FYM - 27

Her umbrella was exquisitely crafted—small in size, pale pink with floral patterns, and adorned with a delicate plum blossom painted on its bamboo handle.

…It was clearly meant for a woman.

Fang Xianting gazed at it for a long while but ultimately chose not to open it. Though the night was quiet and deserted, carrying such an item openly might harm her reputation. Besides, the snowfall that night was light, far gentler than what he had endured in the past during military campaigns with his father.

Upon entering the forbidden palace grounds of Lishan, Fang Xianting headed toward the residence temporarily granted to ministers by the Emperor, located northwest of Tangquan Palace. Before he even stepped inside, the sound of a fierce argument reached his ears. His brows furrowed as he hurried into the hall, only to find his elder sister, Fang Ranjun, there.

“Foolish! Absurd! Shameless!”

Their father’s thunderous voice mingled with their mother’s sobs, crashing into his ears like waves against rocks.

“You are the Crown Prince’s wife! A daughter of the Fangs of Yingchuan! To have a secret rendezvous with a disgraced official? Do you have any regard for the dignity of the imperial family or our clan? Or even your own honor?”

Each word was a deafening roar, and the hall was already in disarray. The news of Su Jin’s unauthorized visit to Lishan had finally reached their father’s ears. Fang Xianting closed his eyes briefly, feeling the fleeting peace from moments ago slip away once more.

His mother, Lady Jiang, had been bedridden for some time but had recently recovered enough to accompany them to Lishan. Little did she expect such a calamity to strike so soon. Now, tears streamed down her face as she desperately tried to placate her husband, tugging at his arm. “Ran’er knows her mistake… She regrets it…”

But Fang Ranjun seemed to disregard her mother’s efforts entirely. Standing amidst the shattered porcelain scattered across the floor, her red, swollen eyes brimmed with desolation and hatred.

“Honor?”

She sneered bitterly, her tone laced with disdain and sorrow.

“To this day… Father still cares only about ‘honor’?”

“What about me?”

“Has Father ever thought of me, even for a moment?”

“The Crown Prince’s wife, a daughter of the Fangs—who chose these roles for me?”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she kicked aside a shard of porcelain near her feet. The sharp sound grated on the ears, yet it seemed to bring her a fleeting sense of satisfaction. She kicked another piece violently, her gaze growing increasingly frenzied.

“No!”

“None of this was my choice!”

Her voice rose sharply.

“Mistake?”

“What mistake have I made?”

“I erred only in bearing the surname Fang! In being born your daughter! In not fighting you all to the death five years ago!”

“Why have you never felt guilt toward me—”

“Why do you still force me, even now!”

…She appeared to have completely lost her sanity.

Before the shards could cut anyone, Fang Xianting stepped forward just in time to restrain his sister. Their father’s fury, however, only intensified, his hand—accustomed to commanding armies—trembling with rage.

“The Crown Prince is noble and virtuous, enduring and accommodating you for years. The Empress has treated you as her own daughter, showering you with care—do you remember none of this? Yet you choose to degrade yourself by chasing after that Su Jin?”

“In life, who can truly follow their heart’s desires? Everyone sacrifices something, bears sorrow—your mother weeps daily for you, your younger brother repeatedly covers up your scandals and spent months in Hebei tidying up the mess left by Su Jin—what have you done?”

“When will you understand that you are no longer just yourself? One misstep could bring disaster to the Eastern Palace, leading to war and chaos. Countless innocent lives would be lost because of your selfishness!”

“Countless heroes of the Fang family have died on the battlefield for this nation. The peace you enjoy today, the luxury of indulging in romantic fantasies—all of it is owed to their sacrifices. Fang Ranjun, ask yourself: are you worthy of bearing the name ‘Fang’?”

Each accusation cut deep like a knife, shredding her heart until it bled. Fang Ranjun’s face was ashen, her tearless eyes hollow and weary. Pain and helplessness had gradually turned into hatred and determination. Perhaps at that moment, she truly intended to fight the world to its ruin.

“Fine… I am unworthy.”

She took two steps back, laughing bitterly.

“I am unfit to be a descendant of the Fangs of Yingchuan, unfit to be the daughter of the Marquis of Jin… Ungrateful, worse than beasts, unfit to be the Crown Prince’s wife.”

“The body and soul given to me by my parents—I cannot bear such kindness. Today, I return it all… When Father expels me from the family register, it will cleanse the name ‘Fang’ of my stain!”

As she spoke, she revealed a shard of porcelain concealed in her sleeve. Before Lady Jiang’s anguished cries could turn into panicked screams, Fang Xianting noticed the flash of cold light. In the blink of an eye, the sharp fragment plunged toward Fang Ranjun’s fragile neck. Blood spurted forth, the sight too gruesome to behold.

…But it pierced deeply into Fang Xianting’s palm instead.

Fang Ranjun’s nearly frenzied movements froze for a moment. Their father’s face turned ashen, while their mother rushed over, crying even harder. The hall descended further into chaos. Yet Fang Xianting’s expression remained unchanged, as if the wound wasn’t his own. His other hand still firmly held his sister, his gaze inscrutable as he looked down at her.

Tears of despair finally spilled from her dry eyes. By then, Fang Ranjun’s gaze had turned utterly lifeless.

“How much longer will you torment me…”

She slowly collapsed to the ground.

“…Even in death, you won’t grant me freedom?”

The snow continued to fall through the night.

