The Present - II

Inside the room.

The noblewoman sat in the center, a long jade pipe resting between her fingers. She exhaled a slow wisp of smoke, the rich scent of burning herbs settling into the air. Her deep green robe, embroidered with golden peonies, shimmered faintly in the dim light—a quiet display of wealth. Though her expression remained unreadable, there was a sharpness in her gaze, hidden beneath her half-lidded eyes.

Beside her, Madam Xi reclined lazily, one arm draped over the backrest, fingers idly tracing the rim of her teacup. A smirk played on her lips—effortless yet knowing, though her sharp gaze revealed her ever-watchful nature.

On the noblewoman's other side stood a woman clad in fitted black garments, her stance rigid, unmoving. Her robes were plain yet precise, tailored for function over flair. A sword rested at her hip, its hilt wrapped in dark silk.

Junshi stepped forward and began setting up his guzheng.

At Madam's subtle nod, Junshi placed his hands on the strings.

He began softly, the first notes delicate, barely a whisper.

Then, stronger.

His fingers glided over the guzheng, each note flowing like water—smooth and effortless. The melody painted an image of gentle streams, swaying blossoms, and birds taking flight at dawn. His hands moved instinctively, the strings beneath his fingers a familiar landscape he had walked a thousand times before.

But tonight, something felt different.

He glanced up, his gaze flickering toward the noblewoman for only a fraction of a second.

She took another slow drag from her pipe, the smoke curling lazily as she watched him. The dim light shifted across her face, deepening the unreadable look in her half-lidded eyes. But beneath it, that sharpness remained.

Junshi quickly looked away, his fingers steady, yet a faint unease coiled in his chest.

Then softly, almost absentmindedly, the noblewoman began to hum, her voice low at first, then growing louder.

Junshi's focus wavered.

The melody had always been meant to invite participation, but this was different. Her hum wasn't in approval or enjoyment—it felt deliberate. Testing. Measuring.

He pushed the thought aside. He had played this song countless times. It was ingrained in his hands, in his very breath. Yet, as the next phrase approached, a sliver of uncertainty flickered in his mind.

Was it this note? Or the next?

The moment stretched thin.

His hands moved before he could think—

And the melody shifted.

It was seamless, a natural improvisation. A subtle adjustment. It should have gone unnoticed.

But then, Tsk.

The noblewoman clicked her tongue. The humming stopped.

The air turned heavy, as if the very walls of the room pressed inward.

Junshi's hands froze on the strings. His pulse pounded in his ears.

Madam's expression darkened. The usual warmth in her features drained away, replaced by something cold. The curve of her lips was no longer a smile, but a thin, taut line. Her fingers, which had rested so delicately on the rim of her teacup, now gripped it with quiet intensity.

Silence. Thick and suffocating.

Then, with a voice as cold as steel, Madam ordered, "Whip him."

The shift was absolute. The woman who had praised him just hours ago no longer existed. In her place sat a businesswoman, her face set in stone, willing to beat a young boy without hesitation if it meant currying favor with someone of higher status.

The guard hesitated. Then, voice low, she murmured, "I'm sorry."

The lash struck.

A sharp, cracking sound tore through the quiet room.

Junshi remained silent.

"I'm—" The guard barely had time to finish before she adjusted the whip's angle for maximum impact.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Madam watched with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. It was stiff, forced—perhaps meant to maintain a sense of dignity, or perhaps an attempt to hide the wrinkles of her aging face.

By the tenth strike, the noblewoman raised a hand. "Enough."

The guard stopped immediately, sweat clinging to her forehead.

The noblewoman exhaled another wisp of smoke. "I've lost interest. I'll return after a few months. I hope he'll improve by then." She said it while looking at Madam, her gaze sharp with unspoken expectation.

Madam bowed low. "Yes, Lady Tang. By then, Junshi will have mastered another instrument, and his performance will be flawless." She straightened, her gaze flicking to Junshi with a sinister smile.

"Rest assured," she added, "I'll make sure of it."

Lady Tang left without another word.

The guard, Yuxi, lingered, her head lowered in apology. The moment the noblewoman disappeared beyond the door, tears welled in her eyes.

"Ju... Junshi, I'm sorry." Her voice trembled. "I didn't want to do that. I'm really, really sorry."

Junshi, still sitting, lifted his head. He smiled.

"There's nothing to apologize for, Sister Yuxi. I only got what I deserved. I should have practiced more."

His smile only brightened—soft, almost childlike, a smile that seemed filled with innocence.

Yuxi sobbed.

Junshi quietly packed his instrument and left.

The hallway was the same—dimly lit, the lanterns flickering weakly against the cold air. The floorboards creaked beneath his slow, uneven steps. But everything felt… colder.

