Qian Jiaoniang slept for two days and a night before she finally stirred awake to the sound of a baby’s cry.
The two layers of gauze curtains around the moon-shaped bed had been drawn open. The room was warm, with a faint fragrance lingering, though tinged with the bitterness of medicine. Candlelight flickered, and outside, the baby’s cries seemed like the sweetest sound in the world. Qian Jiaoniang’s lips curved in a smile. She wanted to ask for the child to be brought to her, but as soon as she opened her mouth, a rasping cough came out instead.
Xique, keeping watch at the foot of the bed, exclaimed in joy: “Madam is awake!”
A light breeze wafted in, carrying the baby’s cries. Qian Jiaoniang lifted her eyes and saw Xing Muzheng—haggard but holding the wailing infant—standing right at her bedside, staring fixedly at her.
“Jiaoniang, you’re awake.” Xing Muzheng smiled.
Qian Jiaoniang’s eyes curved as well. “That was a good sleep.”
Xing Muzheng’s gaze grew even gentler. “Silly girl.”
The baby in his arms, hearing their voices, stopped crying, straining to turn his head as though he knew the one speaking was his mother.
Xing Muzheng carefully laid the child beside her. “Our little son.”
“So it’s a boy—was it you somersaulting inside my belly?” Qian Jiaoniang turned her head to look at the child she had borne at the risk of her life. His brows were gently arched, his eyes bright, his face fair and tender, his lips red, and most rare of all, he already had a head of black hair. Qian Jiaoniang’s heart swelled, brimming with pride. “Oh my, where did this boy come from, to be so beautiful!”
Xique quickly brought warm water. After a while, Suier summoned Doctor Bai inside. Doctor Bai examined Qian Jiaoniang carefully, breathing out in relief—her life was no longer at risk. But this childbirth had gravely depleted her vitality, and injuries below required a long recovery.
“You’ve suffered.” Xing Muzheng’s heart still quaked with fear. He regretted ever pressing Jiaoniang to bear another child, only for her to suffer such damage again. “No more children. No more.” He kissed her face, burying his face into the crook of her neck. It was unclear whether he was trying to comfort her—or himself.
Suier glanced at Doctor Bai, who nodded. Suier then gestured for Xique to step out, and everyone quietly withdrew.
Qian Jiaoniang stroked her husband’s head with a smile. “Weren’t you the one who wanted a daughter?”
“Not anymore,” Xing Muzheng replied without hesitation. “No more.”
Qian Jiaoniang didn’t mind. Though giving birth had been painful, the moment she looked at such an adorable child, she forgot all the suffering she had endured. Seeing how beautiful their child was, she even thought about wanting a few more.
The baby flailed his little hands in the swaddling, as if trying to get his parents’ attention. Qian Jiaoniang quickly went to soothe him. Xing Muzheng took off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, resting his elbow on the pillow and lying on his side to gaze at their bright-eyed little son together with her.
The more Qian Jiaoniang looked, the more delighted she felt. She couldn’t help praising again: “Our child is truly good-looking!”
“Like you,” Xing Muzheng said.
Qian Jiaoniang’s eyes lit up instantly. “Really?”
“Of course it’s true,” Xing Muzheng said. “His eyes and mouth are just like yours.”
Qian Jiaoniang happily examined the baby’s eyes and mouth, finding Xing Muzheng’s words not wrong at all. “This little one doesn’t look like Chou’er when he was little. When Chou’er was born, Mother said he looked like you.”
Xing Muzheng chuckled, lifting his hand to tuck her loose hair behind her ear. “Did she?”
“Yes. Ah, good thing Chou’er was obedient—if he had also come out feet-first back then, I really might have died.” She had been younger then, with only one midwife present, and only her mother at home. It had been far more dangerous than now.
Xing Muzheng felt a chill of fear as well. He tightened his arm around her waist. “Mm, it was all my fault.” He hadn’t been at her side for the first son’s birth, and the second son’s had made her suffer so greatly—all of it was his fault.
“What foolishness are you saying, who’s blaming you?” Qian Jiaoniang tilted her head up and bit at the stubble on his chin. “What shall we name our little son? Have you thought of it?”
“I have one in mind, but it’s for you to decide.”
“What is it?”
“The day he was born, the first snow fell—heaven’s auspicious snow. Let’s call him Xing Pingrui. What do you think?”
“Xing Pingrui…” Qian Jiaoniang mouthed the name, then pulled Xing Muzheng’s hand over and wrote the character Rui in his palm. “This character for Rui?”
“Mm.”
“It’s wonderful, I like it.” Qian Jiaoniang smiled—then suddenly noticed a deep bite mark beneath his thumb. Startled, she caught his hand for a closer look. It was clearly a fresh wound. Who could have bitten him? “This is…” She was about to ask, then suddenly remembered—in labor she had grabbed something and bitten down hard. “Was this me?”
Xing Muzheng smiled and drew his hand back, licking it lightly. “Mm.”
Seeing how deep the wound was, Qian Jiaoniang’s heart ached. “It must hurt terribly. You fool—at that moment I didn’t know what I was doing, and you didn’t even dodge.” She faintly recalled the scene, remembered her own pained cries—but he, bitten so hard, hadn’t made a sound.
“Compared to you, such a small injury is nothing.” Xing Muzheng gently stroked her back, exhaling softly as he rubbed his face affectionately against hers. For these past two days at her bedside, he had been terrified every moment—that she might never wake again. She was already his fatal weakness; if he lost her, he would surely die as well.
“I was so afraid then,” Qian Jiaoniang whispered against his cheek, confiding into his ear. “Afraid I would die, afraid I’d never see you and Chou’er again, afraid I wouldn’t give birth to this little one. But because you were there, I wasn’t so afraid.”
“I know. I know.”
The two clung together like wounded cats, comforting one another. Just then, the newly named Xing Pingrui grew restless and wailed loudly. They separated, and Qian Jiaoniang said: “Rui’er must be hungry.”
“I’ll have the wet nurse feed him.”
“I should feed him myself.”
Xing Muzheng spoke gently: “Your body is weak now. What matters most is nursing yourself back to health. Food is food—whoever feeds him, it’s the same.”
Qian Jiaoniang didn’t insist. His reasoning wasn’t wrong, and besides, she was still taking medicine—she worried that illness or drug toxins might pass to the child.
Xing Muzheng carried Xing Pingrui out and soon returned, with Suier and the maids following behind. They brought steaming porridge and decoction. Xing Muzheng helped Qian Jiaoniang sit up and fed her the porridge and medicine himself. Leaning against her husband’s chest, she ate slowly, then suddenly remembered to ask: “What about Rui’er’s milk name?”
“Ni. Nier.”
“Which ni?”
“The ni from breech birth.”
Qian Jiaoniang nearly spat out her mouthful of porridge.
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