Hearing this, Fukang'an, filled with remorse, grasped Yan Ning's hand, his words, "Wait for me to return, and we'll go back to the capital!" choked in his throat. He took the sword from Zhao Xing and left the military tent. Fukang'an went into battle without his musketeer battalion. Fu Chang'an, worried about Fukang'an's health, changed into armor and quickly followed.
Without Fukang'an's support, Yan Ning collapsed at the entrance of the military tent. Like silk being unraveled from a cocoon, Fukang'an's departure slowly stripped away her flesh and blood. She had lived here for decades, been husband and wife with him for decades, and knew his fate would come today. But she had never known the excruciating pain of facing such an end, like having her bones and tendons ripped out. She had long forgotten how to cry; those tears, however, pierced her eyes like cold arrows.
The sentry reported the battle situation at the front: the mountain stronghold had been captured, and Wu Bayue had been captured. The army camp, which had been demoralized for many days, cheered with joy. Yan Ning did not know how Fukang'an had done it, but He Lin, Fu Chang'an, and De Xuan all knew that this was the only way to put Fukang'an's mind at ease.
Low-hanging leaden clouds and a brisk wind blew, while the white flag bearing the characters for "Great Qing" fluttered violently at the entrance of the military camp. De Xuan carried Fukang'an's body back to the camp, and the soldiers accompanying him all knelt down, heads bowed, their faces filled with grief, and remained silent.
After placing Fukang'an on the bed, Dexuan knelt beside it with her head bowed, tears dripping onto her armor. The soldiers in the camp, their previous cheers and jubilation gone, all knelt outside the tent.
Yan Ning sat slenderly on the bed, her back slumped, the trembling in her heart reaching her hands. She touched Fukang'an's handsome face expressionlessly, feeling as cold as the armor on his body.
He Lin had someone retrieve the brocade box that Fukang'an had stored in her tent before Yan Ning arrived. The lock on the box was worn, because Fukang'an often opened it.
Yan Ning's hands trembled as she opened the brocade box. When she saw the contents, the icy arrows that had been piercing her eyes seemed to fall from them, the pain stabbing deep into her heart.
Inside the brocade box were the white ankle-length dress she wore when she first met Fukang'an, a calligraphy scroll she had hastily written with the words "Fukang'an and Yan Ning are forever united," her and Yunwan's jade pendant, a portrait of him she had drawn with snail-shell ink when she was in the Peony Hall, and an embroidered handkerchief she had made for him. The vertical characters written by Fukang'an on it had been worn away and were no longer legible after he looked at them closely, but those words were firmly imprinted in Yan Ning's heart.
At the bottom lay a painting and a letter. Yan Ning could no longer stand and only managed to steady herself with De Xuan's help. De Xuan opened the painting for her, and her exquisite smile, as pure and beautiful as a lily, appeared in her eyes, contrasting sharply with her current tear-streaked face, evoking pity.
Fukang'an's calligraphy was admirable. After decades of marriage, Yan Ning knew he couldn't paint. She didn't know how many nights Fukang'an had spent painstakingly painting this scroll, or how many sheets of paper he had destroyed, to meticulously depict the exquisite smile he longed for.
The letter was written in Fukang'an's usual but disliked small regular script. There were two sheets of paper. The first sheet informed Yan Ning of the jade pendant, the "Fu" character stele, and the auspicious purple glow. This was what Yan Ning most wanted to know, but in this situation, her tears soaked the second sheet of paper.
"Yan Ning, we have been husband and wife for twenty years. I know in my heart that I owe you and our child, but I bear the honor of the Fucha family and the Emperor's favor. Whether for my father, the Emperor, or the peace of the world, I can only fight on the battlefield in this life, and I can only die here. You do not belong to my Qing Dynasty, but I selfishly kept you. I thought I could give you a life of comfort and wealth, but I could not accompany you as you waited in the cold courtyard year after year."
To throw oneself to the edge of the blade, how can one cherish life? Neither parents nor children, how can one speak of wife and children! Enshrined in the register of heroes, one cannot be swayed by personal considerations. To sacrifice oneself for the nation in its time of crisis, to regard death as returning home!
If there is an afterlife, I wish for a world free of war, where we could retreat to the mountains and fields, counting the falling leaves, watching the clouds drift by, and listening to the wind and rain mingling with the streams. We would drink wine together, growing old side by side. With music and harmony, all would be peaceful and serene. As I stop writing here, a sense of trepidation arises. If I had known about the jade pendant earlier, would you still have been willing to wait for my return to the capital year after year? Would you have been willing to share my life, never to be separated?
He was not a thoughtful or sentimental person, yet he was willing to make this sentimental, literary promise for her.
Yan Ning clutched the letter tightly to her chest, her body slumped to one side of the bed. Fukang'an's handsome face, framed by his closed, dark, sharp eyes, exuded a gentle, serene tranquility. She wept uncontrollably, replying with a final, resolute voice, "I am willing, for all eternity, to wait for you in this manor as you return to the capital! I am willing to share your joys and sorrows, to never be apart."
She couldn't understand why the proud and domineering Fukang'an didn't dare to ask her face to face. Was it because deep affection breeds fear? And she could no longer tell him the answer in this lifetime.
She changed into the ankle-length dress she had worn when she traveled back in time, lay down beside Fukang'an, and carefully recalled the years they had spent together since they first met. She still remembered his youthful and domineering words, "Be my woman, Fukang'an's woman!" She wanted to retort, "I didn't agree to marry you when we first met, so how can we have been husband and wife for twenty years?" From the very beginning, he had already declared her his wife, but what about her? When did she let go of her desire to return to the past and wholeheartedly devoted herself to him?
A leader cannot be absent from the battlefield, so He Lin replaced Fukang'an as the commander-in-chief, and Fu Chang'an and De Xuan transported Fukang'an's coffin back to the capital. Yan Ning did not want him to sleep alone in the dark coffin, but the summer heat of May was oppressive. The jade coffin emitted a cool air, which could keep Fukang'an's body intact.
Yan Ning, dressed in mourning white, sat on the carriage carrying the coffin, oblivious to the scorching heat and the chill that burned her face, ignoring the cracked and bleeding lips. She only wanted to stay with him, to stay with him for the rest of her life, to share her joys and sorrows and never be separated. If there were an afterlife, she would still endure the desolation of the courtyard, waiting for him in his mansion year after year. When the world was at peace and war was over, she would retire with him to the mountains, counting the falling leaves in the forest, watching the clouds drift by, listening to the wind and rain and the flowing streams. They would drink wine together, growing old together. With music and harmony, all would be peaceful and serene.
Half a month later, Fukang'an's coffin arrived in the capital. The retired emperor was already waiting outside the city, with the emperor and officials standing behind the retired emperor's entourage. Wu Shulai supported the retired emperor, whose hunched back gleamed with tears in the sunlight. He held Fukang'an's coffin, the deep wrinkles highlighting his pain and regret. He closed his tear-filled eyes; no one, no ancestral rule, could stop him from bestowing the title of king upon Fukang'an.
The Emperor Emeritus personally issued an imperial edict posthumously granting Fucha Fukang'an the title of Prince Jiayong Zhongrui, with the posthumous name Wenxiang, and ordering him to be enshrined in the Imperial Ancestral Temple and the Zhaozong Temple and the Temple of Worthies. Since the founding of the Qing Dynasty, Fukang'an was the first person outside the imperial clan to be granted the title of Prince. The grand honors he received after his death left the officials who went to the Fucha residence to pay their respects unsure whether to offer congratulations or feel deep sorrow.
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