FYM - 136

As the night deepened, the storm clouds dissipated, and the moonlight bathed the world in a soft, misty glow. Fang Xianting walked alone through the void, until he once again saw the familiar stone pavilion shrouded in the depths of the haze.

“You’ve come.”

His father still sat there, a small wine-heating stove on the stone table. The mist had turned to snow, and everything seemed just as it had been in the past—except for his father’s gaze, which now carried an air of cold detachment tinged with resignation, as though he had lost all hope in him.

“…So you’ve chosen her after all.”

It was not a question but a statement of his guilt.

He could not respond, only sitting silently in the pavilion under the weight of his father’s piercing scrutiny. He was too exhausted to defend himself.

“Father…” For the first time, he spoke words of defiance to this revered elder whom he had always held in the highest regard. “…I cannot leave her alone.”

The words were spoken softly, like a breeze leaving no trace. No one in the world knew how much blood and tears they had shed for each other. His father sneered, the disdain clear beneath his icy demeanor.

“You cannot leave her…”

He repeated the phrase, the sarcasm in his eyes growing heavier.

“What about the late emperor’s charge to you? What about the current emperor’s trust in you? And what of the great responsibility entrusted to our Fang clan?”

“…Can you abandon all of that?”

He had no answer.

“Yizhi…”

His father’s tone grew even harsher.

“…You didn’t have to drive yourself into a dead end.”

—”Didn’t have to”?

Fang Xianting half-lowered his eyes, feeling the snow outside the eaves fall heavier and thicker. The plum blossoms should be in full bloom at this time of year. If only there were a few plum trees here, ones he had planted with his own hands long ago, this place wouldn’t feel as desolate and cold as that night in the imperial garden pavilion.

“I also thought ‘didn’t have to’…”

He gave a faint smile, only now realizing how similar he was to her. He, too, had layers upon layers of pretense, and had never truly voiced his feelings aloud.

“That night, I went to the palace to see her… I intended to ask her to arrange a marriage.”

He spoke slowly, as if the words were difficult to utter, knowing full well that he could not avoid confronting his debt to her. He had indeed considered giving up—his deceased parents had never appeared in the courtyard of the Marquis’s residence. That night’s vision had merely been a manifestation of his own inner demons. His “father’s” rebuke was nothing more than his own internalized admonishment, while his “mother’s” absolution stemmed from his lingering selfish attachment to her.

In truth, he already knew… There would be no happy ending between them. Even if they clung to each other in secrecy, even if they threw caution to the wind and broke every taboo, indulgence would only lead to ruin. Neither of them could escape this dark, suffocating imperial city. He also understood how perilous it was to fight with their backs against the wall. Though pacifying the southern border might bring temporary benefits, the stain of the Fang clan’s overreach would be impossible to erase once it had taken root. The reality was that he was squandering the family’s hard-earned reputation to carve out some room for maneuvering—and the seeds of disaster he was planting now would inevitably grow into calamity in the future, unpredictable and uncontrollable.

And so, that night when Wei Lan came to him, he wavered… He told himself it was merely a hollow marriage arrangement. Even if he married someone else, nothing would change. He would still love the woman he had loved since his youth, and he could remain loyal to her for life. It was all for the burdens they both had to bear—he had tried everything, exhausted every effort.

…But all of this crumbled in an instant when he caught sight of her from afar by the waterside pavilion upon entering the palace.

She said, “It’s all I have left. Don’t stop me.”

She said, “I want someone who is closest to me.”

She said, “I know he’s leaving.”

She said, “But I’ve already told myself I can’t regret it.”

She said, “I can do many things for him, many things he didn’t have time to finish back then.”

…

He had always known her to be reserved, her silence deepened by the harsh treatment she endured in her childhood home. For years, he had carefully observed every word and movement of hers, yet he had somehow missed so many secrets buried deep within her heart.

…He had never known that eight years ago, she had entered the palace for him.

By the time news of the devastating defeat at Shangxiao Valley had spread across the land, the world was certain he had perished in battle. Even the Yingchuan Fang clan believed it to be true. His mother had hanged herself in grief, and the late emperor had been forced to seek reconciliation with the Song family in preparation for a southern retreat. He had always assumed she had been coerced into the palace by her family, and that Zi Qiu had broken ties with their family out of indignation on her behalf. But he had never imagined… she had done it all for him.

No one could fathom the shock that coursed through him when, that night in the plum grove pavilion, he overheard her tearful laughter as she spoke to her brother. Eight years ago, she had given everything for a man presumed dead—what had he ever given her in return? A marriage promise that never came to fruition? Or a few hollow, insubstantial vows?

Never before had he felt such profound shock and failure. Perhaps his entire life had been meaningless. History would record his efforts to save this dying dynasty as futile—he didn’t mind being wasted. The Fang clan of Yingchuan shared the same fate as the nation; when the empire crumbled, so too would their lineage. He had long prepared himself for this outcome, knowing full well how his story would end.

—But what about her?

