Chapter 5: Sewing Love, Trampled
The morning light in the abandoned courtyard always arrived exceptionally late. The light that filtered through the cracks in the window was piercingly cold, falling on the back of Yun Zhi's withered hands. When she awoke, her fever had mostly subsided, but her bones still ached intensely, and the heavy pain in her lower abdomen hadn't completely subsided. The slightest movement caused her internal organs to tighten.
At the head of the bed lay half a dry, hard steamed bun, tossed there by the old maid who had brought her food yesterday. Yun Zhi picked it up and took a bite. The rough bran stung her throat, and she slowly swallowed it with some cool water from the well.
Outside the courtyard gate, the wind rustled through the dry branches, a sound reminiscent of her mother's cries in her dream last night. She put down her steamed bread, walked to the window, and looked at the thin layer of snow on the courtyard wall. The snow had stopped falling, and the sunlight fell on the snow, reflecting a dazzling light, but it was not warm at all.
For some reason, a picture suddenly flashed through my mind: a few days ago, when I passed by the martial arts training ground, I saw Xiao Jin practicing sword in a dark suit. The cold wind blew up his clothes, and an obvious hole was worn on the cuff, revealing the cotton inside.
He practiced swordplay very seriously, with sweat on his forehead and his eyes as sharp as a sword drawn from its sheath. Unlike his usual cold and hard attitude towards her, at that moment, he was full of life.
Yunzhi's fingertips curled up unconsciously.
She knew she shouldn't think about this. Xiao Jin had been so cruel to her. The sterilization soup, the kneeling in the snow, the abandonment—every single one of them was like a knife stabbing her heart. But for some reason, seeing the frayed look on his sleeves, she couldn't help but feel a tenderness well up inside her.
Perhaps it was because the frayed cuff reminded her of the young general in silver armor and full of vigor that she saw in the Taifu Mansion when she was young. At that time, Xiao Jin was not yet Prince Duan, and he did not have such strong hatred, and there was still light in his eyes.
She looked down at her hands. Her knuckles were red and swollen from the high fever and frostbite, and her fingertips were cracked and bleeding. But she was still compelled to dig out a piece of coarse cloth from the bottom of the box. It was the piece her mother had secretly stuffed into her bag when she came to the mansion, originally intended for her to make a small, close-fitting garment, but she had never been willing to use it.
There was also a thin cotton thread left over from the last time I mended a torn quilt. It had turned gray, but was still strong.
"Just make a wrist guard," she whispered to herself, her voice so soft it sounded like a sigh. "Put it on your sleeves when you practice swordplay, it'll keep the wear and tear away..."
She didn't have a needle, so she could only use a thin red-hot iron wire to slowly poke holes in the coarse cloth and then thread the cotton thread through. The iron wire was very blunt, so she had to use a lot of force to poke the holes, and if she wasn't careful, she would prick her fingers.
With the first stitch, a sharp pain shot through her fingertips. A drop of bright red blood fell onto the coarse cloth, resembling a tiny red plum blossom. Yun Zhi frowned, held her fingertips in her mouth, and continued sewing.
She had never seen a wrist guard before, so she could only rely on her imagination, cutting the coarse cloth into the right shape and sewing it together circle by circle. The cotton thread was very thin and easily broke, and she kept sewing and re-sewing it. Soon, her fingers were covered with tiny needle holes, old wounds piled on top of new ones, and the red was glaring.
She sewed slowly, from dawn to dusk, and from dusk to night. There was no light in the abandoned courtyard, so she could only grope her way through the moonlight from the window. The moonlight was dim, and she often made mistakes in her stitches, so she would unravel the thread and start over again, repeating this process several times.
By dawn, the two rough yet sturdy wristbands were finally sewn. She held them in her hands, gently stroking the crooked stitches, a faint hope rising in her heart—perhaps Xiao Jin would have a slightly different reaction when he saw these wristbands? Even just a simple "I get it," would be enough.
She carefully folded the wrist guard and placed it in her arms, using her body temperature to keep it warm, fearing it would freeze stiff. Then, she changed into her only relatively clean light blue skirt and washed her face with cold water, trying to make herself look less disheveled.
She knew Xiao Jin would be in the study that morning to handle official business, so she stood outside the study in the corridor waiting. The cold wind blew on her face like a knife, but the wrist guard in her arms had a slight warmth, supporting her.
When the servants passing by saw her, they would walk around her, their eyes full of contempt and ridicule.
"Look, that criminal slave is here to show his affection again!"
"She's so ungrateful! Why would the prince want something made by her?"
"Just wait and see, we'll definitely be kicked out soon!"
Those words pierced Yun Zhi's heart like needles. She clenched the wrist guard in her arms, her nails digging deep into her palms, but she still gritted her teeth and did not leave.
After waiting for nearly an hour, Xiao Jin finally appeared, approaching the martial arts arena. He was dressed in a dark uniform, his hair still stained with morning dew. His eyes held the sharpness of someone who had just finished practicing swordsmanship, but as he reached the study door, he paused.
Yun Zhi's heart instantly rose to her throat. She took a deep breath, walked over quickly, lowered her head, and held the wrist guard in front of him with both hands: "Prince...Prince, this is the wrist guard I made for you...you can wear it on your sleeve when practicing sword..."
Her voice trembled and she was too nervous to look up at him.
Xiao Jin didn't answer and didn't say anything.
Yun Zhi's heart sank little by little. She could feel his cold gaze falling on her hand, on the rough wristband, with scrutiny and impatience.