Her robe was still damp, and the mountains were blanketed in white. Perhaps the workings of heaven were inherently indifferent, treating human joys and sorrows with equal indifference, all bathed in the same divine beauty. Inside the secluded palace hall, a solitary lamp flickered weakly as Fang Xianting sat beneath it, tending to the wound on his left hand. Moments later, he heard the door creak open and turned to see his father entering. Rising to greet him, Fang He waved him back down, his expression weary as he approached.

“How is the wound?”

He sat beside his son, noticing the shard of porcelain already removed and placed on the table. The edges of the wound were jagged and raw, blood still seeping out continuously. Furrowing his brows, he personally applied medicine to the injury, his movements gentle as he murmured: “It’s inconvenient to summon a physician now. Bear with it for now.”

It was indeed inconvenient—if word got out, the entire court would learn of the scandal involving the imperial family and the Fangs. The Crown Princess’s reputation was too precious to be compromised.

Fang Xianting acknowledged quietly, applying the medicine himself before wrapping the wound with fine cloth using one hand. His deep-set eyes remained unmoved, as though such injuries were commonplace. Watching his son’s elongated shadow under the dim lamp, Fang He couldn’t help but feel a pang of melancholy. After a long silence, he sighed: “If only your sister…”

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Fang Xianting turned to look at his father, suddenly noticing how much older he appeared.

…But whose fault was all this?

His elder sister had been lively and unsuited for palace life when she was young. All she desired now was a good match, yet she had always been burdened by the family’s expectations. But had their father done anything wrong? He had devoted his life to protecting the nation and its people, never slacking for a single day. The Fang family was upright, without a single corrupt member. If they indulged one person’s selfishness and caused chaos for the nation, how could their father answer to the people?

He was not a man who valued reputation above all else… but he had sacrificed personal desires for the public good his entire life, never placing family above country.

But…

“It might be best not to pressure Elder Sister too much in the future,” Fang Xianting said cautiously, carefully observing his father’s expression. “If circumstances stabilize someday, perhaps…”

…Perhaps what?

Could they possibly grant her wishes?

To petition the new Emperor to depose the Empress and banish the Fang daughter from the palace?

Such thoughts were absurd. As expected, Fang He’s brows furrowed even more deeply upon hearing this, his gaze tinged with both disapproval and weariness.

“I know you pity your sister and think I’ve been too harsh on her,” he sighed heavily. “But the Fangs have come this far. We must safeguard the integrity of the nation’s governance. Once the Crown Prince ascends the throne, our clan will need to support him fully. Without stability in the inner palace, unrest will surely follow.”

“The hardest path to walk is often the right one… Yi Zhi, you too will face days of hardship and sacrifice.”

His low voice echoed through the empty palace halls—a lesson of utmost clarity and righteousness, yet also a cruel prophecy that would accompany him throughout his life.

“…Yes, Father.”

Fang Xianting bowed his head in reply.

Fang He fell silent, taking the fine cloth from his son’s hand to finish bandaging the wound. After a long while, he asked: “I heard you saved a daughter of the Song family in the forest today?”

Fang Xianting’s eyes flickered slightly as he responded affirmatively. Fang He pressed further: “Which child was it?”

“The youngest daughter of Lord Song,” Fang Xianting replied. “The fourth Miss Song.”

Fang He raised an eyebrow, pondering for a moment. He couldn’t recall when Song Dan had mentioned having a fourth daughter. Fang Xianting briefly explained that the fourth Miss Song was the daughter of Song Dan’s late wife and belonged to the main branch of the Song family.

Fang He nodded, appearing uninterested. After a pause, he continued: “Today, on the viewing platform, His Majesty mentioned your marriage prospects, seemingly intending to arrange a union between the Fangs and Zhongs. I outright refused—I won’t allow the Zhongs to exploit this opportunity to sow discord.”

The matter had unfolded rather peculiarly. Concubine Zhong had been unusually enthusiastic, likely suggesting the idea herself. On the surface, it appeared to be a gesture of goodwill toward the Fangs, earning praise for magnanimity in front of the Emperor. However, agreeing would inevitably invite endless trouble. It would be like planting a hidden nail within the Fang household—how could they feel at ease?

Fang Xianting understood his father’s concerns. Moments later, he heard him say: “However, you are of age and should marry. The governor of the two frontier regions, Xie Ci, has a daughter of suitable age. Additionally, several of your cousins from the Jiang family have been pestering your mother to come to Chang’an. You should meet them all in due time.”

Pausing, he added: “The Song family’s daughter is also an option… Bo Ji’s third daughter is likely the child of his current wife, Lady Wan. Her maternal family holds considerable influence in Yangzhou. A union with them might strengthen ties with the southern faction of civil officials in court…”

Every consideration, every plan, was entirely devoid of romantic sentiment. The Fangs existed to serve the people; personal desires were to be cast aside.

At that moment, Fang Xianting thought of his sister. Perhaps when she married five years ago, the scene had been similar—decisions made in an instant, followed by a lifetime spent with a stranger. He didn’t share her despair, but for some reason, a faint image of a delicate plum blossom suddenly appeared in his mind. Small and trembling, its subtle fragrance wafted through the cold breeze, falling silently onto his chest, leaving behind a haunting trace.

He lowered his eyes, and in an instant, the image vanished, replaced by the vast emptiness of the hall and the flickering wick of the dying lamp.

Then, he heard his own calm, unrippled voice saying—

“…I will leave it entirely to Father’s arrangements.”