FYM - 34

Once the thought arose, it was like a stone cast into still waters—small ripples spreading faintly. She could not discern whether she had harbored any improper notions at that moment; but he turned to look at her again, the beautiful mole at the corner of his eye casting a shadow like fleeting moonlight. It seemed as though he understood everything, without needing anyone to voice the awkward situation aloud.

She suddenly felt flustered, unwilling for him to see through her despite the truth being evident. To avoid further scrutiny, she quickly averted her gaze and let her mind wander elsewhere, tuning out the conversation in the hall. In reality, her second brother’s legs could not endure much longer. After only a few exchanges, he began swaying unsteadily. When he nearly fell, the man reached out to firmly steady his arm, quietly asking: “Are you all right?”

…Finally, he spoke.

Song Mingzhen nodded awkwardly, while Lady Wan stood by, utterly embarrassed. Song Dan’s expression grew strained, and Marquis Fang He, understanding the underlying tension, interjected diplomatically: “Let Yi Zhi escort Second Young Master back to rest. We should also take our leave.”

Both Pingwu Pavilion and the second branch’s courtyard were west of Weirui Hall, but the former was more secluded and farther away.

Song Shuyan had initially been supporting her second brother, but with Fang Xianting present, she refrained from stepping forward again. Falling a few paces behind, she intended to let them go ahead, avoiding another encounter with him. However, her brother, unaware of her intricate thoughts, was accustomed to having her by his side. As Fang Xianting helped him down the stone steps of Weirui Hall, he kept glancing back for her, waving her over once he spotted her. “Shuyan, come.”

He too turned to look at her, his gaze light yet weighted, ambiguous yet certain. She pressed her lips together, feeling uneasy, but masked it by stepping forward to join them silently on the other side of her brother.

The two men conversed, their topic inevitably returning to the incident at Lishan. Perhaps mindful of her presence, neither delved too deeply into the matter. He simply advised her brother to rest and recover at home, assuring him that the situation would improve once the current storm passed.

“I only regret not heeding Third Brother’s warning earlier…” Song Mingzhen sighed heavily, his tone thick with remorse. “If I hadn’t released that arrow, perhaps things wouldn’t have turned out this way…”

Yet this wasn’t entirely accurate. As long as the factional strife between the Fangs and Zhongs persisted, the guillotine would inevitably fall—only the question remained of whom it would crush next.

“You were merely an innocent caught in the crossfire, unrelated to this affair,” Fang Xianting replied as expected. “There is no need to blame yourself.”

Song Mingzhen fell silent. Moments later, they finally reached the entrance of the second branch’s courtyard. Lady Wu and her daughter were already waiting tearfully at the door. Upon seeing Fang Xianting, Song Shuqing’s eyes widened in surprise. Hastily greeting the young master, her gaze lingered only half-heartedly on her own brother.

But the person she admired was about to leave. After nodding to Song Mingzhen and Lady Wu, he bid farewell and turned to depart. However, before leaving, he glanced at Song Shuyan once more and unexpectedly asked: “Is Miss Fourth staying behind?”

The question startled her—it was somewhat abrupt—but given the young master’s elevated status, even improper words carried an air of propriety. After a slight delay, she responded: “…I am leaving.”

He nodded, his tone softening slightly. “Then allow me to escort you.”

…This marked the third time he had escorted her.

The first time was when he accompanied her and her sister home from the Western Market with her second brother. The second time was at Lishan, when he saw her back to Zhaoying County. This instance, however, made the least sense—after all, he was the guest, yet here he was escorting her, the host, back. Yet she cherished this moment the most, perhaps precisely because it defied logic. Walking beside him through the familiar garden paths of her home, everything around her felt both real and surreal.

“Previously at Lishan, I mentioned that I wouldn’t force the Songs to align with the Fangs…”

He was the first to speak, his low, melodious voice as pleasing as ever.

“…It seems I’ve broken that promise now.”

A simple, matter-of-fact statement, yet to her ears, it sounded like an apology. For a fleeting moment, memories of that snowy night resurfaced, rippling gently in her heart. Gathering herself, she replied: “I also once said that my second brother’s decisions are his own. Please don’t dwell on those shallow remarks… The Fangs already bear a heavy burden, and you, Young Master, need not blame yourself.”

