Chapter XXV – The Cries No One Hears

The imperial court towered imposingly over a vast expanse of grey stone, flanked by marble columns carved with ancient inscriptions that spoke of laws and judgments from times long past. The main façade was composed of massive dark wooden doors reinforced with iron, guarded by soldiers armed with spears and swords.

Inside, the atmosphere was cold and solemn. There stood Meixin, upright and brave, accompanied by a few loyal servants, determined to uncover what was happening. Two magistrates, dressed in black robes and wide-winged hats, informed her with chilling detachment:

—The evidence is irrefutable.

—That's impossible,— Meixin replied firmly. —My father has always been loyal to the Empire.

—You'd best leave. There's nothing more to be done,— said one of the magistrates with authority. —Guards, take her away!

The guards dragged her to the entrance as she cried out in desperation:

—I want to see my father!

—That is forbidden. No one may visit someone accused of treason without authorization,— one of them answered curtly.

But Meixin did not give up. She knelt before the entrance and remained there all day under the relentless sun, ignoring pain and exhaustion. Some passersby stopped to observe, whispering among themselves, but she didn't move. Her determination was unshakable.

Hours passed, and the sun began to sink on the horizon, tinting the esplanade with a melancholy golden hue.

As night fell, one of the magistrates, moved by her tenacity, approached her.

—Stand up, girl. We'll let you see him… only for a few minutes.

Meixin stood with effort, her legs numb. Her eyes sparkled with gratitude.

—Thank you… thank you so much.

When she was led into the cell, memories of the cold basement where she had once been imprisoned came rushing back like a stab to the heart. Her breath caught as she saw the scene: her father, dressed in coarse brown linen, eating a piece of hardened rice cake.

It hurt her deeply.

—Father...— she called gently.

Wen Jin looked up and stood as soon as he heard her voice. His expression lit up.

—Meixin! Are you and your mother safe?— he asked anxiously.

—We're fine,— she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. —How can we fix this, Father?

Wen Jin leaned in closer, lowering his voice with urgency.

—You must send a letter to my cousin, General Wei,— he said firmly. —He will help us, I'm sure of it. But you must act quickly. The court hasn't passed judgment yet. Once they do, our assets will be confiscated… and I fear you and your mother will be left with nothing.

Meixin nodded, determined to do whatever was necessary to save him.

But one of the guards stationed near the cell, secretly bought by Zhang Tao, had listened closely to every word. Upon hearing the name "General Wei," his expression stiffened. Pretending indifference, he waited for Meixin to leave and then slipped through the corridors to the Zhang residence.

Zhang Tao received him in his private study. The guard, still panting, bowed and whispered urgently:

—My lord… Wen Jin asked his daughter to send a letter to General Wei.

Zhang Tao froze. For the first time in a long while, his face went pale.

—Wei?— he murmured tensely. —General Wei of the North?

The guard nodded.

Zhang Tao clenched his fists and began pacing in circles. He knew who that man was: one of the most respected military figures in the empire, close to the emperor, feared by enemies and revered by his troops. A single gesture from him could tip the scales of justice.

—If that man intervenes...— he muttered, barely containing his rage, —everything we've built will collapse. I can't allow that. Not now.

He stopped and stared at the guard.

—Tonight,— he said coldly. —I don't want Wen Jin to see the dawn.

The guard widened his eyes in shock.

—My lord… poison him?

—Yes. Make it look like a sudden illness. No one must suspect. If General Wei arrives, it'll be too late to save a dead man.

The guard nodded and left silently.

Zhang Tao remained alone, watching the flickering flame of the lamp on his desk.

Meanwhile, Zhang Yun arrived at the Wen residence with hurried steps and a face full of concern. Upon his arrival, a servant led him to the main hall, where Meixin sat beside her mother. She lifted her gaze when she heard his footsteps. Their eyes met for a moment, but there was no solace in them.

Zhang Yun stepped forward hesitantly.

—Meixin...—he said softly. —I just heard what happened to your father. I'm so sorry. I want to help.

Meixin looked at him as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her heart, filled with anger and confusion, turned over.

—You've come to hand me the divorce papers, then?— she asked coldly, each word like a dagger.

—No...— he said gravely. —That's not why I'm here. I just want to know how you're doing, how I can help. I heard about your father and… I want you to know you can count on me.

She stood and walked toward him with firm steps.

—Count on you? Now you say you want to help me? After everything that's happened, what help could you possibly offer?

—Meixin...— he tried to speak, but she cut him off with a gesture.

—Leave!— she shouted, pointing toward the door with a trembling hand. —I don't want to see you. Get out of my house! I want nothing from you but the divorce.

Zhang Yun, though wounded, took a step back and left in silence.

That night, in the prison cells, the guard approached Wen Jin's cell with a small ceramic container. The dark liquid inside had been carefully prepared.

—Here, you must be thirsty,—he said gravely, offering the cup.

Wen Jin sniffed the drink briefly, as if something inside him hesitated for a moment, but thirst and exhaustion overcame his caution.

—Thank you.

He drank the liquid, unaware of what was to come. Shortly after, a heaviness settled in his chest. The air thickened. He tried to stand, but his legs gave out. The burning sensation spread through his veins. His breathing grew erratic, each heartbeat slower. In his mind, just before everything faded, he thought of his wife and daughter. At last, the suffering ceased, and stillness enveloped him.

The news reached the Wen residence unexpectedly.

The day had begun with an ominous silence. A messenger appeared at the door, his face tense and eyes evasive. His hands trembled as he held out a scroll sealed with the court's emblem.

Madam Wen received it in silence, her heart pounding. She barely heard the words: "Wen Jin is dead." A chill ran through her. The scroll slipped from her hands unopened. Her knees buckled, and a servant caught her before she collapsed.

—No… it can't be…— she whispered, clinging to the doorframe.

Her serene face transformed into a map of pain. Tears flowed uncontrollably, and a strangled cry escaped her lips.

Meixin rushed in from the courtyard upon hearing the commotion. When she saw her mother's expression, she knew something terrible had happened.

—Mother? What is it?

Madam Wen could only look at her daughter, eyes clouded with tears, and stammer:

—Your father… Meixin… your father is dead.

The world stopped for the young woman. The air thickened, the ground shook beneath her feet. That day became a wound that would never close.

Before Meixin could respond or console her, her mother suddenly collapsed. Her body trembled uncontrollably, from her shoulders to her feet, as if grief was tearing her apart from within. Her eyes, once blurred by tears, opened wide, fixed on a distant point on the horizon, somewhere beyond the present. She seemed to be desperately seeking someone who was no longer there, as if, in her delirium, she could see Wen Jin waiting for her beyond this life. She reached out with a trembling hand toward the void, her lips murmuring incoherent words, as if trying to call him, reach him, stop him.

—Jin...— she whispered in a broken voice, barely audible. —Wait… don't leave me...

A strangled sob escaped her, and her knees gave way under the weight of sorrow. Meixin, terrified, ran to catch her before her body hit the floor, but it was too late: Madam Wen collapsed like a withered flower, lifeless and breathless. Her face, bathed in tears, and her tremors gave way to stillness.

—Mother!— Meixin screamed, shaking her gently, refusing to accept what was happening. —Mother, don't do this! Wake up!

But there was no response. The silence that followed was as heavy as a tombstone.

That very day, Meixin lost both her father and her mother.

Her sobs became constant, a mourning cry that only the wind seemed to hear.