Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 132: A Broken Mirror Yearns to Be Mended

Xiaoquanzi was an accomplished thief.

He knew exactly how to smuggle stolen goods out of the palace and exactly where to fence them afterward.

If he could sell, naturally he could also buy.

Noble Consort Chun could never have imagined that every single one of the “stolen goods” on display at the palace market had been purchased from outside the palace by Xiaoquanzi at Wei Yingluo’s request.

“This slave dares not claim credit,” Xiaoquanzi said, kneeling on the ground with an ingratiating smile. “This slave only ran errands. The plan was all your idea, Your Ladyship. Truly brilliant—a perfect case of transplanting flowers onto another tree. Noble Consort Chun was caught completely off guard!”

Wei Yingluo smiled coyishly and tossed the embroidered pouch in her hand to him: “A reward for you.”

Xiaoquanzi was overjoyed. If he weren’t so fond of money, he never would have done what he did earlier. He immediately reached up to catch it and showered her with gratitude: “Many thanks for Your Ladyship’s grace! From now on, this slave will climb mountains of blades…”

“Again with the ‘climb mountains of blades and descend into vats of boiling oil’ routine?” Ming Yu pouted. “You’re not tired of it, but our Ladyship has heard it enough.”

Xiaoquanzi froze, about to switch to a different speech, when he looked up and saw Wei Yingluo regarding him with that half-smile that wasn’t quite a smile—her eyes carrying unmistakable meaning: “I have an excellent memory. If you say something once, I remember it forever. If later you claim to have forgotten… I’ll make sure you remember.”

A sudden chill ran down Xiaoquanzi’s back. He pressed his forehead hard to the floor and trembled as he replied: “Yes, this slave—this slave dares not forget.”

Wei Yingluo waved her hand, dismissing him.

The moment he left, Ming Yu no longer held back her excitement: “Yingluo, you should have seen Noble Consort Chun’s face at noon! The instant she saw the stolen goods, it went deathly pale. Haha—when the Empress Dowager questioned her, she couldn’t even squeeze out a single word in her own defense. It was so satisfying!”

Wei Yingluo smiled faintly. Every word she spoke carried a hidden edge of murder: “And who was it that spread those rumors throughout the Forbidden City? Besides Concubine Xiaojia, she was the one fanning the flames. Naturally, I have to let her have a good taste of what it feels like to be gossiped about behind her back and in front of her face.”

If Noble Consort Chun could spread rumors, then naturally Wei Yingluo could do the same.

   Besides, this wasn’t even entirely rumor. So many eyes had seen it, so many ears had heard it. All it took was a little nudge to make it spread until everyone in the palace knew.

   …

“Damn it!”

In the Zhongcui Palace, an ancient qin was shoved off the table. Its strings snapped and the sound died. Noble Consort Chun trembled all over as she said, “I had carefully prepared everything to please the Empress Dowager. Now, let alone earning any merit, it would already be a blessing if I’m not blamed!”

“Wah…” The Sixth Prince, who had been playing nearby, was startled and immediately scrunched up his nose and began to cry.

Yuhu quickly had the wet nurse carry the Sixth Prince away, then stepped forward to comfort her: “Your Ladyship, please calm your anger…”

“Calm what anger!” Noble Consort Chun swept another box of chess pieces onto the floor. The pieces scattered like rain, clattering against the ground, while her tears fell in the same pattering drops. “Now everyone is saying that the eunuchs have been using the palace market I organized to fence stolen goods. Who knows what kind of shady business is really going on in there? My good reputation, built over so many years, has been completely ruined in a single day!”

“Your Ladyship, please don’t be anxious,” Yuhu said hurriedly. “The Empress Dowager and His Majesty still believe in you. It’s just a matter of face right now. Once some time passes and the storm dies down, everything will be fine!”

“Wei Yingluo used to charge around recklessly. After spending two years at the Yuanmingyuan, she’s started playing dirty tricks!” Noble Consort Chun sneered. “First she dressed up as a wine-selling girl in that improper outfit to seduce His Majesty. Then in the Jiangnan market… Thinking back carefully—if it hadn’t been for Ming Yu’s shout, she wouldn’t have drawn so many people over.”

