Zhang Tao was in his study, surrounded by scrolls and ledgers, when a servant silently approached and whispered something into his ear. His expression changed instantly. He snatched the letter being handed to him and read it carefully. His brows furrowed, his jaw tightened, and a dark gleam crossed his gaze. Rage began to boil through his veins like molten lava.
He couldn't allow it. Not now. Not like this.
If Meixin filed for divorce under those claims, the Zhang family would be forced to return the dowry to the Wen. And that… that was unthinkable. His pride, his reputation, his power—he would never allow it.
—Bring her to me!— he commanded in a low, menacing tone to two of his servants. —Right now. And seize her maid.
Moments later, Meixin was dragged into the study, struggling to break free as she shouted in fury:
—Why are you treating me like this?! What do you want?!
Zhang Tao raised the letter before her eyes with a triumphant gesture.
—Did you think this wouldn't reach me?— he spat with disdain.
Meixin felt the blood drain from her face. Her heart thundered in her chest.
—Why are you doing this?! You and your family are monsters!!— she screamed, unable to contain her rage.
—I will never allow the Zhang name to be dishonored!— he roared, stepping toward her. —There will be no divorce! Not while you still breathe!
She began to curse him, screaming with all the fury pent up over weeks, cursing his blood, his lineage, his rotten power. But her defiance only fed his rage.
—If you don't know how to obey, then you will be disciplined,— he hissed coldly. —Bring the whip!
The air thickened. The servants obeyed, their faces tense, their steps hurried.
When they returned, Zhang Tao took the whip with chilling calm. His eyes gleamed with cruelty.
—This will teach you never to defy me again.
The first lash tore across her back. She screamed. The second made her stagger. The third brought her to her knees. Blood began to seep through the folds of her robe, darkening the fabric, each strike leaving purple lines. Ten lashes in total. Each one a reminder of who held the power, that in this house, obedience wasn't a choice—it was law.
The skin of her arms and back became a map of open wounds. Sweat soaked her face. And in the end, her body could take no more—she collapsed.
Zhang Tao, unfazed, dropped the whip and ordered coldly:
—Take her to her room.
And he returned to his desk as if he hadn't just destroyed someone with his own hands.
Zhang Yun arrived at the mansion at dusk, after visiting his retired master. No sooner had he crossed the threshold than one of the oldest servants, pale-faced and eyes heavy with sorrow, hurried toward him.
—Young master…— he murmured with a trembling voice. —Lady Meixin… your father… something terrible happened.
Yun stopped dead.
—What happened?
—She was… punished. Master Zhang flogged her.
Yun felt something inside him shatter. He couldn't breathe. Without another word, he rushed through the halls like a shadow unleashed, his footsteps thundering over the polished wood.
He slammed open the door to his father's study.
—What the hell have you done, father?!— he roared, his face contorted with fury.
Zhang Tao looked up with feigned calm, setting aside his brush. But his eyes gleamed with malice.
—You come to scold me over a woman who seeks to disgrace us?— he said dryly.
—She's my wife!— Yun retorted, stepping forward. —My wife! You have no right to lay a hand on her.
Zhang Tao stared at him with a mix of shock and anger. Never had he seen his son stand against him so defiantly.
—You ungrateful brat!— he bellowed, slamming his fist on the table. —Everything you have, I gave you! And now you challenge me over some woman trying to destroy our name?!
—Don't ever touch her again!— Yun shouted, his voice cracking but firm. —Not once more! If you dare, I swear you'll regret it.
With that, he turned and stormed out, leaving Zhang Tao yelling behind him:
—Ungrateful! You're not worthy of the name you carry!
But his words echoed against empty walls, as Yun walked away, heart in shreds and soul aflame, determined to reach Meixin.
He burst into his wife's chamber, heart pounding violently. The sight that met him struck like a dagger: Meixin lay unconscious on the bed, her figure barely visible beneath crumpled, blood-soaked sheets. Her clothes were stained red, a heartbreaking contrast against the pallor of her skin.
—Meixin!— he cried out, feeling the ground fall from under him.
He ran to her, stumbling in his haste, and collapsed at her side. He lifted her gently, trembling, wrapping his arms around her as if his warmth alone could bring her back. One of her sleeves had slipped down, revealing a deep gash on her arm, still open, bleeding slowly. A chill ran down Yun's spine. His throat tightened.
—Someone! A doctor!— he roared, voice torn by fear. —Get a doctor now!
Cold sweat streamed down Meixin's forehead in thin trails. With shaking hands, he held her face, clenched his teeth, and rested her head tenderly against his chest. He took the end of his sleeve and gently wiped her skin, his lips trembling as he whispered in her ear:
—Hold on… please…
Her breathing was erratic, and a silent tear fell onto her cheek.
A while later, the physician finally saw to Meixin. Yun, waiting outside with a clenched heart, rose immediately as the doctor emerged. The man's face was grim.
—She's stable,— he said in a serious tone, —but she can't take much more of this… or she'll die. Her body is still very weak from the recent miscarriage, and now this…
He shook his head, somber.
—She needs a lot of care. Here are the instructions— he added, handing over a small scroll. —Everything must be followed exactly.
Yun nodded, guilt pressing heavily on his chest. He gave the order immediately:
—Bring Liu Zhen. Now.
When he finally entered the room, the sight rendered him silent. Meixin lay face down, her back red and wrapped in bandages. He approached slowly, torn between pain and anguish, and took her hand delicately.
Each wound was a silent accusation. His fingers halted over a deeper, older scar… one he himself had caused. And he felt something inside him shatter.
—I will never let you suffer again,— he murmured, his voice barely a breath in the still air.
But unknowingly, he was still far from being able to keep that promise.
Liu Zhen entered at that moment. Upon seeing her mistress in such a state, she couldn't hold back her tears. She fell to her knees beside the bed, sobbing.
—Ever since she came to this house… she's only known pain,— she said with a broken voice.
Zhang Yun clenched his fists. Every word was a truth that tore him apart. He didn't respond—he couldn't. He just looked on helplessly. Then he turned to Zhen and handed her the scroll with the doctor's instructions.
—Make sure everything is done exactly as written. No mistakes.
From that night on, and for many nights after, Yun tended to his wife's wounds. Every night, with trembling hands, he applied warm poultices, soothing salves, and ensured everything was in place. He never left her side.
He slept on the floor, beside her bed, no matter the cold, no matter the discomfort. Only wishing, in the silence of the early hours, that his presence might ease, even a little, the pain she bore.