In the dead of night, the world silent and still, Fengyu stayed by Xie Xun’s side without the slightest hint of sleepiness. She held onto that pair of fair, soft hands, hands devoid of even the faintest calluses. Raised with tender care, untainted by the touch of spring water—those were her hands. Now "she" lay in bed, her face pale and bloodless. She looked even weaker and more fragile than when she had jumped off the cliff. The body she thought she had nurtured back to health in the West State was still less resilient than she’d hoped; her fleeting health was like a bloom that lasted but a moment. "What a pretty but useless thing..." Fengyu couldn’t help but mock herself. She found her thoughts drifting to her childhood. While most people’s memories of days spent as a four- or five-year-old are vague and insubstantial, Fengyu’s recollections of that time were sharp, vivid. She remembered that period when she had been seriously ill, confined to the boudoir under the care of her grandmother and elder sister and unable to leave. Windows stayed tightly sealed, lest the wind chill her fragile frame. She was much like a withering plant, unable to withstand even the gentlest gust or sprinkle of rain. That summer in Ningzhou was unbearably sweltering. Their family had been banished there—a place still well-off but nothing like the Capital City they had left behind. Resources in Ningzhou were scarce; there was no ice to fight the heat like they had in the Capital. The layout of Ningzhou’s residences was suffocating, with only two small windows per room and no breeze to relieve the heaviness in the air. Young Fengyu lay in bed, faint from the heat and pressure of it all, barely able to breathe. The chief maid stood beside her, lazily fanning the air—not to cool Fengyu, but herself, having grown indifferent to her mistress’s fragile condition and the lingering suggestion of doom that shadowed her life. Unable to bear the heat any longer, Fengyu seized an opportunity during the maid’s negligence to sneak out of her room. She saw her elder sister playing joyously with Feng Ling in a shady spot, laughing and running, and felt a deep pang of envy. The maid quickly found and dragged her back, scolding her impatiently. Fengyu looked back repeatedly, longing for a glimpse of her sister and Feng Ling chasing each other in their carefree frolic. The maid reprimanded her sharply, accusing her of being a burden, sickly and doomed to die soon anyway. She admonished Fengyu not to inconvenience them; if she caused trouble and met an untimely fate, it was the servants who would suffer. Fengyu had always been reticent and obedient. Her frailty had made her adept at reading the moods of others. She dared not offend the very maids charged with tending to her. Her heart broke as she listened to their bitter criticisms, remarks about her ill fortune: born a young mistress who wanted for neither food nor clothes but was fated to be ailing. Even if fate allowed her to survive into adulthood, no prestigious family would want a chronically ill wife. A delicate daughter of a noble family was less valuable than a healthy illegitimate one; in the end, she was destined to live a lonely and neglected life, married off in haste—a forgotten soul consigned to solitude. They even joked that if she managed to reach adulthood, she’d still be left childless, sentenced to a barren and widowed existence. That year, Fengyu was too young to understand much, and the maids—strong, lively girls in their teenage years—did not hold back, speaking without restraint. Their cruel words carved an indelible scar in Fengyu’s young heart, one she would never truly heal from as the years passed and her health showed no signs of improvement. No matter how many rare herbs or treasures her grandfather procured for her, nothing would save her, and she slowly resigned herself to the sorrowful fate of dying before reaching her eighteenth birthday. But she wasn’t willing to accept this! She fought with all her might to live—to wear the finest clothes, don the most exquisite jewelry, feast on delicacies, and take the best medicines to extend her fragile life. Even if she couldn’t live beyond those eighteen years, she would make sure to live them to the fullest. When she noted Xie Xun’s affection for her, she spoke of her doomed lifespan as if it were a joke to reject him, but deep down, only she understood the melancholy truth: perhaps it was simply destiny. She mentioned it time and time again, trying to dissuade Xie Xun: "I won’t live past eighteen. Don’t waste your time on me," as though repeating it would push him away. The Princely Heir of the Marquis Zhenbei Mansion, the future leader of the Ningzhou Iron Cavalry, could never wed someone as weak as her. He needed a woman capable of standing strong with him on the battlefield, raising children, and managing household affairs. In all these respects, Fengyu fell short of what Xie Xun needed in a partner. She even convinced herself that his feelings for her stemmed from the faint connection forged by the Soul Suppressing Pearl rather than genuine love. So she declined him, withdrew, refusing to admit that she, too, had been moved by his ardent and unwavering affection. Yet she could not sleep in the dead of night, consumed by her resentment toward her frail body. If she only had a healthy physique, perhaps she would have accepted her own reckless yearning long ago. Google seaʀᴄh 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭⚑𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮⚑𝕟𝕖𝕥 Later, for Xie Xun’s sake, Fengyu—who had long since given up on her body—started practicing swordsmanship for an hour every day, running horses for another. During the less busy days in the West State, she climbed mountains with her maids and sowed fields alongside tenant farmers. She devised all kinds of methods to defy her fate, desperately hoping for just a few extra years to live. When Ru Yi came to be by their side, and Xie Xun’s carefree, joyful demeanor as he teased the child captured her gaze, she secretly dared to dream—if her years truly were numbered, then she hoped she could at least give him a child or two before she passed. That way, he wouldn’t be so devastated after her death. But it was all just wishful thinking. She was destined for a lonely fate! When Dugu Jing kicked her hard, leaving her either dead or alive in Shun City, Xie Xun had already learned that her fate was barren and childless. Yet still, he loved her, pursued her tirelessly, and even petitioned Emperor Jianming for their marriage. Fengyu had never fully understood that she could not bear children. She had suspicions, though. After the imperial marriage decree was bestowed, she asked Doctor Zhou about it—someone who had long treated her ailments and knew her condition. However, Doctor Zhou insisted that though she was a bit frail, there was no issue with her ability to conceive. It was hard to imagine that a physician so skilled, especially one adept in gynecology, could have overlooked such a critical detail. Surely, Xie Xun had spoken with Doctor Zhou beforehand, pleading with him to keep her in the dark so she wouldn’t worry. Fengyu thought back to her vague suspicions in the West State; she had so few friends she could confide in—Fang Lingjun was one exception. However, as unmarried young women, they lacked deep knowledge of certain matters. It wasn’t until Fengyu spent time laboring alongside married women like Lady Zhang Hu and her companions that she overheard their unrestrained conversations, sometimes veering into crude jokes. Once, Fengyu caught wind of the struggles of one of Zhang Hu’s concubines, a woman close to Lady Zhang Hu, who faced challenges conceiving and seemed perpetually miserable. Through their chats, Fengyu realized the concubine’s infertility stemmed from irregularities in her monthly cycles—and when Fengyu asked, she realized her own situation was remarkably similar. Moreover, no matter the season, her body remained unnaturally cold. Back then, she secretly consulted another physician, who hinted subtly at her inability to conceive, likely choosing his words carefully out of respect for her noble status. Only now did Fengyu piece it all together. Yet Xie Xun didn’t care! Did he truly not care? "Ayu, why are you crying?" Deep into the night, Xie Xun, awakened by unbearable pain, saw Fengyu sitting by his bedside, her tear-streaked cheeks gazing mournfully at his face. Fengyu rarely cried aloud. Her heartbreak unfolded in utter silence, her tears falling in heavy droplets, her expression desolate. With her own face, the sight of her grief would stir pity in anyone’s heart, make them want to bring her all the treasures of the world just to coax a smile from her. But wearing his face... Xie Xun felt an unbearable mix of emotions. At once both heartbroken and struggling against a nagging sense that... this was simply too pitiful to behold.