In her chambers, the wife cannot find sleep.
The lamp still flickers on the low table. Through the half-open window, she suddenly sees a familiar silhouette crossing the courtyard — Yi.
Her breath catches as she watches him push open the door of the annex where the concubine lives. Her throat tightens. She lowers her eyes, motionless, yet her heart twists with a pain she cannot name.
Inside the annex, the concubine sits before the mirror, adjusting her hairpins.
A servant leans close and whispers:
— "My lady… the lord is coming."
The concubine's hands tremble. She runs them through her hair one last time, smooths her robe, tries to steady her breath.
The door slides open. Yi appears — his tall frame filling the doorway.
She bows deeply, trembling, though her eyes shine with hope. Her voice is soft, honeyed:
— "My lord…"
She removes a pin; her hair cascades over her shoulders. Her hand lowers the collar of her robe. She dares to lift her gaze, searching for a crack in that stone-cold face.
Yi stares at her for a long moment, expressionless. Then his tone strikes like a blade:
— "Prepare your things."
The concubine startles, almost staggering. Her voice breaks:
— "My lord…?"
He does not turn his head, his steps already angled toward the door.
His voice is implacable, frozen when he replies:
— "At dawn, you will leave this house. A residence awaits you in the countryside."
He walks away, his shadow fading into the night. The concubine falls to her knees, tears breaking over her face.
In the main chamber, the wife still sits upright, her back stiff, her eyes fixed on the void.
She saw her husband enter the annex.
She did not see him leave.
Her breath is shallow, painful. She knows nothing… and her silence weighs like a confession she dreads to believe.
Outside, beneath the swaying lanterns, Yi crosses the courtyard. His face remains unreadable — but his hand, clenched beneath his sleeve, trembles faintly.