The pain in his back flared with each movement, his limbs stiff, the lashes burning against his skin. He had been punished before, but this—this was different. Ten times. For something as simple as a noblewoman's preference. It was horrible.

Yet, Junshi only adjusted his grip on the guzheng case and kept walking, his steps slow but steady, as if nothing had happened.

Junshi reached his room and pushed the door open.

A single candle burned near the ceiling, hooked onto a rusted iron bracket. Its dim glow stretched long shadows across the walls, flickering as the door creaked. Near the dressing table, Mei stood still, her silk qipao catching the candlelight.

She looked like she was staring at the door.

Junshi's voice softened. "Sister Mei." He gestured lightly. "Were you waiting for me?"

Mei turned. A shadow of sorrow flickered across her face.

She stepped forward, hesitated—then pulled him into a gentle embrace, as if afraid he might break.

Junshi's entire body stiffened.

Not from the affection—but from the pain.

A sharp sting shot through his back, but he swallowed down the reaction, keeping his expression calm.

Mei's voice trembled. "It must have been hard for you, Jun'er. I'm sorry. I should have talked to Madam. I should have stopped her."

Junshi shook his head, a light chuckle slipping past his lips. "It isn't your fault, Sister Mei." His voice was cheerful—too cheerful. "I just have to do my part. That's what I was sold for, wasn't it?"

Mei's grip on his arms tightened.

"…I'm really sorry, Jun'er."

Junshi's smile didn't waver. "It's nothing." As if the wounds on his back weren't real. As if none of it mattered.

Her expression darkened. "Sit down," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll treat your wounds."

Junshi obeyed, settling himself near the table.

Mei knelt beside him and gently undid his changshan. The fabric slid off his shoulders, revealing his back.

She froze.

Junshi could hear her breath hitch.

The marks were deep—red, swollen, some even bleeding. The lashes had cut through the skin in places, raw and inflamed. Even without seeing them, he knew how bad they must have looked.

For a moment, Mei said nothing.

Then, slowly, she dipped a cloth into a bowl of medicinal water and pressed it against his skin.

Junshi flinched slightly, but said nothing.

Mei's movements were careful, yet her hands trembled.

"You always act like it doesn't hurt." Her voice was quiet. "But I know it does."

Junshi chuckled. "You're overthinking, Sister Mei."

Mei didn't respond. She simply continued tending to his wounds.

When she finished, she sat back, wiping the remaining bloodstains from her hands.

"Jun'er…" she murmured. "How long are you going to keep enduring this?"

Junshi tilted his head, confused. "I don't understand. This is normal, isn't it?"

Mei's eyes darkened.

Before he could say more, she suddenly leaned forward and pulled him into another embrace.

Junshi stiffened again.

Her arms around him trembled. "You have to endure this… and I just watch, unable to do anything."

For a fleeting moment, his expression wavered. His usual cheerfulness flickered, replaced by something… hollow.

But only for a moment.

Then, he forced another smile. "It's alright, Sister Mei."

She pulled away slightly, but her face was close—too close. And beneath the dim candlelight, her cheeks had taken on a faint red hue.

Junshi blinked.

Mei quickly turned away. "Ah! I-I'm sorry! Let me finish bandaging you."

Junshi tilted his head. "Are you alright?"

She touched her sleeve, glancing at the bloodstains on her clothes.

"This?" She waved it off. "It's not a big deal." She smiled, touching his cheek lightly. "I'll just wash it. Or throw it away."

Junshi frowned. "But—"

She placed a finger over his lips, silencing him.

"But the pain you went through for my silence… that's what's unbearable."

Junshi stiffened.

She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Should I stay?"

Junshi, flustered, turned bright red.

Mei chuckled at his expression.

Then, with a gentle smile, she pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Sleep well, Jun'er. I'll change your bandages tomorrow."

And with that, she left without looking back.

After Mei left, Junshi sat still for a long moment.

Then, he exhaled softly, rising to his feet.

His gaze drifted toward the cracked mirror.

The reflection stared back—fractured, broken into uneven halves.

Slowly, he reached up and traced the crack with his fingertips.

The pain in his back flared again, sharp and unrelenting, but his face remained calm.

He turned away.

Crossed the room.

Collapsed onto the bed.

Sleep was both a relief and a curse.

The moment he drifted off, the pain dulled. But every time he stirred awake—even for a breath—it returned, sharp and unrelenting.

He curled into himself beneath the blanket, burying every inch of his body from sight.

It wasn't the cold that made him hide.

It was because the pain made him feel small.

And tonight, he didn't want to be seen at all.