FYM - 128

It was truly a very long night.

Around the hour of Hai, Lieutenant General Song Mingzhen entered the palace to take over his shift and headed straight for Fuqing Hall. Upon arrival, he heard that the Empress Dowager had dismissed her attendants and remained alone in the plum grove by the waterside pavilion. Hurrying toward the imperial garden, he saw the impartial moonlight spilling evenly across the rippling water. His sister, her hair loosened, leaned against the familiar railing of the pavilion, ethereal as if about to ascend to the moon’s celestial palace.

“…Second Brother?”

She turned her head at the sound of his voice. Her usually clear gaze appeared somewhat hazy tonight. On closer inspection, he noticed she held a golden goblet in her hand, while two half-empty wine jugs rested on the stone table beside her.

This scene felt strangely familiar—he had witnessed something similar just two months ago on the upper floor of Jiangyun Tower by the Qingxi River. Back then, it was their third brother who drank alone; now, it was his younger sister. She had never been one to drink alcohol—just a sip would make her cough—but now she seemed to have discovered its soothing qualities. A single indulgence… could ease her worries.

He approached her quietly, treading lightly as though afraid of shattering a dream. Drawing nearer, he saw her cheeks flushed faintly from the alcohol and sighed as he asked: “…Why are you drinking so much?”

The entire plum grove was deserted. It was rare for them to be alone like this, and perhaps that was why she felt free to act so unrestrained. Smiling softly at her brother, she pressed a finger to her lips and whispered conspiratorially: “Don’t tell anyone, and they won’t know.”

—Like a child.

He froze, momentarily stunned, and before he could react, she had already poured herself another cup of wine. By the time he reached out to stop her, she had already tilted her head back and downed it. The rich aroma of the wine filled the pavilion, and even the moonlight seemed to waver within it.

“Shuyan…”

He couldn’t help but call her name, knowing full well that everything weighing on her recently was nearly crushing her. The commotion caused by Yinping Prince Wei Bi hosting the two envoys had been significant—she surely knew about it. Yet she seemed to have completely forgotten all her troubles, still laughing as she swayed unsteadily against the railing of the pavilion. Reaching out, she tugged at his sleeve and said: “Don’t stop me…”

After a pause, she murmured again: “I have nothing left but this… don’t stop me…”

Her words brought an ache to his heart. After a long moment, Song Mingzhen managed to force a smile and chided her gently: “Nonsense. What do you mean, ‘nothing left’? Isn’t your second brother still here with you?”

She smiled, her eyes crinkling in a way that exuded a childlike joy she hadn’t shown in years. But beneath it all, her eyes remained deeply sad—roundabout, hidden, unspeakable.

“It’s not the same…”

She shook her head.

“You have a wife and children now… You’re no longer closest to me.”

…Ah.

Song Mingzhen fell silent, momentarily at a loss for words.

“I want someone who is closest to me…”

Unaware of her brother’s unease, she continued speaking incoherently.

“Someone I can see often… or even if I can’t see them, someone who will think of me often…”

She poured herself another drink, but instead of drinking it, she clutched the golden goblet and leaned against the railing, gazing at the shattered reflection of the moon on the water.

“I never met my mother. If she were still alive, she would have been that person… I wonder what kind of mother she would have been. Would she have doted on her children like Lady Wan does? Spoiling them endlessly, fighting for them no matter what, never scolding them even when they’re wrong, always cleaning up after them…”

She began rambling.

“Second Brother, do you think life is unfair?”

She suddenly posed the question, though she didn’t seem to expect an answer.

“Those who already have everything keep getting more… And those who have nothing end up losing even the last precious thing they hold dear…”

The golden goblet trembled slightly, and she drained the wine once more.

“Take Princess Yong’an, for instance…”

“She already has so much… A living mother, a doting father, innate nobility, youthful beauty…”

“…Why does she still insist on competing with me?”

“I have nothing left… Only, only…”

Drip.

Her tears fell onto the back of her hand.

“Shuyan…”

Song Mingzhen’s heart was suddenly seized, then mercilessly twisted in a suffocating grip. He knew exactly what his sister had meant to say after the word “only,” and he also knew that the person she couldn’t bring herself to name would now be completely out of her life forever.

“I’m not really greedy, insisting that he do anything for me…”

Her tears continued to fall silently, her despair quiet but profound.

“I just… I just hoped he would remember me. If he has time, he could come visit me.”

“You were here with me before, celebrating my birthday together—it was wonderful… He didn’t need to say anything. Just being here like that was enough…”

“He will still be here,” Song Mingzhen finally interrupted, unable to bear the ache in her words. “And so will I. We’ll still visit you often, and we’ll always think of you. He…”

“No…”

She shook her head again, calm and clear-eyed compared to his urgency.

“It’s not like that.”

“I know… He’s leaving.”

Drip.

“He should leave…”

Her shoulders curled inward slightly as she hugged herself.

