FYM - 134

Prince Yinping, who had been pressing his advantage with confidence, was momentarily struck dumb when the old scandal was brought up. The ministers present, sharp-eyed and perceptive, could already discern the Empress Dowager’s veiled meaning. If the Luoyang faction insisted on holding Marquis Yingchuan accountable for this transgression, she would drag Crown Prince Wei Lin’s past offenses back into the spotlight to be judged anew. Whether this was solely to protect Lord Fang or to maintain the delicate balance of power in the court remained unclear.

Wei Xi, finally finding an opportunity to interject, quickly chimed in support: “Exactly! All five regents stand equal before me; my rewards and punishments must not favor one over another—this matter…”

“How does Her Majesty and Your Majesty intend to resolve this!”

Wei Bi, now infuriated and humiliated, dared to interrupt the emperor publicly, his tone sharp and aggressive.

“Can Marquis Yingchuan, in his lofty position, command the army with a single word or blockade a city on a whim? Who would have dared such audacity during the late emperor’s reign?

“If the Fang clan can disregard imperial edicts and flout laws simply because of their power, then is this the empire of the Wei family, or has it become a plaything for the Fangs?”

This tirade, sharp and cutting, laid bare the whispered grievances that had long circulated within the court. The young emperor was left speechless under the barrage of accusations, while the other ministers felt these charges might spiral into chaos. Sure enough, the next moment, officials from the Fang faction erupted in anger, their purple and crimson robes exuding immense authority. How could they stand by and watch their lord be wronged in public? Fang Xing furrowed his brows, ready to retort, but a stern glance from his master warned him to hold his tongue.

“The essence of an order lies in its weightiest words; the essence of law lies in its most fitting application.”

The assembly heard Lord Fang speak calmly, his voice steady and clear.

“I was entrusted by the late emperor to uphold the nation’s welfare, and thus I should not demand leniency for myself while being harsh on others. I hereby request sixty blows to the back, and ask the Empress Dowager and His Majesty to administer this punishment.”

With that, he bowed deeply and kowtowed, leaving the entire court in stunned silence.

Sixty blows to the back…

This punishment involved striking the back with heavy rods, far more severe than the spanking previously endured by the heir of Prince Yinping. For an ordinary person, even ten to twenty strokes could cause serious injury, and carelessness might result in permanent disability. Sixty strokes…

…could very well be fatal.

“My lord, you cannot allow this!”

Now, not only the Fang clan members but even neutral officials were horrified. The fragile and crumbling court relied entirely on Lord Fang to hold it together. If he were to die, the factions of Luoyang and Jinling would plunge the court into utter chaos. The three-hundred-year-old Zhou dynasty’s legacy would truly crumble into ruin.

“Grant your punishment, Empress Dowager!”

Amidst the clamor, the powerful minister spoke again, his authoritative and icy voice resonating sharply through the hall. His tone was resolute, almost coercive. Strangely, no one noticed that this time he only mentioned the “Empress Dowager” and omitted “His Majesty.” Wei Xi, seated on the dragon throne, heard it clearly. From behind the curtain, a faint, uneven breath escaped—like the fragile, suppressed sobbing of a woman. It sent an inexplicable shiver down his spine.

“Where is the Middle Captain?”

Finally, she spoke, her voice steady, without a trace of disorder. Wei Xi began to doubt whether he had misheard earlier. Turning, he saw Song Mingzhen, the Middle Captain himself, step forward, wielding the rod of punishment. The Empress Dowager’s decree followed swiftly, cutting through the cacophony of heated arguments like a blade of ice: “The law is as unyielding as a mountain—it cannot be violated. Sixty blows to the back. Proceed.”

That single word, “proceed,” was delivered with absolute clarity, devoid of hesitation or ambiguity. The assembled ministers were startled. Some wondered if the Empress Dowager was feigning weakness to mask her true strength. Perhaps she, too, was dissatisfied with Lord Fang’s unilateral actions bypassing her authority, using the Luoyang faction’s accusations as a proxy to discipline him indirectly.

Amidst the swirling suspicions, Lord Fang straightened his kneeling posture. The pristine robes of the Fang clan of Yingchuan seemed to stain for the first time, as though tainted by the weight of the moment. Elder statesmen, who had served several generations, were reminded of the scene decades ago when the former Duke knelt before Emperor Ruizong to accept punishment. There was an ineffable bitterness in this déjà vu, as though history was repeating itself in a cruel cycle.

“Bang—”

The deafening sound of the rod striking flesh reverberated in everyone’s ears. The merciless rod was raised high and brought down with crushing force, as though capable of severing blood vessels and shattering bones. Lord Fang’s body trembled slightly but quickly steadied. Yet the next blow came swiftly, relentless like divine retribution, draining the color from his face.

“Master—”

Fang Xing lost all composure, his usual haughty demeanor crumbling as he was restrained by fellow clansmen who stopped him from rushing forward to intervene. Turning around, he knelt again, bowing deeply to the Empress Dowager and the emperor, pleading for mercy. Gone was any trace of the Fang family’s typical pride and composure. Meanwhile, the Luoyang faction wore expressions of triumph, especially Wei Bi, whose eyes were fixed intently on Song Mingzhen as he administered the punishment. He wanted to ensure that Lord Fang suffered at least as much as his own son had, blending public vengeance with personal grudges in a way that left him exhilarated.

