Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 141: Letter of Divorce

By the time Fuheng hurried to the main hall, the room was already packed with people, some sitting, some standing.

His gaze swept over the crowd once, but Qinglian was nowhere to be seen. Fuheng quickly asked,

“Mother, where is Qinglian?”

“Why are you still mentioning her?” Lady Fucha’s face was still flushed with lingering anger. “At first I saw that the girl had delicate features and a gentle disposition, and I even considered raising her status. Who would have thought she would develop wild ideas because of it and actually push An’er into the water!”

Fuheng: “Mother, Qinglian is not that kind of person.”

Erqing, who had been massaging Lady Fucha’s back, stopped her movements and said,

“I saw it with my own eyes, and you’re still defending her!”

Fuheng gave her a cold glance. Of everyone present, she was the one he trusted the least. But because she had borne a son and “a mother is valued because of her child,” she was deeply favored by the Old Madam. Very well—Fuheng simply pretended not to see her and asked,

“Where is Qinglian now?”

Lady Fucha: “Sold!”

Fuheng’s expression changed slightly. Erqing hurriedly spoke up:

“Fuheng, don’t take Mother’s angry words seriously. Mother has always been kind to the servants. Even if Qinglian made a mistake, she was only sent back to her family.”

Fuheng was skeptical: “Really?”

Seeing him repeatedly doubting Erqing, Lady Fucha grew angry:

“If Erqing hadn’t pleaded for her, she would have been beaten to death long ago! How could she have gotten off so lightly!”

Fuheng was extremely puzzled—Erqing actually pleading for someone?

“People can change,” Erqing said, noticing his confusion. She sighed and spoke with utmost sincerity:

“For example, Qinglian. As she grew older, she gradually developed other ideas. Now that I’ve sent her away and let her parents arrange another marriage for her—isn’t that better?”

Fuheng was still somewhat doubtful: “Is that so?”

“As long as you have no intention of taking her as a concubine, I will not only not make things difficult for her, I will even add a dowry for her—consider it fulfilling her loyalty to you.” Erqing spoke with firm assurance. “The same goes for me. As long as you are willing to live well together, I can also change for the better, become the kind of person you like. I promise.”

Fuheng fell silent. He was not a man with high demands—he only wanted harmony at home and all things prospering. Although he disliked Erqing, his parents both favored her. If she could truly reform from now on and become a virtuous wife, then perhaps he could make an effort to forget the things from before. Thinking of this, he sighed and said:

“…Do as you say. Add a dowry for her.”

A small sedan chair carried Qinglian out of the mansion. With one worry resolved, Fuheng turned his attention back to work. As a high minister of the court and a trusted confidant of the Emperor, social engagements were unavoidable. That day after court, a military affairs clerk earnestly invited him to drink flower wine.

“No, thank you.” Fuheng smiled and declined. “The Great Qing Code hangs over our heads—we can’t afford sixty strokes of the cane. Besides, even if we wanted to drink, there’s hardly anywhere to go anymore. With His Majesty’s strict orders, the pleasure houses and singing-girl establishments in the capital have almost disappeared…”

He had barely finished speaking when a woman suddenly rushed toward the carriage. The coachman couldn’t stop in time. The fine horse neighed, reared up, and its front hooves struck the woman. She let out a sharp scream and rolled on the ground, then lay still.

Fuheng quickly alighted from the carriage. Seeing two men crouching beside the woman, he asked,

“Who is she to you?”

The two men were dressed in short jackets, clearly looking like Green Gang enforcers. They had originally intended to extort a large sum from Fuheng, but upon seeing his official robes, their courage instantly deflated. They fawned and said,

“She’s just a girl from our establishment. Ugly face, not worth much money—not worth much at all.”

Hearing them equate a living person to silver, Fuheng couldn’t help but frown.

The military clerk beside him, a frequent patron of such places, understood the situation better. He leaned close to Fuheng’s ear and whispered:

“What they call an ‘establishment’ is a private, underground brothel. This girl was probably sold outright, body and life. Give them a few taels and the matter will be settled.”

