FYM - 143

The brazen jeering was rather vexing, yet Song Shuyan’s gaze remained tranquil. Perhaps she truly had let go of the past, and now, looking at her wayward brother, she felt only the sighs of a ruler and a tinge of pity.

“Same root...”

She repeated his words, her tone tinged with both nostalgia and resignation.

“Today, I summoned you to the Thousand Strategies Office instead of having the Ministry of Justice or the Supreme Court arrest you, out of consideration for the so-called fraternal bond—pay the outstanding fines within seven days, and I can pardon your crime of harming a colleague. You will lose your position, but your life will be spared.”

This was an exceedingly generous offer. Yet to Song Mingzhuo, it sounded like a ridiculous joke. He tilted his head back, glaring at his sister seated above him, then glanced at his second brother, Song Mingzhen, standing beside her, his expression growing increasingly disdainful.

“Lose my position?”

His voice was cold.

“For eight years, dear sister has kept me shackled to the sixth-rank position of Compiler. Now that you finally decide to strip it from me, this is actually a cause for celebration…”

“Insolence—”

Before he could finish, Song Mingzhen sharply interrupted him. Though Song Mingzhuo saw only arrogance in his younger brother’s golden armor, he failed to realize that Mingzhen’s harshness stemmed from a desire to protect him. The Hall of Law was not filled solely with their family; several high-ranking officials were watching. If Song Mingzhuo were to offend the Empress Dowager outright, bloodshed would be unavoidable.

“You insignificant son, what right do you have to speak here—”

Unfortunately, Song Mingzhuo showed no gratitude. At this point, the only thing he could cling to was the legitimacy of being a firstborn son, a title his mother had barely secured for him by leaning on her family’s influence.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re thinking? If she convicts me and strips me of my rank, the position of the Song family’s master will naturally pass to you—Song Ziqiu, let me tell you, a concubine’s son will always remain a lesser son. Your ambitions are nothing but delusions!”

His rant was unruly, evidence that eight years of stagnation in his career had driven him nearly to collapse. Seeing the situation spiral out of control and fearing damage to the Empress Dowager’s dignity, Jiang Chao hastily intervened, barking, “Enough of this nonsense! Today’s inquiry concerns the Song family’s illegal land seizures and refusal to pay fines. The Empress Dowager has shown mercy, sparing you from punishment for conspiring against an imperial official—Compiler Song, shouldn’t you quickly kneel and thank Her Majesty for her grace?”

“Mercy? Pardon?”

Unexpectedly, these words did little to quell the chaos. Song Mingzhuo’s retort grew even more intense.

“Sixty-eight thousand strings of cash—draining the Song family dry wouldn’t cover such an astronomical sum! What kind of ‘mercy’ and ‘pardon’ is this?”

“Our clan has painstakingly built its legacy in Jiangnan, even going to great lengths during the nation’s crisis to assist in the southern migration and relocation of the capital. The northern aristocrats, having found refuge, now greedily seek to seize our resources. Instead of punishing the hidden malice of the Luoyang faction, the Empress Dowager forces the Jiangnan gentry to endure humiliation and retreat. Such blatant injustice cannot win the people’s trust!”

“Even if we concede and say that land audits are necessary to win popular support, why target the Song family? There are countless noble families in Jiangnan! Why hasn’t the Thousand Strategies Office investigated other cases involving loss of life? Why single us out? Isn’t this proof that the Empress Dowager harbors personal grievances, favoring the weak and fearing the strong?”

He was utterly unrestrained, each accusation carrying its own logic. Yet he failed to consider that if the Empress Dowager showed favoritism toward her maternal clan, the other noble families of Jiangnan would never tolerate it. The Luoyang faction, already weakened after the southern migration, had become ruthless and desperate. The balance of power in the court must not be disrupted, and the Song family could not be allowed to dominate at this critical juncture.

But—

“You hate me!”

“And Father too!”

Song Mingzhuo had already hastily passed judgment, condemning her.

“You hate all of us! You’ve long intended to destroy the Song family!”

“You spout those grandiose, hypocritical principles as if you’re selflessly serving the nation and its people!”

“Song Shuyan! Do you dare say it? Why do you hate me? Do you dare say it?”

His hysterical outburst bore an eerie familiarity, evoking in Song Shuyan a sudden memory of the sea of mourning in Yingchuan—perhaps he was right. She did harbor resentment toward him. The seed of hatred had been planted when his mother usurped her place, driving her, the daughter of the former wife, to Qiantang. It took deeper root when, after Lady Jiang’s death, he forcibly brought her back to Jinling.

In the years since, she had often wondered—if she hadn’t left Yingchuan back then, might everything have turned out differently? She wouldn’t have entered the palace as Empress Dowager, wouldn’t have endured eight years of darkness and despair. She could have waited for Fang Xianting’s return, standing by him day and night when he had nothing left and needed her most.

Everything had been so close...

And Song Mingzhuo... had destroyed that “closeness.”

Now, she lowered her gaze to study him, her eyes growing deep and inscrutable. A fleeting glimmer of icy intent flashed across her face, but Song Mingzhuo seemed to take it as confirmation, laughing bitterly. As he laughed, tears began to well in the corners of his eyes.

