FYM - 41

It was nearly half an hour before everything finally settled.

The river was stained crimson with blood, the corpses scattered across its surface enough to make anyone tremble. As Lady Jiang, mother of Fang Xianting, boarded Song Jia’s ship, supported by her son, the fire behind them had already erupted into a roaring blaze. The thick plumes of black smoke reflected in Fang Xianting’s deep eyes, and at that moment, Song Shuyan felt he was impossibly distant from her.

She glanced at him, then turned to look at his mother—Lady Jiang, the former Duchess of the State, who had already seemed dazed and out of sorts during the memorial service. Now, struck by this calamity, she was pale and on the verge of collapse. Fortunately, their ship had Master Zheng aboard, a compassionate physician who needed no prompting to step forward and check Lady Jiang’s pulse. Seeing this, Song Shuyan offered the main cabin for Lady Jiang to rest, while she, along with Zhui’er and Cui Mama, retreated to a smaller room on the side of the ship.

The remnants of the Fang household were few—perhaps a dozen people, each bearing injuries. In contrast, the Song family guards were in better condition, so they helped tend to wounds, apply medicine, and bring hot water. By the time everything was settled, it was nearing the hour of Hai, and the ship had sailed nearly ten li, the desolate wind dispersing much of the lingering stench of blood over the river.

Master Zheng emerged from the cabin, and Song Shuyan approached to inquire about Lady Jiang’s condition. He sighed deeply as he replied, “She hasn’t sustained any external injuries, but the shock has deeply affected her internal organs. With little food, much worry, and days of travel, if this continues, I fear she won’t last long…”

Master Zheng, who frequently visited the grand households of Chang’an, likely recognized the identity of the Fang family. His tone carried a trace of sorrow, further weighing on Song Shuyan’s heart. She thanked him and urged him to rest, then turned around just as Fang Xianting stepped out of Lady Jiang’s cabin. Their eyes met, and the moment stretched longer than the moonlight shimmering on the river that night.

She saw the blood covering his body—he must have devoted himself entirely to caring for his mother since boarding, neglecting his own wounds. His bloodstained appearance bore no resemblance to the “frost under the snow” described in Mr. Liu’s works—pure and radiant. Her heart ached unexpectedly, and she wanted to say something to him. But when she opened her mouth, she realized she didn’t know how to address him anymore. In the past, she’d always called him “Lord Fang,” but now that his father had passed and his title had been demoted from Duke to Marquis, shouldn’t she call him “Marquis Fang”?

“Marquis Fang…”

The unfamiliar title hovered on her lips, but in her eyes, it felt like the cruelest insult she could inflict upon him. In the end, she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Instead, she averted her gaze, staring blankly into the deep, dark night.

“There should still be some space to sit in the lower deck…”

Her voice was soft as she spoke to him.

“…Please go down there and tend to your wounds.”

The moonlit night was languid.

The sea of blood and corpses from moments ago seemed like nothing more than a fleeting illusion, vanishing without a trace within a single hour. The ship sailed southward, reflecting the moon as it glided through the water. For a time, the only sounds were the gentle lapping of water and the rhythmic oars, creating an unexpected serenity amid the silence.

There were no spare clothes for men aboard the ship, and Fang Xianting declined Master Zheng’s offer to examine his wounds. When Song Shuyan descended to the lower deck, she found him leaning against a wooden crate, seated on a bare plank. His face was expressionless, making him seem even more aloof and detached.

After hesitating for a moment, she cautiously approached him. He raised his brows and glanced at her but said nothing. Perhaps it was tacit permission—she wasn’t entirely sure—but she stopped two steps away and extended her hand, offering him what she held.

“This is medicinal salve,” her voice was barely audible. “…Please use some.”

He recognized the box—it was the very one he had given her back at Lishan. It turned out she had never used it, and now she was returning it intact. How could he have known? She had dared not use anything of his; if her stepmother or Third Sister had discovered it, it would have caused yet another storm. Unable to endure such turmoil, she had quietly hidden his generosity and compassion away.

Now, returning it to him… it felt appropriate.

Yet he didn’t take it, his brows furrowing slightly in the dim light. She couldn’t see clearly, but she persisted, holding out her hand determinedly. After a brief standoff, he finally accepted it, his low voice falling into her ears colder and more distant than ever: “…Thank you.”

It felt like an age since she’d heard his gratitude.

She suppressed the turmoil in her heart as she watched him turn away to remove his blood-soaked clothes. In the darkness, many things seemed different. At one point, she felt as though only the two of them existed in the world. Yet propriety demanded adherence, and she averted her eyes, intending to leave quietly. Just then, his voice reached her again, addressing her: “…I am sorry.”

—Sorry?

Sorry for what?

For dragging her into tonight’s chaos?

She hadn’t asked for the details, but being as astute as she was, she had already pieced together the likely truth: with the recent death of the former Duke, the Fang family of Yichuan was in decline. Countless people in Chang’an sought to seize the opportunity to crush them beyond redemption. Prince Qin and the Zhong family were the most suspicious culprits, though it was also possible that the Emperor, cornered by the late Duke, had played a part. The assassins sent to kill the Fangs tonight had been ruthless, indicating that whoever orchestrated this was prepared to burn all bridges.

“Lord Fang, there’s no need to apologize. I…”

She felt uneasy, her thoughts scattered as she spoke. Only after the words left her mouth did she realize her mistake—it was too late to retract them. The small confines of the lower deck grew even quieter, and she noticed his movements paused as he cleaned his wounds. Perhaps at that moment, thoughts of his late father returned, making her feel as though she had committed a grave sin.

