FYM - 7

People often say that life is like a dream: in the morning, one might behold magnificent towers and celestial gardens, but by evening, the tide has receded, the music has ended, and all that remains is emptiness. Upon waking, one realizes it was nothing more than a mirage—buildings rising and collapsing in the air, devoid of any novelty. Between Song Shuyan and Fang Xianting, it was no different. Their story was just such a dream, prolonged only by the fact that they had both lingered within it for so long. It all began in the seventh year of Yuanzhang.

That year, she was only fourteen.

As the Lunar New Year approached, a letter arrived from Chang’an urging her to return home to celebrate the season. However, her maternal grandfather had passed away in September, and her grandmother’s health was also failing, so she stayed in Qiantang a little longer, delaying her journey northward.

“You stubborn child…”

Her grandmother’s gaze was always filled with affection and resignation.

“Your grandfather is gone now, and I won’t be around much longer either. Qiantang is not your final resting place. You should return to Chang’an soon to be with your father… He isn’t entirely at fault. The Song family’s noble lineage surpasses what the Qiao family could ever aspire to. After your mother became the mistress of his household, she naturally faced some difficulties… As for those from the Wan and Wu families… Sigh…”

“Yingying, he is still your father… After I follow your grandfather, he will be the only person left in this world who truly cares for you…”

The phrase “truly cares” carried immense weight. Since childhood, Song Shuyan had yearned for genuine affection from her father. But after her mother’s death, she was raised by her maternal grandparents, returning to the Song household at most once a year for a season. Compared to the children born to her stepmother and concubines, she felt more like a distant guest in her father’s eyes.

She understood the situation well and harbored no unreasonable desires. Though she occasionally lamented the lack of familial warmth, she never expected to receive her father’s love. Her grandmother, however, thought differently. In recent years, she had become increasingly insistent on pushing Song Shuyan toward her father, likely planning for the future after her own passing.

This year’s parting seemed especially poignant.

Before leaving, Song Shuyan kept vigil by her grandmother’s bedside for an entire night. When she departed, only her uncle’s family saw her off. Her aunt, straightforward as always, spoke frankly: “Your grandmother worries about you more than anyone else—even more than her own grandchildren. If you truly wish to honor her, stay in Chang’an longer this time. First, don’t let her worry that you’re being mistreated. Second, it will help your cousins advance in the future…”

Song Shuyan listened quietly, lowering her eyes and nodding in agreement. She then boarded a boat heading north with a few trusted servants. Her grandmother, meticulous as ever, had asked her uncle to arrange for an old friend traveling to Chang’an to accompany and look after her. There would be no mishaps.

In truth, she didn’t need anyone to take care of her. She wasn’t particularly delicate, and besides, she had grown up with Nurse Cui, her maid Zhui’er, and the young servant Chengsong—all of whom were already quite capable. Still, their companion held an official position, and the over two-thousand-li journey from Qiantang to Chang’an would take more than half a month by carriage and boat. His presence made things easier compared to traveling alone.

By early November, they finally reached Shangzhou via the Han River, with Chang’an in sight. However, thick fog on the river forced them to switch to land travel. Their escort arranged carriages, but halfway through, he encountered an old acquaintance and asked Song Shuyan if she could wait in Shangzhou for two more days while he caught up with his friend.

Unwilling to inconvenience the elder, Song Shuyan hesitated. Her stepmother’s birthday was approaching, and failing to return in time would be seen as disrespectful and might invite her father’s reproach. After deliberation, she politely declined, explaining that she had urgent matters to attend to at home. She suggested that she and her servants proceed ahead, promising to thank him properly once they reached Chang’an.

Shangzhou was only three hundred li from Chang’an—a day or two’s journey by carriage. After considering for a moment, their escort agreed, believing the short distance wouldn’t pose any danger. He bid farewell to Song Shuyan and her group, reminding her to be cautious along the way.

Unfortunately, heavy snow began falling near Fengxiang Prefecture.

The harsh northern winter was vastly different from the mild climate of Jiangnan. Despite having a heated charcoal brazier placed before her inside the carriage, Song Shuyan still felt her limbs stiffen from the biting cold. Outside, rain and snow battered the carriage, making her acutely aware of her insignificance against the vast forces of nature.

Nurse Cui continuously rubbed Song Shuyan’s hands, tightening her cloak around her and patting her back. “Once we cross that mountain ahead, we’ll see Chang’an. When we reach the Song estate, I’ll have someone make you a warm coat—and a thicker cloak too!”

“Not just that,” chimed in Zhui’er, a maid roughly Song Shuyan’s age, shivering as she spoke. “The first thing we’ll do when we get there is draw a hot bath for you. And don’t forget the Huangqi lamb soup the kitchen made last year—it’s lifesaving!”

Zhui’er was clearly craving the comfort of home, wishing the carriage would arrive at the Song residence immediately. Song Shuyan’s thoughts, however, remained in Qiantang. She wondered if her grandmother had already retired for the night or if her aunt had remembered to prepare her medicine on time. Just then, Chengsong, who had been sitting outside with the driver, called out, “Miss, it’s dark already. Should we continue traveling tonight or rest at the post station?”

