Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 70: Soothing My Heart

   Some people said she had gone mad.

   Otherwise, she wouldn’t spend an entire night alone in the courtyard throwing needles.

   Wei Yingluo felt that sooner or later she really would go mad—from rage. A fire burned fiercely in her chest, yet she had no way to release it. If only she were truly alone in the world, with no one else to worry about, then a single knife could settle everything. But…

“Father…” Wei Yingluo let out a soft sigh.

Could the bond between father and daughter really be so easily discarded?

“Ah, Fucha Guard is here.”

Wei Yingluo looked up and saw Fucha Fuheng walking into the courtyard. Their eyes met; he suddenly turned his face away: “Erqing, how has my sister been feeling lately?”

Whether because of spring drowsiness or autumn fatigue, the Empress had recently been sleepy all the time, lying bonelessly in bed. Several senior palace maids were debating whether they should summon an imperial physician to take a look, when unexpectedly Fuheng got wind of it first and entered the palace to visit her.

“Nothing serious, she just keeps feeling drowsy,” Erqing replied with a smile.

Fuheng nodded: “Please announce me.”

Erqing went inside to report. Wei Yingluo quietly slipped behind him, raised her small hand, and gently tugged at his sleeve.

He did not react.

“Young Master…” Wei Yingluo called softly. Even she herself was surprised—when had her voice become so weak and fragile?

Perhaps it was because of the matter with Dowager Consort Yu that she had become so uneasy and fearful, like a bird startled by the mere twang of a bowstring, struggling to fly through fierce winds and sudden rain, desperately seeking a branch where she could take temporary shelter from the storm.

Fuheng did not respond to her, nor did he turn back.

“Fucha Guard.” Erqing hurried out from the inner hall. “The Empress is waiting for you in the main hall.”

Fuheng gave an “mm” in acknowledgment, calmly and unobtrusively drawing his sleeve out of Wei Yingluo’s grasp. He followed behind Erqing and entered the hall together with her.

“What the…” Watching him leave, Wei Yingluo’s mood darkened involuntarily. She murmured under her breath, “He smiles so brightly at her, yet ignores me completely…”

In that moment her heart felt both sour and bitter. She couldn’t quite explain why, only that she felt wronged and deeply uncomfortable…

“What did you say?”

The Empress stared at her own younger brother in front of her, astonishment written plainly across her face.

“Empress.” Fucha Fuheng’s expression remained calm as he repeated what he had just said: “I want to marry Yingluo.”

The Empress leaned back into her chair, rubbing her temples as if she had a headache, and tried to persuade him: “Fuheng, Yingluo has such a strong and unyielding personality. Would she be willing to become any man’s concubine? I’m afraid that within half a year the entire Fucha household would be turned upside down.”

“It seems the Empress understands Yingluo’s character even better than I do.” Fuheng smiled. “If that’s the case, then why would you even mention taking her as a concubine?”

The Empress stared at him for a long time until finally Fuheng sighed, looked at her with firm determination, and said: “I want to welcome her through the main gates with an eight-carrier sedan chair. I want to marry her as my wife!”

Her right hand slammed down on the table. The teacup jumped violently, tea spilling out and soaking half the tabletop. The Empress sat up straight and stared at him: “Fucha Fuheng, do you even know what you’re saying?”

“I know.” Fuheng still appeared perfectly calm. “The Wei family may only be bondservants of the Imperial Household Department, but I am confident I can persuade Ama and E Niang to allow me to bring her into the household.”

The Empress shook her head. She was not as naive as her brother. Her tone grew grave: “Fuheng! With Ama’s rigid and traditional character, do you really think he would agree to such an unsuitable match where the families are so unequal in status?”

Fuheng blinked at her playfully: “Isn’t there still you, Elder Sister?”

The Empress was momentarily stunned, then pretended to be annoyed and flung the fan in her hand: “Fine! So after all this, you’ve been scheming to make use of me!”

The fan spun several times in the air. Before it could fall, Fuheng reached up and caught it effortlessly. With a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he fanned himself lightly in front of his chest: “The debt of gratitude I owe our parents for raising me—I, Fuheng, would never dare forget it. I will not argue or fight with them over this marriage; that would be greatly unfilial. But if I am to marry and have children, it can only be with the person who suits my heart. Otherwise, I would rather marry no one at all and live alone for the rest of my life.”

Though he was smiling, he was not joking.

The Empress knew her younger brother well. She understood that he had already made up his mind. Even if she refused to help, he would stubbornly go his own way. So she shook her head helplessly: “Fine. Even if I help you persuade them, Yingluo is still a palace maid serving in the inner court. How do you plan to handle that?”

Fuheng frowned. Before he could think of an answer, the Empress sighed again: “Fuheng, do you know that yesterday, during the Qixi Festival, in order to win the competition, Yingluo endured threading needles for a full four hours? In the end she nearly fainted. If she can be so ruthless toward herself, how do you think she would treat others? If in the future you ever wrong her even slightly—”

The Empress genuinely liked Wei Yingluo, but that did not mean she liked every part of her. In particular, Wei Yingluo’s stubborn, single-minded determination always gave others the uneasy feeling that one misstep could send her plummeting into an abyss.

If Fuheng were by her side, wouldn’t he be dragged down along with her?

“I understand everything.” Facing his sister’s worry, Fuheng hesitated for a moment before finally deciding to speak his true feelings: “Elder Sister, I truly admire her from the bottom of my heart. I am willing to accept all of her—her good sides, her bad sides, her intense loves and hatreds, her clear distinctions between gratitude and grudges. Fucha Fuheng has never made vows lightly, but if I marry Wei Yingluo, I will treat her well for the rest of my life. I will never let her down!”