“Mother…”

Wei Xi was utterly disoriented, unable to fathom her intentions—could she really intend to kill Lord Fang? But… but…

The relentless sound of the rod striking flesh continued unabated, each dull thud stirring a growing sense of dread in every heart present. By the sixteenth blow, Lord Fang could no longer endure; he braced himself with one hand against the ground, and a mouthful of blood spurted forth. His black martial robes were already soaked through with blood and cold sweat.

“…Stop.”

Finally, a cold, indifferent command emerged from behind the curtain, calm and unshaken, betraying not a hint of emotion at the sight of so much bloodshed.

“Twenty blows to the back shall serve as a minor punishment but a major warning. Reflect carefully upon this lesson. The remaining forty strokes will be administered at a later date…”

Her voice remained steady and methodical.

“…The crime of mobilizing troops without authorization is punishable by death, but I have spared you. As for further punishment, I must deliberate more carefully. For now, the Censorate Prison shall detain you under arrest. Should there be any favoritism involved, it too will be punished accordingly.”

“Court dismissed.”

She rose and departed with an iron resolve, her steps firm and unwavering, leaving behind only the swaying pearl curtains, trembling faintly in her wake.

________________________________________

The next day, another rain fell over Jinling.

The rains of late autumn lacked the ferocity of summer storms, coming down in a soft, intermittent drizzle. Yet, as the saying went, each autumn rain brought a new chill; after this one, the signs of early winter grew ever clearer, and the biting cold pressed relentlessly closer, making the nights and mornings especially unbearable.

The newly established Censorate Prison within the imperial city lay deep and frigid. It housed officials accused of grave offenses, their cries for justice or mercy muted into silence. Faint flickers of firelight danced weakly against the hard stone walls, as if even they might be consumed by the suffocating darkness. The guards and bailiffs stationed here were mostly selected by the Censorate Bureau and the Ministry of Justice, and recently they had grown more cautious than usual. They knew that the deepest cells held the head of the Fang clan, the leader of the Five Regents—a man who should never have been associated with imprisonment under normal circumstances.

He had endured severe punishment and had been running a high fever for days. Though the prison’s rules strictly forbade visitors, physicians from the Imperial Medical Office secretly entered and exited to treat him. No one dared speak of it; everything involving Lord Fang and the royal family was shrouded in secrecy, deadly to touch upon, with guilt extending to all connected parties.

And then, one day… the Imperial Guard arrived.

Their golden armor reflected the dim glow of the torches. The leader, his face obscured by an iron mask, displayed a token from the palace. The guards did not recognize it, but seeing their superior bow repeatedly and sweat profusely, they followed suit, retreating silently.

“Tonight, the North Yard takes over the watch. All unauthorized personnel must leave immediately.”

Hearing the general’s order, they thought it best to find some excuse to disappear. As they bowed and withdrew, a sharp-eyed guard noticed a cloaked figure slip quickly into the prison under the escort of the Imperial Guard. The figure was slender and petite, unmistakably… a woman.

“Mind your eyes—”

Someone hissed a warning, their gaze filled with deep dread and fear.

Late into the night, the prison was deserted.

The visitor moved quietly, following the dim candlelight deeper into the dungeon. The faint scent of blood lingered in the air, and her sleeves trembled slightly beneath them.

Until… she saw him.

The tall, sturdy cell door stood tightly shut, and the chains clinked softly as they were opened. He sat slumped against the wall in the corner, his eyes closed as though asleep. She approached him slowly, seeing the pale moonlight filter through the narrow window, casting a frost-like glow on the dry straw. His white prisoner’s robe appeared eerily clean and almost sacred in the dim light.

…It was the first time she had seen him in white.

The dark hues he usually wore were subdued yet reassuring, like silent mountains nourishing the grass, trees, flowers, and birds that depended on them. White was different—it made him seem fragile. “Carried along with flying immortals, embracing the bright moon until eternity,” she thought, recalling that night years ago when he stood on the boat in the river.

She knelt gently before him, unable to speak, tears streaming silently from beneath the hood that concealed her face. Just as they began to fall, his eyes opened, as if he had known she was there all along. The mole beneath his eye seemed to mirror hers, but his expression was far gentler and calmer.

“…You came after all.”

He sighed helplessly, his gaze enigmatic, like a riddle spoken in whispers.

She said nothing, nor did she move. If tears could obey, they would not have defied her will and continued falling. His brow furrowed slightly, and after a brief hesitation, his hand slowly rose to wipe away her tears. The moment they touched was sinful, and her hood slipped soundlessly off.

“Zi Qiu’s men know restraint; the wounds aren’t severe…”

His fingers lightly brushed her cheek, his forbidden gaze lingering as if kissing the corners of her eyes.

“…Didn’t you send people to check on me?”

“It’s fine.”

He was soothing her, she knew. Though she was unharmed, the way he cherished her made it seem as though she bore all the scars. She trembled violently, her heart feeling as though it were being burned alive, icy water pouring in to drown the flames. The sensations were indescribable.

“I hit you…”

She cried helplessly before him like a child, knowing she was at fault yet feeling more wronged than anyone else.

“…I hurt you…”

He couldn’t bear to see her like this. Even as the wounds on his back reopened, he struggled to sit up and draw closer to her. Their warm breaths mingled, and with just one more inch, he would have kissed her.

“No…”

His hand was cool, untouched by the heat of her tears.

“…I forced you.”

“It’s my fault.”

How absurd those words were—they cut into her heart like a knife. She wept harder, as if trying to release all the tears she had suppressed for so many years. Shaking her head stubbornly, her face pale and resolute, she remembered how much she had intended to say to him.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this…”

Now, she could only stammer broken fragments of disjointed words.

“It wasn’t meant to be like this…”

“I thought… I could protect you…”