FYM - 15

The Ministry of War.

The Song family is a scholarly household; since the grandfather’s generation, they have been civil officials. Both her father and uncle have two sons each, all expected to pass the imperial examinations for civil service. Her second brother choosing a military path was originally difficult. If he were to truly enter the Ministry of War without familial support within the family, it would be problematic...

Song Shu Yan furrowed her brows slightly. From behind the brocade screen, Song Ming Zhen’s voice sounded quite bright as he responded, “Whether I stay in Chang’an or not is secondary. Being posted to the borderlands also serves to protect the nation and its people. However, if Third Brother has any orders, I will not refuse.”

Young Master Song was naturally carefree and unrestrained, not always obedient to his father and elder brothers. Unexpectedly, he showed such deference to this Duke’s heir, who was only a year older. Though surprised, Song Shu Yan kept her composure.

“Fourth Sister, try this...”

While deep in thought, her second sister placed a morsel on her plate. On the other side of the screen, the men had resumed their idle chatter, vaguely discussing the upcoming winter hunt in the twelfth month.

“This year, the Zhong family returned to Chang’an early; they might make an appearance at the winter hunt,” Song Ming Zhen said. “It’s said that young Zhong, the military advisor, is exceptionally skilled in archery and horsemanship, having captured several Tibetan generals in Shanzhou. But who knows if it’s true?”

“If it’s true, so what? Can he surpass Yi Zhi?” The elder Fang brother laughed again. “Zi Qiu, don’t hide your talents then. Remember, if you impress His Majesty, you might even be directly appointed as the martial champion.”

This wasn’t empty talk.

The current Emperor isn’t one to follow rigid rules; often acting on whims. If someone could capture a fierce and rare white-shouldered eagle for the Emperor during the hunt, like the Fang heir once did, they might earn a generalship without taking the examination.

Song Ming Zhen laughed heartily, responding, “My spear skills are still developing, but my archery is precise. Elder Brother and Third Brother, rest assured, I won’t let that young military advisor outshine me alone.”

These words were too intimate, causing Song Shu Yan some concern—she knew her father respected the Fang family more than the Zhong family. However, as part of the pure faction, they hadn’t directly engaged in factional disputes. If her second brother truly opposed the Zhong family alongside the Fangs during the winter hunt, would it...

She worried too much, unlike her second sister who remained carefree. Though sitting quietly behind the screen, her heart had already flown to the other side. She thought: though she was born of a concubine, who could predict matters of marriage? Perhaps the Duke’s heir would prefer her over Song Shu Qian, especially since her own brother was so close to the Fang family. Then she...

A flood of thoughts overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t quite rein them in. Occasionally, she heard faint responses from Fang Xian Ting beyond the screen—a simple “Mm” sent her heart fluttering. How wonderful it would be to become the Duchess of Jin, enjoying boundless honor and perhaps even making her third sister jealous.

The meal passed in a daze; she didn’t hear what the men discussed. More than an hour later, stepping out of Bie Xiao Lou, her gaze wandered. Before boarding the carriage, she heard the elder Fang brother ask her second brother, “Are you taking the two young ladies back home?”

“Not in a hurry,” Song Ming Zhen smiled. “We originally came out to buy a new screen for my fourth sister, but haven’t found anything suitable yet...”

The elder Fang brother praised him as a good brother and asked, “Have you checked Fu Bi Pavilion? Nothing satisfactory there?”

Fu Bi Pavilion was a renowned place in Chang’an, offering all kinds of gold, jade, and wooden artifacts. Song Ming Zhen thought privately that the few coins left in his pocket wouldn’t suffice for fine items, but he replied with a “Not yet.” The elder Fang brother then suggested they take a look, intending to bid farewell along with the Duke’s heir. Anxious, Song Shu Qing suddenly said, “If Young Master and Eldest Master have no other plans, why not join us? It’s on the way to both our destinations.”

Such boldness! Beside her, Song Shu Yan glanced sideways, thinking her second sister indeed had more confidence than her, raised in Jiangnan. But the threshold of the Duke’s mansion was so high; would their young master accept such an invitation?

Song Ming Zhen expected his third brother to decline politely, being a busy man with little time to accompany ladies from another household. However, Fang Xian Ting recalled his father’s recent advice to show goodwill towards the Song family—not just for the Song family’s sake, but for appearances to others.

“In that case,” he nodded amidst the astonished gazes of the Song siblings, his voice light, “we cannot refuse.”

As military families, the Fang clan’s young men were mostly trained in martial arts. Both princes rode horses today, allowing the Song siblings to see Fang Xian Ting’s mount, Zhuo Ying.

It was a tribute horse from the Western Regions two years ago, sleek black with proportionate, long limbs. Larger and more robust than ordinary Central Plains horses, its gem-like black eyes were bright and lively, seemingly intelligent.

