FYM - 37

Around the hour of Xu, Fang Xianting returned home from the Southern Bureau’s guard office.

His mother had sent word that his father awaited him in the study, likely to discuss the morning’s cancellation of court. Passing through the front courtyard toward the inner quarters, he unexpectedly spotted his father’s figure by the waterside pavilion in the rear garden. In his hand, he held a long spear and, upon seeing Fang Xianting, casually tossed a halberd through the air, saying only one word: “Come.”

…He intended to spar with him.

Though his father’s shoulder injury had not yet healed and movement might still be inconvenient, Fang Xianting frowned slightly, intending to dissuade him. However, in the blink of an eye, the spear’s shadow was upon him, its momentum fierce and overwhelming. The clash of spear and halberd rang like jade and metal, the sheer force behind it chilling. The wind whistled past his ears, leaving trails of afterimages, forming a dense, impenetrable web. Fang Xianting dared not underestimate his father, retreating to the steps of the pavilion before leaping into the air with a push-off. His eyes flashed coldly as he brought the halberd down with great force, snapping the spear in two. Fang He’s blood surged, forcing him back several steps, barely avoiding the brunt of the blow.

“Father—”

Fang Xianting, startled, immediately retracted the halberd and hurried forward to support his father. Fang He waved him off, casually wiping away the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, nodding with a smile: “You’ve made progress indeed.”

As his son’s first mentor, he had imparted all his martial knowledge without reservation. Now, with age catching up, he could no longer match the vigor of youth. Fang Xianting helped his father into the pavilion, seating him beside the stone table, then lowered his head to inspect the wound on his left shoulder. Fresh blood seeped through, causing his brows to furrow even more tightly. Guiltily, he said: “I’ll call for the physician, Father…”

But Fang He paid no heed, glancing at his son with a hint of dissatisfaction: “Why make such a fuss over nothing? It’s just a minor wound.”

With that, he gestured toward the stone bench on the opposite side: “Sit.”

Though his brow bore a fresh injury and his complexion remained pale, his voice carried strength, indicating that the injury wasn’t severe. After a moment’s hesitation, Fang Xianting complied and sat down.

On the stone table stood a small stove, warming a pot of wine. Fang He personally poured two cups, handing one to his son. The aroma of the wine filled the air, gradually dispelling the biting chill of Chang’an’s twelfth month, lending the scene an unexpected sense of leisure and tranquility.

“Did the Crown Prince summon you to the palace today?”

Fang He drained his cup in one gulp, then asked casually.

Fang Xianting wanted to advise his father to drink less, but fearing he might provoke him, quietly moved the wine flask closer to himself to control the pace of pouring later. He replied: “He summoned me at Chen. Since Father did not enter the Eastern Palace, the Prince seemed uneasy.”

“The Prince is still too young,” Fang He shook his head with a faint smile, his expression tinged with helplessness. “Ministers are but extensions of the sovereign’s arms, not his confidants. He may employ us but must not rely on us entirely. His current over-dependence on the Fang family is ultimately not beneficial.”

With that, he gestured for his son to pour more wine, adding: “In the future, when you assist him, remember not to do everything on his behalf.”

These words were somewhat strange. Fang Xianting felt a flicker of thought but said nothing, merely replying: “Yes.”

This second cup, Fang He drank more slowly, holding the small goblet and gazing at the shimmering moonlight reflected within. His expression and tone grew languid as he spoke: “Today, I entered the palace to meet the Emperor and made another promise—that henceforth, the Fang family will retreat to Yingchuan and not enter Chang’an for ten years.”

This sudden declaration startled Fang Xianting. For a long while, he remained uncomprehending, unsure whether his father, weary of the current factional strife at court, had decided to retire and request dismissal.

“But the succession…”

He voiced his concerns.

Fang He’s expression remained calm, his fingertips lightly tapping the rim of the goblet, causing the moonlight within to ripple gently, mirroring the flames flickering in the small stove.

“The rift between the Emperor and our clan runs deep. His decisive action in the golden eagle silk case was meant to swiftly sever ties and deny the Prince any chance to maneuver…”

He sighed softly, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“…We mustn’t press too hard. The Fangs’ excessive influence makes it harder to aid the Prince’s cause.”

Thus, it was a strategic retreat.

Fang Xianting nodded in acknowledgment, though a lingering unease persisted in his heart. Perhaps he was pondering whether the entire family’s retreat to Yingchuan would resolve the Emperor’s grievances or if his father’s expectations were overly optimistic. Lost in thought, he heard his father speak again, this time softer: “…And your sister? Did you see her today?”

He had indeed seen her, but since returning from Lishan to Chang’an, she had remained despondent, likely harboring resentment toward him for preventing her meeting with Su Jin. Their encounters were marked by cold words.

