The imperial physician ordered the maid to feed Xiang'er many more bowls of the "Five Spirits Soup" (a traditional Chinese medicine), supplemented with acupuncture. Fortunately, Xiang'er was a martial artist with a strong constitution, and finally, when her life was hanging by a thread, she was saved by the imperial physician.
The maids changed the messy, blood-stained bedding on the bed. Xiang'er, weak, remained unconscious. Fukang'an ordered Zhao Xing to fetch the best doctor in the city to stay at Furong Garden in case of emergency.
Everyone bowed their heads as they worked, and the inner room was no longer as noisy as before; the sounds were as low as a large stone falling into water under the silent moonlight. Fear gripped them, yet they didn't know where to begin speaking.
The midwife, holding the dead infant, stood frozen in the inner room, her face covered in blood, unsure what to do. After the maids finished their tasks, Yan Ning asked Zhu Xiang to stay and help Rong Xi take care of Xiang'er.
In the main hall of Furong Garden, a silence fell, punctuated by sighs, because of the lifeless infant in the midwife's arms. Fukang'an's brows were furrowed; the pain of losing his child caused him to clutch tightly the purse that Xiang'er had embroidered for him.
The lake-blue brocade, embroidered with delicate white lotus blossoms, was stained with Fukang'an's sweat, turning a dark bluish-black color, like the face of a dead baby in the midwife's arms.
He dared not look at his dead son, for looking at him would evoke emotions that would be deeply imprinted in his memory and never be forgotten.
Xi Ying dared not let Fukang'an see the dead baby. If he didn't see it, he wouldn't mourn. But if he did see it, Fukang'an would investigate Xiang'er's sudden labor and childbirth to the very end, and then no matter how meticulous the plan, it wouldn't be able to hide it from him.
"General, now that this child has passed away, let him rest in peace! A child who dies young cannot be enshrined in the ancestral hall, but he was still a child of the Fucha family, and I will send him off properly!"
Xi Ying curtsied, her sky-blue satin cheongsam tighter than her fuller figure, the embroidered floral patterns on it wrinkled up, like the small face of a dead baby in a midwife's arms, tightly wrinkled in a pool of blood.
Sitting in front of Fukang'an, Yan Ning's face was deathly pale. Her mind was filled with the image of the baby in the midwife's arms, and tears streamed down her face.
Fukang'an looked down at the lake-blue embroidered lotus purse in his hand, his hand stiff and slow as if it had been buried in ice and snow.
Xi Ying immediately turned around and ordered the midwife to deal with the child in her arms, fearing that if she was any later, Yan Ning might change her mind.
"Wait a minute!"
Yan Ning suddenly stood up, the tassel on her forehead slipping down her hairline due to the sudden movement. Supporting Mingxin, she quickly walked to the midwife, her tone icy and ruthless, "Give me the child!"
The midwife glanced at Xi Ying, hesitant, unsure of whose advice to take. She had heard about the chaos in the Fucha household. Although Xi Ying was in charge, Yan Ning was the lady of the house, but she and the general were not yet married.
"Madam, if a dead infant is too close to its family, it will remain here and bring disaster to the Fucha family!"
Xi Ying stepped forward and quickly comforted Yan Ning.
“This is Xiang’er’s child. She hasn’t even held him yet. At least she should be allowed to see him!” Yan Ning’s gaze toward Xi Ying was cold and unyielding.
Xi Ying knew she couldn't argue with Yan Ning, so she looked at Fukang'an, who was sitting in the main seat. He stood up, walked to Yan Ning, and pulled her away. He gently wiped the fine sweat from her forehead with his sleeve. "I know you're close to Xiang'er, but rules cannot be broken. As a lady, you must set an example!"
The sadness was as faint as that of a sick infant in the arms of a midwife.
Yan Ning shook off Fukang'an, her lips trembling. "This is your child. You are his father, and you haven't even held him yet. He hasn't even been held by his mother, and now he's going to be buried like this in the cold, heartless, and dark earth." She snatched the child from the midwife's hands and walked into the inner room.
The midwife was horrified. She held her empty hands up as before and looked at Fukang'an. Fukang'an waved for her to leave. She then bowed, wiped the blood from her face, and retreated.
Xi Ying hurried a few steps, intending to go to the inner room with Yan Ning, but was stopped by Fu Kang'an. She curtsied and withdrew. Before leaving, she glanced at the inner room.
The white gauze curtains cast a dim, yellowish hue in the candlelight. Dark shadows swept past above them, obscuring what the people inside were doing.
Yan Ning asked Ming Xin to bring a basin of hot water, and she carefully wiped the bloodstains off the baby in her arms. Since he was going to leave, she would send him off cleanly, so that his life would not have been in vain.
Taking a clean, soft quilt and holding the infant in her arms, Yan Ning placed him in Xiang'er's arms. "This is your mother. She once tried to save you with her own life, but child, your life was too short! Your mother is the one who loves you the most in this world!" Tears fell drop by drop as she looked at the mother and child, whose eyes were also closed.
Xiang'er remained unconscious, her face as pale as a piece of white cloth, evoking pity. Sweat continued to bead on her forehead, soaking her hair and the soft wooden pillow.
Zhu Xiang wiped away her tears and reminded her from the side, "Madam, let the young master be buried as soon as possible!" Her voice choked with sobs.
Life is unpredictable. In just a few hours, what should have been a joyous occasion for the Fucha family has turned into one death and one injury.
Yan Ning, carrying the child, walked out of the inner room and approached Fukang'an, who was seated in the main seat. He saw the infant in Yan Ning's arms, and his gaze flickered away. His hands were stained with the blood of his enemies, yet now he was about to send away his newborn son.
"Give him a hug, it won't be in vain that you two have a father-son bond!" Yan Ning pleaded painfully, looking at the bowed Fukang'an.
After a long while, Fukang'an raised his head and took the child from Yan Ning's hands. In just one glance, the child's small, bluish face, with its eyes tightly closed, lifeless and scrunched up, was imprinted in his mind.
The child was sent out of the Fucha Mansion overnight. Yan Ning did not ask Xi Ying where he was buried. No matter where he was buried, he would eventually be rotten to dust and return to a wisp of wind.
The next day, the first rays of dawn shone down, casting a cool glow on Yan Ning's bright red Shu brocade cheongsam embroidered with peonies. Her high-piled hair was adorned with two lily-shaped hairpins facing each other, their delicate tassels swaying gently with each word she spoke.
This was the first time Yan Ning addressed all the servants in the mansion in her capacity as the mistress of the house.
Anyone in the entire household who dares to mention what happened that night will be severely punished.
Xiang'er woke up three days later. She opened her eyes and saw Yan Ning's worried face. She gently tugged at the corners of her mouth, "Looks like I'll have to keep arguing with you, you little brat, until I'm old!" But there was no hint of reproach in her tone.
Yan Ning's surprise turned into a smile, "I was just wondering how to deal with your sharp tongue that kills without drawing blood!"
The two smiled at each other. At the critical moment of life and death, they were released by the King of Hell. Xiang'er gained a deeper understanding of life and death.
She moved her weak hand, glanced at the empty seat beside her, and knew in her heart that the wet nurse must have taken the baby to be fed. "Is it a boy or a girl?"
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