The Birth of Twins, the Death of Hope

Qinyan lay in a pool of blood, her consciousness already fading.
A dim candle flickered in the wind, and she felt as though her belly was surging like a spring.

Am I going to die?
That is good.
If I die, then I shall be free. This life, forever manipulated by others, could finally find release in death.

As such thoughts flickered in her mind, hurried footsteps sounded outside. Zhao Jin and Xiaohui rushed in.

The moment Zhao Jin laid eyes upon Qinyan, his brows knit tightly.
“When did she become pregnant? Why has no one told me?”

No one answered him. Xiaohui was already kneeling before Qinyan, wiping the sweat from her mistress’s brow.

Zhao Jin glanced once at the dying woman on the bed, then strode out. Half an hour later, an old physician with grizzled beard entered.

The doctor first took Qinyan’s pulse, then produced fine silver needles and pierced them into her acupoints.

At last, with the doctor’s aid, Qinyan bore twins: a boy and a girl. The children were healthy.

Xiaohui hurriedly took the babies and rushed to the rear courtyard to find a wet nurse. Yet on the bed, Qinyan’s condition suddenly worsened—the bleeding, which had already ceased, began to gush forth once more.

“What is happening?!” Zhao Jin demanded, his voice frantic.

“She has no will to live,” the doctor said gravely. “Though she has lost much blood, none of her vital organs are injured. If she takes nourishing medicine, she will recover. But the problem lies here—she has no will to survive. Her very body rejects treatment. To speak plainly, she wishes to die. And when a person truly wishes for death, even a celestial elixir cannot save her.”

Having spoken, the physician rose to brew medicine, leaving behind a bowl of dark-brown decoction upon the table. Zhao Jin seized the spoon and tried feeding it to Qinyan, one mouthful after another. Yet her face was pale, and she refused to swallow. The medicine simply spilled from the corner of her lips.

Growing desperate, Zhao Jin pleaded:
“Qinyan, do not die! I beg you, do not die!”

Suddenly, he drank a mouthful himself, pressed his lips against hers, and forced the medicine into her mouth. Yet still it trickled back out, never reaching her throat.

“Please… please drink it…” Zhao Jin begged, for the first time revealing his vulnerability before this woman. For so long he had ignored her, treating her as dispensable, like a toy one grows tired of.
But now, at this moment, he did not want her to die.

Zhao Jin turned anxiously to the physician: “Doctor! Is there no way to awaken her will to live?”

The physician sighed. “Young Master, I do have a method you may attempt. You know best what she longs for. Whisper it into her ear, promise it to her. Perhaps then her will to survive will rekindle.”

With that, the doctor departed, leaving only Zhao Jin and Qinyan in the silent room.

No one knew how long it was before Zhao Jin finally bent down, lips close to her ear. He whispered something, his lips moving soundlessly.

Qinyan’s lashes trembled. A moment later, she opened her eyes—only to be greeted by Zhao Jin’s furious gaze. Flames burned within his pupils. He seized her chin, disregarding her weakened state, and spat each word with venom:
“So it truly is as I thought.”

Unable to speak, Qinyan could only endure his grip.

Through clenched teeth, Zhao Jin’s wrath poured forth:
“Did you think I would truly grant your wish? Qinyan, do you believe that because you bore me two children, I must indulge you in everything? Dream on.”

With a sweep of his sleeve, he stormed away, leaving Qinyan lying upon the bed, lost and bewildered.

Not far away, I was utterly dumbfounded. My heart felt only confusion.
Wasn’t it he who wished for Qinyan to live? Now that she had awakened, why did he act as though provoked? Ah, the heart of a man is like a needle lost in the depths of the sea.

I turned my head and asked Gongsun Bai: “What do you think Zhao Jin whispered into her ear?”

Gongsun Bai smiled with intrigue and countered, “Do you not know?”

“How would I know? Do you know? Tell me quickly!”

He chuckled, gently spreading his fan in mock elegance. “Heaven’s secrets cannot be revealed.”

I: “……”

In truth, what Zhao Jin said no longer mattered, for the events that followed defied all expectations.

It is often said: a mother rises in honor by virtue of her child. This principle holds true anywhere—except for Qinyan.
She had borne a son and a daughter, the eldest grandchildren of the Sword-Casting Villa. Yet she gained nothing from it. On the contrary, her life grew harsher still.

While the old Villa Master yet lived, he had long yearned for grandchildren. Though he never saw them in life, he had already chosen names for the next generation. It was to be the “Ming” generation, each child’s given name beginning with Ming. A name bestowed by the old master himself was no small matter. If Qinyan’s children bore these names, it would signify their entry into the family records, their formal acknowledgment by the Villa. Naturally, Qinyan’s status would also be legitimized.

But to everyone’s astonishment, the children received no names, and Qinyan no recognition. She gave her son and daughter simple childhood names: Zier and You’er. Their formal names remained unknown—for Zhao Jin never bestowed them.

Qinyan, however, seemed unconcerned. Whether they carried his surname or not mattered little. As long as their nicknames rolled smoothly off the tongue, that was enough.

After the children’s birth, Qinyan continued to reside in the Snow-Bound Pavilion. Zhao Jin himself seldom appeared, though he occasionally sent tonics. Qinyan accepted them without fuss. At times, when the gifts exceeded what she could consume, she would have Xiaohui sell them to other servants for a few coins.