Fu Yunyang had been ill for three days.
Ever since the night she returned from the Shen family, she had developed a fever. At first, it was only a slight warmth her forehead a little hotter than usual, her cheeks flushed with an abnormal redness.
Xiaodie applied cold compresses and fed her ginger soup, thinking she would recover by the next day. But by midnight, the fever suddenly worsened. In her delirium, she spoke nonsense sometimes calling for her mother, sometimes murmuring things no one could understand.
Madam Fu stayed by her bedside the entire night, not a single tear drying on her face. Master Fu Mingyuan sat in the outer room without saying a word.
Two rounds of physicians were called. Their diagnosis was the same: an external cold invading the body, combined with emotional distress and a naturally weak constitution. Her body could not withstand it.
Medication, sweating treatments, fever reduction she went through it all repeatedly for three days. Only today did the fever finally break, and she regained some clarity.
But by then, rumors had already spread across half the capital.
Somehow, word had gotten out that the young master of the Shen family had publicly forced Miss Fu to break off the engagement at a banquet, speaking harshly and acting arrogantly. Unable to bear the humiliation, Miss Fu returned home and immediately fell seriously ill.
The story spread with such detail that even the exact words Shen Jinghong supposedly said were fabricated: “A sickly girl is unworthy of my Shen family,” and “She should abandon her delusions early” even more cruel than what he had actually said at the teahouse.
Shen Dingjiang became the subject of ridicule among his colleagues at court and returned home in a rage, smashing a set of teacups. Liu Yunshuang trembled with anger, yet didn’t know whom to blame her son? He had indeed said those words. The rumor-mongers? But every bit of gossip had originated from her own son’s mouth.
Fu Yunyang leaned against her pillow, two layers of soft cushions behind her back. A thin blanket covered her, and her dark hair spilled loosely over her shoulders, making her already small face look even more fragile.
Though the fever had broken, her face was still pale, and her lips lacked color.
Xiaodie brought in the medicine quietly, placing it on the bedside table, along with a small dish of osmanthus candied fruit. Seeing her young mistress’s pale face, her nose stung with emotion, and she quickly lowered her head to adjust the blanket to hide it.
“Miss, the medicine is ready. Drink it while it’s hot.”
“Mm.” Fu Yunyang responded weakly. She turned her head slightly to look at the bowl. The dark brown medicine gave off faint steam, its bitter scent filling the room.
She reached out for the bowl, but her fingers were still trembling. Xiaodie quickly lifted it, placing it into her hands and steadying it from beneath.
Fu Yunyang lowered her head and drank slowly, sip by sip. The medicine was bitter; she drank very carefully, pausing after each swallow, her brows faintly furrowed as if enduring something difficult.
Halfway through, she suddenly coughed softly. A little of the medicine splashed onto the blanket, leaving a dark stain.
Xiaodie hurried to wipe it clean, saying anxiously, “Miss, take it slowly. There’s no rush.”
Fu Yunyang said nothing, only nodded slightly and continued drinking. After finishing the last sip, Xiaodie immediately handed her a candied fruit.
She held it in her mouth. The sweetness slowly spread, pushing away the bitterness bit by bit. Leaning back against the pillow, she closed her eyes slightly, as if even drinking a bowl of medicine had exhausted all her strength.
“The letter… has it still not been returned?”
Xiaodie paused. “Not yet. Since you’ve been ill, I didn’t bring it up. The master said we should wait until you feel better.”
Fu Yunyang nodded faintly and said nothing more. She leaned against the pillow, gazing out the window quietly, lost in thought.
At that moment, hurried footsteps came from downstairs rapid and chaotic, like someone running.
Xiaodie frowned and was about to go out to see who was being so improper when the curtain was suddenly lifted.
It was Liuer, a servant from the gatehouse, out of breath, his face red. One hand braced against the doorframe, the other on his knee, he gasped, “Sister Xiaodie! The front gate… the front gate…”
“What about the front gate?” Xiaodie frowned. “Speak slowly. Don’t scare the Miss.”
Liuer took a deep breath, then another. Finally catching his breath, he blurted out loudly:
“The young master of the Shen family! He’s been kneeling at our front gate since early this morning and he hasn’t gotten up once!”
Xiaodie froze, her mouth hanging open.
She instinctively turned to look at Fu Yunyang.
Fu Yunyang leaned against the pillow. Her fingers moved slightly, her expression not changing much only her eyelashes trembled faintly.
“Kneeling?” Xiaodie’s voice rose. “Shen Jinghong? Kneeling at our gate?”
“Yes!” Liuer nodded furiously. “All by himself. No one can get him up. Young Master Zhao tried to pull him away, but he shoved him off. The Shen family tried to drag him back, but he said, ‘Whoever pulls me, I’ll die in front of them.’ Now there’s a huge crowd watching outside. The master found out and was so angry his face turned completely green. He said ”
He hesitated, glancing carefully at Fu Yunyang.
“What did he say?” Xiaodie pressed.
Liuer lowered his voice, imitating Fu Mingyuan’s tone:
“The master said: ‘If he wants to kneel, let him kneel. The Fu family gates will not open for him today.’”