“I’ve known this day would come for a long time… It’s been eight years already. I just never dared to face it, never prepared myself…”

“But now it’s time.”

Her tone grew unexpectedly resolute, though it was unclear whether she was speaking to him or to herself.

“I can’t burden him with everything… He’s exhausted.”

“…He needs rest too.”

Her disjointed words lacked coherence, yet Song Mingzhen understood them all. His sister had always been so considerate, even when repeatedly let down throughout her life. She had kept a small, pure corner of her heart reserved for things she shouldn’t have had to carry alone.

“I’ve actually come to terms with it… Ever since the last palace banquet until today, I’ve been thinking…”

“He wasn’t mine to begin with. I wasn’t good enough for fate to grant him to me, so perhaps there’s no real loss to speak of. Maybe there were a few fleeting days that belonged to me once… But later, later…”

She fell silent again. The tranquil waterside pavilion became utterly still, save for the soft rustling of wind through the flowerless plum trees. Unbeknownst to them, a figure had stood amidst the swaying shadows for some time—a man in deep purple robes, his wide sleeves hanging low, a delicate mole beneath his right eye resembling a tear on the verge of falling.

“Later… I regretted it.”

Her voice carried the weight of tears, years of bitterness now dulled into numbness and confusion.

“I shouldn’t have married into the palace. Back then, I should have stayed in Yingchuan… Either waited endlessly for him to return… or simply followed Lady Wan…”

“But…”

She paused again, and this time, Song Mingzhen couldn’t guess what she might say next. Taking a deep breath to steady his own trembling, he forced back the lump in his throat and asked gently: “…But what?”

“But I told myself I couldn’t regret it.”

This time, she obediently continued, following his lead.

“Father couldn’t force me into the palace, nor could the late emperor… Even if they locked me up, even if they begged me… Life is so hard to navigate, but death is always easy to find. I wasn’t afraid. Dying would have been the cleanest solution.”

“But I always thought… I love him.”

“Not out of cowardice or selfishness… Not a narrow, possessive love. I could do many things for him—things he didn’t have time to finish back then.”

Snap.

Someone’s hand had broken a branch in their loss of control.

“Shuyan…”

Song Mingzhen’s eyes reddened, and the seven-foot-tall man finally shed tears at this moment. He gazed at his sister’s profile but didn’t dare touch her. Perhaps he, too, sensed that she was on the verge of shattering.

“Why have you never told me… You did it for Third Brother…”

She smiled again, her resignation now tinged with heartbreaking beauty. Her frail shoulders looked so thin, yet they had borne an immense burden for many years, walking alone through countless trials.

“What is there to say?”

She countered.

“It wasn’t for him. It was for myself. I wanted to become a better person. Back then, I thought that if I died, I’d at least have the courage to face him.”

At this, she laughed softly, amused by how naive the thought sounded. She tossed the golden goblet in her hand onto the ground; its sharp clink shattered the silence, feeling jarringly out of place in the stillness.

“Even now, I should still try to do some good…”

She said.

“I’m trapped here, unable to leave, but he’s different… Since we’re fated to part ways, I should let him go…”

“Yinping Prince’s daughter may not be a bad match. Perhaps they truly are destined for each other, while I was merely a mistake he made along the way. These past few days, I’ve thought about it—I should wish her well, hope she becomes better and better, so that she’ll be worthy of him. Only then can his future be happy… You know how difficult his life has been until now…”

“Shuyan—”

Unable to endure hearing more, Song Mingzhen disregarded propriety and pulled his sister into his arms. Only then did he realize how thin she had become—like a flower blooming out of season, withered by cold rain before it ever truly blossomed.

“Second Brother…”

She sighed, her tone tinged with a strange sense of contentment. Perhaps it had been too long since anyone had embraced her. Her body felt awkward and stiff, unused to such closeness. Who could have known? For so many years, she had walked alone through the endless, desolate palace. On every lonely night yearning for companionship, she had curled up alone beneath layers of jewels and silks, the cold pillows and quilts her only company. No one remembered that she, too, was a living, breathing human being.

Now, with trembling hands, she clung to her brother, drawing brief warmth from his long-absent embrace. Yet her gaze drifted far beyond him, toward the ancient towers of the former Liang imperial palace visible beyond the plum grove. She remembered naming one of them herself—the lush greenery reminiscent of distant blue mountains, vaguely called… “Wangshan Pavilion.”

“Wangshan…”

Her self-mocking words carried a trace of laughter, a riddle-like jest. But alas, not everyone could unravel her cryptic messages as easily as he once did. And she no longer buried her feelings in winding phrases, knowing full well that from now on, no one would care to pick them up.

—But she had truly seen the springtime mountains.

In mid-spring, orioles soared and grass grew tall, branches heavy with blossoms, vibrant and verdant. She had lingered in such illusions day after day, striving tirelessly to draw closer, only to end up further away. The harder she fought, the more unreachable it became.

I am truly, deeply unwilling.

But I know… It’s time for me to let you go.