Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 133: Clinging to the Past

   In this vast Fucha residence, there was unexpectedly no place for him to rest.

Fuheng wandered outside for a while. He couldn’t return to the study, nor did he want to go back to the bridal chamber he once shared with Erqing. He briefly considered asking the steward to arrange a temporary sleeping place, but feared it would alarm his parents and disturb the peace of the household. After wandering silently for a long time, he finally drifted into the garden.

Above him hung a solitary moon. Fuheng sat down on a stone bench and stared blankly up at the night sky, lost in thought.

Until a cloak gently settled over his shoulders.

“Young Master,” Qinglian had appeared behind him at some point and spoke softly, “It’s late at night. Please take care of your health.”

Fuheng did not turn around. He continued gazing at the lonely moon overhead and asked, “Qinglian, do you think I was wrong?”

Qinglian was a gentle, water-like good girl. She would never take the initiative to pry, but if he was willing to speak, she was willing to stand quietly by his side and listen attentively.

“Three years have passed,” Fuheng sighed. “She has already become His Majesty’s woman, yet I still cannot let her go.”

This matter had originally been a secret. But after Erqing quarreled with him for so long, the secret gradually ceased to be a secret. One or two trusted people came to know the inside story. Qinglian wasn’t sure whether she counted as one of Fuheng’s confidants, but earlier she had nearly been disfigured by Erqing and was only saved thanks to Fuheng’s intervention. In that way she indirectly learned the truth of the matter.

She knew that the “she” in his words… referred to the currently most favored Concubine Ling.

“Young Master,” Qinglian thought for a moment, then said gently, “You are a person who lives in the past.”

Fuheng had only wanted to find someone who could keep a secret afterward to pour out his pain to—never expecting the other party to say such a sentence. He immediately turned to look at her, stunned. “Live in the past?”

Qinglian honestly spoke her thoughts: “This servant has never seen Her Ladyship Concubine Ling, but the fact that she rose so rapidly in just half a year shows she is someone who understands the times. People like that are usually very intelligent. They know the past cannot be retrieved and only ever look forward.”

Remembering how Wei Yingluo had ignored him, remembering the moments they passed each other by, Fuheng gave a bitter smile. “You’re right. Yingluo is someone who only ever looks forward.”

Seeing the bitter smile on his face, Qinglian’s heart ached. Although she had never met that Concubine Ling, at this moment she couldn’t help but feel a surge of resentment toward her. There were many men in the world, but men like the Young Master were rare—perhaps one could search the length and breadth of the land and still find only this one. Why should such a man, who loved with single-minded devotion, be made to show such a desolate smile?

“People who are this clever are often heartless, because all the beautiful things of the past will be discarded by them.” Because she had already formed a prejudice in her heart, her words were no longer polite. Qinglian paused slightly, then added, “Not just memories—people too.”

The bitterness in Fuheng’s smile deepened instantly. “So in that case, I am the one who was discarded by her?”

“No.” Qinglian shook her head. “It’s that Young Master, you are always clinging to the past, trapping yourself inside a dream called ‘the past.’ In that dream… there is your old inkstone, the military books you’ve worn out from reading, and the woman you have always loved. The old dream is too beautiful, so you keep refusing to wake up.”

Fuheng was stunned by her words.

Just as Qinglian said—he was an extremely nostalgic person.

In his small study, it was as though a separate world existed. The old clothes from former days, the worn military books, and even the inkstone missing a corner—all remained in his little realm, never once discarded.

In the end, even that person remained lodged in his heart, stubbornly refusing to be let go.

“If it were merely a matter of clinging to the past, it wouldn’t really be a problem. But young master, you hold yourself to far too high a standard—almost cruelly so.” Since the words had already been spoken, Qinglian simply poured out the rest of her innermost thoughts like beans from an overturned bamboo tube. “I’ve heard that on the march, even after long, exhausting journeys and days in the saddle, the young master would still stay up all night to discuss military affairs and draft memorials to the throne. Even His Majesty issued an edict that after the hour of Xu (7–9 p.m.), your memorials were to be forcibly collected so you would no longer torment your own body like that. Young Master… you are so exacting toward affairs and toward yourself—how much more so toward matters of the heart?”