Her words echoed his earlier comfort to her brother. Though merely a girl in her teens, her speech was clear, considerate, and refined, offering solace without pretense.

His expression softened further, and he glanced down at her. Perhaps due to the recent hardships endured by the Song family, she appeared thinner, her delicate wrist peeking out slightly from beneath her sleeve, fragile enough to seem breakable with the slightest pressure.

“That painted screen…”

After some deliberation, he chose to broach the subject, his tone unusually hesitant.

Her heart tightened, the sense of vulnerability resurfacing. Before she could formulate a response, he continued: “…I wonder if it caused any trouble for Miss Fourth?”

Trouble?

She disliked the question, especially his use of “Miss Fourth” at this moment. Even replacing it with “you” would have felt warmer and closer.

“No…” She gauged their relationship—not much closer than strangers—and carefully crafted a fitting reply. “…I was simply accustomed to the previous screen. Changing it disrupted my routine, so I moved it to the outer hall.”

Not a single word of this was true. Zui’er, trailing behind, felt stifled by the falsehood, itching to abandon decorum and blurt out the truth—that Lady Wan was cruel and petty, that Third Sister was shallow and vulgar, and how pitiful it was for her young mistress to kneel for four full hours amidst bustling traffic. But Cui Mama held her back, silencing her protests.

He seemed to know her words weren’t genuine, his eyes betraying a faint sorrow hidden deep within. Yet his response remained ordinary, merely asking: “I noticed a few new plum blossoms added to the blank spaces—is that your work, Miss Fourth?”

She was surprised he had observed such details. After a brief pause, she nodded, replying: “It’s a jiǔjiǔ xiāohán tú (winter-counting chart), a custom common in Jiangnan…”

Here she paused, suddenly realizing that many days had passed since the winter solstice, yet not a single petal on the chart had been colored. Didn’t this contradict her earlier statement? Feeling awkward, she scrambled to find a way to salvage the situation. He didn’t press her, instead saying: “One petal each day, until all nine nines are complete. Crimson hues are certainly livelier than plain white… Such an elegant pastime.”

Livelier?

She recalled the pristine screen—if only she could color those plum blossoms red, the effect would indeed be vivid and bright. But the screen no longer belonged to her, and she no longer had the chance to transform its bleakness into vibrancy.

A wave of melancholy washed over her as they approached her courtyard. He stood outside the low wall, gazing inside and clearly reading the inscription on the gate: “Pingwu Pavilion.” At that moment, it felt as though a secret uniquely hers was unveiled before him.

“Beyond the flat wilderness lies the spring mountain…”

She heard him murmur softly, each word restrained yet profound. Though his voice was barely audible, its impact on her heart was immense.

“I…”

An inexplicable panic suddenly welled up within her. Perhaps she had never imagined that one day her subtle yearnings would be understood—even her second brother was unaware. How could this distant man see through her so easily?

“Morning mist vanishes and reappears; the spring mountain seems near yet distant,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to her inner turmoil, his tone as tranquil as ever, tinged with warmth. This man truly made one wish to share a snowy night drinking session with him. “Some things may already be close, yet they feel far because we’ve waited so long. Miss Fourth, with your clarity and insight, you shouldn’t torment yourself over this.”

“And besides, if seeking joy, there’s no need to measure distance,” he lowered his gaze and smiled at her, the charming mole near his eye imprinting itself directly onto her heart. “You will see the spring mountain.”

She wasn’t sure if he was comforting her, but the “you” at the end oddly resonated with her earlier hope. At that moment, she genuinely felt close to him, giving rise to a rare, fresh sense of grievance.

…Grievance?

Why did she feel aggrieved?

The matter of the screen had long passed, and she hadn’t felt particularly sorrowful at the time.

“It is…”

Suppressing her confusion and fluttering heart, she forced a response, unaware that sometimes silence speaks louder than words. Perhaps she failed to live up to his praise of her as “clear and insightful,” responding clumsily: “…I’ll see it all.”

That casual “all” planted an unintentional seed of cause and effect. Little did she know that in the future, he too would need such an equivocal solace—the “spring mountain,” near yet distant, would prove even more elusive than they had imagined. And the “flat wilderness” would stretch far longer than they had anticipated.