FYM - 17

When Song Shuyan was brought to Madam Wan’s Fu An Hall, the latter was seated on a bed with her daughter Song Shuqian, brewing tea.

Tea culture flourished in this dynasty, requiring mastery of nine challenges: production, identification, utensils, fire, water, roasting, grinding, boiling, and drinking. It seemed the first boil had passed; Song Shuqian was skillfully adjusting the salt and leaves. Song Shuyan kept her gaze lowered, obediently bowing to the mistress upon entering. “Mother.”

Wan acknowledged her but did not permit her to rise. The maids and servants watched silently as the faint sound of simmering water filled the hall. After a while, when the water reached its second boil, Wan observed her daughter steadily ladling water to agitate the tea’s heart. She then casually glanced at Song Shuyan’s slightly swaying figure before waving her hand. “Sit.”

Song Shuyan slowly rose, thanked the mistress, and cautiously took her seat.

“I heard you went out with Ziqiu yesterday?”

The main topic had arrived. Song Shuyan straightened slightly, replying, “Yes, Second Brother pitied me for rarely seeing Chang’an’s splendor and took me out to broaden my horizons.”

This humble acknowledgment was clear. Wan smiled faintly, continuing, “Harmony among siblings is excellent, but with the martial exams approaching, his daily practice is already strenuous. As a sister, you should be more considerate.”

Song Shuyan lowered her head, acknowledging her oversight and promising not to burden her brother further.

Wan nodded, her drooping eyes scanning the painted screen brought by the maids. After a pause, she asked, “I heard you also encountered the Duke’s heir?”

“Yes,” Song Shuyan’s eyes dropped lower, her tone unwavering. “Brother is friends with the Young Master; they conversed for a while.”

“Not just conversed, I presume,” Wan smirked. “He also bought you something?”

Her sharp chin gestured toward the screen.

Song Shuyan’s expression remained unchanged. “It was our fault, mine and Second Sister’s. We spent all of Second Brother’s money earlier; the Young Master kindly lent him some.”

Her words cleverly shifted the relationship to Fang Xianting and Song Mingzhen, which was indeed the truth—nothing directly involving her.

Yet, Wan wasn’t easily placated, her smile carrying ambiguous intent. Without addressing Song Shuyan immediately, she instructed her daughter to measure tea powder into the boiling water, observing the frothing brew. Soon, the aroma of tea filled the room.

“The specifics of this matter aren’t crucial. What others care about is the outcome…”

She finally spoke again, her voice devoid of warmth.

“I know you were raised in Jiangnan, where your maternal family’s modest standing couldn’t teach you much propriety. However, an unmarried daughter must never privately accept gifts from men. If this spreads, outsiders will ridicule our family’s daughters as ill-mannered and unrefined.”

Pausing, her voice grew colder. “In noble families, reputation is paramount. Your father works tirelessly in court, fearing any misstep that might shame the family. Bearing the Song name, you must shed any petty behavior unfit for high society, lest you inadvertently harm your siblings.”

Her sharp words stung—not only criticizing Song Shuyan but also indirectly insulting her maternal grandmother, Lady Qiao. Heaven knew how much Wan hated her birth mother; because of her, Wan had to reluctantly become a concubine. No matter how polished her demeanor, she was still a secondary wife, lacking the current authoritative stance of a mistress.

Song Shuyan’s eyes grew cool, a surge of defiance rising within. Her grandmother had long recognized her inherently untamed nature and taught her to suppress it. She obeyed, knowing restraint ensured stability, and stability ensured peace.

“Mother’s admonishment is correct; it was my oversight,” she responded gracefully, ignoring the disdainful gazes of the maids. “However, my grandmother in Jiangnan always warned me about the complexities of our Chang’an household, advising against interfering in my father and brothers’ decisions. Hence, I didn’t dare refuse the Young Master’s kindness, fearing damage to the Fang-Song relations.”

Her words carried subtle barbs, ostensibly self-deprecating but covertly criticizing Wan’s recent unsolicited invitation to the Zhong family, displeasing the Fang heirs. Wan’s face darkened, her gaze turning icier.

Beside them, Song Shuqian paid no heed to these nuances, missing her fourth sister’s veiled critique of the mistress. “Fourth Sister needn’t use Second Brother as an excuse. Whatever Mother says goes. Keeping that screen would tarnish our reputation and implicate me and Second Sister. Best leave it here.”

