FYM - 38

Early the next morning, news spread from the imperial palace: The Marquis of Jin’s estate had been stripped of its titles and offices due to involvement in the golden eagle silk case. The Fang family was ordered to relocate to Yingchuan and forbidden from entering Chang’an for ten years.

This announcement shocked the entire city. No one could believe that the Fangs of Yingchuan, who had protected the nation for three centuries, would truly be banished by the Emperor—losing even their noble rank! The Lishan incident clearly had deeper implications. Could the Emperor really be so resolute, sacrificing even a family as loyal and virtuous as the Fangs to protect a younger son born to Consort Zhong?

Before the households could process this, another even more shocking piece of news arrived—

The head of the Fang family, former Marquis of Jin and Second-Rank General Fang He…

…had taken his own life at home.

That day, the sky was overcast, neither raining nor snowing.

When the news reached Rongxing Ward, the Song household was utterly stunned. Eldest Son Song Mingzhuo personally went out to investigate and returned pale-faced, confirming that mourning banners were already hung outside the Marquis’s residence. Song Dan seemed lost in thought, while Song Bo stood speechless. Soon after, a servant reported that someone from the Marquis’s household sought an audience. Song Dan’s eyes lit up, quickly instructing the servants to welcome the visitor. The man arrived in mourning attire, tears in his eyes, bowing deeply before delivering a message: “Lord Marquis entrusted me with a final word for Left Chancellor Song—to entrust the matters of the Eastern Palace… to your care.”

These words shattered the last vestiges of hope in Song Dan’s heart. Staggering back two steps, he collapsed into a chair, muttering in a daze: “Lord Marquis… why… why would you take your own life?”

Meanwhile, chaos erupted within the imperial palace. Prince Wei Zheng and his uncle Zhong He entered Consort Zhong’s Penglai Hall. Both remained silent, their faces dark, while only Consort Zhong paced restlessly, her eyes betraying faint traces of joy.

“Good. His death is a good thing… With him gone, the Fang faction is leaderless, and the Crown Prince is finished—no one will protect that sickly heir now. The Emperor will surely…”

Her words were abruptly cut off by a loud crash. Her brother Zhong He had violently shattered a teacup beside him. His slightly greenish eyes narrowed into slits as he growled: “Does Her Majesty think this is a good thing?”

Consort Zhong flinched, startled by her brother’s ferocity. Her tone softened as she trembled: “Could… could the Fang faction still have some hidden schemes?”

Schemes?

…Yes.

Fang Siqi had maneuvered court politics for decades—he was no reckless warrior. Sacrificing his life in this gamble clearly aimed to—

“Place oneself in a desperate situation to secure survival…”

Zhong He clenched his fists tightly, turning his gaze through the gates of Penglai Hall toward the distant Ganlu Hall and Taiji Palace.

“The Fang family… is forcing the Emperor’s hand.”

Court intrigues were intricate and convoluted, but when the news reached Pingwu Pavilion, Song Shuyan could only think of Fang Xianting.

Him…

His father’s sudden death—whether by suicide or foul play—would have plunged the Fang family into turmoil. Coupled with the unresolved golden eagle case at Lishan and the precarious position of the Eastern Palace, the situation he faced must have been unimaginably dire.

…What could he possibly do?

She sat in the small courtyard of Pingwu Pavilion, gazing upward as if she could still see him two days ago, standing outside the gate, consoling her with calm breaths and deep eyes. In her mind, he had always been like the distant spring mountains beyond the vast plains.

…She suddenly wanted to see him.

Though she knew—even if she did, there was nothing she could do.

The encounter came sooner than expected.

With the sudden passing of the Fang family’s patriarch, nearly all the noble families of Chang’an flocked to pay their respects. The Songs, naturally, had to attend. As their carriage passed through the streets, Song Shuyan peered out, observing the desolate atmosphere along the roads. Occasionally, she saw citizens wearing mourning attire, burning paper money. Rumors of markets halting operations for mourning spread, and the once-prosperous capital seemed shrouded in an eerie frost, despite the lack of heavy snowfall.

…Even the death of an emperor couldn’t compare to this.

Song Shuyan gazed silently through the carriage window, her heart heavy with sorrow. Though she had only met the renowned Fang patriarch once, and though she was young and hadn’t witnessed his military campaigns or sacrifices firsthand, a profound sense of reverence welled up within her inexplicably.

When the carriage arrived at the Fang residence, the plaque reading “Marquis of Jin’s Residence” still hung, unremoved despite the loss of their title. Countless mourners, their faces etched with grief, had gathered outside to pay their respects. Song Shuyan followed her elders into the house, her eyes lowered. Inside, the main hall was solemn, dominated by a large character “奠” (mourning) displayed prominently in the shrine. A black coffin lay quietly beneath, flanked by oil lamps on either side.

—How simple it all was.

Unconsciously, her breathing grew cautious. The mourners moved about silently, each as subdued as she. The only sound of weeping came from beside the coffin—a woman dressed in white, her sobs muffled. Fang Xianting knelt beside her, his head bowed as he supported her trembling shoulders.

