That evening, after the quarrel and the fainting, Jia Yu woke up from her nap with her eyes half-open. She rubbed her stomach and sat up slowly, her face looking troubled. Yan Qing rushed over.
"What is it? Are you in pain again?" he asked nervously.
Jia Yu shook her head but bit her lip. "No… I just… I suddenly want to eat something sour, very sour. I can't stop thinking about it."
Yan Qing stared at her in disbelief. "At this hour? Where will I find that?"
Her eyes softened pitifully, almost tearing up. "If you don't bring it, I won't sleep tonight."
Yan Qing sighed deeply, running his hand through his hair, but in the end he picked up his cloak and rushed out. Grandma, who had been quietly weaving at the side, watched him leave with a smile tugging at her lips.
Not long after, Yan Qing returned breathless, holding a small bag of sour plums. Jia Yu's face lit up instantly, and she grabbed them with both hands like a child, eating happily. Yan Qing sat down beside her, shaking his head in half-amusement, half-exhaustion.
Grandma chuckled softly. "Ah, this reminds me of myself when I was your age."
Both Jia Yu and Yan Qing looked at her curiously. Grandma set aside her weaving and leaned back, her eyes distant with memory.
"When I first married your grandfather, I quarreled with him every day. I thought he didn't care for me, I thought he didn't understand me. I shouted, I cried, I even refused to cook just like you, Jia Yu." She gave a knowing smile. "But one day, I began to crave things. Strange things. Sweet one hour, sour the next. He would run around the whole village just to bring them to me. That was when I realized—it wasn't anger, it wasn't hatred. It was simply my body telling me… life was changing inside of me."
Her eyes glistened as she paused. "And a few months later, I gave birth to my first son."
The room fell silent. Jia Yu froze with the sour plum still in her hand, her heart thumping hard when grandma mentioned born. Yan Qing blinked in surprise, his eyes slowly turning toward his wife.
Grandma looked at them both with a gentle smile. "Quarrels will come and go, but remember—love and patience are the roots that hold a family together. Never forget that."
Jia Yu lowered her head, her cheeks warm as she held her stomach unconsciously. Yan Qing's hand reached for hers under the table, holding it firmly.
As Grandma finished speaking, Yan Qing asked softly, "Grandma… how many children did you give birth to?"
Her eyes grew distant, her smile fading into silence. Slowly, she lowered her weaving from her lap. When she finally spoke, her voice trembled. "Three boys…"
Jia Yu's heart clenched. She leaned forward, her voice barely more than a whisper. "How… how did they all die?"
Grandma's hands tightened on the edge of her robe, her knuckles pale. Her eyes glistened, but she refused to let the tears fall. "They all died in the hands of the Hei Xiezhi… the infamous Black Scorpion."
Yan Qing and Jia Yu exchanged a startled glance, but Grandma's gaze was fixed far away, lost in memories she wished she could bury.
"When I was pregnant with my first child," she began, her voice heavy with grief, "my father-in-law told me of a prophecy… the child born with the strength of ten. He said the signs were already clear in me—that my son might be the one."
Her lips quivered, but she pressed on. "When I gave birth, before he was even three months old, the signs appeared. He grew quickly, stronger than other children. By the time he reached thirteen, the Black Scorpion heard of him. That monster feared him… feared what my boy could become."
Her shoulders shook. She clutched her chest as if holding back a scream. "One night, he came. He slaughtered my son's and their father… thinking my firstborn was among them."
Grandma's voice cracked. For a moment, she pressed her hand over her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. When she continued, it was in a whisper laced with agony.
"We ran. From kingdom to kingdom, village to village. Always hunted. Always afraid. Until that cursed day…"
Her breath hitched, and her tears finally broke free, rolling down her wrinkled cheeks. "We were in our little hut, eating a simple meal. Then he came… with thousands of soldiers. My son—he sensed them before they arrived. He ran into the forest. They chased him. I could hear his screams… his fight… and then silence."
Grandma's voice broke entirely. She pressed her shaking hands over her face. "They killed him. They killed my boys. I never even saw his body… never buried him with my own hands. I only had the emptiness left behind."
The hut fell into heavy silence. The fire crackled faintly, but no one spoke.
Jia Yu's eyes brimmed with tears, her chest aching with sympathy. Yan Qing lowered his head, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "Grandma we are you family now. You have us please don't cry again.
_____
Mean while in the palace of Lianhua, The night was restless, the air thick and heavy. Wu Zhen, Mei's father tossed and turned in his sleep until, at last, he had a dream.
He found himself standing at the entrance of their old home—the one they had fled from so long ago. The wooden door creaked open by itself, and a faint light glowed within. His heart tightened as he stepped inside.
The house was warm, just as he remembered. A pot simmered faintly over the dying fire, its soft crackle filling the silence. Mats were spread neatly across the floor, and the scent of herbs lingered in the air. It felt as if his mother had only just been there, preparing supper.
"Son… where are you?"
Her voice floated gently through the rooms. It was worried, tired, but full of love. His breath caught in his throat.
"Mother! I'm here!" he cried, rushing forward.
He ran into the first room, but it was empty. Only shadows stretched along the walls. He hurried into the next, and the next, each one colder than the last, but still no one was there. Yet her voice grew clearer, as if she was always just one step ahead.
"Where are you? Come back to me, my child…"
His legs grew weak, his chest heavy, but he forced himself onward, desperate to reach her. Finally, he came to the last door. His hands trembled as he pushed it open.
There was Darkness. Only Darkness.
And then he heard a soft, broken sound of a woman weeping. It was her__his mother. But she was nowhere to be seen. The sound echoed, slipping away from him no matter how far he stretched out his hands.
"Mother… don't leave me…" he whispered, his voice breaking.
Tears blurred his sight as the house around him began to dissolve into mist. Her weeping faded, leaving him alone in silence—abandoned, aching, and powerless to change what had already been lost.