Was she to be wasted just like him?

He had truly been driven to the brink. When he held her tightly in his arms, he entertained thoughts of ending everything then and there. She was right—life’s paths were fraught with hardship, but death was always easy to find. If fate had decreed they were powerless over their futures, then why not die together cleanly, in that moment? She wouldn’t have to endure daily torment in that hellish palace, and he wouldn’t have to leave her behind again, only to wound her further.

“Then why did you give up?”

His father’s question followed, though by then his grief had eclipsed his anger.

“She was about to arrange your marriage—why did you refuse?”

“There are still so many people waiting for you to save them… Yizhi, they need you.”

—Yes.

Everyone reached out to him, kneeling by the roadside, watching him with tear-filled eyes. The desperate cries of “My lord!” echoed in his ears, even in his dreams, relentless for ten years. He smiled, but his eyes grew hot. His father’s expression was one of astonishment and sorrow—it was likely the first time he had seen his son cry.

“But she needs me too…”

He spoke words of selfishness that could never be forgiven, as if unwilling to let go of anything, yet also as if he had already relinquished everything.

“I’ve always remembered your words, Father: do not weigh gains and losses, do not calculate pros and cons—just move forward resolutely… For ten years, I haven’t dared to pause for a single moment…”

“But… she wanted to protect me.”

“Everyone in this world relies on me, reveres me, needs me… Only she wants to protect me.”

“Father, I cannot abandon her…”

“…I must stay by her side.”

The small stove on the stone table sputtered softly, while snowflakes swirled outside the eaves. As his voice faded, his father’s figure gradually blurred, but the pain and despair in his eyes grew sharper.

“In the end… she will destroy you, and you will surely destroy her.”

He slowly rose, brushed his sleeves, and walked out into the snow. His once steadfast silhouette now appeared aged, his temples streaked with gray, making him seem almost unrecognizable.

“You will both come to regret it…”

His final words drifted faintly, distant and mournful.

“When that time comes… no one in this world will be able to save you.”

Drip.

A cold night dew fell gently, echoing faintly in the damp, cavernous depths of the prison. Fang Xianting abruptly opened his eyes, and indeed, the earlier visions of wine and snow had all vanished. For a moment, he had a premonition: his father would never again visit his dreams.

The sense of unease grew stronger. At that moment, he could still hear his father’s final warning of “regret.” The next instant, a soft, delicate moan reached his ears. He lowered his gaze slightly and saw her sleeping soundly in his arms, her beautiful face tinged with a faint blush, her bare shoulders marked with a few crimson kisses.

…Yingying.

His features softened instantly. Unconsciously, he pulled her closer, leaning down to gently kiss her brow. The moonlight streaming through the narrow window seemed to soften, becoming gentler. She stirred slightly, initially too drowsy to open her eyes, only nuzzling against him. After a while, she slowly regained consciousness. When she looked at him, her eyes were misty, like an autumn rain shower falling silently in the night.

He kissed her deeply again. She let out a soft sigh, sensing his urgency. The chaos within him continued to spread unchecked, hidden from view. In their desperation, the intoxicating sweetness of poison wine left them both craving more.

“Third Brother…”

She called to him sweetly yet uncertainly, her small hand resting against his chest, half-welcoming, half-resisting. She was exhausted, and now… truly…

He understood. In truth, his desire to be close to her wasn’t solely driven by passion. They had endured so much turmoil, and now that they had finally come together, he felt an urgent need to confirm their bond.

“I understand…”

He sighed, ultimately relenting and releasing her tenderly. He took her pale, jade-like hand and kissed it lightly, though his eyes remained fixed on her lips.

“…I won’t disturb you.”

Her face flushed, and she suddenly couldn’t bring herself to look up at him. They were nestled together, covered only by their clothes. She could feel the changes in his body, and her eyes grew increasingly moist.

“What time is it now…”

She shifted awkwardly, trying to distract herself, her shy demeanor resembling that of a startled oriole. He smiled but didn’t expose her discomfort, helping her up and dressing her as she wished, replying, “Just after the fourth watch.”

The fourth watch…

The morning assembly at Qianding Palace was at dawn. That meant… she had to leave now.

Song Shuyan blinked, suddenly regretting her earlier hesitation to accept his kiss. There were so many uncertainties between them; who knew when they would meet again, let alone share such intimate moments? Hesitating, she wondered whether to reach out and hold his hand a little longer, but his gaze had already shifted to her waist. The coarse straw on the prison floor had left several glaring red marks on her delicate, porcelain skin, and one spot had even been grazed raw…

His brows furrowed immediately. She had given him something so precious, yet it had happened in such a filthy, broken place…

Song Shuyan noticed the shift in his emotions but couldn’t quite decipher the reason. She assumed he, like her, was reluctant to part. Feeling reassured, she quietly nestled back into his embrace, her small hands wrapping around his waist. Her voice was muffled, tinged with a hint of complaint, as she murmured, “…I don’t want to leave you.”