Noble Consort Chun clutched at her chest; the anger actually made her heart and liver ache with pain.

Beyond the pain, there was also an lingering, unshakable fear.

“This person cannot be allowed to remain,” Noble Consort Chun said in a low, grave voice. “Ming Yu must have told her the truth about the Seventh Prince’s death. We absolutely cannot let her regain favor. Otherwise, in this palace… there will be no place left for me or the Sixth Prince to stand.”

“Your Ladyship, you intend to…” Yuhu seemed to understand.

“Three days from now is the anniversary of the late Empress’s death. Wei Yingluo will certainly go to Changchun Palace to pay her respects, and most likely Fucha Fuheng will be there as well.” Noble Consort Chun suddenly turned to look at her, her gaze eerie as she lowered her voice: “I can’t help but wonder—what a perfect opportunity. Do you think those two might arrange to meet there again?”

While one sits peacefully at home, disaster falls from the sky.

   Fuheng was still unaware that a plot targeting him was quietly brewing. He was turning his study upside down, practically ransacking the entire room.

“Young Master.” Qinglian stood at the doorway, holding a plate of tea snacks, watching him with uncertainty and alarm. “What are you looking for?”

“My sachet.” Fuheng didn’t even turn his head, continuing to rummage through the chest in front of him. “Where is my sachet?”

A slightly worn sachet was held up beside his cheek. Qinglian, holding it, spoke with some trepidation: “Young Master, it fell out when you were changing clothes earlier. This servant saw it was dirty, so I took it to wash…”

Fuheng snatched the sachet from her hand. His usually gentle and refined face, for the first time, turned cold and severe: “In the future, do not touch my things without permission!”

He carefully placed the sachet back inside his clothing, close against his chest, handling it with such solemn reverence that it seemed as though what he had just returned to its place was not a mere sachet, but his very heart.

“…That’s enough.” Fuheng turned his head and spoke calmly to Qinglian. “You may leave.”

Some people like to display their sorrow for others to see; others prefer to hide it away and grieve alone.

Fuheng belonged to the latter kind.

After dismissing Qinglian, he sat alone by the window, took out the sachet, and gazed at it. He sat like that for a full hour—until a sudden sound came from the bookshelf behind him. He whipped around sharply: “Who’s there?”

The bookshelf immediately fell silent again.

Fuheng rose to his full height, his right hand resting on the sword at his waist. With a flash, the blade was drawn, gleaming like snow.

He advanced step by step toward the wardrobe. After a moment of stunned realization, he sheathed the sword again, turned his head, and called out: “Steward! Steward!”

The door opened, and the steward hurried in: “Young Master, what are your orders?”

Fuheng raised his hand and pointed forward. Between the gap where the bookshelf met the wall, a small child was hiding, staring at them with wide eyes—it was Fukang’an.

“How did the young master end up here?” Fuheng asked.

“Ah ya, young master, we finally found you!” The steward saw him and was full of astonishment. “The young madam has been worried sick, searching the entire courtyard for you!”

As he spoke, he stepped forward to pick up Fukang’an. But the boy, relying on his small size, kept wriggling and squeezing into every gap he could find, refusing to let the steward touch him.

Figuring the child might be shy around strangers, Fuheng instructed: “Go tell the wet nurse to come and take him back.”

The steward: “Yes, sir.”

The steward hurried away, leaving only father and son in the room.

Fuheng knew the child’s true origins. He could refrain from hating him, but no matter what, he could not bring himself to like him. As usual, he treated the boy as if he were invisible, turned back to his desk, and resumed reading. After a short while, he suddenly looked down.

—A small hand was tugging at the hem of his robe.

Following that little hand, Fuheng slowly turned his gaze to the small face that carried a faint trace of expectation.

“What do you want?” Fuheng asked.

The child turned his head and glanced at the table. On it was the plate of tea snacks Qinglian had brought in earlier—pale bean-green pastries, their color vivid and fresh like tender new leaves on a branch, shaped into tiny, delicate, adorable little rounds.

“If you want to eat, take it yourself,” Fuheng said.