The Empress looked at him, speechless for a long moment.

Though she was the Empress—one below only the Emperor himself, possessing all the rare treasures of the world and every exotic marvel within the realm—at this moment, she actually found herself envying Wei Yingluo.

It is easy to find priceless treasures, but hard to find a man who truly loves you.

After a long sigh, though her expression remained stern, her tone had softened somewhat. The Empress asked:

“Fuheng, have you ever asked whether Yingluo is willing to marry you?”

“Even if her heart is a block of ice, I will warm it with my true feelings,” Fuheng said with utmost seriousness. “One day is not enough? Then two days. One year is not enough? Then two years. Year after year, generation after generation—someday, I will earn her promise.”

Every word overflowed with tender affection.

Standing motionless behind the door, Erqing held a tray with a pot of tea and a plate of warm pastries. The steam rising from the pastries gradually faded, while the jealousy on her face grew thicker and thicker.

No one is perfect; everyone has desires.

Some seek wealth, some seek beauty, some seek power. As the daughter of a powerful minister serving in Changchun Palace, Erqing naturally had her own desires. Yet after searching and turning in circles, she discovered that wealth, power, beauty, and favor had all been claimed by one single person.

“A mere embroidery girl enters Changchun Palace, the Empress favors and promotes you,” Erqing murmured to herself. “And now even Lord Fucha has fallen for you. Why does every good thing in the world happen to you, while others can’t even get a sip of soup…”

Her thoughts were in complete disarray, but Wei Yingluo had already collected herself.

The palace gate opened. Familiar footsteps crossed the threshold, approaching her step by step from behind.

“Ahem.”

A slightly deliberate cough sounded behind her.

Yet Wei Yingluo acted as if she hadn’t heard, still squatting beside the flower bed. Her golden scissors went snip-snip, trimming the branches in front of her.

If you ignore me, then I’ll pretend you don’t exist.

“Yingluo,” Fuheng’s voice came from behind her, “yesterday someone gave me a sachet.”

The hand trimming the flowers paused ever so slightly.

“I could tell at a glance it wasn’t made by you,” Fuheng said with a smile. “You’re one of the most outstanding embroiderers in the workshop this year—how could you possibly embroider an orchid to look like chives?”

Snip. A single orchid blossom fell from the branch.

Wei Yingluo stared expressionlessly at the fallen flower, but inside her heart was anything but calm.

“Did you accept it?” —the question nearly slipped out.

“On Qixi, when the Cowherd and Weaver Girl meet, that day is different from all others, and the sachets given on that day are different too,” Fuheng said softly. “They are given to the one in your heart.”

A sudden bitterness filled her mouth—sweet, sour, bitter, spicy; anger and grievance all mixed together. Wei Yingluo chewed them fiercely, swallowed hard, and finally managed to spit out only one seemingly indifferent sentence:

“So you came here to show off to me?”

“I came to demand an explanation,” Fuheng’s voice suddenly grew serious. “You didn’t give your sachet to me—so who did you give it to?”

Wei Yingluo was stunned. She turned around and saw Fuheng standing against the light, expressionless behind her.

“I’m very angry,” he said, suddenly extending his hand. “Where is my sachet?”

Wei Yingluo stared at him in a daze for a long moment, then turned her face away and spat lightly: “What ‘your sachet’? I didn’t make one.”

“Then when will you make it?” Fuheng pressed, refusing to let it go.

His words unexpectedly amused her. She set the golden scissors aside, patted her hands, stood up, tilted her head, and gave him a smile:

“You’re a grand young master—do you really lack one little sachet from me?”

Unexpectedly, Fuheng nodded with utmost seriousness and said to her:

“I do lack it.”

Wei Yingluo looked at him with a bright smile, but seeing that he never smiled back, she gradually let her own smile fade.

“Yingluo.” Fuheng suddenly took her hand. His grip was not heavy, yet it carried less weight than the gravity in his gaze. “I don’t have a scented sachet to give you—only one sentence I want to say to you.”

“Wh-what sentence?” Wei Yingluo asked, then immediately regretted it. She forcefully pulled her hand back. “I still have things to do. If you have something to say, we can talk about it next time…”

“Don’t run away.” Fuheng grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him again. “I know your heart carries a heavy burden, but I don’t mind.”

Wei Yingluo lowered her head, thinking to herself: How could you possibly not mind?

“Because no matter how deep the obsession, there will come a day when it is let go.”

Who knows when that day will arrive—perhaps tomorrow, perhaps next year, or perhaps it will never come, not even at the moment of death…

“Until that day, I will keep waiting for you.”

Wei Yingluo froze for a moment, then raised her head to look at him.

She hoped to find deceit in his eyes, to find false affection—but all that met her gaze was pure, unguarded sincerity.

“I will keep waiting for you…” Fuheng looked at her, laying his heart completely bare before her, each word like a vow. “Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps next year, or perhaps until the day I die—I will stay by your side, guarding you, until the day your heart finally opens to me.”

Wei Yingluo felt a sudden heat bloom in her chest.

She had never known that words could hold such power. With just one sentence, he soothed the restlessness in her heart, swept away the dark clouds that had lingered there, and—for reasons she couldn’t quite name—made her want to cry…

“I…” Just as she was about to say something in response, a sharp scream rang out. It sounded faintly like Erqing’s voice.

“Someone—come quickly!” Erqing cried shrilly. “The Empress has fainted!”

Wei Yingluo and Fuheng exchanged a glance. Both their expressions changed at once. Without another word, they turned and rushed together toward the palace gate.

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