The Last Letter from Lingnan

The old madam’s face went deathly pale. At last, she turned to look at me.

She opened her mouth, as if she wanted to say something.

But I spoke first.

“Old Madam, there’s no need to persuade me.”

“I’m not trying to persuade you.”

Her voice trembled.

“Cheng’an… how could he do such a thing?”

“You should ask him.”

I paused, then added, “You once said that the descendants of the Pei family were the most precious thing in the world. Now he was willing to discard even the ninth-generation heir for someone else. Perhaps you should understand that what you raised wasn’t the Pei family’s pillar, but a wolf in human clothing.”

The old madam staggered and had to brace herself against the doorframe.

I didn’t look at her again.

Before, to win her favor, I had learned to brew the tea she liked. I had endured her interference in my dowry shops again and again. I had repeatedly stood between her and Pei Cheng’an to mediate.

Looking back now, I had given my patience to the wrong people.

The next day, half of the marquis’s residence was sealed by the authorities.

Pei Cheng’an had not yet been sent to prison, but he was ordered not to leave the estate. The Court of Judicial Review wanted to investigate his personal seal, account books, and medicine purchases. His supposed innocence wouldn’t survive even one page of scrutiny.

As for me, escorted by my elder brother, I left the main courtyard.

I took my dowry, my people, and my baby, and walked out of the Pei family’s gates with my head held high.

Qingque left the empty swaddling cloth in the Warm Pavilion where it was.

When Pei Cheng’an rushed over, all that remained inside was a note.

“You wanted a stillborn child. I’ll let him live better than anyone.”

When Qingque told me about it, her eyes sparkled like stars.

I was nursing the baby at the time. I only smiled.

The little one fed greedily, a fine sheen of sweat on the tip of his nose.

Physician Xie said he had a sound constitution. With careful attention, he would grow just as strong as a full-term child.

I gave him the childhood name A-Zhao.

I hoped that one day he would see clear skies and fair weather, and live a life of peace.

The case continued for some time.

The Court of Judicial Review learned many more things from Fang Cheng.

Pei Cheng’an had heard of the Life-Continuing Guide long before.

Earlier, Lu Wanning had brought him Yunxu’s prescription and wept, saying she wouldn’t survive that winter.

At first, Pei Cheng’an refused.

Then Yunxu persuaded him: if they used a newborn boy as medicine, Lu Wanning could live, and the restraints his wife and her maiden family placed on the marquis’s household would be broken at the same time.

He wavered.

After that, he personally found someone to buy aconite powder, personally ordered the kitchen to put it in my pregnancy-calming soup, and personally wrote the letter saying to “leave no future trouble.”

No one forced him.

It wasn’t a moment of confusion.

Every step had been his own choice.

Pei Cheng’an had three letters delivered to me.

The first said Lu Wanning had deceived him.

Another said he had seen A-Zhao’s portrait and only then realized how deeply he regretted everything.

The last letter was several pages long. From the first time we met to our wedding day, he wrote that he remembered what I liked to eat, whether I preferred warmth or coolness, and which flowers I liked on my birthday each year.

Qingque had only read half of it before she couldn’t continue. Furious, she slammed the letter onto the table.

“My lady, now he remembers everything.”

I picked up all three letters. I didn’t even open them; I tossed them straight into the brazier.

Flames curled over the corners of the paper. Pei Cheng’an’s writing slowly shriveled and blackened.

“He remembers now because his hands are empty.”

I said, “If he truly loved someone, he wouldn’t have had to wait until she left with their child, until the authorities blocked his door, to remember what she liked.”

His regret was more like losing something he had found convenient to use, then turning around and discovering it could never be recovered.

Not long afterward, the Court of Judicial Review reached its verdict.

Yunxu was convicted of using forbidden prescriptions to harm people and of plotting against multiple children. He was sentenced to execution.

The shopkeeper at Miaochun Pharmacy, who knowingly sold the medicine, was exiled to the north.

Fang Cheng had helped the evildoers and was stripped of his household-servant status, then sent to perform hard labor in the mines.

Lu Wanning had not personally administered the poison, but she had conspired to use the forbidden medicine, feigned illness, seized property, and incited the plot against the baby.

Since she did have an old ailment, the Court of Judicial Review did not torture her. She was convicted and sent to perform hard labor at a medical station in a border prefecture. She was forbidden to return to the capital for the rest of her life.

On the day she was taken away, she still wore that snow-fox cloak.

