FYM - 26

The heart-stopping events of the day still lingered vividly in her mind, but what she remembered most was the cold, ruthless gaze he had given her in front of the Daoist temple. For a fleeting moment, she felt a sharp pain in her palm, as if he were tightening the knot on her wound again. All other thoughts dissolved, leaving only a faint sense of detachment and fear.

“…Lord Fang.”

She bowed her head respectfully to him.

He acknowledged her with a sound, saying nothing more. She thought that since their encounter was coincidental, there was no need for elaborate pleasantries. Nodding slightly, she prepared to take her leave. But he stopped her. The small, elegant mole beneath his right eye seemed softened by the shadows of falling snow, bathed in the enchanting moonlight. He glanced at her palm and asked: “Has your wound been treated?”

She was taken aback, not expecting him to be so courteous. Nodding, she replied that it had been tended to. Then, she watched as he reached into his robes and retrieved a small box, offering it to her.

She was somewhat at a loss. “This is…?”

“Medicine for your wound,” he answered, his tone even. “I originally intended to have your brother deliver it to you, but since we’ve met, I’ll give it to you directly.”

Song Shuyan was speechless.

This was entirely unexpected. She hadn’t imagined that he, who should have been resting in the forbidden grounds of Lishan, would come down the mountain specifically to deliver medicine to her. For a moment, she hesitated to accept it.

He mistook her hesitation for refusal and frowned slightly, offering an unusually detailed explanation: “This ointment is highly effective. Applying it regularly will minimize scarring. It’s especially suited…”

He didn’t finish.

She was still dazed, secretly guessing that he had meant to say, “It’s especially suited for women.” For some reason, her heart tightened, recalling the scene during dinner earlier—her father hadn’t shown her the same care as this outsider…

The thought was unsettling. Beside her, Zhui’er grew increasingly anxious as Song Shuyan hesitated to take the box, tugging gently at her sleeve and whispering: “Miss…”

Finally snapping out of her thoughts, she debated whether to decline. But before she could decide, he preemptively said: “Take it. No need to trouble your brother further.”

There was no room for refusal. Not wanting to appear disagreeable, she accepted it with both hands and bowed slightly. “Thank you, Young Master.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, seemingly ready to leave. That was good—they should go too. Both she and Zhui’er had already turned to leave when he called them back once more. “Where is Miss Song headed?”

The direction she was heading wasn’t toward the Song family’s lodgings—it seemed she was going deeper into the forest.

“To take a walk in the woods,” she confirmed.

His brows furrowed slightly as he glanced around uncertainly. “Alone?”

She blinked, turning to look at Zhui’er before replying: “…The two of us.”

He fell silent for a moment, clearly at a loss for words. Zhui’er, watching from the side, couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. After a pause, the young master spoke again: “The night is deserted, and the snow is falling. It would be best for Miss Song to return home soon.”

Song Shuyan glanced at him, responding lightly with a vague agreement that made it clear she had no intention of heeding his advice. His brows tightened further, perhaps realizing that she had quarreled with her family earlier. Finally, he sighed: “I must also return to the forbidden grounds within the mountain. I’ll accompany Miss Song part of the way.”

The moonlight was translucent, the snow radiant, each enhancing the other’s beauty—it was hard to tell which was more exquisite. Song Shuyan and Fang Xianting walked together through the dense forest at the edge of Lishan, with Zhui’er and Zhuoying trailing behind. The world seemed to grow suddenly quiet, save for the soft crunch of snow underfoot.

…It was strangely profound.

Song Shuyan kept her head lowered, her peripheral vision occasionally flickering toward the man beside her. She thought that his kindness tonight likely had no other motive than ensuring she wouldn’t reveal the truth about earlier events—he naturally wouldn’t have to worry, as she had already lied publicly. How could she contradict herself now?

“About today…”

“Today…”

—They had spoken simultaneously.

Both paused, and he gave her a slight gesture to proceed. Lowering her eyes, she continued: “I am not from Chang’an and am unfamiliar with its intricacies. Some things are better forgotten after being seen—I won’t mention them again. Please rest assured, Young Master.”

Unfamiliar?

He didn’t think so.

This fourth sister of Zi Qiu’s was as outwardly delicate as she was inwardly astute. Though quiet and reserved, her mind was sharp and perceptive. Her few words earlier in front of the Second Prince had skillfully resolved the situation, showing her clarity and decisiveness—she was undoubtedly very clever.

“Miss Song is intelligent and open-minded; there’s no need to belittle yourself,” he replied, his tone unusually softer than his usual icy demeanor. “I’m deeply grateful for your assistance today.”

His straightforwardness caught her off guard. In the shimmering snowlight of the forest, he appeared even more noble and refined, vastly different from the fierce warrior who had shot the white tiger earlier that day.

…Perhaps he truly was an upright and forthright person.

She averted her gaze, suddenly feeling that she could speak to him sincerely, though still with caution. Finally, she opened her mouth: “Young Master stands alone, admired by many. My second brother regards you as an elder brother, but unfortunately, his birth limits his influence in our household… I hope Young Master will show understanding.”

…Her words carried great depth.

She had long harbored doubts about her second brother’s relationship with Fang Xianting. Their father and uncle clearly had no intention of involving the Songs in the factional struggles between the Fangs and Zhongs. As a renowned scholarly family, they had little need for the glory of supporting a rising star. Yet her brother was growing too close to the Fangs. During their chance encounter at Bie Xiao Tower, she had overheard them discussing promoting her brother to a position in the Ministry of War.

