The room is cloaked in shadow. The wife, pale and hollow-eyed, rocks her daughter who cries without pause. Her trembling hands betray her exhaustion; her reddened eyes, too many sleepless nights. The maids sleep curled in a corner, worn out themselves.
The wife whispers, almost to herself:
— "Little flower… why do you refuse rest? Your mother has no strength left…"
The door opens softly. Yi appears, a lamp in hand. His features are marked by sleeplessness and battle. The wife stiffens, ashamed of her weakness. She lowers her gaze, but Yi approaches without a word. He extends his arms.
Her voice breaks as she murmurs:
— "My lord… I fear I am not strong enough…"
He does not answer. He takes the child — and, as before, the crying stops instantly. The little one nestles against him, her breathing easing. A heavy silence fills the room. The wife watches, tears in her eyes. Yi stands still, the sleeping infant in his arms. His lips press tight; his gaze turns away, avoiding hers.
After a long moment, he sets the child back into her cradle, adjusts the blanket with precise care, then turns toward his wife.
Coldly — yet with a faint tremor in his voice — he says:
— "You waste your strength. Sleep. As long as I watch, neither of you will lack protection."
He turns away, the lamp in hand, disappearing into the corridor.
Left alone, the wife stifles a sob, a painful smile touching her lips. She whispers into her pillow:
— "Even your coldness… has become our shelter."