Chapter XVIII – Beneath the Weight of Winter

Zhang Yun locked himself in his study for days. The doors remained shut, the windows covered, and the scent of aged wine clung to the air. He barely ate; his body stood only thanks to the alcohol that kept him conscious until it dragged him into oblivion. He didn't sleep, didn't speak. He only thought.

Zhang Tu, noticing his son's condition, tried to bring him to his senses. He knocked hard on the door and spoke sternly through the threshold.

—You're a man, Yun. Get up! What's done is done. Nothing will change by wallowing in misery.

But his words bounced off a wall of silence. Inside, Yun was trapped in an abyss he could not escape.

Days later, it was his cousin, Huang Fei, who dared to try. With the calculated sweetness that always marked her tone, she knocked softly on the door and whispered:

—Yun… Yun Ge, may I come in? I know you're suffering… but you're not alone. I'm here for you, I always have been.

He didn't even answer. Consolation wasn't what he sought. He wanted redemption—and no one could give him that.

In the darkness of his mind, with the cup trembling between his fingers, he returned again and again to Meixin. To her pleading eyes, her trembling body, the way she screamed and cried while he, blinded by hate and lies, dragged her to punishment. He recalled his own words—cold as blades; the cruelty of his judgment, the harshness of his hands.

And more than anything, he relived the image of blood. His child's blood. That little being who never had the chance to breathe.

—I… killed my own child…—he murmured, his voice torn by wine and remorse. —I made her… barren…

The word ripped his soul apart. Barren. Irreversible. Unforgivable. There was no pardon for what he had done.

And so, while the house carried on, Yun withered in silence, a prisoner of his own conscience.

Then one day, the doors of the study opened. That dark night, he made a vow. He would never hurt her again. From the deepest pit of regret, he swore to treat her with the gentleness she had always deserved. To make amends… if such a thing was even possible.

Consumed by guilt, he poured all his attention into her. It was his clumsy way of seeking redemption, of asking forgiveness without yet uttering the words. He summoned the best tailors in the city to craft new dresses for his wife, using the finest and softest silks.

He assigned more maids to care for her—not just to serve her, but to protect her. He gave clear and strict orders: no one in the household was to contradict her, let alone disrespect her. The slightest offense would be harshly punished. Meixin became the center of a world that had once despised her.

He also ordered scrolls to be brought from the capital, carefully selected—books of poetry, medicine, philosophy… He remembered she had once mentioned her love of reading. He had fresh flowers placed in her room every morning, along with sesame and honey sweets, fruits, and imported tonics said to strengthen a weakened body.

And everything reached her hands without her asking for it, and without him daring to deliver them in person.

—More gifts have arrived, my lady…— announced Liu Zhen as she entered carrying a tray. —Almond sweets, a bottle of jasmine tonic, and another book of poetry…

—Leave them there, with the others.— Meixin didn't even lift her eyes, focused on her embroidery as if the threads were holding her soul together. —I don't understand this sudden change in Zhang Yun.

Liu Zhen hesitated, then murmured cautiously:

—Perhaps… he realized his mistake. I've heard rumors among the servants. They say Miss Zhang Ron ran away with Chen Lian… and that the master has forbidden even the mention of her name.

Meixin slowly raised her gaze toward the gifts stacked on the nearby table. Her eyes, once dull, gleamed with a mixture of bitterness and clarity.

—So that's what happened…—she murmured with a faint, sorrowful smile. —Now he's trying to make it up to me… He thinks a few sweets and words on paper can erase all the pain he's caused.

When Zhang Yun finally found the courage to face her, he entered the pavilion with measured steps, slowly, as if afraid to startle a wounded creature. He wore a long robe of dark blue brocade, embroidered with silver thread. The stiff collar barely hid the gauntness of his face. His hair, once carefully arranged, now fell loose in parts, with strands betraying sleepless nights. Dark shadows marred the skin beneath his eyes, and his lips were cracked.

She sat by an open window, wrapped in a green silk hanfu, barely cinched by a gray sash. Her hair was styled in a high bun adorned with combs. A book rested in her hands.

Upon hearing his footsteps, her fingers tensed around the book, but she didn't lift her gaze immediately. Only when he stopped a few paces away, standing in quiet tension like someone awaiting judgment, did Meixin slowly turn her face toward him.

Zhang Yun swallowed, lowered his eyes, and drew a deep breath. Then he bowed slightly, a sincere reverence. His arrogance had vanished—now there remained only a man marked by guilt. He looked at her with eyes that no longer demanded or judged—but pleaded. Pleaded to be forgiven, even knowing it might be far too late.

—Meixin…— he spoke in a voice low and soft, softer than he had ever used before. —May I… stay a moment?

She studied him in silence, dark eyes fixed on his, as if searching for truth in that newfound gentleness. She didn't answer, but neither did she send him away.

He stepped a little closer, arms at his sides, not daring to come too near.

—I've been… unjust to you. Brutal,— he continued, without raising his voice. —There's no excuse for what I did. I know that.

She clutched the book to her chest. Her chin quivered, but she said nothing.

Zhang Yun swallowed again. His hands trembled slightly, but he didn't hide them.

—I don't expect you to forgive me. I just want… you to know I'm sorry. For every word I said. For everything I allowed. Every blow, every cold glance…— His voice cracked. —If I could undo what I've done…

Meixin looked away toward the garden, where dry leaves had begun to fall. Silence stretched between them, fragile as a thread of glass on the verge of shattering.

—And why now, Zhang Yun?— she finally asked, her voice calm but sharp. —Why regret it when there's nothing left to save?

He lowered his head. His lips twisted in a grimace of pain.

She took a deep breath, holding back tears. When she looked at him again, her eyes were wet, but steady.

—You didn't just destroy who I was. You also taught me who I must never trust again.

Zhang Yun nodded slowly. The pressure in his chest closed his throat, leaving him speechless. He bowed once more, deeper this time, and without another word, turned and left in silence.

Meixin looked back down at the book and closed it. She remained there, motionless, as the first snowflakes began to fall outside. Wondering… Why the change? Why now?

The answer would come soon enough, wrapped in poison, from the only person who still moved like a shadow through the cracks of the household: Huang Fei.