…Was that his mother?

Her heart tightened further. Though not prone to sentimentality, she felt an inexplicable sadness pressing down on her. Just then, he raised his head and looked at them. His deep, serene features remained handsome, the small mole beneath his right eye as delicate as ever. Yet his eyes reflected an empty wilderness, both full and void.

“Yi Zhi…”

“Third Brother…”

Her father and brothers, familiar with him, naturally approached to exchange words and offer condolences to his mother. However, the Dowager Marchioness, overwhelmed by grief, seemed almost catatonic, appearing to have aged ten years overnight. She responded to nothing, resembling a lifeless sculpture shedding endless tears.

“My father’s sudden passing has left my mother unable to bear the burden,” Fang Xianting murmured softly amidst his mother’s stifled wails. “We humbly ask for Lord Song’s understanding.”

The Song family, hearing these words, felt deeply uneasy. Song Dan, a refined scholar, found himself at a loss for what to say, finally uttering the hollow phrase: “Please accept our condolences.” Song Shuyan herself had considered saying something to comfort him, but unable to approach and uncertain of her words, she hesitated. After all, any words of solace he’d likely heard countless times before—mere reassurances for those offering them, but ultimately meaningless to him.

Her sisters, too, wished to approach. Especially Third Sister, who had once cultivated ties with the Dowager Marchioness under her mother’s guidance, genuinely wanted to speak comforting words to her beloved “Third Brother.” However, before taking a single step, their mother tugged sharply on her wrist. Song Shuyan observed from behind as her mother subtly shook her head at her daughter.

…Hmph.

So, because the Fangs had lost their marquisate and their future in the succession struggle was uncertain, even a word of condolence was now deemed inappropriate?

A chill settled in her heart. Memories of childhood cruelty and opportunism resurfaced, and as she looked at Fang Xianting again, a different sorrow gripped her—

Must someone like him also face the same harsh realities of human nature she had endured?

Amidst her pity, commotion arose outside the gates. Turning, they glimpsed the Emperor’s grand procession approaching—resplendent yellow stretching across the horizon, descending as if from the clouds. Supported by attendants, the Emperor entered the residence, followed closely by the Crown Prince and Crown Princess. All present hastily prostrated themselves, shouting “Long live the Emperor!” disrupting the solemnity of the shrine.

“Siqi—Siqi—”

Ignoring protocol, Emperor Wei stumbled toward the shrine, his bulky frame unsteady, accidentally knocking over an oil lamp as he leaned against the late Marquis’s coffin. Yet tears streamed down his face, his complexion pale with disbelief. The shock and grief in his eyes seemed genuine—perhaps, despite resenting the Marquis’s constraints over the years, he still acknowledged his decades of loyalty and service to the empire.

“Siqi… how could you…”

He muttered repeatedly, his lips trembling. Fang Xianting stood silently beside him, his expression unreadable, betraying neither joy nor sorrow. After a moment, the Emperor began shaking his head, perhaps unwilling to believe the loyal general had died so abruptly. Determined to verify, he forcefully pushed open the coffin lid, intending to inspect the body publicly.

This act insulted the deceased. The Dowager Marchioness, previously lost in tears, suddenly snapped back to reality, transforming into a cornered beast. A lifetime of gentleness vanished, replaced by a ferocity never seen before. For a moment, she seemed ready to lunge at the Emperor, her eyes filled with hatred.

“No! Don’t touch him—”

She screamed shrilly!

“How dare you show your face here—it’s you! You drove him to his death—”

“He gave you everything you demanded—why won’t you leave him alone even in death—why—”

…Her voice cracked with anguish.

The Emperor’s guards drew their swords to protect him, but Fang Xianting—who had remained silent until now—revealed a flicker of cold resolve in his eyes. His authority, even in this moment, caused the trembling soldiers to drop their weapons with a sharp clang. Regaining composure, the Commander of the Southern Bureau turned to embrace his grieving mother, whispering gentle comforts.

Such a shocking scene left everyone speechless. The Dowager Marchioness’s public defiance could bring further calamity upon the Fang family. Kang Xiwen’s voice rang out, shouting repeatedly, “Treason! Treason!” Yet the Emperor seemed oblivious, his aged eyes fixed on Fang He’s coffin. With great effort, he finally exposed the body to the public gaze.

…It was indeed Fang He.

His peaceful countenance resembled sleep, as if he might awaken at any moment. But this was merely illusion—his body was already cold, no longer capable of sternly addressing the Emperor as he once had.

“Siqi…”

Wei Xun staggered back two steps, his eyes vacant. The Dowager Marchioness’s cries grew even more anguished, while the Crown Princess, who had stood behind the Emperor, collapsed to the ground upon seeing the opened coffin. Her pallid face seemed devoid of life, any remaining hope extinguished.

“Father…”

She called out to him for the first time in years, yet the elder she had long resented would never answer her again.

Life may be but a dream, filled with joys and sorrows.

But if old friends could remain at the wine cup… how could they bear to witness such madness and folly in this world?