FHJ - 16

Chapter 16: The Long Kneel

Though Fenghe Garden was nestled in the mountains and its entrance appeared modest, stepping inside revealed its vast expanse. The winding corridors and intricate design surpassed even the gardens of Suzhou and Hangzhou in refinement. There was no ostentatious display of gold or jade, yet the estate exuded an understated aristocratic elegance. And this, remarkably, was merely Qi Ying’s secondary residence.

Shen Xiling was led by the young servant through the layered walkways and courtyards of Fenghe Garden until they reached their destination—a two-story pavilion that seemed to serve as a study. Shen Xiling looked up and saw the words “Wang Shi” (Forgetful Chamber) inscribed above the doorframe, written in the same calligraphic style as the “Fenghe Garden” plaque at the main gate.

The servant turned to her and said, “You may go in now. The master is waiting.”

Shen Xiling thanked him before ascending the steps and pushing open the door.

Inside the Forgetful Chamber, it was warm as spring. The walls were lined with towering bookshelves filled with an extensive collection of texts. The room was brightly lit, almost like daylight, and the man she had met once before sat behind a desk, reviewing official documents. Hearing her enter, he raised his gaze to look at her—his eyes as cool and detached as they had been on that snowy night when she first saw him.

Shen Xiling watched as he set down his brush, remaining seated behind the desk. He spoke to her, his tone measured but firm: “I told you before that your father paid a great price to save you. I acted on his behalf, expending considerable effort to help you.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “And yet, here you are again.”

Though the snowlit forest that night had been bright, it paled in comparison to the candlelit clarity of the Forgetful Chamber, making his expression all the more distinct. When his brows weren’t drawn together, he merely seemed aloof, but now, with them knitted, there was an air of severity that inspired fear.

But Shen Xiling, having already lost everything, felt strangely calm. She knelt formally before his desk, bowing deeply in gratitude. Then, sitting back on her heels, she addressed him: “My father’s love for me is something I hold dear, and I am deeply grateful for your kindness in saving my life. However, my mother has passed, and Langya is not where she belongs. As for my father, I do not even know where his body lies. As their child, it is my duty to ensure they are laid to rest together. I cannot bear to live alone while neglecting this responsibility.”

Her demeanor was composed, markedly different from the frightened eleven-year-old girl of days past. It seemed the trials of life and death had matured her beyond her years. Her words and bearing would have moved anyone who heard them, yet Qi Ying remained cold and indifferent, his eyes tinged with disdain. He said, “Do not speak lightly of filial piety. You are merely afraid of death. Do not try to deceive me.”

Afraid of death.

Those two words struck Shen Xiling like a blow, causing her frail frame to tremble under the weight of his sharp rebuke. She lowered her head, unable to meet his gaze.

Qi Ying turned his attention back to the documents, picking up his brush to continue writing. Without looking up, he said, “Your father and I were mere acquaintances. Helping you reach Langya was already more than enough. Now that you’ve chosen to return on your own, matters of life and death are no longer my concern. I have not betrayed your father’s trust.”

Shen Xiling’s nails dug deep into her palms, but she remained silent, her head bowed. Then she heard him add, “However, I did arrange for your father’s burial. His final wish was to be laid to rest in the small courtyard where you and your mother once lived. I have honored that wish. If you seek him, you may go there.”

At these words, Shen Xiling’s nose stung with unshed tears.

A flood of memories rushed through her mind: her father’s towering figure, her mother’s beautiful face, the struggling bamboo shoots in their humble courtyard, and the grasshopper toy she never received. In the end, all thoughts receded, leaving only one clear certainty—her father’s last wish was to be buried in that modest, unremarkable courtyard.

She pinched herself to hold back the tears, suppressing her sobs as she kowtowed deeply to Qi Ying, her voice trembling as she whispered, “Thank you... Master.”

Qi Ying did not look up, merely waving a dismissive hand amidst his paperwork. “Go,” he said curtly.

Shen Xiling kowtowed once more before rising and leaving.

That night, Bai Song accompanied her back to the small courtyard.

