The snow in Fengtian City had a temper of its own. One day, the sun shone warm and mild; by dawn the next, a soft rustling sounded outside the window, like countless fine brushes gliding across paper. When morning light seeped through the screen, the entire Military Governor's Mansion was wrapped in pure white. Even the red lanterns under the covered corridors hung heavy with snow, round and plump, swaying gently in the wind — oddly endearing.
The light in the birthing room had burned all night. Its warm orange glow seeped through the cotton-pasted window, spreading softly on the snow-covered ground, like a piece of honey cake forgotten in the cold.
Shen Yanci stood beneath the corridor, his military boots crushing the thin snow on the blue bricks with a faint creak. He had been there for nearly two hours. His thick cloak could not keep out the piercing wind; his fingertips were red with cold, yet he felt nothing. His gaze never left the tightly closed door. Every suppressed cry of pain from Su Wan inside pierced his heart like a fine needle.
He pressed a hand to the gun at his waist. The cold metal steadied him slightly. Once, facing the assassins of Brigade Commander Feng at the kiln, he had fired without blinking. When defending Fengtian's walls against the capital's troops, with cannon fire blazing before him, he had thought only of charging forward. But now, the sounds from behind that door drained him of all strength, leaving only endless anxiety.
"Young master, have some hot tea." Uncle Fu brought a white porcelain bowl, steam curling from its rim. "Fresh ginger tea, to chase the cold away."
Shen Yanci did not take it. His voice was hoarse, dust-dry.
"How… how is she inside?"
Uncle Fu sighed and pressed the bowl into his hand.
"The midwife says Miss Su is having her first child — it will naturally be difficult. Don't worry. She's blessed; everything will go smoothly."
He held the hot tea, warmth creeping up his fingers, yet it could not thaw the cold in his chest. He remembered Su Wan saying lightly, when her pregnancy was calm, "Books say childbirth is like walking through the gates of hell." He had chided her for overthinking then. Now he understood the hardship those words held.
"Yanci."
Shen Xiaoshan's voice came from behind, rough with early morning. Wrapped in a dark blue fox-fur coat, he walked slowly but steadily with a cane. Frowning at his son standing in the cold wind, he said:
"Why are you out here in the snow? Go wait inside."
Shen Yanci turned, his eyes reddening.
"Father, I hear her crying out in pain…"
"Foolish boy," Shen Xiaoshan tapped his leg gently with the cane. "Which woman does not suffer to give birth? When your mother bore you, she cried louder. My heart twisted into a knot. But look — we all came through safe. This is the Shen family's blessing. We must receive it properly."
Shen Yanci said nothing, only brought the tea to his lips. The scalding liquid burned his tongue, but his mind cleared.
At that moment, a loud cry burst sharply through the door — like thunder splitting the quiet morning. Strong, bright, full of reckless new life, it echoed across the courtyard, shaking snow loose from the branches.
Shen Yanci's bowl clattered to the ground. Hot tea splashed over his trousers, but he did not move. He stood frozen, his ears ringing — yet he heard that cry clearer than anything.
It was their child.
His and Su Wan's child.
The midwife pulled back the curtain, sweating profusely, beaming with joy.
"Congratulations, Young Master! A fine, healthy boy! Eight jin full! Such a strong cry — he'll amount to great things!"
Shen Xiaoshan's cane clattered to the floor. He stumbled forward, staring at the red-swaddled infant, his lips trembling. At last, he broke into a wrinkled, tearful smile.
Shen Yanci moved slowly to the door. Over the midwife's shoulder, he saw the tiny red bundle. The baby was still crying, his face small and scrunched like a newborn kitten, yet his voice was fierce, his little fists tight.
"How… how is she?" His voice shook violently, as if afraid to break the quiet.
"Miss Su is perfectly well!" the midwife said, handing the baby to the waiting nurse. "Just exhausted, and fallen asleep. Mother and son are both safe. All safe."
The heart that had hung in suspense all night finally settled. Shen Yanci leaned weakly against the doorframe, breathing deeply. The cold, clear air of the snow-filled morning mixed with a faint trace of blood — sharp, yet tender with overwhelming love and relief.
When Su Wan woke, it was afternoon.