Fuheng was silent for a long moment before sighing. “Qinglian, I am not as good as you make me out to be.”

He threw himself into military duties and risked his life without hesitation—half for the country, half for himself. Back then, a faint hope still lingered in his heart: that by achieving extraordinary military merit, he could one day redeem her from the Yuanmingyuan…

But by the time he returned to the Forbidden City covered in glory and honor, everything had already turned to nothing.

One was an imperial consort; the other, an imperial subject. So close, yet separated by the distance of heaven and earth.

And when he returned home, there was a wife of that sort, and a child of that background. What more could he possibly pursue in this life? He could only bury himself in endless military affairs, using inexhaustible work to numb himself, so that for brief moments he could forget everything—forget her…

But Qinglian did not see it that way. Hearing his words, she anxiously shook her head in denial. “No. No matter what others say, in my heart, you will always be the best young master in the world!”

In her eagerness to comfort him, she accidentally let her true feelings slip out.

Fuheng slowly turned his gaze away, avoiding the burning intensity in her eyes, and said with feigned calm, “Tomorrow is my sister’s death anniversary. Go and make the preparations for me.”

Qinglian still had so much more she wanted to say, but his words cut through her like scissors through threads of affection. She immediately fell silent. After a long while, she lowered her head and said softly, “Yes.”

She left reluctantly. Halfway down the path, she couldn’t help turning back once more. “Young Master, the wind is rising. Please go back inside and rest soon.”

Fuheng did not reply. He didn’t even bother to put the cloak back on; instead, he took it off his shoulders, folded it neatly, and placed it on the stone table beside him. Alone, he sat beneath the moon. The pure white moonlight poured over his shoulders and hair like falling snow.

Watching him, Qinglian felt a pang in her heart and couldn’t help but think: Even a man like this you could so heartlessly abandon… Concubine Ling, just what kind of person are you?

The next day, Changchun Palace.

   The long-abandoned and neglected Changchun Palace had suddenly come alive with activity once again.

Palace maids and eunuchs came and went, tidying the memorial hall until it was spotless. Before the portrait of the late Empress, Fuheng inserted three sticks of incense into the burner.

White smoke curled upward, drifting past the painting.

“Sister,” Fuheng gazed at the face in the portrait and thought to himself, “Did you already foresee that I would end up like this?”

The person was gone forever. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, yet in the end they could only remain buried in his heart, never to be spoken.

Fuheng emerged from the main hall, grief still evident on his face, when suddenly someone came rushing toward him from the opposite direction. Without watching where they were going, the person collided straight into him. The full basin of sacrificial meat they were carrying spilled entirely over Fuheng.

An older palace maid angrily scolded, “How are you carrying the sacrificial meat? You’ve drenched Lord Fucha all over!”

The clumsy person immediately dropped to their knees. “This slave deserves to die! Lord Fucha, please forgive me!”

Fuheng lowered his head to look at his clothes.

A whole basin of meat—broth, grease, and all—had poured down his chest and was still dripping steadily, giving off a greasy, oily smell that made him involuntarily furrow his brows.

He was on his way to the Yangxin Hall. Appearing like this would be a serious breach of decorum before the throne. But looking at the person kneeling on the ground… it was only a young eunuch, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old.

“Ai, Lord Fucha, this child has only just entered the palace and doesn’t understand anything,” the older maid said, raising her hand as if to strike. “Let me teach him a lesson!”

“Never mind,” Fuheng said, stopping her. “He’s just a child of twelve or thirteen. There’s no need to make a fuss.”

Only then did the senior palace maid stop her hands. Looking at him somewhat nervously, she said, “Lord Fucha, with your clothes in this state, how can you go to see His Majesty? Why don’t this servant clean them for you—would that be all right?”

Fuheng frowned. “I’m in a hurry to go to the Yangxin Hall…”

“Just take off the garment and give it to this servant. We’ll only clean the soiled part, then press it quickly with a hot iron—it’ll be good as new in no time!” The senior palace maid was eager to atone for her mistake.

But it wasn’t for her own sake—she wanted to redeem the young eunuch.

Earlier, when she had beaten him, on the surface it was to vent anger for Fuheng, but in reality it was to help calm Fuheng down, lest this favored minister before the Emperor personally order the boy’s punishment. If that happened, the young eunuch wouldn’t die, but he’d still be skinned alive.