Only the jade buttons had been removed. And there was no Pei Cheng’an beside her to hold an umbrella.

She saw me through the bars of the prison cart and suddenly called out, “Sister-in-law.”

I stopped the carriage curtain.

Lu Wanning’s eyes were bloodshot, but she was no longer pretending to be pitiful.

“If I could do it over again…”

She asked, “Would you save me?”

I thought for a moment, then answered calmly, “If you were ill, I’d hire the best physician to treat you.”

“But if you still tried to harm my baby, I’d personally send you to prison.”

The prison cart rolled slowly away.

Her figure disappeared at the end of the long street, like a last diseased leaf finally scattered by the wind.

As for Pei Cheng’an—

He had no old illness like Lu Wanning to plead for mercy, and no excuse to blame dark sorcery like Yunxu.

He had seized his wife’s dowry, plotted to kill his own son, and carried on a secret relationship with his cousin. The evidence was conclusive.

The Pei family’s title was revoked.

He was sentenced to three years in prison, then exile to Lingnan after completing his term. He would never be allowed to return to the capital.

On the day the sentence was issued, he asked to see me once.

At first I didn’t want to go.

But I decided there were things that needed to be said clearly.

I wanted to speak for the woman I used to be—the one whose heart had been shaken by his words, “Save the mother”—and say everything she had kept inside.

The prison visiting room was cold.

Pei Cheng’an sat behind a wooden table in a prisoner’s uniform. He had grown so thin he was almost unrecognizable.

When he saw me, he was stunned. Then his eyes gradually reddened.

“My lady.”

I sat down and didn’t answer.

He clenched his fingers, as he used to stroke the pale jade ring on his thumb.

But the authorities had confiscated that ring. There was nothing left on his hand.

“Is A-Zhao well?”

“Very well.”

“Does he… look like you or like me?”

I looked at him and suddenly found the question ridiculous.

“He’s still little. He doesn’t look like anyone yet.”

Pei Cheng’an lowered his head, his throat shifting.

“I know I have no right to ask. But every day I think, if only I hadn’t…”

“If only you hadn’t what?”

I cut him off.

“Not put aconite in my pregnancy-calming soup? Not written to Yunxu? Not stood in the shrine and secretly decided to take the baby’s heart’s blood?”

His face turned white at once.

“Pei Cheng’an,” I said, each word distinct, “every step you took trampled on my life and our baby’s.”

He suddenly raised his head. At last, tears fell from his eyes.

“I regret it.”

“That’s your problem.”

I stood and pulled my cloak straight.

“You’ll regret it many nights from now. You’ll remember A-Zhao’s first cry, and remember how I held the physician’s sleeve and begged him to save the baby. But remember this: I won’t regret it with you.”

Pei Cheng’an panicked and stood, trying to follow me, but the guards outside the door restrained him.

“My lady!”

His voice was hoarse.

“I still love you!”

I turned and looked at him once.

“What you’ve loved all along is the woman I used to be—the one willing to endure for you, give way for you, and hand everything over to you.”

“But she died in the bowl of pregnancy-calming soup you gave me.”

The door closed behind me.

The sound was not loud, but it shut away three whole years of absurdity for me.

Half a year later, I reopened my dowry pharmacy in the eastern part of the city.

The shop didn’t sell the folk medicines said to bring the dead back to life. Instead, it hired physicians to treat women and children.

On the first day of every lunar month, women who had recently given birth and were in difficult circumstances could receive pregnancy medicine and a bowl of hot congee for free.

Qingque managed the accounts with great skill. If anyone shorted us even a single coin, she could chase them down the lane, shouting all the way.

I sat behind the counter in the sun, holding A-Zhao.

He grew quickly. He learned to roll over, babble, and grab my hair without letting go.

Whenever someone praised him as the Pei family’s ninth-generation heir, I smiled and corrected them.

“First of all, he is my son.”

Then, one day, a letter with no name on it arrived from Lingnan.

Inside was a cracked pale jade ring and a single sentence:

“I only hope that you and A-Zhao are safe and well.”

Qingque asked if I wanted to burn it.

I didn’t touch the ring. I only told her to take it to a pawnshop and trade it for two sacks of rice, to be recorded in the pharmacy’s charity ledger.

As for the sentence—

I never read it again.

The spring breeze blew through the window. In my arms, A-Zhao gave a small yawn and reached out to catch a streak of sunlight on my shoulder.

I took his soft little hand.

“Come along, A-Zhao.”

“Your mother is taking you home.”

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