On the tall wooden pedestals flanking the main seat stood two blue-and-white candlesticks, each with a round base and a narrow pillar supporting the upper part. The white round candles were nearly burned out, revealing the sharp tips of the top-mounted candlesticks, which gleamed in the light. The blue-and-white candlesticks were painted with delicate and vibrant flowers and ripples, supporting the bright white candles of the Fucha Mansion, a sight to behold.
However, the glossy, sand-red finish of the wooden stand made the dim, crimson candlelight on the blue-and-white candlesticks stand out starkly. The blue-and-white candlesticks had been sent to Jianguozhai by Fukang'an just two days prior; four had been delivered in total, two to Mudan Hall and two to Jianguozhai. Yan Ning had been pondering that day about finding a new stand for these rare and priceless blue-and-white candlesticks, but the manor's inventory didn't contain any she liked. She sketched a simple design and gave it to the steward to have it made.
It had only been a day or two, and Yan Ning pondered, perhaps because the craftsmen were too busy with work to attend to everything as the Lunar New Year was approaching. But then she remembered that the pattern for the short table on the round wooden couch that Chun Ying Yuan had sent her the morning before yesterday, and after receiving the money from the manor at noon, the steward had ordered someone to deliver the item that evening.
Thinking about these things, Yan Ning was somewhat lost in thought, and her hand, which was holding Fu Kang'an's arm, felt a little empty.
The candle flames surged high in an instant, tilting in the wind like a venomous snake flicking its tongue. Without a lampshade to suppress the flames, they scorched a wall as white as frost with black marks.
Yan Ning's heart beat erratically with the candle flame; it could dance, twisting and turning its ethereal form. Yet, Yan Ning's heart was like a large stone falling into a cold, clear pool; with a splash, it sent up white droplets and then fell silent.
Fukang'an's eyes remained calm, yet Yan Ning feared him in this state. If he were to scold or beat her, she would accept the blame; whatever punishment she received, she would not harbor resentment. This prolonged silence made Yan Ning feel as if she had fallen from the clouds, with nothing to cling to. In her panic, she grabbed a handful of thorns; letting go meant certain death, not letting go meant excruciating pain that tore her palm apart.
The two stood frozen in place, and Zhao Xing, outside the door, tactfully called out once before disappearing as if into the distance. Yan Ning knew that without Fu Kang'an's orders, Zhao Xing would rather freeze into an icicle outside than leave the doorway.
Even as Yan Ning's knuckles ached from gripping Fu Kang'an's arm, he remained motionless, as if petrified, his eyes fixed solely on the jubilant candlelight. Yan Ning couldn't find her own reflection in those empty eyes, and she tightened her grip. She immediately regretted it; what did it matter if she stood there with him until dawn? It was better than him leaving now to chase after Xiang'er and the others.
Sure enough, Fukang'an calmed down.
"I believed that while I was fighting bravely to protect our country, the mansion in the capital could guarantee you a life of comfort, wealth, and honor. I only wished for a peaceful home and a prosperous family. Little did I know that what you sought was not what I desired. Yet, throughout Beijing, how many women would have wanted to enter the Fucha mansion! Why, once inside, did you change your mind? I do not know where I went wrong, or perhaps I misjudged your initial affection for me!"
Her words unfolded gently, each point resonating in Yan's ear.
This was the first time Yan Ning had seen him speak such heartbreaking words without frowning; his fair forehead was completely flat, like a thick layer of ice on a lake, from which not a single drop of clear water could be penetrated no matter how hard one tried.
These words refer to Xi Ying, who frequently harms others; Yan Ning, who is entangled with other men; and Xiang'er, who is far away from the capital.
He had few wives and concubines, and in such a bustling and noisy place as the capital, he was considered a man of quiet and simple desires. Two lines of clear tears streamed down Yan Ning's face; Fukang'an's words were so blunt that they left her utterly humiliated.
She released her grip on Fukang'an's arm, took a step back, and clearly saw his current state. What she had done was no different from slapping him in public.
With his arm no longer restrained, Fukang'an turned and left expressionlessly, pulling up his robe. Since Zhao Xing had dismissed the maid guarding the curtain outside, he used his other hand to lift the curtain, his gaze meeting that of Zhuxiang, who was anxiously peering inside. His cold, authoritative gaze immediately caused her to lower her head and step into the hall.
The courtyard was deep and still, with pale moonlight pouring down. Everything in front of us was shrouded in a deep gray, like leaden clouds, making it difficult to see clearly.
Fukang'an walked quickly, and Zhao Xing behind him didn't have time to put a cloak on him. The two of them had just reached the courtyard gate when they heard Zhuxiang's scream coming from the hall.
"Blood, blood! Someone, quickly fetch a doctor! The child..."
Unable to hear what was screaming behind Zhu Xiang, Fukang'an turned around and ran towards the hall.
Yan Ning leaned against Zhu Xiang's body, half-paralyzed on the ground, her face brighter than the icicles hanging from the branches. In winter, women's dresses were always adorned with a circle of white down. Yan Ning was wearing a mid-length cheongsam, a fashionable blend of Han and Manchu styles from the capital, reaching her knees. It could be worn as a cheongsam on top and a light gauze skirt on the bottom.
With no skirt to cover her, Yan Ning's pearl-white trousers were stained crimson with blood, even the long, silvery-white down reaching her knees was stained red. They stretched out beneath her, resembling a blood-soaked sunset. Her bright eyes were half-closed, her delicate appearance like a wounded white fox in winter.
Fukang'an picked her up and shouted at Zhao Xing, who was guarding outside the door, "Go and fetch the doctor who is waiting in the mansion! I'll go to the palace to ask for the imperial physician because my old injury has flared up!"
Having followed Fukang'an for several years, Zhao Xing could already tell the severity of a situation from the urgency of his tone. Now, hearing such a loud and urgent shout, he ran without panting to the front yard to drag the sleeping doctor to Jiangongzhai. On the way, he instructed the steward who followed him to go to the outer residence of Imperial Physician Li outside the palace and ask him to come over, claiming that the general's old injury had flared up.
Most of the generals who fought across the land in the capital city carried old wounds that were difficult to heal. On ordinary days, they were no different from healthy men, but when it was rainy or snowy, those deep, winding scars concealed hidden dangers. When the dampness and gloom called, the pain could tear at one's will in waves.
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