Zháng fū
The scroll, though made of the lightest parchment, felt surprisingly heavy and weighty. Was this because of the contents? He assumed yes.
Her servants had found it tucked away, hidden inside her desk, when they cleaned. He had been staring at it for hours, conflicted. Too terrified to read the contents, yet desperate to know what message she’d left behind for him. While in his heart, there was no question.
It was a request for a divorce. She was waiting to give it to him after she gave birth to their children.
He lingered until it became impossible to hold back, which it did. As if to guard his mind and heart, he closed his eyes. The color of the wax was too reminiscent of the blood smear that had been on her blindfold the day she died.
With tender fingers, he traced and pushed into the empress’s raised, deep red, and maroon wax seal with bated breath.
Click.
A faint snap echoed in the quiet room as the wax broke apart into two pieces.
He handled it with care, treating the scroll with her precious words like his newborn sons, unfurling it gingerly, and his bated breath was broken by a gasp of surprise. His gasp turned into a weak chuckle as he saw miniature sunsets, slivers of dried persimmon, and different shades of orange, golden, bright, burnt, russet, and red. Colors like autumn leaves showered onto his desk.
The memory was exquisite. At the school’s open house day, she had been so seductive, calling him Shifu.
She reciprocated his persimmon offering with a desire, love, and passion that made him wonder if he could love her anymore. But what was even more exquisite than that memory of their shared passion was the first word that seized his heart instantly:
Zháng fū — Husband.
The trial’s results had determined their fates. She was now with his brother and their children, and she was no longer his.
He reminded himself he didn’t have the right to feel as he did. She was not his to pine for. It was the newness of losing her that made the yearning unbearable; the pain from his heart that spread throughout him and settled into the marrow of his bones would one day vanish, yet one name, a single term, a solitary title made him waver.
Zháng fū
I hope you won’t tease me later for not being direct and having Little Min write this for me. I must be a coward, and this is easier.
The past few months have been trying for you, me, and us. This knot between us.. I don’t know where to untangle it. I didn’t consider it something I wanted to try, but a few nights ago, Little Min asked if I loved you and missed you the past few months. I’ve been thinking about it and..
Yes, zháng fū, I have. We have.
Our children and I missed you, your voice, and all of you; I love you very much. My love for you could surpass both our expectations.
I am aware that sometimes you worry. I am seeing Jinghua in you, but that is never the case. Every moment, every glance, every word, every kiss, and every touch shared between us, I see you and only you, zháng fū. After the babies come, we can try to regain what was lost, or maybe it wasn’t lost, but hidden temporarily.. under the blanket of our disconnection, or what I perceived as a shroud of your pity.
If you’re willing to try, I would like to as well.
Husband, even if I don’t get my sight back as you hope and you and I can’t take in the moon during our late-night walks in the imperial gardens, I’ll always see stars with my eyes closed as long as we’re together.
He brought the scroll to his face. The thought of kissing it crossed his mind. He held it close as if it were her, cradling it lovingly. Her last words, so sweet and tender, would forever be etched in his heart. He had lost his beloved, but gained a brother and a glimpse of what could have been.
He would keep those sacred memories with himself, allowing himself to reminisce in private.
Speaking into emptiness, he addressed both nobody and everybody. “Brother, didi, do you see this? It’s not just me, but her, too. She gives a man just enough of her heart’s rope, making them want to hang themselves to stay connected to her.”