The snow had stopped. Sunlight streamed through the window in soft squares, warm upon the quilt. She moved her fingers, aching and weak, her lower abdomen faintly sore — a reminder of all she had endured.
"You're awake?"
Shen Yanci's voice was low, gentle, cautious. She turned to find him sitting beside the bed, his cloak still on, snow dusting his shoulders, dark circles heavy under his eyes. He had kept watch all night.
"Water…" Her throat was dry and sore.
Shen Yanci poured warm water at once, feeding it to her slowly with a spoon. Comforted, she whispered:
"Where's the baby?"
"With the nurse." Shen Yanci set the cup down, his eyes soft as melted honey. "A son. Eight jin. Cries loud enough to scare the war horse."
Su Wan laughed softly, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"Is he ugly? They say newborns are all ugly."
"Not at all." He brushed her tears away with gentle, cold fingertips. "His eyes are round — like yours. He'll be handsome." He paused, his voice deepening with lingering fear. "Wanwan… thank you. You were so brave."
That soft, tender name touched her heart. Looking into his red-rimmed eyes, she smiled and shook her head.
"I'm not tired. Just listen to him — so strong, so healthy."
The door creaked open. Shen Xiaoshan stepped in, holding the red swaddle, his face fixed in a joyful smile.
"Awake, my dear? Come see our Shen family's first grandson!"
He laid the baby gently beside her. The little one opened his big, dark eyes, looking around, his tiny mouth puckering. When he met Su Wan's gaze, he broke into a toothless, silly smile.
"He knows his mother!" Shen Xiaoshan laughed, his mustache lifting. "Strong little hands, too — grabbed my beard just now. Just like his father when he was small!"
Shen Yanci smiled too. He touched the baby's hand — soft, warm. The little one curled his fingers around Shen Yanci's, holding tight. That small, light grip held his entire world.
"Have you chosen a name?" Su Wan asked softly, her gaze tender.
"We have." Shen Xiaoshan sat upright, dignified and earnest. "Nian'an. Nian, as in remembrance. An, as in peace. We remember your father's trust. And we pray this child lives a life of peace, always."
Tears warmed Su Wan's eyes.
"Nian'an. Shen Nian'an. It's perfect."
Sunlight spilled over Shen Nian'an's face, gilding him. Shen Yanci looked at his wife's gentle face, his father's graying hair, the tiny life clinging to his finger. At that moment, all the guns, battles, and chaos in the world meant nothing compared to this quiet peace.
The days of Su Wan's confinement were sweet, wrapped in warmth and care.
Shen Xiaoshan left most affairs of the mansion to Shen Yanci, visiting his grandson without fail every day. He even cooked himself, sending soups for Su Wan, claiming it was "for the young mother's recovery."
Shen Yanci doted on her endlessly. No matter how busy he was, he made time to sit with her. At night, he fumbled clumsily through changing diapers, making Su Wan laugh until her sides hurt.
One sunny afternoon, Su Wan read by the window while Shen Yanci fed Nian'an. The baby suckled peacefully, his little fists waving now and then. Shen Yanci held the bottle with extreme care, afraid to spill a single drop.
"You're more nervous than when you're on duty," Su Wan teased, smiling.
Shen Yanci glanced up, slightly flushed.
"He's so small. I don't want to hurt him."
Su Wan watched him, her heart soft and full. She remembered the cold young man who had once rejected her rose. The man who had protected her through gunfire and danger. Now, he was gentle, tender, devoted. Time had turned ice into warmth.
"Yanci," she said softly, "when I'm well, let's take Nian'an to the girls' school. The children must miss me."
"Alright." He nodded, his eyes still on the baby. "But you must rest. If you tire, we come home at once."
"I know."
Outside the window, the crabapple trees sprouted tender new buds, bright green in the sun. The snow had melted. The air smelled of damp earth, and faint, sweet promise of spring.
Shen Yanci looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms, then at Su Wan by the window — her face soft as a painting, a quiet smile on her lips.
He realized, then, that all his fighting, all his years of battle, had led only to this:
a wife, a child, a home, warmth, peace.
Their story had only just begun.
Wrapped in the joy of new life, the warmth of belonging, unfolding gently, steadily, in Fengtian City — through all the long years to come.