@mdzswomen‘s Woman Appreciation Weeks: Repentance
“Please, Qin-furen,” Bicao begged. “Just one spoonful.”
“No, no,” she said dazedly. “I mustn’t, I mustn’t…”
“But why?” Bicao cried, at her wit’s end. Several weeks ago she would never have dared speak to her mistress in such a way, but Qin-furen had been barely eating since the wedding, growing paler and weaker. She was now confined to her bed, and spent her waking moments in a confused haze. She hadn’t eaten even a mouthful in four days now, and no one could discern why. Even when fully cogent she would deny feeling ill, simply turning her face to the window and staring out, unresponsive, until all questioning stopped.
“I mustn’t!” Qin-furen cried with more vehemence than she’d spoken in weeks, startling Bicao so badly she spilled some of the long-cooled soup onto the floor. She didn’t think it mattered.
“Yes,” Bicao encouraged, feeling momentarily hopeful. “You must eat, Qin-furen, even a little. Qin-zongzhu is terribly worried, he’d be so happy to know you’d—”
“No!” Qin-furen shouted weakly, a thin hand shooting out to grasp Bicao’s shoulder as though to stop her from leaving. “He can’t know! Can’t.... I don’t… Can’t know, he can’t know.”
Bicao despaired at her confusion. She did not have to feel Qin-furen’s brow to know her ever-present fever had flared again.
“Okay,” she soothed. They had learned not to try and reason with her during these fits. “He won’t know. Everything is okay, Qin-furen.” Bicao patted her hand where it still clawed her shoulder, but she knew in her heart this was a lie. A pall had hung over the sect for the last few weeks, the sect leader rarely emerging from his workroom. No one spoke too loudly, laughter came infrequently.
Everyone knew their mistress was dying.
Qin-furen had always been a kind mistress, if distant, and Bicao had spent so long in her company that seeing her like this was truly painful. She patted that trembling hand again and rose to fetch the cloth and basin that were never far from Qin-furen’s side, gently cooling her face, neck, and chest with water, her own hands less than steady. “There, Qin-furen,” she said as she had after taking down her mistress’s hair every evening for years, a catch in her voice. “That must be better.” Qin-furen did indeed seem more relaxed, her eyes a little clearer as she watched Bicao through her long lashes. The illness had thinned her face, her skin dull and pale where it seemed to hang on her skull, her hair always matted with sweat and tangles, but Bicao could still see the beautiful, proud woman she had been.
“Yes, Qin-furen? Would you like some water? Or broth?”
“No, Bicao. No.” She closed her eyes tiredly for a moment before turning her face towards the window. She was silent for a long time. “I am dying, Bicao,” she said in the end.
“Oh, Qin-furen, you mustn’t say that!”
“Mustn’t I? It is the truth. It is…” She closed her eyes again, this time seemingly from some strong emotion. She pressed a shaking hand to her face, but soon lost the strength to hold it up.
“Qin-furen…” Bicao’s voice was choked with tears.
“Don’t weep for me,” Qin-furen whispered without opening her eyes. “You mustn’t weep for me. This is what...what I deserve.”
“Oh, Qin-furen, no! How could it be?”
“How?” Qin-furen huffed in terrible amusement. “How could it be what I deserve,” she mused dizzily. “How could it be…”
Bicao waited, but she seemed to be drifting again. Desperate to extend the moment of clarity as long as possible she prompted again. “Yes, Qin-furen, how?”
Qin-furen opened her eyes and gazed glassily at her “How?” She whispered. She blinked a few times. “Bicao. Bicao.”
“Qin-furen?” Bicao leaned closer.
“I am dying. I am—I must, I must.”
“Confess,” Qin-fruen sighed, seeming to lose what little life was left in her with that breath. “Repent.”
“Repent?” Bicao repeated in confusion. “Repent what?”
“I...I have allowed…” Qin-furen’s eyes slipped shut for a moment before she rallied, drawing some little strength forth to bolster her through her confession. Bicao leaned in far too close for propriety’s sake, unwilling to miss a breath of what could be her mistress’s final words.
The story she was told shocked Bicao to her core. She felt nausea mix with a terrible pity in her belly, so overcome she hardly noticed when Qin-furen’s face went slack against the pillow, her troubled breathing evening out into sleep. Bicao had the same view of the lecherous sect leader as every maid her age, but to think, his best friend’s wife! And his son was apparently just as depraved—knowingly marrying his own sister! Bicao’s gorge rose and she stood to turn away. No wonder Qin-furen felt the need to repent. Such a horrible sin—if even a portion of it was her fault it was surely too much for one woman to bear. Bicao’s heart ached for her, even as her stomach rebelled.
“You…” She whispered on a whim, back still turned to the sleeping woman. “You don’t need to repent, Qin-furen. I—” it was unforgivably audacious for a maid to say this to one of the gentry, but Bicao had long since crossed that line “—I forgive you.” It was not her absolution to give, but it was all she had.
A rustle sounded from behind her. When she turned she found Qin-furen awake again, eyes open, staring out her window.
