There was no rambling, no silly laughter; Xiang'er's quietness only made Yan Ning more worried. Like a still lake, even if petals and leaves were to fall, they would no longer create ripples.

Doctors from the city came and went, and even the imperial physicians in the palace shook their heads at Xiang'er's condition, saying, "Aunt Lian is suffering from the pain of losing her son, and this illness will probably take three to five years to cure!"

The peony pillow was covered in leftover soup and food scraps, so Yan Ning ordered someone to sew an identical one. While Xiang'er was fast asleep, she secretly replaced the dirty pillow in her arms with the new one. Even the peony stamens were made by the same embroiderer, but when Xiang'er woke up, she immediately recognized that this pillow was not her "son".

As Xiang'er ran from the east courtyard to the west courtyard, her long, black hair, unadorned, flew about in disarray. Her moon-white satin cheongsam was stained and grime from carrying a pillow full of soup and soup remnants all day. She was barefoot, and her white silk socks were covered in mud and had lost their original color.

Although she was panting from running, Xiang'er still clearly called out, "Dejia, where are you?" The servants were mostly afraid that she would not escape in time.

Yan Ning dared not let the guards forcibly take her back to Furong Garden, fearing that Xiang'er might act foolishly in her desperation and hurt herself. Wearing a pair of high-soled flowerpot shoes, Yan Ning chased after Xiang'er all over the mansion, while Rong Xi hurriedly returned to Furong Garden to fetch a cleaned old pillow.

Fukang'an, who was returning from court, happened to meet Xiang'er. He was still wearing his official robes and pulled the running Xiang'er into his arms.

When Xiang'er saw him, tears streamed down her smooth face. "The general said that I should raise Dejia, so why did you take him back?" Xiang'er's hand gripped the insignia on Fukang'an's body.

The official robes of a first-rank military officer in the Qing Dynasty feature a qilin standing atop a series of overlapping mountains, its feet resting on auspicious clouds, while a red sun illuminates the vast land. A surging river flows onward.

Xiang'er clutched the qilin on Fukang'an's official robe, her figure a poignant image in the autumn light. Fukang'an held his official hat in one hand and embraced her tightly with the other. Pity furrowed his brow. "The child is with Mother! Mother misses him. I'll go to Mother and bring him back right now."

Her tears soaked Fukang'an's thick official robes. Holding Xiang'er in his arms, Fukang'an looked at Yan Ning, who was standing to the side, with complicated eyes.

Under the slanting sunlight, the three stood facing each other, and Yan Ning wondered who was in whose heart.

Rongxi brought over the peony pillow that Xiang'er knew well. Upon seeing it, Xiang'er, disregarding its damp and cold state, hugged it tightly to her chest. Two streaks of rosy blush rose at her temples. "General, Dejia is asleep!" she said, her eyes like pools of water as she looked at Fukang'an.

Fukang'an helped Xiang'er up, and they returned to Furong Garden together, exchanging smiles.

Yan Ning suppressed a pang of bitterness in her heart, biting her lip tightly with her pearly teeth, her brows furrowed. She was, after all, a woman, a woman who felt pity for Xiang'er and jealousy when she saw Fukang'an and Xiang'er leave.

Back at Jian Gong Zhai, Zhu Xiang carefully helped her remove the flowerpot shoes from her feet. Pain shot through her; the white silk stockings were stained with blood. Zhu Xiang gently wiped the chafed areas with warm water.

Mingxin brought Delin back from the practice room, and Yanning accompanied him to practice calligraphy and read books. Before they knew it, dusk had fallen. The wet nurse took Delin to eat and then coaxed him to sleep. As soon as Delin left, Yanning felt empty inside.

She finally understood why so many women in the harem schemed so hard to give birth to a son. In these long days, without a child by her side, her heart felt so empty. It was an emptiness without any boundaries, an emptiness that stretched as far as the eye could see.

The candlesticks were covered with pure white candle wax, piling up like glistening little hills. The wick was trimmed again and again, and Yan Ning's figure remained motionless, her silhouette cast across the curtains.

The bright moon was still hanging on the tree branches when Fukang'an returned to change his clothes for court. As soon as he entered the Jian Gong Zhai, he saw the candlelight flickering in the main room. He was somewhat moved, and his steps became larger.

Yan Ning sat upright on the warm couch, her head bowed as she gazed at the embroidered handkerchief adorned with lilies on the table. Unbeknownst to her, she had been staring at the handkerchief, inscribed with two lines of small characters, from dusk till dawn. A cup of lily tea had grown cold enough to upset her stomach. Yan Ning casually removed the hairpin from the table; illuminated by the dim candlelight, it appeared somewhat worn.

The embroidery on the table was suddenly taken away. Yan Ning was stunned for a moment, then looked up and saw Fukang'an with one hand behind his back and the other holding the embroidery in his hand.

How could he not know what she was thinking?

Fukang'an returned the embroidered handkerchief with lilies to Yan Ning's hands, his usually furrowed brows relaxing slightly. "Let us drink wine and grow old together. With music and zither at our side, all will be peaceful and serene."

He smiled and took Yan Ning's hand, the pressure just right to bring warmth.

Yan Ning nodded, her jet-black hair resting against Fukang'an's chest, the bitterness in her heart turning into deep affection.

On the 21st day after Xiang'er's child's death, Yan Ning went to the White Pagoda Temple on her behalf to donate incense for the child who had already fallen asleep in the earth, hoping that the paradise on earth could make up for the suffering he had endured in this world.

The White Pagoda Temple, originally named Miaoying Temple, was popularly known as the White Pagoda Temple because of its towering white pagoda. It was the most popular temple in Beijing.

The pagoda's base is made of brick and stone, its white body towering high, inviting one to look up. The monks of the temple say that thirty-six small bronze bells hang around the patterned bronze plate at the top. A gust of wind blows the bells, their sounds clear and melodious.

Standing beneath the Buddha, bathed in boundless light, Yan Ning sincerely prayed to the Buddha to alleviate the child's pain.

After leaving the White Pagoda Temple, Yan Ning felt as if someone was following them. Zhao Xing and Fu Kang'an went to Fragrant Hills, leaving Zhu Xiang behind to look after Xiang'er. She only went out of the mansion with Ming Xin to worship Buddha.

The streets outside the capital were bustling with activity, filled with vendors hawking snacks, handmade trinkets, and even homegrown fruits and vegetables. The streets were a dazzling array of goods. Yan Ning, who hadn't been out in a while, was both curious about these trinkets and worried about the person following closely behind her.

Each time she looked back, a figure would flash by quickly on the bustling street, making Yan Ning even more certain that someone was following them. She exchanged a glance with Ming Xin, and then quickly hid behind a stall selling oil-paper umbrellas on the side of the street.

Under the colorful oil-paper umbrellas, Yan Ning pulled at the hem of her cherry-red skirt and peeked out from between the umbrellas.

A moment later, a man dressed in coarse cloth stood in the bustling crowd, searching for Yan Ning. At first, his back was to Yan Ning, and she couldn't see who he was.

When the man turned around and faced Yan Ning's direction, Yan Ning still recognized him despite his thick beard.

Yan Ning was so shocked that she dropped the handkerchief in her hand to the ground; he was still alive.