompanied the silence, barely turned her head upon sensing his presence. Her eyes no longer shone with the admiration they once held, and he noticed it immediately. She wore a simple pale silk dress, wrapped in a gray cloak, her hair tied in a modest bun. Her posture—upright yet distant—seemed to say that his presence was no longer welcome.
Yun, dressed in formal attire, stopped a few steps in front of her. His face, though still composed, showed the weariness and weight of the days. In an involuntary gesture, he crouched down and gently touched her hair, as if that light touch could bring back the past—those days when Meixin looked at him with tenderness.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, wary, as if she feared that his kind gesture was nothing more than the prelude to more pain.
—Why are you looking at me like that? —Yun asked, his voice tense, almost trembling.
She did not respond. She said nothing. She simply stood up and began to walk away with slow yet firm steps, without looking back.
Yun extended a hand toward her, as if he wished to stop her, as if he could still reach her. But his fingers touched nothing but air. He watched her go, as if with every step, a little more of her vanished from his life, taking with her everything that had once belonged to him.
From a more distant corner of the garden, half-hidden behind a column, Huang Fei watched the scene with narrowed eyes. Her purple brocade dress swayed slightly in the breeze, and a short dark velvet cape covered her shoulders. Her sharp eyes never left Yun. She had noticed that flicker in his gaze—the tenderness, the nostalgia, the sorrow. That way he looked at Meixin... as if she were the center of his world. She stared at him with a mix of surprise and seething fury.
The next day, Meixin's room door opened gently, and Yun stepped in cautiously, as if not to disturb the calm reigning in the space. Upon seeing her, he paused for a moment. She was sitting beside the table, her hands occupied with a task that kept her unaware of his arrival: she was sewing small pieces of fabric, forming what appeared to be tiny baby clothes. The delicacy, with which her fingers moved, almost reverently, stirred something within him.
Meixin, upon noticing his presence, reacted quickly. With a swift motion, she pushed the garments aside and hid them beneath the layers of her dress, as if afraid he might see them. Yun couldn't help but notice the sudden shift in her demeanor, and his gaze darkened for a brief moment—but he masked it swiftly. He smiled faintly, as if he hadn't noticed a thing.
—What are you doing? — he asked, approaching her with a box of sweets in his hands, his voice soft but curious.
She simply looked at him for a moment, her eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and something else, harder to define.
—Sewing some handkerchiefs,— she replied, her hands slightly restless, unable to fully conceal the small bundle of fabric she had tried to hide.
—I thought you might like something sweet, — Yun said with a faint smile, trying to keep the conversation light as he extended the box to her.
She took it, though her gesture was somewhat mechanical. Yun watched her in silence for a moment, though his thoughts were racing.
—Meixin…— he said in a low voice, almost a whisper. —If something changes, if there's anything you need to tell me… I'll be here.
The intensity of his words seemed to overwhelm her. Yun reached out and let his hand gently rest on her cheek.
—I hope you like them, — he added. He took a step back and quietly left.
She, surprised by what had just happened, slowly opened the box, revealing a selection of finely crafted sweets, wrapped in silk paper: lotus cakes, rice candies, and pieces of candied fruit. All her favorites. She couldn't decipher the meaning behind such a gesture.
Outside, Fei saw Yun leaving the pavilion. She clenched her fists so tightly that her nails left marks on the flesh of her gloved palms. A dull rage boiled within her.
—Again…— she muttered, barely audible, her lips barely moving. —Always her…
Her breathing grew heavier. The slight tremble in her chin gave her away. In her gaze burned envy and contempt. What she had just witnessed was a reminder that, despite everything she had done, Meixin still held that power over him.
That same night, Zhang Ron, ever lurking where he shouldn't be, passed by the study of Patriarch Zhang. He overheard—though made no effort to step away—a conversation between Zhang Yun and his father. The young man's voice was deep, marked by concern.
—She's pregnant, — Yun had said, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. — It's my child.
The revelation struck Zhang Ron like lightning, and though he slipped away quietly, his mind was already working fast.
Hours later, in one of the lateral pavilion corridors, as the sun dipped behind the curved rooftops, his shadow stopped before Huang Fei's.
—What do you want, cousin? — she asked without looking at him, busy cutting wilted flowers from a pot.
—I have something you might want to know, —Ron said, a bitter smirk tugging at his lips.
She raised an eyebrow—barely.
Zhang Ron leaned in slightly, lowering his voice theatrically.
—Meixin… is pregnant.
The scissors in Fei's hand froze mid-air.
—What did you say?
—I heard it straight from Yun. It's his, — he added, each word laced with poison. —What will you do with this little gem of information, dear cousin?
Fei turned slowly toward him, her eyes gleaming with a mix of fury and restrained satisfaction.
—What I do best…— she whispered with a chilling smile.
Zhang Ron shrugged and walked away, whistling softly, leaving Fei standing among the flowers, already calculating her next move.
Later that night, Fei sat in front of her vanity as a maid combed her hair, smiling. Her lips curved slowly, without joy. In her eyes shone a dangerous spark.
—So… there's still something I can use, — she murmured, running her fingers over a jade hairpin.
It didn't take her long to weave her story. If Meixin was pregnant, and that child supposedly belonged to Yun… why not twist that truth? A single insinuation—a well-planted doubt—would be enough.
The next day, she sat at a table, slowly sipping tea while watching the steam rise from the cup. The afternoon breeze lightly stirred the silk curtains. Beside her, Ru, a young servant with a timid face and nervous hands, stood silently, not daring to move.
—Darling, you know what to say, — Fei said, standing and approaching her like a graceful, dangerous cat. —Whisper it. Mention it to a cook or two. Let the news flow through the laundresses, reach the guards. There's no need to exaggerate… but don't be too shy either. Tell them you saw a tall man, broad-shouldered, leaving Meixin's room one night, when the guards were distracted. That he looked a lot like Chen Lian. And that Meixin closed the door behind him in a rush. Do you remember now?
Ru swallowed hard, her face pale, nodding faintly.
—Yes, Lady Fei.
—Perfect, — Fei said, stroking her cheek with a coldness that made the girl shudder. —You're clever, Ru. I assure you, your loyalty will be rewarded. Or… your silence punished, should you forget.
Ru left in silence, trembling, her hands cold as marble and her heart pounding, fully aware of the lie she was about to sow. Her lips, dry and pale, whispered words she would never dare repeat aloud, while Fei's shadow stretched behind her—an ever-present threat she would never escape.