The child was quite well-behaved. Only after receiving permission did he reach out. But the table was too high and he was too short. He stood on tiptoe with all his might, yet after a long struggle he still couldn’t reach the pastries on top.

Fuheng let out a helpless sigh, lifted the boy onto his lap, picked up a piece of mung bean cake, and fed it to him.

Halfway through eating, the door creaked open. Erqing rushed in. The moment she saw the scene, without a word she charged over, slapped the half-eaten mung bean cake away from Fukang’an’s mouth, then clutched the child tightly to her chest and snapped: “Lord Fucha Fuheng, what are you trying to do?”

Fuheng replied calmly: “What do you think I’m trying to do?”

Erqing glanced at the half piece of cake on the floor; a flash of suspicion passed over her face.

Fuheng had thought he was already disappointed enough in her, yet she still managed to disappoint him even more. With a self-mocking laugh he said: “I’m not like you. I won’t harm an innocent life, and I certainly won’t use a child as a tool for revenge.”

Erqing’s expression grew somewhat unnatural.

Judging a gentleman’s heart with the heart of a petty person.

Just now she really had suspected him—suspected that Fuheng had secretly carried the child away and secretly tampered with the pastry in order to get rid of this “bastard” child.

But Fuheng was, after all, Fuheng. He was not someone else, and certainly not someone like Erqing.

“Xitara Erqing, since you have become a mother, you should take responsibility and not let the child run around unsupervised.” Fuheng stood and walked toward the door. He loathed Erqing—so much so that he could hardly bear sharing the same room with her anymore.

It was as though with every breath she took, the air itself became turbid and foul.

“Dad.”

His footsteps halted. Fuheng turned back in disbelief.

Fukang’an was clinging to his mother’s neck, yet his eyes were fixed straight on him, filled with innocence and childlike longing.

Fuheng looked at him for a long moment with a complicated expression, then finally turned his head away and left without a single word.

Behind him, Dujuan quietly approached Erqing and whispered: “Young madam, look how kind the young master is being to the little young master. Why are you so nervous?”

Erqing’s arms, wrapped around Fukang’an, stiffened for a moment. Of course she could never reveal the real reason, so she brushed it off casually: “It’s nothing.”

“Young madam,” Dujuan urged earnestly, “the young master has a good temper, an excellent family background, and now he has earned military merit and holds a high position. How many people envy you? How can you be so blessed and yet fail to appreciate it, always picking fights with him? Even if there are a thousand misunderstandings, for the little young master’s sake, you should resolve them as soon as possible!”

“What do you know?” Erqing thought to herself: It’s precisely because of this child that the grudge between us can never be resolved.

Dujuan, unaware of the true circumstances, genuinely believed the couple’s discord was merely over some trivial, petty matter. When the mistress lived uneasily, the servants naturally felt as if they were treading on thin ice. If she could help them reconcile, it would benefit everyone—the masters and the servants alike. So she continued to persuade.

“You really ought to think this through carefully. Aren’t there plenty of people out there eager to push their younger sisters or daughters into this household?” Dujuan gave several examples, then said with a tone of frustration and disappointment, “If you keep this stalemate going, aren’t you just making room for someone else? Life is so long—do you and the young master really intend to spend the rest of your days resenting each other like this?”

Hearing these words, Erqing finally began to waver.

She had Fukang’an in her heart, but she also had herself.

The status she had obtained through every possible means, the wealth and honor she had firmly believed in—how could she possibly hand them over to someone else?

“In the past he only had Wei Yingluo on his mind and never placed me in his heart. Now Wei Yingluo has become Concubine Ling, and there is no longer any possibility between them. For the rest of his life, he is destined to spend it with women other than Wei Yingluo. Why should I continue this deadlock with him?” Erqing secretly made up her mind. “Just as Dujuan said, if I keep being stubborn, I’m only pushing him into someone else’s arms. Tch! I, Xitara Erqing, am not going to be such a fool!”

That night, Fuheng returned to his study.

He had not shared a bed with Erqing for a long time and had been staying in the study, so there was a simple wooden bed placed there, covered with plain white bed curtains—simple and unadorned, just like the man himself.

