FYM - 129

…And yet, he came to her that night.

Her second brother, Song Mingzhen, was even greedier with the wine, finishing all the alcohol she had prepared for him. By that point, the night had already descended into chaos, and she no longer cared about propriety or appearances. She summoned palace attendants to bring more fine wines and called for writing materials. The mingling scents of wine and ink drifted through the waterside pavilion, creating the illusion of a beautiful evening.

“What do you need the writing materials for…”

Her brother, his face flushed red from drinking, slumped over the stone table, utterly drunk.

“You need to find a way to escape…”

“Don’t… don’t let them trap you…”

He was completely lost, drowning in sorrow under the influence of alcohol, bearing it even less than she, the one most affected. She smiled faintly and nodded, then ordered the attendants to help him back to his quarters to rest. Chaohua approached her cautiously, seeing her mistress similarly lost in thought, and gently urged: “Your Majesty… let’s return.”

She shook her head and dismissed everyone, leaving the quiet plum grove to herself. She was busy—there was an imperial edict she needed to write personally.

“To Wei Bi’s daughter of Yinping Prince, who is virtuous, gentle, kind, harmonious, pure, and refined, possessing all the qualities befitting an inner lady, hereby decreeing…”

Her pen wavered; she was already too drunk to stand steadily. Such bureaucratic tasks didn’t require her personal attention, and she could easily have summoned officials to record and transcribe the edict. But this was the imperial decree granting him marriage—it was the final chapter between them, however modest. She couldn’t entrust it to anyone else. She had to bid him farewell herself.

She had read extensively since childhood and learned many principles of governance from the late emperor after entering the palace. Now, she embodied the virtues of a true gentleman, seeking answers within herself rather than relying on others. She used such beautiful words to praise a woman she barely knew, the one who would soon become his wife. Though her heart carried a tinge of bitterness and resentment, ultimately… it was a heartfelt wish.

—He must live a better life.

On the battlefield, swords and spears showed no mercy. As a military commander, he should have married and had children long ago. He deserved a gentle and wise wife, obedient and intelligent children. They could stay by his side as she had once hoped to, erasing the cold frost and biting snow he had endured alone.

Not like her… always alone.

She wrote with intense focus, her steady hand betraying no errors. All her trembling and sorrow were hidden within the intricate strokes of her calligraphy, each stroke precise and deliberate. Unfortunately, before she could finish, footsteps echoed outside the pavilion. The figure approaching obscured the bright moonlight, and her vision blurred.

“You…”

She looked up hazily, seeing only a pair of eyes that had haunted her dreams for years—eyes as cold and aloof as frost and snow, yet as magnificent and sharp as jade. The mole at the corner of his eye seemed like a perfect embellishment, but in truth, it was merely a tear he could not shed in public.

“…You’ve come?”

She tilted her head and smiled at him, unsure whether he was real or a figment of her drunken imagination. Her raised eyebrow carried a hint of intoxication, but she no longer cared how he perceived her.

“Are you here to claim it…?”

She waved the yellow imperial edict in her hand, her expression carrying an indescribable innocence.

“I’m almost done… Just wait a little longer…”

With that, she lowered her head and hastily continued writing. Though she appeared completely drunk, her mind was clear as a mirror—she knew everything. She knew the conspiracies swirling through court, that the woman had visited his residence that very night, the considerations of the Fang clan both inside and out, and ultimately… the choice he had made in his heart.

She wrote quickly, as if afraid of regretting it, or perhaps simply fearful of his impatience. Her trembling handwriting betrayed her timidity, but the next moment, his hand tightly seized her wrist.

Swipe—

The pen in her hand jerked violently, leaving a long streak of ink that ruined the entire silk scroll.

“Song Shuyan…”

His deep voice was close to her ear, the unfamiliar address carrying a weight different from usual, as though suppressing towering rage—or perhaps simply reflecting profound pain. She couldn’t tell. She only felt how hot his hand was, gripping her wrist so tightly that even in her drunken state, she felt a searing pain.