Fuheng shook his head, untied the money pouch at his waist, and tossed it to the enforcers:

“One human life. Make sure she gets proper medical treatment.”

The enforcers opened the pouch, saw the contents, and beamed with joy, thanking him profusely. Unable to stand their obsequious manner, Fuheng turned to get back into the carriage—when from behind came an extremely faint voice:

“Young Master…”

A familiar voice made Fuheng’s footsteps halt. He whipped around and looked at the woman lying on the ground, barely clinging to life. In shock, he exclaimed, “Qinglian?”

Fucha Residence, guest room.

   The doctor had just left. In the kitchen, medicine was being decocted. Fuheng summoned the steward, his expression shifting unpredictably between light and shadow:

“What exactly happened?”

“Young Master, it was this servant’s negligence,” the steward said with a face full of guilt. “This servant only just found out—the Young Madam merely pretended to arrange a good marriage for Qinglian on the surface. As soon as the bridal sedan left the city, it was swapped for a small sedan chair and sent directly to a private brothel.”

Fuheng’s face grimed like still water. He nearly crushed the armrest of the chair in his grip. Suddenly, a panicked cry came from beside him:

“Young Master! Young Master, something terrible has happened! Qinglian swallowed gold!”

The doctor, who had only just stepped out the door, was urgently summoned back. With tremendous effort and by using a precious hundred-year-old ginseng root from the storeroom, he barely managed to pull Qinglian back from the brink of death.

“This humble one has done all he can,” the doctor said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “But in the end, this is merely the last radiance before darkness. Lord Fucha, if there is anything you wish to say to her, you had best do so soon.”

Fuheng remained silent for a long moment before finally nodding.

The door closed behind him. Fuheng slowly sat down beside the bed and looked at the woman lying there. The once pure and lotus-like face now bore a long, ugly scar—this wound had been given to her by Erqing. On her body were countless other injuries, longer and deeper than this one, inflicted by many, many men.

Yet the true culprit was still Erqing.

“Young Master…” Qinglian suddenly turned away, facing the wall as she sobbed. “Don’t look at this servant. A filthy person like me will dirty your eyes.”

Fuheng’s heart ached. “No, you are not dirty.”

“Young Master…” Qinglian called him again, her voice extremely gentle and filled with sorrow. “Every time I call you Young Master, your expression becomes so tender. At first, this servant also harbored hope… But one day, I suddenly understood—you only wanted to hear those two words, ‘Young Master,’ isn’t that right?”

Fuheng stared at her with wide eyes.

No one knew why he had always treated Qinglian differently from the others. It was not because of her serene beauty, nor because of her graceful figure—only because of her voice.

…A voice almost identical to Wei Yingluo’s.

“All this time, everyone thought I belonged to you; Young Master, but they were all wrong.” That voice now sounded right beside his ear, carrying a humble plea. “Young Master, you have been thinking of one person, longing for one person—there has never been anyone else in your eyes. Now, I have only one wish. Could you… hold my hand? Could you… call my name just once?”

Could you, after I have served as a substitute for so long, finally open your eyes and look at me, and remember my name? My name is Qinglian.

   “Qinglian.” Fuheng called her name and took her pale, emaciated hand in his.

He held it until that hand completely lost its warmth and grew ice-cold in his grasp.

“Fuheng!”

The door burst open. Having received word from the servants, Erqing hurriedly ended that day’s tea gathering and rushed back from outside. Her gaze swept over and landed on Qinglian inside the bed curtains. Instantly, undisguised disgust appeared on her face.

“This lowly maid…”

“You’re back.” Fuheng’s voice was extremely faint and extremely cold. “The document is written. It’s on the table.”

What document?

   Erqing walked suspiciously to the table and saw a letter lying there.

   On the envelope, in stark black ink on white paper, were two characters:

   Divorce

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