Upon seeing it, Song Ming Zhen marveled, circling Zhuo Ying several times. The horse, amusingly proud, refused to acknowledge him, turning its head away wherever he moved. Such arrogance from an animal was intriguing.

Disbelieving, Song Ming Zhen reached out to grab the reins. Fang Xian Ting didn’t stop him, handing them over. Zhuo Ying, seemingly annoyed, reared its front hooves to kick and neighed loudly, overpowering Song Ming Zhen.

“This bullying creature...” he laughed, cursing. “Truly enchanted, it knows how to choose its master.”

The men all laughed. Inside the carriage, Song Shu Yan and Song Shu Qing could only hear the commotion. However, the horse’s neighing reminded Song Shu Yan of that snowy night and the scene where Fang Xian Ting asked if she was alright outside the carriage. Lowering her eyes hesitantly, she finally pushed the carriage window open slightly, silently peering out through the gap. She saw her second brother struggling with Zhuo Ying. The man, initially facing away, suddenly turned as if sensing her gaze. His hawk-like eyes met hers directly, tightening her heart instantly.

She quickly withdrew her hand from the carriage window.

...The window closed swiftly.

Arriving at Fu Bi Pavilion, it was bustling as expected.

With the New Year approaching, households inevitably purchased new items. Many people crowded around, predominantly women from various households. Wherever the Duke’s heir went, he drew admiring glances. He seemed indifferent to these stares, casually conversing with Fang Yun Chong and Song Ming Zhen, not looking elsewhere.

Song Shu Yan and her second sister went inside to browse. Three men followed at a distance. Song Shu Qing was elated, feeling unprecedented pride—born of a concubine, yet which legitimate daughter could boast being accompanied by the Duke’s heir while shopping?

Thus, she shopped with even greater enthusiasm, pulling her fourth sister’s hand like a butterfly flitting among gold, silver, and jade artifacts. One moment she favored a four-panel redwood screen inlaid with mother-of-pearl, the next a six-panel embroidered screen with round moon motifs, her voice bright and delicate, always glancing back.

Fang Xian Ting’s gaze lingered longer on Song Shu Yan beside her. Turning to Song Ming Zhen, he asked, “I saw her briefly at your family’s hall; I don’t know which lady she is from?”

Song Ming Zhen’s heart was uneasy, fearing insufficient funds should his sisters choose something too expensive. Recalling the question, he responded, “She is from my father’s first wife, Lady Qiao. However, her mother passed early, and she was raised at her maternal grandparents’ home in Qiantang, returning to Chang’an for only one season each year.”

Thus, she was a legitimate daughter of the Song family.

Within prominent families, matters were generally similar. A legitimate daughter without a mother would not be favored by a stepmother. Now, she appeared subdued before her half-sister, likely leading a difficult life.

“You seem quite close to her,” he remarked.

“Third Brother doesn’t know; my fourth sister is endearing,” Song Ming Zhen smiled softly. “Always smart and considerate, requiring no extra effort.”

—Indeed, considerate.

After browsing for a while, she ultimately chose the most inconspicuous painted screen, depicting an ordinary lush spring mountain, neither lacquered nor adorned with mother-of-pearl or jade, appearing almost austere.

“Isn’t it too plain?” her second sister asked. “For the New Year, something brighter would be better.”

Song Shu Yan smiled, replying softly, “No need. I prefer plain colors. Besides, the design is well-painted, perfect for copying.”

Her words were thoughtful, knowing her brother’s financial constraints, choosing the cheapest option. This tactful response pleased everyone. However, she underestimated her second sister’s spending prowess earlier. The painted screen cost five strings of cash, but her brother had only three left—still insufficient.

Song Ming Zhen felt genuinely embarrassed, fearing loss of face for not having enough money and worrying his fourth sister might feel neglected compared to his biological sister. After weighing his options, he began signaling the Fang brothers, clearly intending to borrow money.

The elder Fang brother smiled, while Fang Xian Ting instructed Lin Ze to hand money to Song Ming Zhen. Surprised, Song Shu Yan openly fixed her gaze on the man for the first time. He was also looking at her, his expression still calm, saying, “Miss Four can continue browsing and choose something she likes.”

This...

...It was as if he had seen through her previous falsehood.

She faltered, unsure how to respond. His voice, falling into her ears, was as special as that snowy night in the mountains—though cold and distant, upon closer listening, it carried subtle warmth, akin to green ant wine and a small clay stove. As evening approached and snow loomed, one could ask if he’d share a drink.

“...I really like this one.”

She answered a beat late, lowering her eyes slightly.

His gaze seemed to linger on her, ethereal yet certain. After a while, he said, “Mm, then this one it is.”