It was the eighth day of the eleventh month. If they traveled through the night, they could reach Chang’an by the ninth, leaving two full days to prepare for her stepmother’s birthday. Delaying further would make things rushed. After a moment’s consideration, Song Shuyan replied through the curtain, “If it’s not too inconvenient, let’s push on. We shouldn’t risk any delays.”

Chengsong acknowledged her response, and the carriage continued its snowy ascent into the mountains. Unfortunately, the road was treacherous, with deep snow and mud making progress difficult. Nurse Cui grew frustrated and called out to the driver, “Drive more carefully—don’t jostle the miss!”

No sooner had she spoken than the carriage gave another violent lurch. Before Zhui’er could cry out, her head struck the window with a loud thud. Song Shuyan nearly burned her skirt on the overturned brazier and was steadied by Nurse Cui. Concerned, she called out, “What happened?”

Chengsong apologized profusely, explaining that the wheels had sunk into the muddy road. He asked her to remain in the carriage while he and the driver attempted to pull it free.

Song Shuyan consented, and soon afterward, she heard the crack of the driver’s whip urging the horses forward. The animals groaned and panted, and the continuous shaking of the carriage made everyone uneasy. After a while, despite their efforts, the carriage remained stuck. Chengsong, pushing from behind, was already out of breath. Seeing this, Nurse Cui decided to get out and help, along with Zhui’er. She stopped Song Shuyan from joining them, saying, “Stay in the carriage, miss. It’s freezing outside—you won’t be able to bear it. A few of us can handle this…”

But alas, it was not so.

The mountain road was incredibly muddy, with melted snow and slush trapping the wheels deeply in the mire. Out in the icy wilderness, what could a young servant and two maids accomplish? Inside the carriage, Song Shuyan faintly heard Zhui’er yelp—likely slipping and falling into the snow. Unable to sit idly, she rose to lift the curtain and step out.

At that moment, the piercing neigh of a horse rang out.

Though she didn’t yet recognize his steed, the renowned divine horse Zhuoying galloped like a flying crane across the snow. Its clear, resonant whinny echoed sharply in the empty night. Through the swaying curtains, she glimpsed a blurry figure: a towering black stallion, and atop it, a man whose face remained hidden from view.

“Master—”

From inside the carriage, she heard Nurse Cui call out urgently and apologetically.

“The road is treacherous, and the wheels are stuck deep in the mud. Might you lend a hand, esteemed sir?”

They were strangers, meeting by chance. Song Shuyan thought Nurse Cui’s request inappropriate, given that they were less than a hundred li from the western capital, where travelers were likely of high status. Any offense could bring trouble to her family. Moments later, she heard one of the man’s attendants say in a hurried tone, “Master, Lord Fang awaits…”

His voice conveyed urgency, suggesting pressing matters elsewhere.

Lowering her gaze, she thought it best to apologize first. Before she could speak, she heard the rustling of footsteps as the man dismounted and approached the rear of the carriage.

“It’s no trouble,” his voice came through the window, low and calm. “Such tasks are unsuitable for ladies. Please step aside.”

His tone was as cool as the frosty snowflakes swirling outside the carriage, yet it carried a faint warmth reminiscent of freshly brewed wine. Momentarily distracted, she blinked—and suddenly, the carriage gave a powerful jolt. He and his attendant had lifted the wooden beam beneath the carriage far more effectively than Chengsong and the others had managed after struggling for so long.

The driver, quick-witted, seized the opportunity to lash the horse fiercely, forcing it to pull forward. The animal cried out in pain, and after a brief struggle, the rear of the carriage suddenly lifted—the wheels finally freed from the mud.

Before anyone could rejoice, the frightened horse tried to break free from the reins, alarming the driver outside, who shouted, “Miss, get out quickly—quickly!”

Unaware of the commotion, Song Shuyan was thrown from her seat by the violent shaking. Clutching the window frame to steady herself, she struggled to rise. Amidst the panic, she heard another horse’s neigh. Through the wind-blown curtain, she caught a glimpse of the stranger’s silhouette. He was gripping the terrified horse’s reins tightly, his strong hands veined and stained with mud from earlier.

It was only a fleeting moment; soon, the curtain fell back into place, obscuring her view. Meanwhile, the frightened horse gradually calmed, though the wind howled and snow swirled outside.

“Is the young lady injured?”

His voice came again, separated from her only by the thin curtain. She felt a flush of embarrassment and hesitated briefly before replying, “…I’m fine, thank you, master.”

He acknowledged her response and stepped away from the carriage. A moment later, his towering figure passed by her window once more. Northern men were known for their height, and he blocked much of the snowlight, his voice as crisp as falling snowflakes. He advised, “The horse has been spooked and may not be reliable for nighttime travel. There are no post stations ahead. It would be best to turn back down the mountain and rest for the night before continuing.”

His advice was delivered matter-of-factly, like the dying embers of a fire—no flames, yet lingering warmth. Grateful, Song Shuyan thanked him, and he did not linger further. She heard him order his attendant to bring his horse, and as he departed, the clear, distinct neigh of his steed contrasted sharply with the inferior mounts around them. Gradually, the sound of hooves faded into the distance.

Only after the noise subsided did she gently open the window.

In the midst of the raging snowstorm, she saw a shadowy figure—like a fading ink stain—disappear into the blizzard.