When he arrived, his expression was as impassive as ever, though his movements seemed slightly strained. When Shen Xiling asked him why, he brushed her off impatiently, claiming it was nothing. However, the kind-hearted gatekeeper of Fenghe Garden later revealed the truth: Bai Song had been punished with a hundred lashes for defying Qi Ying by bringing Shen Xiling back to Jiankang. During her conversation with Qi Ying, Bai Song had already endured thirty lashes. Qi Ying had ordered that he return to receive the remaining seventy after helping Shen Xiling bury her parents.

Shen Xiling looked at Bai Song, standing stoically in the snowy night, his usual scowl etched across his face. Despite his gruff exterior, she owed him so much. The faint scar between his brows, which usually gave him a fierce appearance, now made him seem unexpectedly approachable.

Though she knew no words of thanks could repay his kindness, she still wanted to express her gratitude. But before she could speak, Bai Song had already turned and begun walking down the mountain. Shen Xiling bit her lip and hurried after him, watching his awkward gait with a pang of guilt.

---

The small courtyard was unchanged from before.

Snow blanketed the wooden gate, just as it had on the day her father last visited. Everything inside appeared untouched: her mother’s bed neatly made, the kitchenware in its proper place, and the books and calligraphy sheets on the desk exactly as they had been left. It was as if the owners had simply stepped out for a short while and would soon return to resume their lives.

In truth, when the soldiers had come, the house had been thrown into disarray. It was Qi Ying who had ordered it restored to its current tidy state, ensuring her father could rest in peace.

Qi Ying had arranged for her father to be buried beside the bamboo he had planted himself. A nameless gravestone stood before the grave—perhaps this, too, had been her father’s wish. Originally, Shen Xiling intended to reunite her parents in the same grave, but since her father was already laid to rest, she decided against disturbing his peace. Instead, she and Bai Song buried her mother’s coffin beside him. Though not interred together, they now rested side by side, perhaps more peacefully than they had in life.

On the journey back from Langya to Jiankang, Shen Xiling had contemplated inscribing a gravestone for her parents. She considered carving “Beloved Father and Mother” or simply identifying her mother as “Wife of Shen Qian.” Though her mother had never spoken of it, Shen Xiling knew deep down that her mother had always wished to be with her father—not because she craved status or recognition, but because she didn’t want to be separated from him.

Yet now, standing before their graves in the small courtyard where they had briefly shared their lives together, gazing at their resting places side by side, she recalled the tender way they had looked at each other in life, smiles lingering in their eyes. Suddenly, she felt that engraving words on stone would only diminish the purity of their bond. To carve names upon their graves might, in fact, tarnish the depth of their love.

Shen Xiling wiped away her tears and knelt before their graves, bowing deeply three times in solemn respect. Bai Song stood nearby, observing silently, and offered a respectful bow as well.

He watched her kneel, then glanced up at the dark sky. Turning to her, he said, “This is where I leave you. From here on, you must decide your own path.”

His tone remained cold and detached, his arms crossed over his sword, as if the matter were none of his concern. But after spending these days with him, Shen Xiling had grown somewhat accustomed to his temperament. She understood that beneath his gruff exterior lay a subtle kindness—a concern for her future, perhaps pity for an orphaned girl who might struggle to survive alone.

Shen Xiling rose from her parents’ graves and asked Bai Song, “Will you still face punishment when you return?”

Bai Song snorted derisively and turned toward the gate, replying, “That’s none of your business.”

Shen Xiling hurried after him, saying anxiously, “But I haven’t repaid you yet...”

Bai Song stopped in his tracks, glancing at her with another snort. “And how do you plan to repay me?”

Shen Xiling bit her lip, hesitating before responding, “I can take the remaining lashes meant for you.”

“You take them?” Bai Song laughed bitterly. “Seventy lashes? You wouldn’t survive twenty.”

Shen Xiling lowered her head, unable to argue further.

Bai Song cast a softer glance her way, then resumed walking toward the carriage. Pausing, he turned back to her and said, “Little one, do you want to try your luck?”

Shen Xiling looked up at him, puzzled.

