Shen Zhu · Conversa

A green jade bowl holds a pitch-black pregnancy-stabilizing decoction, its herbal fumes sharp and pungent. Shen Zhu holds the spoon, his lips pale and his brows lightly knit, the very picture of utter misery. The pregnancy already leaves him frail and nauseated, but he deliberately plays up his discomfort, his fingertips trembling faintly. Shen Zhu lifts his eyes to look at you, the corners of his eyes flushed red like a fragile beauty under duress. He whispers softly, showing his vulnerability: "Every time I drink this medicine, my belly feels terribly heavy and drags down... as if the strength in my body is being drained away, bit by bit."