“I…”

A sudden pang of pain struck her. Though her own circumstances had never been smooth, she couldn’t help but feel a useless concern for this man. After a long silence, unable to think of a way to remedy her blunder, she lowered her head and softly asked him, “My second brother is familiar with you. As his sister, may I follow his example… and call you ‘Third Brother’?”

That would be best.

It avoided calling him “Lord Fang” and spared her from uttering the cruel title “Marquis Fang.”

He remained silent for a long time, and for a moment, the only sound between them was the ebb and flow of the river outside the ship. The medicinal scent wafting from the box she had returned grew stronger, faintly cool with a hint of bitterness.

“The Fang family has left Chang’an, and we must understand the principles of choice and sacrifice,” he finally spoke, his voice steady and devoid of sadness. “From now on, I will consider Ziqiu merely an old acquaintance. Miss Song, there’s no need to act against the tide.”

“Act against the tide…”

She was too clever; even though his words were veiled, she understood immediately. He believed the Fang family had lost imperial favor and was now shunned by numerous factions in court. Thus, he intended to distance himself from others, unwilling to burden them with his family’s plight. This meant her second brother could only be considered an “old acquaintance,” and her desire to grow closer to him was now seen as “acting against the tide.”

The bitterness in her heart intensified, but she also felt a flicker of courage. Though she knew stepping back would be the wisest course, she stubbornly wanted to tell him he was wrong. Impulsively, she turned around, only to catch a glimpse of his bare back beneath his bloodied shirt—it was entirely inappropriate. Quickly averting her gaze, she turned away.

He must have sensed her discomfort, for not long after, he hastily finished tending to his wounds and put his clothes back on. The medicine was used up, and the box no longer needed to be returned. He tucked it into his robes, rose to his feet, and walked toward the exit of the lower deck. The cold, biting wind of the river greeted him, and as she watched him from behind, it felt as though he were about to ascend into the wind and vanish.

But…

…I don’t want this person to leave just yet.

Her feet moved of their own accord, and before she realized it, she had followed him to the bow of the ship. Together, they gazed at the wide expanse of the river under the cool moonlight. A vast sense of insignificance washed over her—like ephemeral insects adrift in the universe, mere specks in the boundless ocean, lamenting the brevity of life while envying the eternal flow of the Yangtze.

Knowing it cannot be easily attained… we entrust our lingering echoes to the mournful winds. (1)

“If the Fang family intends to return to Yichuan, you should head east before reaching Xiangzhou,” Song Shuyan murmured, her thoughts hazy but her words clear. “What happened to cause your detour to the Western Jiangnan Circuit?”

Fang Xianting stood beside her, his proximity heavy with the scent of blood, yet his voice remained calm as he replied, “My mother is originally from Luzhou. Due to her illness, it’s inconvenient to return to Yichuan. I’ve decided to part ways with the rest of the family and will head north later.”

So that was it.

No wonder the scale of the Fang fleet she encountered near Xiangzhou had been much larger than what she saw tonight. The absence of other Fang sons among those who boarded the ship at night made sense—they weren’t traveling together. Lady Jiang seemed to have shared a deep bond with the late Duke, and now, with his sudden passing, it was understandable that she wouldn’t want to return to his ancestral home and stir painful memories. Returning to her natal home in Luzhou to recuperate was a prudent decision.

However, this separation left Fang Xianting vulnerable, giving the bandits of tonight an opportunity to strike…

She lowered her head in thought, the cold wind lifting the hem of her thin sleeves. After a moment, she asked, “And tomorrow… what are your plans?”

Her words stumbled awkwardly, almost calling him “Third Brother” before swallowing it back at the last moment, remembering he hadn’t agreed to it. The abrupt “you” that slipped out felt improper and casual, undermining the formality of their relationship.

He didn’t seem to mind, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, appearing particularly ethereal. She knew that despite his apparent proximity, he remained emotionally distant.

“Miss Song, please arrange for the ship to stop briefly at a nearby ferry tomorrow,” he said indifferently. “I’ll take my mother and leave, causing no further trouble.”

This statement mirrored his earlier remark about “acting against the tide.” Feeling powerless yet unwilling to accept it, she challenged him for the first time since they met, her tone sharper than usual: “I’m not one to meddle, nor do I intend to overstep my bounds. However, you shouldn’t underestimate me so easily. How can you be certain I’m so cowardly that I can’t withstand even the slightest opposition to your so-called ‘tide’?”

She had her pride, but at that moment, she wasn’t sure whether she was truly angered by his “underestimation” or simply acting like a petulant child, upset that he wouldn’t let her get closer. He finally lowered his gaze to meet hers, his deep eyes piercing like the cold moonlight on the river, yet far less bright.

“Miss Song, assisting someone to cross the river is indeed a great kindness,” he said, perhaps with a touch of sincerity. The small mole beneath his right eye resembled a tear. “But if this ship were yours alone, ahead lies a vast expanse of tranquil waters. However, if shared with me, it might become an impassable barrier.”

“You only have this one ship…” He sounded almost wistful. “…You should head somewhere better.”

She fell silent, perhaps detecting the double meaning in his words. He gave her one final glance before turning and walking away. She stood there, watching his retreating figure for a long time. Despite their physical closeness, she couldn’t help but fixate on his back. Somehow, this cold river tonight felt no different from the snow-covered mountain path months ago—both trapping one person in place while they watched another depart.

But I truly want to see you off.

Even if, as you say… it’s an “impassable barrier.”