FYM - 2

The snow continued to fall, soft and steady.

Curfew had long been enforced in the city, and on this night of chaos, not a soul stirred outside. Yet one shadow braved the storm, dashing from the direction of the imperial palace into the residential quarters. The tall gates and red-painted towers of the Song estate were unlit, their presence discernible only by the faint glow of snow reflecting off the sign that read “Song Manor.”

The newcomer entered through a side gate, urgently addressing a servant who had been waiting there: “Quickly, inform the eldest master! The palace gates have been locked, and it seems Lord Song will not be returning tonight—”

________________________________________

Main Hall

Inside, a fine charcoal fire burned brightly, warming the room despite the freezing storm outside. But the atmosphere within was as cold as ice. Elders of the family, rarely seen in public, sat vigil through the night. Sleep was out of the question—it was clear this would be a sleepless night for all.

“Luoyang is heading toward great turmoil…”

Someone sighed deeply.

“When Wei Bi marched his troops into the city, he harbored malicious intent from the start! He’s no different from his brother, who became a traitor! Alas, how blind the late emperor was to appoint him as one of the regents!”

“What choice did the emperor have?” another interjected. “The Duke of Yinping commands nearly a hundred thousand soldiers—he is the foremost among the imperial relatives! Failing to make him a regent would have provoked another rebellion like Wei Zheng’s!”

“But allowing him to bring troops into Luoyang was a grave mistake!” a third voice chimed in. “The moment the emperor passed, he dared to lock the palace gates! All the civil and military officials are still trapped inside! What does he think he’s doing? Holding them hostage!”

“Thankfully, Lord Song Bo foresaw trouble this morning,” someone added. “Before attending court, he noticed something amiss and feigned illness to excuse himself. Otherwise, he too would now be trapped within the palace…”

At this, the gathered crowd turned their attention to a young man seated at the lower end of the hall. Around thirty years old, clad in understated brocade robes, he remained silent. His handsome face was half-illuminated by the flickering candlelight.

“Zigao,” an uncle seated higher up called to him again.

“What do you think we should do now?”

This was Song Mingran, eldest son of Song Bo, Minister of Works, and nephew to the head of the Song clan, Song Dan. A sixth-rank official serving as an Imperial Censor in the Court of Review, he was known for his sharp mind and steady demeanor.

He paused as if deep in thought, then turned to another man standing near the door. “Did the messenger bring any other news?”

The man bore a striking resemblance to Song Mingran, though younger—it was his half-brother, Song Mingshi. Upon hearing the question, he immediately replied, “With the palace gates locked, communication has been cut off. However, we’ve heard rumors of unusual movements among the Northern Guard last night—they appear to be clashing with the Duke of Yinping’s forces.”

His words ignited a flurry of murmurs across the hall. Some gasped in shock; others clenched their fists in anger. Song Mingran’s brows furrowed tightly. “Even Wei Bi wouldn’t dare harm the Crown Prince—that would give his enemies grounds to strip him of his regency. Moreover, with Chancellor Fan and Junior Tutor Chen present, he wouldn’t dare overstep.”

Song Mingshi nodded, pressing further: “Then what do you believe their true aim is?”

Song Mingran took a deep breath before answering, “…I fear they intend to target the Empress.”

“The Empress?” The assembled elders were stunned. “Shuyan—”

“Her Majesty is not the Crown Prince’s birth mother, and she hails from our Song clan of Jinling,” Song Mingran explained, his expression growing increasingly grave. “The late emperor’s will undoubtedly mentioned relocating the capital to the south. Yet most officials in court today are loyal to Luoyang…”

“What exactly are they planning!” another exclaimed.

“If the Empress is removed from her position, it would deal a severe blow to our Song clan. With the Crown Prince still too young to rule, the relocation plans…” Song Mingran let out a heavy sigh. “…might ultimately amount to nothing more than empty words.”

“Outrageous! Preposterous!”

The room erupted in indignation.

“How dare Wei Bi and Fan Yucheng presume such audacity! The Empress is the mother of the nation! How dare they—”

“They’re blinded by ambition!” another elder spat. “The Luoyang faction resists relocation because they fear losing power once we move south, allowing our Song clan to rise. They fail to see that staying here risks the collapse of the empire itself! The state will crumble!”

“Why now, of all times? Our lord, Song Dan, is one of the five regents, yet precisely because he is absent during the emperor’s passing…” Yet another voice trailed off bitterly.

“They’ve seized upon this weakness! Taking advantage of Song Dan’s absence to torment his daughter—shameful! Despicable!”

The air was thick with righteous fury.

Amidst the uproar, Song Mingran remained seated, his eyes fixed on some distant point as he continued to ponder. After a moment, he finally rose and bowed to those gathered. “For now, Luoyang is under strict lockdown, and no one can enter or leave. Thankfully, Father sent word to our uncle in Jinling several days ago about the emperor’s critical condition. We can only hope he returns north soon. But…”

He left the sentence unfinished, yet the single word “but” carried volumes of unspoken concerns. Song Dan, the head of the Song clan and a trusted minister of the late emperor, held the prestigious rank of Chief Secretary, second only to the chancellor. Yet he commanded no troops. Returning to Luoyang now, amidst such chaos, might only place him in greater peril…

The others understood this all too well. As silence fell, the howling wind outside served as a grim reminder: the heavens showed no mercy, treating all beings as mere fodder. These men, perched atop the pinnacle of power, were but specks of dust caught in the relentless tides of history.

Great upheaval… was inevitable.