“You dare not—”

“Your subjects are here. You dare not tell them the truth—”

“You hate me out of selfishness! Song Shuyan! Your heart has never been pure—”

His hoarse accusations sent shivers through the room, but before he could finish, he was abruptly cut off. Unable to bear it any longer, Song Mingzhen strode forward from behind the curtain, clamping a hand over Song Mingzhuo’s mouth. He then turned and barked orders to have him bound and taken to prison. Song Mingzhuo was forced to the ground, unable to move, but his muffled, rasping shouts continued. Song Shuyan watched impassively, vaguely aware of the probing gazes of Xu Zongyao and others resting on her.

“I’ll give you seven days.”

Her tone was calm, as though everything were proceeding normally.

“If the payment isn’t made within seven days… the case will be handed over to the Ministry of Justice and the Supreme Court for legal proceedings.”

As dusk fell and the sun sank in the west, the winter sky darkened earlier than usual.

The night grew colder, and the palace halls required several charcoal braziers to ward off the chill. Outside, the frosty air turned every breath into a misty cloud. After dining in Fuqing Hall, Song Shuyan glanced at the table and noticed two fresh wintersweet branches in a jade vase. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “Have the plum blossoms in the garden bloomed?”

Chaohua Xixiu, knowing her mistress’s mood was low today, seized the opportunity to entertain her, replying, “Replying to Your Majesty, these are newly bloomed today—the Emperor is dutiful, ensuring the gardeners tend to the plum grove daily. A few wintersweet trees have bloomed early, and in a few days, they will be in full splendor.”

“Is that so?”

Song Shuyan responded indifferently, her expression unreadable. The palace attendants couldn’t gauge her mood and dared not say more. After the meal, however, the Empress announced she wished to visit the Imperial Garden alone, without a palanquin or escort. Chaohua Xixiu exchanged a glance, understanding it was best not to provoke the Empress tonight. After escorting her to the plum grove, they stayed outside, guarding without disturbing.

——The flowers there had indeed bloomed.

The climate of Jiangnan was mild, and the plum blossoms bloomed earlier than in the central plains. In the Eastern Capital, the flowers in Yufei Garden wouldn’t bloom until the end of the year or even later, sometimes waiting until late in the first month. But alas, Jinling rarely saw snow, and this early blooming period went largely unnoticed. Plum blossoms and snow were meant to complement each other; without the purity of snow, even the most radiant blooms seemed lonely.

She sat in the familiar waterside pavilion, where the chill by the water was always sharper. Looking around, she saw only a few sparse branches of plum blossoms. Still, her attendants had cleverly plucked some to bring before her. Her heart, like the barren branches, felt empty—not particularly sorrowful, just slightly nihilistic, perhaps due to fatigue.

She knew well that the conflict with the Song family was far from resolved, and she had no idea what awaited her seven days hence. Song Mingzhuo’s fate was ultimately inconsequential—she had no intention of killing him or humiliating him by stripping him of his rank. It was merely a gesture for her father and uncles to see, to make clear that she would show no leniency this time.

The reasoning was clear, and she harbored no doubts about her current actions. To achieve something, one couldn’t hesitate or look back. She had come this far and was determined to clean up the mess accumulated over generations. Targeting her maternal clan was her only choice, and she could swear on heaven that she was not acting out of personal vendettas or abusing her power. After all, the Song family didn’t deserve her hatred—a group of shortsighted individuals, how had they managed to weigh on her mind for so long?

And yet…

She sighed, a haze of confusion spreading in her eyes. She couldn’t quite understand why she felt so stifled. Was she not as magnanimous as she believed? Did she still care about these so-called familial ties and blood relations?

A shiver ran through her, and she suddenly felt a chill. Wrapping her cloak tighter, she turned her head absently, her gaze wandering aimlessly. She noticed that the gap in the wooden pillar, left half a year ago, had been repaired. That small reminder was enough to bring him to mind—the scent of wine and intoxication that night, the bitter parting, the lingering tears, the searing embrace, the uncontrollable kiss… and him.

Longing surged in an instant. It seemed that whenever her restraints loosened, her yearning for him would overflow uncontrollably. She wondered where he was tonight, what he might be doing. Closing her eyes, she shook her head and chuckled softly, chiding herself for her weakness. Yet in the darkness, she felt closer to him. For a moment, she even imagined he was beside her, his robe’s hem within reach.

A gentle breeze rippled the water’s surface, and faint footsteps approached from behind. She turned to see several palace maids entering the pavilion, heads bowed. Frowning slightly, she asked with a hint of displeasure, “Didn’t I tell you not to follow me?”

Only then did she notice that these were unfamiliar faces, not from Fuqing Hall. Unfazed by her stern expression, they bowed respectfully and said, “A new screen has been installed in Wangshan Pavilion. Please, Your Majesty, come and take a look.”

—Wangshan Pavilion?

Song Shuyan was startled, and a wild thought flashed through her mind—he had said he would come to see her. Could the “new screen” mean…

Her heart stirred, and without hesitation, she rose to follow them. Despite the biting winter wind, her hands began to warm secretly. The plum grove and pavilion receded behind her, replaced by the eaves of an ancient building. It seemed that the word “gaze” wasn’t always definitive—what once seemed distant was now drawing nearer with her relentless pursuit.

The palace maids pushed open the creaking wooden door, the sound like a string of silver bells luring her into a dream. Entranced, she stepped forward, drawn to the dim candlelight in the modest inner chamber. There, waiting for her, was the person she had longed for. His eyes crinkled with a smile as he called her name: “…Shuyan.”