Her brother was merely a concubine-born son, and his mother had no illustrious background. If anything went wrong, who could protect him? The Fangs of Yingchuan were indeed renowned, but today in the hunting grounds, she had seen clearly that the Emperor had all but abandoned any consideration for the Eastern Palace. If the Crown Prince were ultimately deposed, how could the Fangs defy the imperial will?

In her family, only her second brother treated her sincerely… She didn’t want him to become a pawn in the Fangs’ efforts to bind the Songs to their cause.

At the mention of “understanding,” Fang Xianting’s expression hardened slightly. He inwardly sighed, recognizing that this frail, slender fourth miss of the Song family was indeed thoughtful and genuinely concerned for her second brother.

He fell silent for a moment. Most of the falling snow was blocked by the tall, dense pines, with only occasional flakes drifting onto his brow. A new verse, a thousand threads of snow; ten thousand layers of green mountains, two wooden clogs of clouds. The Fangs of Yingchuan were not only the foremost military family on the battlefield but also a prestigious aristocratic clan. If all worldly concerns were resolved, perhaps he might appear more at ease.

“I understand Miss Song’s concerns, as well as the worries of the Song family,” he said, walking beside her with his hands clasped behind his back. His voice was calm and clear. “But while you and I may view Zi Qiu differently, ultimately, the decision rests with him alone.”

“The Fangs’ reputation has reached its peak; we have no desire for further glory. We are not unaware of the dangers of factional strife, but circumstances force us to act. There are things we cannot avoid.”

“Zi Qiu is your blood relative, a close friend to me, and beyond personal ties, he is a pillar of the state—a vessel of great importance. A single misstep can lead to vastly different outcomes. Miss Song should understand this principle.”

His words carried significant weight, matching the gravity of her earlier statement. She was astonished, not expecting him to speak so candidly to a young woman like her. Seeing her stunned expression, a faint smile flickered across his eyes before he grew serious again. “Zi Qiu’s nature is pure, and he harbors lofty ambitions. Now that he is preparing for the military examinations, he will inevitably step out from your father’s shadow. Given the current situation, the idea of staying uninvolved may be wishful thinking.”

“I lack the ability to make unilateral decisions, nor do I enjoy pressuring others,” he added, looking down at her. His upright features appeared clearer than the frost-covered ground beneath them. “If the Song family truly has no intention of aligning its younger generation with the Fangs, I won’t force the matter.”

By this point, she was at a loss for words, suddenly feeling small in his presence. While she had been focused solely on protecting her brother, he was considering much more. Her face inexplicably warmed, the snow reflecting a blush on her cheeks. The beauty of the Song women was no mere rumor—even he was momentarily captivated.

“It was presumptuous of me,” Song Shuyan unconsciously slowed her pace, lowering her head further. “My second brother’s affairs are ultimately his own to decide. Please don’t take my words to heart, Young Master.”

His steps slowed as well, as if to match hers. Behind them, Zhui’er listened to their conversation, confused yet certain of one thing: the young master had discreetly brushed aside a pine branch that might have marred her mistress’s hair while she wasn’t looking.

Sigh.

…How considerate.

Zhui’er gazed dreamily, increasingly convinced that the two before her were perfectly matched. She resolved to recount today’s events to Nurse Cui later and, upon returning to Qiantang, share with the matriarch about the remarkable young man her mistress had encountered in Chang’an this year. Meanwhile, Song Shuyan, walking ahead, remained oblivious to her maid’s musings. Her gaze occasionally drifted toward Fang Xianting beside her. He wasn’t holding an umbrella, and the snowflakes clinging to his temples made him look almost too austere.

She should brush them away…

…But not with her own hand.

“The ointment should be applied three times a day. You’ll see improvement in half a month,” he spoke again, his tone reverting to its usual steadiness. “If it runs out, have your brother contact me.”

She came back to herself and bowed slightly to thank him. But inwardly, she doubted the precious ointment would remain in her possession for long—just like the painted screen from before, which had eventually been removed from Ping Wu Hall despite her wishes. Her maneuvering space within the household was limited, and she doubted she’d be able to enjoy this young master’s kindness or pity.

He, however, was unaware that his previous unintentional gesture had caused her trouble. After a brief pause, he offered to escort her back to Zhaoying County. Knowing his impeccable upbringing, she realized he wouldn’t allow a noblewoman to walk alone in the snow at night. Reluctantly, she agreed, though deep down, she hadn’t wanted to leave just yet.

When they parted, they exchanged polite farewells. She had already turned to enter the gate when the image of snowflakes on his temples flashed in her mind. After some deliberation, she turned back, retreating under Zhui’er’s umbrella and handing her own to him.

He raised an eyebrow slightly, his gaze fixed on her. She thought that perhaps she wouldn’t find herself alone with him like this again, and a faint pang of regret rippled quietly in her heart.

—He didn’t need to thank her for her earlier lie. On the contrary, she owed him much. For instance, saving her from the tiger in the woods today, and lifting her carriage axle in the mountains before.

“The snow hasn’t stopped, and the frost and wind are biting,” she said appropriately, finally able to offer something to someone else. “Please take this, Young Master.”

He had intended to refuse, the words already forming on his lips. But after one last glance at her lowered eyes, he accepted it for reasons unknown. As he took the umbrella, he thanked her, and she bowed slightly, watching him mount his horse and ride away into the distance.

…It was reminiscent of the night they first met.

She smiled faintly, her heart as still as calm water yet subtly stirred by unseen tides.