“Sister…” He carefully chose his words. “…She likely needs more time to come to terms with it.”

Fang He understood all too well, having faced his daughter’s rejection that very morning and knowing the depth of her grievances. Now, he tilted his head back to finish the wine in his cup. The fine brew offered no sweetness, only boundless bitterness.

“I have indeed wronged her…”

He suddenly spoke, his expression both obscure and simple.

“…Her reasoning is not without merit. All she desires is a life of ease—what fault is there in that…”

These were words Fang Xianting had never heard from his father, who had always been resolute and rarely displayed such resignation. For a moment, under the moonlight, he noticed the silver strands in his father’s temples, realizing how much he had aged without notice.

“She has indeed suffered greatly…” Fang He’s tone was detached, as if he had already let go of much. “Since she and the Crown Prince remain estranged, once matters are settled, you must seek a favor on her behalf and ask the Prince to release her from the palace…”

Perhaps life was like this.

When entangled in affairs, one feels they must proceed in a certain way. Yet, at some point, one can suddenly let go. In truth, there is nothing inherently irreplaceable; it’s only that circumstances haven’t reached that breaking point yet.

“You are the same…”

Before Fang Xianting could fully process his father’s words, Fang He’s gaze shifted to him. The chilly wind was tempered by the faint aroma of wine, and the desolate winter night seemed imbued with warmth in that glance.

“I know I have always been harsh with you, more so than with your sister…”

He sighed, no longer the stern and majestic pillar of the state but simply a common father.

“When one’s conduct is upright, commands need not be given for others to follow; when one’s conduct is flawed, even orders go unheeded… You will become the head of the Fang family. As a future close minister to the Emperor and a role model for civil and military officials, my strictness with you stems from the hope that you will tread steadily and achieve lasting success…”

“Father…” Fang Xianting struggled to find words.

“I know it is difficult. When your grandfather perished fighting the Turks for the nation, he entrusted everything to me at a young age,” Fang He continued, seemingly lost in memories. “I was not yet of age, and your uncle disdained military affairs, unwilling to inherit the title. Amidst chaos, I found every task arduous, yet step by step, we reached this point.”

“You have many responsibilities—to care for your mother, sister, uncles, brothers… Beyond that, you must support the new ruler, safeguard peace, usher in prosperity, eliminate treachery, and secure the people’s welfare. Naturally, sacrifices will be required, but others’ praise or blame is external. A true gentleman remains unperturbed by ignorance. The Fangs should possess such magnanimity.”

“Do not look back, nor seek outside validation… You have your own path to walk. With each step forward, countless others will benefit. Remember to keep moving forward, disregarding gains or losses, always advancing.”

These were profound words—he had devoted his life to them. They ought to have been imparted to his son over years or decades, but now, within the fleeting warmth of a single pot of wine, he had to convey them all at once. Their features were strikingly similar—profound and handsome, destined to witness the most ambiguous and heroic landscapes where light and shadow intertwined.

The moonlight was exceptionally clear, illuminating the jade token Fang He slowly retrieved from his chest. On it was engraved the character “Fang,” the symbol used by the Fang family’s master to command the Shénlüè Army of Yingchuan.

He handed it to Fang Xianting, who hesitated, frowning: “Father, this…”

“For now, take it,” Fang He’s tone was calm, his expression serene. “I am injured and may face challenges when relocating the entire clan from Chang’an. If military action becomes necessary, you will act on my behalf.”

The phrasing suggested he might return someday. Fang Xianting’s tension eased slightly, and under his father’s urging, he finally accepted the token. Fang He, as if relieved of a burden, grew gentler still. Perhaps this was the most relaxed moment of his life—or perhaps the most reluctant.

“That’s enough. Go rest. Your mother often says I overwork you; tonight, I cannot give her further cause for complaint.”

The atmosphere suddenly became lighter, and some of Fang Xianting’s unease dissipated. Glancing at the warm wine on the stove, he lowered his gaze and said: “I’ll drink with Father.”

Fang He raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly with a hint of disdain: “If you want wine, have someone prepare it separately. Tonight, this one pot is all we have. Sharing a cup with you is already generous.”

Fang Xianting chuckled, feeling a rare sense of closeness and ease with his father. After a moment, he rose as instructed, bowed, and turned to leave.

Fang He watched his son’s figure disappear into the nearby rear garden. Turning back, he gazed at the goblet in his hand, the smile in his eyes gradually fading. Raising the cup to the bright moon, he forced a solitary toast with his shadow as company.

Yi Zhi, I could drink a thousand cups with you.

But tonight, this one… is for me alone.