Fuheng saw through her intention and no longer stubbornly refused. After all, wearing these soiled clothes was uncomfortable anyway, so he simply nodded.

Only then did the senior palace maid breathe a sigh of relief. While leading him toward the side hall, she turned back to scold the young eunuch: “So careless in your work—and you even knocked over the offerings for the late Empress. I’ll deal with you later!”

The young eunuch repeatedly admitted his fault, then quietly said, “Sister Feicui, let this servant do the ironing. That way I can atone for my mistake.”

Feicui scoffed with a sneer. “Good that you know you were wrong. Now get over here!”

The two of them worked quickly and efficiently. Soon they had cleaned and pressed the garment Fuheng had taken off. The young eunuch then carried it respectfully in both hands and delivered it outside the side hall. The senior palace maid had originally intended to go in and assist him with changing, but Fuheng refused. The clothes were passed inside, followed by the faint rustling sound of dressing. Finally the door opened, revealing Fuheng standing there like a figure carved from jade.

The two of them lowered their eyes obediently and stood to one side of the path, respectfully seeing him off.

But when the black official boots reached the young eunuch, they paused.

“What is your name?”

The young eunuch’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly replied, “In answer to Master, this servant is called Xiaoluzi.”

“Xiaoluzi.” Fuheng was not about to punish him. Instead, he said calmly, “Breaking the offerings for the late Empress is a capital offense. What happened today—don’t let it spread any further.”

Xiaoluzi had never expected such words from him. He couldn’t help but look up at him.

Fuheng’s face was cold, yet the words he spoke were warm: “When working in the palace, you must be extremely careful. Once something goes wrong, no one will treat you like a child. Do you understand?”

Xiaoluzi felt both anxious and guilty. After a long pause, he managed to say, “Yes… Thank you, Lord Fucha.”

After giving the warning, Fuheng was about to leave when a familiar voice suddenly came from behind: “Wait.”

Fuheng thought he had misheard. How could she be here? And even if she were, why would she call out to him?

Until a wave of fragrance drifted past his side. Wei Yingluo stepped directly in front of him, gave him a meaningful glance, then said to Ming Yu, “Go guard the door.”

A consort meeting privately with an outer-court minister—the senior palace maid had already lowered her head. Without needing to be told, she pulled Xiaoluzi away. Ming Yu shot them a warning glare, signaling them not to cause any more trouble, then sighed and stood guard at the entrance.

Inside the side hall, there was complete silence.

Finally alone together, Fuheng had a thousand things he wanted to say to her, yet when the moment came, his throat suddenly went dry.

In the end, it was Wei Yingluo who spoke first. She asked, “Why haven’t you left the capital yet?”

Fuheng was no civil official. As a military man, his achievements and rank were won on the battlefield. Lingering in the capital brought him no real benefit. It would be far better to return to the barracks early and build his own power and influence.

But with her cold demeanor, to anyone who didn’t know the inside story, it looked as though she were disdainful of him and deliberately trying to drive him away.

“Yingluo.” Fuheng sighed. “After I went back, I thought about it over and over. I feel that your entering the palace… has another purpose.”

Wei Yingluo was momentarily stunned, then laughed. “Purpose? What purpose do you think I have?”

Fuheng did not answer, only slowly turned his face away.

Wei Yingluo followed his gaze and saw that on the snow-white wall hung a lifelike portrait. It was… the posthumous image of the Empress.

Wei Yingluo’s heart gave a sudden jolt, but she forced herself to remain calm on the surface: “Fuheng, don’t let your imagination run wild. I simply stayed in the Yuanmingyuan long enough. I no longer want to be a lowly palace maid, always beneath others, and I certainly don’t wish to spend my life as a servant!”

But Fuheng seemed not to hear her words. He stared at the portrait and murmured as if to himself: “There are two possibilities. First, my sister’s death was suspicious…”

“The former Empress took her own life!” Wei Yingluo interrupted loudly before he could finish. “It had nothing to do with anyone else!”

So don’t investigate! Don’t get involved! Don’t put your life in danger!

“Second…” Fuheng slowly turned his head and looked at her with sorrow. “You hate me.”

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