FYM - 39

Following the suicide of Fang He, the head of the Fang family, the situation in Chang’an shifted once again.

The Emperor had already resolved to depose the Crown Prince over the Lishan incident. However, Fang He’s death ignited outrage among the Eastern Palace faction. Even ministers who typically avoided factional disputes began submitting petitions protesting the injustice done to the late Marquis. Prince Wei Bi of Yinping led civil and military officials in a kneeling protest at Taiji Palace, demanding the Emperor provide an explanation to the people. Rumors spread quickly through the city, claiming the Emperor was bewitched by a concubine and determined to defy tradition by deposing the heir in favor of a younger son. The Fang patriarch was said to have died in loyal protest. In response, the common people wore mourning attire, lit lamps, and respectfully bade farewell to the Marquis, their anger growing fervent and uncontrollable.

The Emperor fell gravely ill and canceled court for three days, unable to withstand the overwhelming tide of public sentiment. Though he still attempted to shift blame for the golden eagle silk case onto the late Marquis, he acknowledged Fang He’s past contributions by bestowing the title of Marquis of Yingchuan upon his only son. The Crown Prince narrowly escaped disaster. A storm that had threatened to devastate the empire dissipated abruptly due to one man’s sacrifice.

It seemed as though nothing had changed.

…And yet, everything teetered on the brink of collapse.

The Song family could not escape the turmoil.

Song Mingzhen had been implicated in the chaos at Lishan, and before his death, the former Marquis had personally entrusted the affairs of the Eastern Palace to Song Dan. In the eyes of many, the Songs were now aligned with the Crown Prince faction, making it impossible for them to remain neutral. Recently, Song Dan and Song Bo had grown closer to Prince Wei Bi of Yinping and Eastern Palace loyalists like Fan Yucheng and Chen Meng. Through these connections, they learned that the late Marquis had foreseen the aftermath of his death and instructed his allies to rally public support to pressure the Emperor into retreating from his plans, thereby securing the Crown Prince’s position.

“Lord Fang truly embodied both loyalty and strategy—he is unparalleled in history…”

Song Dan often reflected in private conversations with his brother.

“…To sacrifice oneself for the sake of the nation, disregarding personal cost—only the Fangs of Yingchuan could achieve such a feat.”

Indeed.

Fang He’s death shook the entire court. This was partly because of his illustrious achievements, which commanded respect from all officials, and partly because the Fang family’s renown was unmatched across the land. Had anyone else attempted such a dramatic act of loyal protest—even if they had smashed their head against the pillars of Taiji Palace—it would not have carried the same weight.

However…

“Lord Fang’s actions were too extreme,” Song Bo expressed his concerns, visibly uneasy. “Though the current situation has eased, the Fang family has suffered greatly. To demote a marquis to a lesser title is unprecedented, and Yi Zhi is still young. The Zhongs will not stand idly by while Prince Wei Zheng loses influence. If things escalate further and lead to mutual destruction, with the Fangs banished from Chang’an and unable to protect the Western Capital… then…”

…All their efforts would be undone.

Song Dan exhaled deeply, his eyes clouded with uncertainty. Observing his brother’s expression, Song Bo cautiously suggested: “The Emperor is currently constrained by public opinion and has reluctantly abandoned his plans to elevate a younger son. But in a few years, after the storm subsides, there’s no guarantee he won’t revert to his old ways. In my view, our family need not commit fully to one side—we could hedge our bets. Perhaps, Brother, you might consider arranging a marriage between one of our daughters and Prince Wei Zheng as a secondary consort. That way, in the future…”

He left the rest unsaid.

Song Bo was known for his shrewdness, far more adept at navigating the treacherous waters of politics than his father or brother. Yet Song Dan could not forget the words Fang He had spoken to him during their last meeting: “You treated me with sincerity, and I repay you with trust.” Now that Fang He had sacrificed himself for the nation, how could Song Dan act with duplicity in his wake?

“For now, let us observe how the situation unfolds…”

Song Dan sighed heavily, raising his gaze toward the imperial palace.

“…At least this New Year’s Eve should pass peacefully.”

It was indeed the most desolate and subdued New Year’s celebration in decades for the Great Zhou dynasty.

Mourning banners still hung throughout Chang’an, and even after the markets reopened, foot traffic remained sparse. The decline of the Fang family continued to weigh heavily on the hearts of the people, who feared the nation’s fortunes might never recover from this blow.

Near the end of the twelfth month, Song Shuyan received a letter from Qiantang. It was written by her uncle, informing her that her grandmother’s condition had worsened, leaving her bedridden and unable to eat. She longed for her granddaughter, who had been raised by her since childhood, and hoped Song Shuyan could return south sooner to visit.

Having been raised by her grandparents and depending solely on her grandmother after her grandfather’s passing, Song Shuyan was immediately overwhelmed with anxiety upon hearing of her grandmother’s illness. Gone was her usual composed demeanor; she wanted nothing more than to sprout wings and fly back to Qiantang immediately, her mind entirely consumed by worry. How could she think of celebrating the New Year in Chang’an?

Cui Mama understood the deep bond between Song Shuyan and her grandmother. However, with few boats sailing during the New Year period, it was impractical—and unsafe—for a young woman to travel two thousand miles alone. After much deliberation, Cui Mama advised her to stay in Chang’an a little longer and make plans to depart after the New Year.