He sat on the edge of the bed, bending down to take off his boots. Suddenly, from behind the bed curtains, a pair of hands slowly reached out and wrapped around his waist.

Startled, Fuheng jumped to his feet in an instant—one foot still in a boot, the other bare. His right hand instinctively went to the sword at his waist as he asked in a low, grave voice: “Who is it?”

Slender fingers slowly parted the curtains, revealing Erqing’s graceful figure. She wore only a undergarment, her fair skin exposed, long black hair cascading down. She gave him a seductive smile: “It’s me.”

Fuheng did not want to ask why she was here. From her current attire and the way she smiled, he could already guess her intentions. Suppressing the nausea in his heart, he said coldly: “Get out!”

“Fuheng!” Erqing refused to get up from the bed. She looked at him with sorrowful eyes and said, “I know I was wrong!”

Fuheng had no interest in listening to her explanations—every explanation that came out of her mouth had, in the end, always turned into a lie.

“If you won’t leave, then I will.” Fuheng turned decisively, put his boot back on, and headed for the door.

“Wait!” Erqing panicked. Not even bothering to put on shoes, she chased after him barefoot and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. Regardless of whether he wanted to hear it, she hurriedly explained: “I know I was wrong—it was all my fault! In the past I couldn’t think clearly. For these three-plus years while you were on the battlefield, though I spoke with resentment, in my heart I was always waiting, always hoping! I hoped you would come back soon, even though I knew full well how much you hated me!”

Fuheng said nothing. He placed one hand over her fingers and began prying them open one by one.

The difference in strength between men and women was already great, and Fuheng was a military man. Erqing’s fingers were quickly pried apart. Seeing that she could not hold him by force, she simply let go, ran in front of him, and tried to move him with tears.

“Fuheng, you were the one who hurt me first. That’s why, in a moment of confusion, I used that matter to take revenge on you.” Lightly brushing over the past, Erqing said to him with tears in her eyes: “We were both at fault, so let’s stop dwelling on the past and think about the future instead, all right? I promise you—from now on, I won’t make trouble anymore, I won’t cause any more scenes. I will wholeheartedly be the daughter-in-law of the Fucha family and your good wife!”

“A good daughter-in-law? A good wife?” Fuheng could not help but mock.

“Yes! I will manage the household, be filial to our parents, no longer go out to socialize, and no longer pass messages to Grandfather. As long as you say it, I am willing to do anything!” Erqing pretended not to hear the sarcasm in his words and kept making promises. Finally, she lowered her head, shy and timid, and said: “…I can also give you a son who truly belongs to you, all right?”

Fuheng laughed.

Erqing’s face lit up at first, thinking her sweet words had moved him. But soon the joy on her face faded bit by bit.

“Xitara Erqing.” Fuheng asked with a smile, “Why do you think I would agree to you?”

Erqing was stunned by his words.

“When you’re furious, you want to drag everyone into the abyss of pain with you. When you feel regret, you want to make it up to them effortlessly.” Fuheng was still smiling. “You’re always like this—feeling you’ve been wronged, believing all the faults belong to others, then feeling perfectly justified in taking revenge on them, and just as perfectly justified in forgiving yourself.”

The smile on his face made Erqing’s cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Because he was right. That was exactly the kind of person she was.

Even though her mouth spoke words of self-reflection, deep down she still didn’t believe she had done anything wrong. Everything was Fuheng’s fault. Everything was Wei Yingluo’s fault. Even the Empress was at fault. She alone was the pitiful, innocent one who had been bullied… and therefore deserved the best possible compensation.

“Stop talking about being a good daughter-in-law or a good wife.” Fuheng slowly let the smile fade from his face and said calmly, “From the moment you did that thing, you ceased to be the wife of Fucha Fuheng.”

The sword remained in its sheath; the affection had already been severed by him.

Erqing took two steps after his retreating figure, then remembered she was only wearing a undergarment. Afraid the servants might see her, she had no choice but to hug her arms to her chest and retreat. Gritting her teeth, her face full of unwillingness, she muttered, “No, I don’t care. I will make you forgive me. You will definitely forgive me.”

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