Tea culture values tranquility; mastering it can lead to profound enlightenment. Yet, to Song Shuyan, her third sister could only brew tea without grasping its essence—her envy and resentment blatantly evident. Was this the refined upbringing Wan prided herself on?

She remained expressionless, neither arguing nor resisting, glancing at the screen. The plum blossoms she painted last night seemed still wet, and the Young Master’s words, “Choose something you like,” echoed in her ears. Yet, she couldn’t keep it—it would soon slip from her grasp.

Wan, observing her calm demeanor, grew angrier—this girl resembled her mother so much, even in her composed pretense... Recalling Lady Qiao’s years of infertility despite multiple wives, Wan’s resentment deepened. Though Qiao remained unruffled, her eventual pregnancy ended tragically, leaving behind only a daughter—a clear sign of her lack of fortune. Now, her daughter inherited this fate.

“Merely removing these external items isn’t enough; you must internalize proper conduct…”

Wan accepted the teacup from her daughter, sipping the fragrant brew, her prominent cheekbones subtly moving.

“Kneel in Wei Rui Hall. For now, refrain from wandering around.”

Meanwhile, Fang Xianting at the Southern Guard Office remained unaware of the trouble his casual gesture had caused.

As year-end approached, Chang’an bustled with activity. The Southern Sixteen Guards handled numerous duties, guarding the imperial palace and city, leaving no respite. That day, a summons arrived from the palace; the Crown Prince requested his presence. Entering through Wangxian Gate, he met Crown Prince Wei Qin in Xian De Hall by early afternoon.

In the seventh year of Yuanzhang, Crown Prince Wei Qin was twenty-five. Tall and slender, with narrow features, he wasn’t particularly handsome but exuded dignity as the Empress’s legitimate son. Despite his frail health due to chronic chest ailments, his noble bearing was unmistakable. Upon Fang Xianting’s arrival, he was reviewing documents, fatigue evident in his paler lips.

“Your Highness, Lord Fang has arrived—”

Eunuch Wang Mu announced loudly.

Wei Qin looked up, smiling as Fang Xianting entered. Rising personally, he caught Fang’s arm as he knelt, laughing, “No formalities here, Yizhi.”

The Fang family’s prominence meant frequent palace visits. Fang Xianting and Wei Qin had known each other since childhood, their bond strengthened by Fang’s sister marrying into the Eastern Palace. Their closeness was genuine.

“Etiquette reflects both heart and action,” Fang insisted on kneeling, his tone warmer than usual. “I pay respects to Your Highness.”

Wei Qin sighed, accepting the gesture humorously. “You’re merely putting on a show. If truly sincere, you’d visit more often instead of making me summon you.”

Fang smiled, the mole near his right eye enhancing his charm. “Recently, Southern Guard duties have been heavy. After the New Year, I’ll have more leisure. Please forgive me, Your Highness.”

Wei Qin waved dismissively, merely teasing his brother-in-law. Their banter improved his mood. Glancing at the sunny skies, he suggested, “Knowing your busy schedule, let’s walk and talk. Today’s weather is pleasant.”

Indeed, it was a fine day, rare sunshine in Chang’an’s harsh winter. Wei Qin, accustomed to such outings despite his frailty, envied Fang Xianting’s robust vitality. The imperial garden’s fresh plum blossoms captivated him, calming his spirit.

“The issue remains the reduction of regional powers,” he broached the subject, his tone grave. “Today, Wu Huaimin’s petition arrived, reiterating requests for additional provisions, citing unrest among Western Regions states. Zhong He, having returned to Chang’an, strongly supported this in court. Father Emperor might already be swayed.”

Reduction of regional powers.

Currently, the Fang-Zhong factions clashed fiercely, seemingly over numerous issues, but fundamentally over two matters: succession and regional control.

The Fang faction, aligned with the Eastern Palace, advocated reducing regional powers, opposing warlords threatening central authority. The Zhong faction, led by Second Prince Wei Zheng, resisted weakening their influence, possibly even plotting to forcefully replace the crown prince. Over the years, they obstructed central authority’s efforts, remaining a thorn in the Fang faction’s side.

The mentioned Wu Huaimin, Northern Protectorate Commander, traditionally allied with the Zhong faction, likely acted under Zhong He’s direction. With the aging Emperor favoring Consort Zhong, court whispers could sway imperial decisions, complicating matters further.