The seasons pass, and his wife's belly begins to round.
In the courtyard, the children play ball, their laughter echoing. Their mother, seated beneath the pavilion, watches them, one hand resting on her belly.
Suddenly, the little girl, carried away by her excitement, runs toward her.
The wife laughs softly and opens her arms.
But before the child reaches her, a sharp voice cuts through the air like a blade:
— "Not one step further!"
The little girl freezes, tears rising in her eyes.
The eldest son, startled, clenches the ball in his hands.
Yi advances, his dark gaze flashing.
He gestures firmly toward his wife:
— "She carries a child. None of you will go near her without my order."
Silence falls.
The children bow and retreat, ashamed.
The wife, her smile frozen, watches them go, her heart tightening.
Later, in the room, his wife sits on the bed and gently strokes her belly.
Her voice rises, calm, almost innocent:
— "Since this afternoon, the children don't even dare run in front of me."
He lifts his head, his dark eyes full of authority:
— "They know they must protect their mother."
She tilts her head slightly, a soft smile at the corner of her lips:
— "It seems their father is already quite a strict guard."
A silence settles.
He frowns slightly, surprised by her tone.
But his lips remain closed; he looks away, pretending not to hear.
Then, in a peaceful voice, almost to herself, she adds:
— "With you watching over us, neither they nor I will ever stumble."