Seeing the doubt gathering in Yan Ning's eyes, Aunt Li spoke softly, her voice drifting above wisps of smoke.
"If that was truly my intention, do you think you would still be able to see me today? With the power of the Yehenara family and the prestige of being the wife of a general in the Fucha family, she could have easily put me to death!"
Yan Ning suddenly realized that she hadn't thought of what Aunt Li had said.
If that's the case, then she must have someone behind her directing her, and there's only one person who could overstep the emperor's authority to order her to openly and secretly harm Fukang'an.
That was the Empress Dowager.
The Emperor, General Fuheng, and the Old Madam knew about this back then. If Fukang'an didn't know back then, he must have wanted to tell them long ago after he grew up.
Concubine Li was merely taking the blame for others; it was the old lady and the emperor who truly saved her life.
Yan Ning felt as if she had fallen into a dark cloud, the light was thousands of miles away and vanished in an instant, and she didn't know when these layers of clouds would be completely cleared.
She couldn't understand why the Fucha Mansion, outwardly magnificent, was riddled with holes inside. What kind of regretful thoughts led General Fuheng, who was away fighting on the frontier, to his death? These events, when recounted, always seemed to be interconnected.
Yan Ning originally wanted to say that if Aunt Tai followed Master Fu to the outer residence, mother and son could reunite, which would be better than the cold-heartedness of the world in Jinghe Hall.
But now, she can no longer bring herself to say it: if Aunt Li had followed Fu Chang'an to the outer residence back then, Fu Chang'an probably wouldn't be as wealthy and carefree as he is today.
Now, it's clear why Lianfu Chang'an was raised in the palace from a young age.
The power struggles within the palace, even if initially motivated by a desire for favor, ultimately boil down to who bears the emperor's child first. The Empress Dowager, who has been embroiled in palace intrigue for decades, still displays the ingrained habits of a former palace concubine. She imprisoned Fu Chang'an in the past, and now she has imprisoned Wu Chun and her unborn child in the palace.
Blood ties are ingrained within the muscles and bones. Aunt Li could not sever them, nor could Fukang'an.
A woman with such ruthless and vicious methods deserves to stand out among the three thousand beauties in the imperial harem.
As they emerged from Jinghe Hall, Yan Ning, her face etched with worry, ran into Peng again, and was startled once more.
She had long forgotten that there was still a beautiful woman named Peng Ruo in the manor, as lovely as a fairy descended from heaven. Pengxian Garden was near the west courtyard, while Yan Ning's Jian Gong Zhai was located in the east courtyard. Therefore, the two had never met since they parted that day.
However, Peng, who had just arrived in the capital and was now at the Fucha residence, could sense the solemn and quiet atmosphere that had prevailed there recently. He had been staying in the courtyard day after day without going out, and Peng began to worry about his quiet nature.
A woman who is good at reading people's expressions and doesn't reveal her thoughts will surely become a source of trouble if she lives in the mansion.
Peng bowed respectfully to Yan Ning, wearing the finest Jiangnan silk sent to her by the old lady through Li Mama. Her ethereal beauty was now tinged with a noble air, a far cry from the captivating charm she possessed at the Hehuan family banquet. She smiled sweetly at Yan Ning, saying, "I know Madam has been preoccupied with household affairs lately, hence my failure to pay my respects!"
Yan Ning walked up to her, helped her up, and said with a smile, "Miss Peng Ruo, you flatter me. It was my fault for not being hospitable enough. Tomorrow I will be going to the palace to accompany the Empress Dowager to the Yuanmingyuan. The old lady is quite old. If Miss Peng Ruo doesn't mind the journey, please accompany her to talk to her son for me and the general every day. The old lady is very fond of your superb zither skills."
Peng, taking Yan Ning's hand, curtsied again, "This is what Peng should do!"
Yan Ning was taken aback, then a smile bloomed beneath her pearl-white cloak, her pink lips curving upwards. She said nothing more, and with Zhu Xiang's hand, she separated from Peng again.
Walking to a Taihu stone, she used the stone and withered tree for cover and looked back at Peng Ruo. She was still wearing a pure white cheongsam with intricate floral patterns that looked like flowing clouds in the eyes, further highlighting her elegant and independent appearance.
Peng stood still, looking back at the corner where Yan Ning had disappeared, his face as calm as still water beneath a layer of ice.
When Yan Ning returned to Jian Gong Zhai, Fu Kang An was practicing calligraphy in his study, with papers scattered around him. Many ink stains were still wet, reflecting the sunlight onto the Xuan paper.
The desk was near the window, and the cool sunlight streamed in through the lifted curtains, illuminating Fukang'an's deep crimson figure in a cold and silent light. His brows were furrowed, as if he held not a brush but a bow and arrow, and the sheet of Xuan paper on the desk was his battlefield.
Tomorrow is the day Yan Ning enters the palace. His calligraphy was too forceful, and he seemed a bit restless. Having not practiced cursive script for a long time, he poured all his emotions into his brushstrokes.
Yan Ning stood at her feet, picked up a piece of Xuan paper, and saw wild cursive script that twisted and swirled like an angry dragon.
If one abandons oneself to the edge of a blade, how can one cherish one's life?
How can one care for one's children and wife when one's parents are not even cared for!
The list of heroes must be compiled, and personal considerations must not be taken into account.
They sacrificed their lives for their country in times of crisis, regarding death as returning home!
This is Cao Zhi's "Ballad of the White Horse". Although Yan Ning did not recognize Fu Kang'an's wild cursive script, she could guess who wrote it from the line "Sacrificing oneself for the country in times of crisis, regarding death as returning home!"
Scattered on the ground were all these poems, each one with wilder and wilder handwriting, until finally they transformed into flying dragons, leaving no trace of the characters.
Yan Ning carefully avoided the scattered Xuan paper on the ground, fortunately the soles of her flowerpot shoes were narrow. She didn't step on Fukang'an's calligraphy and arrived beside him.
She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled gently.
Fukang'an put down his pen, still looking at Yan Ning with a furrowed brow, but his expression had softened considerably.
Seeing Fukang'an looking at her, Yan Ning's smile became more playful. She took the calligraphy brush from Fukang'an's hand, her fingertips touching the white jade thumb ring on his thumb, which felt chillingly cool.
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