“…Do you like it?”

He wasn’t a man without method, yet that question was so abrupt that it left her momentarily confused. Surprisingly, she understood it anyway. A decade-long dream wasn’t without traces—they shared connections too subtle for outsiders to comprehend.

—They were fragments of trivial memories.

In Chang’an’s western market, their brief encounter where he helped her brother out of an embarrassing situation when he lacked funds. On the painted screen, the spring mountains stretched endlessly—he saw through her restraint and awkwardness for the first time, saying: “Miss Song, you can look around more, choose something you like.”

Later, in Qiantang, on the first day of the second month, under a clear sky, bustling streets filled with people. He personally selected a pair of white jade combs imbued with deep meaning for her, his gaze soft and reserved as he asked: “This… do you like it?”

The last time was almost playful, when he accompanied her shopping with her brother. A She inkstone worth dozens of gold pieces caught her eye, and though she tried to decline, he countered: “Why not take it? Don’t you like it?”

Each time, she was speechless, never expecting her preferences to matter to anyone. It was as if she was important, as if she could openly express her true feelings.

And now, he asked again—

Song Shuyan… do you like it?

—Like what?

The imperial edict granting his marriage? Or… liking the idea of becoming strangers forever?

She couldn’t answer. Her drunken haze obscured her vision, making it impossible to see his face clearly. The next moment, she felt the pain in her wrist intensify as his overwhelming presence drew near, his breath startlingly hot.

“I’m asking you.”

“—Do you like it?”

He had never spoken to her like this—so cold, so fierce, as if she had committed some unforgivable sin. The towering man loomed over her, his dangerous gaze unbearable. Only then did she truly realize he was a warrior, capable of crushing her with the slightest effort.

But…

“Let it be…”

She gave him a faint smile, her voice soft and gentle, as if she saw him as fragile. She would walk the muddy paths for him, make the cruel decisions on his behalf.

“Third Brother…”

“Between us… let it be.”

Drip.

—This time, her tears fell onto the back of his hand.

His grip loosened in that instant, as if scorched by her tears, or perhaps simply resigned to her incurable fate. She felt relief at his withdrawal, yet a base despair stirred in the deepest recesses of her heart. The next moment, a violent force erupted—he pulled her fiercely into his arms. Illusions shattered, and all taboos crumbled into dust.

…He kissed her.

Like a cornered beast tearing at its prey, like a fish gasping for air out of water. There was no tenderness, no lingering affection—only the desperate release before the end. She felt a sharper pain, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. The swirling intoxication blurred reality and illusion, yet he forced her to open her eyes and confront his unfamiliar visage.

He gripped her waist tightly, even choking her neck mercilessly. His labored breathing left her gasping like a fish stranded in a dry ditch, every breath dependent on his mercy. It was as if he wanted to strangle her, yet his usually calm eyes were blood-red. In that moment, she suddenly understood—he wanted to drag her down to hell with him.

A violent love descended upon a path with no exit. The sudden release of restraint brought her back to life, branding her with pain. A kiss on her neck sent shivers coursing through her body.

“Third Brother…”

“…Third Brother…”

She called his name repeatedly, unsure whether she was trying to hold him back or push him away. His loss of control reached its peak—a deafening crash exploded in her ears, followed by a chilling silence. He buried his head in the crook of her neck. The wooden pillar of the pavilion was deeply dented, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw his knuckles, veins bulging, bloodied and raw. The excruciating pain nearly made her miss the warm wetness falling on her chest.

“Shuyan…”

His voice was shackled, each step costing him flesh and blood, yet he still desperately moved closer to her. The tenderness she was familiar with resurfaced in that moment—a gentle kiss on the corner of her lips, his trembling hand caressing her cheek uncontrollably.

“Let it be…”

He gently adjusted her disheveled clothing, committing another mistake by pulling her tightly into his arms. The grand repetition sounded like a murmured dream, seemingly echoing her words but fundamentally different.

“Between us… let it be.”