FHJ - 15

Chapter 15: Return

Bai Song stood leaning against a tree, a blade of grass dangling from his lips. Seeing her approach, he spat out the grass and greeted her casually.

Shen Xiling was startled. “What are you doing here?”

Bai Song walked over, cradling his sword. “If I hadn’t been here, your mother’s coffin might have been stolen.”

Though Jiangzuo was prosperous, the ongoing wars between north and south had plunged the world into chaos. Shen Xiling, still young and naive, hadn’t considered the risks to her mother’s coffin. But Bai Song knew better—the coffin he had purchased was of fine quality, left unattended on the roadside, making it an easy target for desperate thieves. They might dismantle it for wood or sell it outright for silver.

Shen Xiling lowered her head in silence.

Suddenly, she felt a weight settle on her shoulders. Turning, she saw Bai Song draping the fur cloak—pawned earlier that day—back over her.

Shen Xiling was astonished. “This...”

Bai Song snorted. “A fine horse and a thousand-tael fur cloak—do you really think this is worth only twenty taels?”

Shen Xiling bit her lip, unsure how to respond. After a long pause, she began, “Thank...”

“No need to thank me,” Bai Song interrupted coldly. “I merely couldn’t bear to see something belonging to the master end up in a pawnshop, giving people fodder to gossip about the Qi family.”

Shen Xiling knew she had acted improperly by pawning someone else’s possession, but she hadn’t anticipated causing such trouble. Overwhelmed with guilt, she quickly apologized and tried to explain, “I didn’t mean to...”

Bai Song waved her off, cutting her short. His tone remained icy. “That carriage station is a den of thieves. They saw you as an easy target. Even after taking your money, they won’t honor their promise to take you back to Jiankang. How can you be so foolish? How do you plan to settle your mother’s affairs?”

Shen Xiling was speechless, her eyes filled with confusion, guilt, and helplessness.

Bai Song glanced down at her, seeing her distress, and let out another derisive snort.

She had thought he left after dropping her off at the Wei residence, but in fact, he had followed her all day. It wasn’t out of nosiness—he was merely fulfilling Qi Ying’s instructions before leaving Jiankang: “These are perilous times. She’s just a child and may not manage on her own. After delivering her to Langya, ensure she’s settled before departing.”

When he saw her being cast out by the Wei family, he couldn’t help but admire Qi Ying’s foresight.

He watched as she sat despondently beside her mother’s coffin for half the day, then went to pawn the fur cloak Qi Ying had given her. Despite her youth, she navigated the pawnshop with practiced ease, her face devoid of emotion. He assumed she intended to use the money to find lodging, only to discover later that she had visited a carriage station instead, planning to return to Jiankang.

Foolish.

She likely believed the journey north would be simple, unaware of the immense effort Qi Ying had expended to secure their escape. Without his arrangements, she and her mother—both fugitives—wouldn’t have made it past the first checkpoint outside Jiankang. Now, having barely secured a lifeline, she was already contemplating returning.

Bai Song wanted to scold her but couldn’t find the words. Deep down, he wondered: Where else could she go? He debated whether to tell her that her father had been sentenced to execution, carried out just two days prior—the same day her mother passed away.

He should have told her, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Instead, he asked, “Are you determined to return to Jiankang?”

She seemed startled by the question, then nodded slowly but firmly.

Bai Song sighed. “Have you thought about what will happen when you return?”

She shook her head, pausing before replying, “If my father is alive, I’ll take my mother to him. If he’s... dead, I’ll bury them together.”

This time, it was Bai Song’s turn to be stunned. So she already knew. Reflecting on it, he realized it made sense—after enduring that prison ordeal, she must have heard whispers of her father’s crimes.

After a moment of contemplation, Bai Song lifted her mother’s coffin and turned to leave. To Shen Xiling, who trailed behind him, he said, “It just so happens I’m also returning to Jiankang. Since you’re set on going back regardless, we might as well travel together.”

As they traveled south from Langya, the rain and snow grew heavier. By the time they neared Jiankang, the sky was filled with a thick blanket of snow, reminiscent of the day they had fled the city just days before.

Upon entering the city, they were stopped for inspection. Bai Song produced a token, and the soldiers immediately bowed respectfully, allowing them passage. It was ironic—just days earlier, at this very gate, she and her mother had desperately tried to escape. Now, her mother was gone, and she was returning alone through the same gate.

Jiankang lived up to its reputation as the most prosperous city in the land. Even as night fell, the streets were brightly lit and bustling with activity. The citizens seemed cheerful, as if no one remembered the downfall of the once-prominent Shen family. After all, the New Year was just around the corner.

Bai Song drove the carriage slowly, leaning over to ask through the curtain where she wanted to go. In a calm, steady voice, she replied, “You told me a few days ago that most of my father’s family were executed, and the rest exiled. I assume no one has claimed his body. I’ve heard unclaimed bodies are taken to a mass grave. If it’s not too much trouble, could you take me there?”