________________________________________

The Next Day

The sky remained overcast. Though the snow had stopped, the melting process brought even colder temperatures. Thick layers of snow blanketed the imperial pathways, yet not a single servant dared venture out from the eunuchs’ quarters to clear it. The tension in the air was palpable—every few steps, armed soldiers patrolled, some belonging to the palace guard, others entirely unfamiliar faces.

Xianju Hall, however, had become the busiest place in all of Luoyang.

News of the standoff between the Northern Guard and the Duke of Yinping’s forces spread rapidly throughout the palace. Shortly after, it was rumored that the three regents had met with the Empress late into the night, emerging only after an hour from the heavily guarded hall. The Duke of Yinping appeared sullen, conferring privately with Chancellor Fan for a prolonged period before dispatching his eldest son with troops toward Bailu Terrace—the very location where Consort Dong, the Crown Prince’s true mother, resided.

Bailu Terrace…

Though long abandoned, it housed a figure whose existence remained shrouded in secrecy: Consort Dong, the Crown Prince’s biological mother. Originally a lowly palace maid, she had caught the emperor’s fleeting favor during a drunken night in the Yuanzhang era and miraculously bore him a son. While envied by many, whispers circulated that she had once been involved with a eunuch supervisor. Through this connection, she was assigned to serve at grand banquets, where she eventually conceived. Despite giving birth to the heir, she remained despised by the emperor, who exiled her to Bailu Terrace shortly after childbirth.

Now, the Duke of Yinping’s actions grew clearer: having failed to oust the Empress from Xianju Hall, he sent his son westward. Could it be that he intended to retrieve Consort Dong from Bailu Terrace and force the Empress to relinquish her title?

Such an act would utterly disrupt the moral order!

Absolutely unacceptable!

Ministers trapped within the palace had been temporarily housed in the Southern Palace annex. Upon hearing this development, they could no longer restrain themselves. Many belonged to the Luoyang faction, wary of the overwhelming influence wielded by the three regents. Yet others staunchly supported relocating the capital and understood the dire consequences if the Empress were forced to step down—her loss of authority would plunge the court into chaos, endangering the realm itself. Thus, they rushed out of the Southern Palace toward Xianju Hall, unarmed but resolute, determined to protect the Empress at all costs.

The snow had ceased, but the biting cold persisted. Most of the trapped ministers were elderly officials, already exhausted from the previous night’s turmoil. Now clad in thin robes, they stood defiantly in the snow, enduring conditions far beyond their frail bodies’ limits. Within half a day, two collapsed and were promptly carried to the Imperial Medical Bureau.

Movement stirred within Xianju Hall. Unable to bear seeing the suffering ministers, the Empress ordered palace maids to distribute braziers and hand warmers. However, the Duke of Yinping’s soldiers blocked their path, forbidding the maids from descending the jade steps or handing anything to the ministers. General Lou Wei of the Northern Guard, infuriated by this display, nearly drew his sword. Only the Empress’s intervention prevented bloodshed.

As tensions escalated, the three regents could no longer remain idle. However, both the Duke of Yinping and Chancellor Fan were notoriously arrogant and disdainful of the Jinling faction, leaving Junior Tutor Chen Meng to mediate. A former top scholar in the Linghe era, Chen was widely respected for his integrity. Now nearing fifty, his hair was streaked with gray, and his gait faltered slightly as he approached Xianju Hall. Bowing deeply to his colleagues, he said, “The snow is merciless, and enduring this cold is unsustainable. Perhaps it would be best to return to the Southern Palace to rest, and resume discussions later.”

Among the assembled ministers, the foremost was Song Bo, the Empress’s uncle, a third-rank official serving as Minister of Works and Song Dan’s younger brother. In his brother’s absence, he led the Jinling faction. Returning the bow, he spoke gravely: “To remain steadfast in adversity is the essence of loyalty. Hunger and cold are trivial concerns. We stand here not only to uphold the late emperor’s will and the dignity of the imperial family but also to safeguard the nation and its people. I implore you, Brother Changren, to understand.”

“Why must you persist in this folly?” Chen Meng sighed heavily. “The situation in Luoyang is clear to us all. If you truly wish to protect the Empress, you should invite her to Bailu Terrace. Once Lord Song Dan returns north, we can—”

He broke off mid-sentence, exhaling another long sigh.

The ministers understood the subtext. Though Chen Meng wasn’t fully aligned with the Duke of Yinping, his humble origins limited his influence. What could he achieve in such turbulent times? It was akin to eggs colliding with stones—an unwinnable battle.

Song Bo bowed deeply once more, this time with deliberate slowness and solemnity. “Brother Changren’s words reveal that you comprehend the gravity of the situation. We do not refuse to retreat—we cannot. The Luoyang faction’s ambitions grow ever bolder, threatening the state for personal gain. Should we yield now, the Empress will surely suffer humiliation at the hands of traitors. How then can we, as loyal ministers, face the late emperor in the afterlife?”

“Brother Changren! One act of compassion can save countless lives!”

With that, Song Bo led the ministers in a collective bow to Chen Meng. Even the aged, unable to support themselves, knelt on trembling knees, their sincerity profoundly moving. Startled, Chen Meng hastily knelt as well, pulling his colleagues up while urging them fervently: “What good is resisting fate? You do not refuse to retreat—you cannot. I do not refuse to help—I lack the means! Please, rise! Please, rise!”

“Brother Changren—you can help.”

Yet Song Bo remained kneeling, steadfast despite the snow soaking through his robes. His gaze, filled with quiet determination, bore into Chen Meng’s. “All we need is…”

He grasped Chen Meng’s hand firmly, tracing two characters into his palm—one stroke at a time. Upon closer inspection, Chen Meng realized what they spelled:

“Ta.”

“Zi.”