Just then, a slight noise came from the study - the sound of the portrait being blown by the wind.
Yun Zhi subconsciously looked up and followed Xiao Jin's gaze. She saw a portrait of a woman hanging on the wall of the study. The woman in the painting was wearing a pink dress, with gentle eyes and a faint smile on her lips. It was Shen Qingyue.
Xiao Jin's gaze was fixed on the portrait, his eyes filled with a tenderness she had never seen before, completely different from the coldness he had shown towards her just now.
It turned out that he stopped just now not because of her, nor because of the wristband in her hand, but because he saw the portrait of Shen Qingyue.
Yun Zhi felt as if something had tugged at her heart, the pain so severe that she could barely breathe. The wristband in her hand suddenly felt incredibly heavy, and the stitching on it looked ridiculous.
Xiao Jin finally withdrew his gaze and it fell on the wristband in her hand. His eyes instantly turned cold, like the surface of a frozen lake.
"What is this?" There was no warmth in his voice, only a strong sarcasm.
"It's...it's a wrist guard," Yun Zhi's voice trembled even more. "I noticed that your cuffs get worn easily when you practice swordplay, so I...I made this..."
"You did it?" Xiao Jin sneered, suddenly reaching out and snatching the wrist guard from her hand. His grip was so strong that it hurt her fingers, and the old injury was pulled, causing another sharp pain.
Yun Zhi subconsciously wanted to retract her hand, but he held it tightly.
Xiao Jin took the wristband and walked to the charcoal brazier in the study. The charcoal fire in the brazier was still burning brightly, with red flames emitting a bright red glow, reflecting his cold and hard profile.
"Do you think you can replace what Qingyue made for me with this fake?" His voice was like ice, every word piercing his heart. "Yunzhi, don't forget your identity—you're just a substitute, a lowly criminal slave! The wristband Qingyue embroidered for me is a thousand times, ten thousand times better than this shoddy thing of yours!"
As soon as he finished speaking, he raised his hand and threw the wristband in his hand into the charcoal brazier.
With a sizzling sound, the coarse cloth hit the charcoal fire, instantly emitting black smoke and quickly catching fire. The red flames licked the coarse cloth, devouring the crooked stitches on it bit by bit, and even the blood stains on Yun Zhi's fingertips were burned to ashes.
Yun Zhi stared at the burning wristband in the charcoal brazier with her eyes wide open. Her heart felt like it was being burned by the charcoal fire, and the pain made her tremble all over.
That was the wristband she had sewn all night, stitch by stitch with her wound-riddled hands. It was the gift she had wanted to give to Xiao Jin, with a faint hope. It was the only warm thought she had in this cold, abandoned courtyard...
He threw it into the charcoal brazier with his own hands and burned it to ashes.
"No..." Her voice was hoarse. She wanted to rush over to grab the wristband, but was pushed away by Xiao Jin.
She staggered back a few steps and bumped heavily into the door frame. A sharp pain came from her back, but she didn't feel it. All she could see was the burning flame in the charcoal brazier and the wristband that was turning into ashes bit by bit.
Xiao Jin looked down at her, his eyes filled with disgust and coldness, as if he was looking at a dirty bug: "Get lost."
That one word, like a heavy hammer, hit Yun Zhi's heart, shattering her last bit of hope.
She looked at Xiao Jin, watched him turn and walk towards Shen Qingyue's portrait, watched him gently brush away the dust on the portrait, his movements so gentle that water could drip out - that was the tenderness she had never received, even if it was only one ten-thousandth of it.
The pain in my heart became more and more intense, a thousand times more painful than the pain of the sterilization soup, the pain of being punished by kneeling in the snow, and the pain of being unconscious due to a high fever.
She clenched her hands, the wounds on her fingertips opened again, blood seeping out, staining her cuffs red. But she felt no pain, only a chill running through her body, a chill that seeped through the cracks in her bones, colder than the wind in the abandoned hospital.
She slowly turned around and walked out of the corridor step by step.
The sun shone brightly, but it couldn't penetrate the darkness within her heart. Passing servants were still whispering, but she could no longer hear their mocking words. All she could think about was the wristband burning in the charcoal basin and Xiao Jin's cold words, "A fake."
It turned out that in his heart, she was not even as important as a wristband. It turned out that all her efforts and expectations were just a ridiculous self-humiliation.
She walked to the gate of the abandoned courtyard, stopped, and looked back in the direction of the study. There hung a portrait of Shen Qingyue, and there was all of Xiao Jin's tenderness and obsession. She, on the other hand, was just a superfluous substitute, a lowly slave.
The teardrop mole at the corner of her eye was bruised by the wind. She raised her hand and gently touched the mole, and suddenly felt that this mole might also be a mistake - if she didn't look like Shen Qingyue, would she not be captured and taken to the palace, would she not suffer so much, would she not have so many unnecessary expectations?
She took a deep breath, turned around and walked into the abandoned courtyard. The dilapidated gate creaked shut behind her, blocking out the sunlight outside and also blocking her last bit of infatuation with Xiao Jin.
The wristband burned to ashes, and the softness in her heart also burned to ashes.
From now on, she was just Yun Zhi, a slave in the Imperial Tutor's Mansion, a substitute in the Prince Duan's Mansion. She would never again have any expectations, and would never again do such self-humiliating things.
She returned to her room, sat on the cold wooden bed, and stared out the window at the dead branches. Blood still flowed from her fingertips, but she sat quietly, the light in her eyes dimming little by little, leaving only a dead calm—the kind of calm that comes only after a dead heart.
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