Patting the horse’s mane, Bai Song explained, “Come back to Fenghe Garden with me. Let’s see if the master will take you in.”

Qi Ying?

Shen Xiling remembered the indifferent, almost disdainful gaze he had fixed upon her earlier in the Forgetful Chamber. She pressed her lips together, saying nothing.

The horse let out a low whinny under Bai Song’s touch. Chuckling softly, he added, “While you’re at it, plead for leniency on my behalf. Honestly, I’m starting to regret taking so many lashes for a little girl like you.”

At that moment, Shen Xiling thought to herself that her plea would likely be futile. Lord Qi was a stranger to her; his two acts of assistance already filled her with immense gratitude. She had caused him trouble, and she knew she was far from endearing. How could her request possibly sway him? Still, Bai Song had endured this suffering because of his efforts to help her. It was only right—morally and logically—that she attempt to intercede. Even if she couldn’t persuade Qi Ying to spare Bai Song entirely, perhaps she could beg him to allow her to bear some of the punishment instead. Anything was better than doing nothing.

Though she had nothing to offer, she couldn’t simply accept Bai Song’s generosity without trying to repay him—even if only partially. Every bit counted.

So she smiled faintly and said, “Alright.”

That night, deep into the hours of darkness, Shen Xiling accompanied Bai Song back to Fenghe Garden. Naturally, she was once again barred from entering.

After Bai Song went inside alone, the gates closed behind him. Moments later, the gatekeeper peeked out and told her, “The master has heard you’ve come again. He says there’s a limit to favors—he’s already helped you twice, and there won’t be a third time. You should leave.”

With that, shivering from the biting cold of the snowy night, the gatekeeper quickly shut the door and retreated indoors to warm himself by the fire, leaving Shen Xiling alone outside.

The snow fell heavily, a rare blizzard that Jiankang hadn’t seen in decades. The mountain steps were buried under thick layers of snow, and the icy wind threatened to freeze anyone exposed to it. Shen Xiling gazed at the tightly shut gates, thinking of Bai Song enduring the lashings inside. He had suffered because of his decision to help her. In truth, her plight had nothing to do with him. If she had been left to die on the streets of Langya, it wouldn’t have affected him in the slightest. Yet he had chosen to bring her back, arrange her parents’ burial, and now bore the consequences of his compassion.

Shen Xiling pressed her lips together and sank to her knees before the gates of Fenghe Garden.

If she couldn’t take Bai Song’s punishment, at least she could endure some hardship herself—it was the least she could do to ease her conscience. Though her actions might mean nothing to him, leaving without doing anything would weigh on her forever. A wave of self-contempt washed over her: Look at you, Shen Xiling. You talk about repaying him, but really, you’re just trying to make yourself feel better.

She knelt there for what felt like an eternity, though she couldn’t say exactly how long. When the night shift gatekeeper came to relieve his colleague, he opened the door and was startled to find her still kneeling there. “Why are you still kneeling here?” he exclaimed. “Didn’t the last guard tell you to leave?”

He tried to persuade her a few more times, but the girl seemed deaf to his words, her face pale and tinged with blue as she remained prostrate in the snow. By now, the snow had accumulated heavily, forming a hollow around her knees. Seeing that she wouldn’t budge, the gatekeeper gave up and closed the door once more.

The snow continued to fall, blanketing everything in sight. Some of the younger bamboo groves in the mountains snapped under the weight of the snow, their breaking branches echoing through the night. The bright lanterns hanging at the entrance of Fenghe Garden cast long shadows of Shen Xiling’s kneeling figure. Though she appeared diminutive against the vastness of the storm, she was only eleven years old, her small frame nearly swallowed by the snow. Her body trembled with pain and dizziness as the cold enveloped her completely. Yet she remained there, kneeling for hours, until exhaustion finally overtook her, and she collapsed into unconsciousness.

In the final moments before she succumbed to the darkness, the image of Qi Ying’s piercing gaze from the Forgetful Chamber flashed before her eyes. With a sense of resignation, she thought: He wasn’t wrong. I truly am...afraid of death, nothing more.