Song Dan also made similar arrangements, promising to send her back to Jiangnan after the seventh day of the first lunar month. The challenge was that Song Shuyan’s birthday fell on the seventh day of the second month. If she left hastily, she wouldn’t be able to celebrate her coming-of-age ceremony—a significant rite of passage for women—at home.

Lady Wan, her stepmother, had little interest in lavishing attention on her predecessor’s daughter’s coming-of-age ceremony. Secretly pleased by the grandmother’s illness, she saw it as an opportunity to send this troublesome girl away. Over several days, she persistently lobbied Song Dan, eventually moving the departure date from the seventh to the third day of the New Year—a change that, ironically, suited Song Shuyan.

“Why must you leave so soon?”

Her second brother, who cherished her most, visited her pavilion daily after learning of her departure.

“This year marks your coming-of-age ceremony. I had planned to take you shopping for gifts after the New Year…”

She, too, was reluctant to part from him. Knowing how difficult this past year had been for him, she wished to stay by his side longer. Yet her grandmother’s fragile health brooked no delay; she feared that any hesitation might leave her with lifelong regret.

“As long as you remember me fondly, why dwell on formalities?” She had always been pragmatic about such matters and harbored no particular attachment to rituals. “Besides, didn’t we already buy what we needed? The last time…”

She paused, recalling that the last purchase—a painted screen—had been paid for by Fang Xianting. Moreover, it had since been taken to the outer hall by her stepmother and third sister.

Song Mingzhen shared her thoughts, his expression a mix of indignation and sorrow. Who could have predicted that barely a month ago, he had dreamed of excelling in the upcoming martial arts examination, believing success would improve life for his mother and sisters? Yet a single trip to Lishan shattered those aspirations completely, leaving no trace behind.

Even their third brother…

He sighed deeply, unwilling to dwell further on the matter. “This year seems cursed… Everyone is suffering.”

Song Shuyan fell silent, gently patting her brother’s shoulder. The siblings sat quietly together for a while, exchanging few words until Song Mingzhen prepared to leave. Turning back, he said: “What is rightfully yours remains yours. Rest assured, your second brother will ensure you endure less hardship.”

That New Year’s Eve passed more uneventfully than previous ones.

Amidst the recent turmoil in Chang’an, families had lost their enthusiasm for socializing. The Songs stayed indoors, closing their gates to quietly celebrate the New Year. As the patriarch, Song Dan maintained appearances, distributing red envelopes with equal amounts of money to each child. Yet his affections were unevenly distributed. That night, he spent the vigil in Lady Wan’s quarters, accompanied by their eldest son and third daughter. Servants reported laughter and merriment from that room, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere elsewhere.

Lady Wu, though neglected, found solace in the company of her son and daughter. Song Shuyan joined her second brother in their stepmother’s quarters for the vigil. They nibbled on snacks, sipped tea, and occasionally played games of arrow throwing with the maidservants—a tranquil and pleasant evening. Still, Song Shuyan’s second sister sighed frequently over her brother’s lost prospects, while Song Shuyan herself remained preoccupied with her grandmother’s illness. The atmosphere, though peaceful, lacked vitality.

Glancing out the carved window at the bleak winter night, her thoughts drifted to the residence of the former Marquis of Jin—not far from their home. The plaque above its gate must have been replaced; the once-proud “Marquis of Jin’s Residence” now bore the humbler title “Marquis of Yingchuan.” How could this not evoke sorrow and lamentation across the land?

And what of him?

Did the bright lanterns of this New Year’s Eve illuminate his window?

Finally, the first and second days of the New Year passed, and on the third day, it was time for Song Shuyan to depart for the south. Rising early, she and Cui Mama, along with Zhuier, double-checked her belongings. Once satisfied, she proceeded to the main hall to bid farewell to her father and stepmother.

“Convey my greetings to your grandmother,” her father said, his expression complex as he handed her a box of fine ginseng. “Take care on the journey, and remember to inform us of your safe arrival.”

His words were light, but the ginseng was tangible proof of his concern. She accepted it graciously, knowing it was unrealistic to expect him to personally visit her late mother’s mother from afar. Bowing respectfully, she thanked him and, escorted by household servants, set off for the ferry.

Her second brother rode out personally to see her off. Just before boarding, he discreetly slipped a long wooden box into her hands. She blinked, asking: “What is this…?”

“Open it and see,” he winked at her, smiling for the first time since returning from Lishan. “I guarantee you’ll like it.”

She obeyed, opening the box to reveal… the painting of spring mountains from the screen.

The entire image had been carefully cut out, with slight fraying at the edges but otherwise intact. Her additions to the nine-nine cold-weather chart remained untouched, meticulously rolled and stored in a fragrant wood box, ready for remounting.

“This…”

Her eyes widened in astonishment.

“I secretly cut it from the screen at Wei Rui Hall before leaving,” he explained, his smile broadening. “I thought carrying the whole screen might be inconvenient, but taking just the painting would be easy. Do you like it?”

She did—more than she could express. The joy of reclaiming something lost filled her heart. Yet she worried: “But what about the mistress of the house…?”

“What do I care now?” he snorted bitterly, resigned to his fate. “At worst, I’ll endure a few harsh words. Will she really have Father kill me over a mere screen?”

He sighed, clumsily adjusting the ties of her cloak, his expression tinged with melancholy. “Your brother may be unlucky, and for now, I can’t offer you or Shuqing much. But know that someone at home still cares for you. Even if this time your grandmother truly…”

He trailed off, his gaze soft with affection and concern.

“…Remember to come back to your brother when you can.”