The room is warm, curtains drawn. The wife rests, still weak, propped up by two cushions. In her arms, the newborn cries without pause. The maids take turns in vain — the little girl screams, inconsolable. Pale and trembling from exhaustion, the wife tries to soothe her, her hands unsteady.
Yi enters, his face stern, his heavy steps echoing on the floor. Everyone bows and withdraws.
A tear glistens at the corner of his wife's eye as she stammers,
— "My lord… she never stops crying. I fear I can't calm her."
Yi approaches, expression unreadable. Without a word, he extends his arms. She hesitates, startled, then gently places the child in his hold.
The moment he gathers her against his chest, the infant quiets — her cries fading as if swallowed by the silence itself.
Yi stands still, eyes lowered to the tiny face now sleeping against his armor. His features remain severe, yet his fingers instinctively adjust to support the fragile head. His breathing grows heavier.
Moved, his wife touches the blanket and whispers shakily,
— "She… only calms in your arms."
A long silence. Yi does not reply, his gaze fixed on the child. His face is of stone, yet a faint pulse beats at his temple — the only sign of what stirs beneath.
He finally lays the baby gently in her cradle and straightens, his tone once again cold:
— "Rest. I won't have you wasting strength on useless tears."
He turns to leave. Alone, his wife looks at their sleeping daughter and murmurs with a bittersweet smile,
— "Even through your harshness… she has found your heart."