Bai Song fell silent.

On their way back to Jiankang, he had informed her of her father’s execution. At the time, she had only paused briefly, nodded, and quietly thanked him. Though Bai Song generally disliked complications and couldn’t stand hearing others cry, he felt uneasy about her lack of reaction. He had thought perhaps the weight of the tragedies had overwhelmed her temporarily, and that she would eventually break down. But throughout their journey from Langya, she hadn’t shed a single tear. Now, she spoke of it so calmly, even mentioning the mass grave.

Bai Song continued driving and said, “If the master intervened on your behalf, he may have already arranged for your father’s burial. You should ask him first. Once you’re certain, you can visit the mass grave.”

He heard her fall silent for a moment before asking, “Is Lord Qi familiar with my father?”

Bai Song replied, “They maintained ordinary connections among the aristocracy. I haven’t heard of any special bond between them.”

Shen Xiling hesitated. “Then why would he...?”

Bai Song didn’t understand it either. Though he wouldn’t claim to fully know the master, having served him closely since the age of fourteen—now eight years—he was familiar enough with his temperament. Qi Ying was not one to meddle in others’ affairs. Given the Shen family’s downfall, other noble families avoided association like the plague. Why, then, had the master stepped in?

After a pause, Bai Song admitted, “I don’t know the master’s intentions.”

He heard her murmur softly in acknowledgment, then ask, “So, are we going to the Qi residence now?”

Bai Song calculated the timing and said, “At this time, the master is likely not at the main estate but staying at his secondary residence.”

“Where is that?” she asked.

The rhythmic clatter of hooves accompanied his reply: “Qingji Mountain, Fenghe Garden.”

Qingji Mountain was a well-known scenic spot within Jiankang—not particularly striking in its natural beauty, but cherished for its serene atmosphere, often frequented by scholars and poets. The area, originally part of the Qi family’s private holdings, had long been unused until recent renovations transformed it into Qi Ying’s personal retreat, now off-limits to outsiders.

This private estate, named Fenghe Garden, was nestled deep within bamboo groves on the mountain. To reach it, one had to ascend 108 stone steps from the base. These steps weren’t straight but wound gracefully along the mountain’s contours, offering ever-changing views with each turn.

As Shen Xiling followed Bai Song up the snowy path, the air was crisp, and the bamboo lining the steps bent slightly under the weight of the snow, yet their subtle fragrance lingered. The ancient, uneven stone steps added charm to the ascent, revealing new vistas with every few steps climbed.

She thought of her father, who also loved bamboo. He had once planted some in the small courtyard where she and her mother lived. However, the space was too confined for the bamboo to thrive, something that had always disappointed him. She imagined how much he would have admired the bamboo forest on Qingji Mountain.

Lost in thought, she looked up to see the entrance to the estate atop the steps. Its walls were white, its roof tiled in gray, with two lanterns hanging high. Above the gate, the words “Fenghe Garden” were inscribed in bold calligraphy.

She recognized the handwriting—it was from a scroll on her father’s desk. When teaching her calligraphy, he had once instructed her to copy it, praising the style as “bold and daring, like swift strokes of a blade.” Not long after, he switched to another scroll for her practice. When she asked why, he gently stroked her head and smiled, saying, “Though Jingchen’s calligraphy is exquisite, its elegance conceals an underlying martial edge, making it unsuitable for a young girl to emulate.”

In a daze, Shen Xiling realized the characters she had practiced were Qi Ying’s.

Bai Song knocked on the gate, and Shen Xiling stood behind him. Soon, a young gatekeeper appeared, greeting Bai Song warmly. “We heard you went to Langya on the master’s business. We worried you wouldn’t return before the New Year—how did the trip go?”

Bai Song greeted him in return but didn’t elaborate, instead asking, “Is the master staying here tonight?”

“Yes,” the gatekeeper replied. “He hasn’t retired yet at this hour.”

As the gatekeeper prepared to let them in, he noticed Shen Xiling standing behind Bai Song and looked surprised. “Bai, this…?”

“There’s something she needs to discuss with the master,” Bai Song explained.

The gatekeeper’s expression turned troubled. “You know the rules of Fenghe Garden, Bai. Outsiders aren’t permitted. Just the other day, even Lord Fu and his guests were turned away. I can’t allow her inside.”

Bai Song considered this for a moment, then turned to Shen Xiling. “Wait here. I’ll speak to the master.”

Shen Xiling pressed her lips together and nodded gratefully. His expression remained cold as he entered the gate.

After about the time it took to burn two sticks of incense, the gate opened again. This time, it wasn’t Bai Song who emerged but a young boy, roughly her age, dressed in plain blue robes. He addressed her: “The master requests your presence.”